Skip to main content

Remembering Meenakshi


Reading about
Reborn Dolls reminded me of Suresh, my first boss and his wife Veena. In our team of six, the rest of us were fresh out of engineering school and single. He had been married about twelve years. Sometimes during our coffee breaks he would talk about Meenakshi, his five year old daughter. We could tell he doted on her. Veena was more the disciplinarian and did not approve of how her husband spoilt their daughter.

One Diwali, Suresh invited all of us to his house. The day before he called me to his office. "I have a favor to ask of you guys" he said. I waited for him to continue "When you come to our place tomorrow, please make sure you don't mention Meenakshi in front of Veena" he added after a pause. Something told me that it would be inappropriate to ask why not. I assured him I would tell the others. He thanked me profusely for my understanding.

We arrived just before noon. Suresh and Veena were at the door to greet us. Their home was picture perfect just like the couple was. The harmony between them was palpable. Veena had cooked an elaborate lunch and insisted that we take the leftovers home. She was bright, cheerful and seemed to enjoy our company. She showed us around the house and I noticed that there was no sign of their daughter.

The next day at work, Suresh wanted to talk with me again. I was more anxious this time. He gave me a beautiful notebook with "From Meenakshi with Love" written on the flyleaf. "This is from Veena and me" he said handing it to me. I could tell something was wrong.

"Meenakshi is the child of our imagination. Veena and I can never have children but always longed to have one. Around five years ago after we had exhausted all medical options, I decided to give Veena an imaginary child. We named her Meenakshi. I learnt to imitate a baby's voice so Veena could hear a child calling her 'Mother'. I become Meenakshi for Veena".

"Over time, she has become as real to us a real child. To us she exists, she goes to school, has friends - has a life just like other children of her age. I think sometimes we forget that Meenakshi does not exist. As long as we are alone, we feel like she is with us. Outsiders would not understand. I worry that they may say something that will hurt Veena or worse wake her up from this dream that she is living in. It would shatter her to not have Meenakshi" He paused when he noticed I was crying.

"Please don't cry. I should have never told you all this. I just thought you would understand. It is very hard to share this. I think it was very selfish of me to burden you. I do apologize" he said. I sat there in his office until I was able to collect myself.

Life went on as before. Suresh prodded us mercilessly until we were able to write C code to his exacting and elegant standards. He was a perfectionist. Even as we griped about having to rewrite the same function twenty times and test it to death, we knew we were fortunate to have mentor like him.
He wrote compliers and relational database systems for recreation because the day job did nothing to challenge him.

Meenakshi returned to our coffee breaks. She went to stay with her grandparents for the summer vacation, moved to the next grade, got a little white puppy as a birthday gift, Veena thought it was extravagant of Suresh to buy her a six hundred rupee outfit for her sixth birthday. Despite knowing the truth, Meenakshi was a very real person to me. I cherished the gift she had given to me.

I saw Suresh last over ten years ago when I got a new job. I sensed my own desperation for motherhood within months of marriage and found myself thinking about Veena. What if like her, I could never be a mom ? It was irrational, illogical fear but not the less real for that. To this day, whenever I meet a childless couple I remember Suresh and Veena and pray that God gifted them a real Meenakshi that they so longed for.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Cheese Making

I never fail to remind J that there is a time and place for everything. It is possibly the line she will remember me by when I am dead and gone given how frequently she hears it. Instead of having her breakfast she will break into a song and dance number from High School Musical well past eight on Monday morning. She will insist that I watch and applaud the performance instead of screaming at her to finish her milk and cereal. Her sense of occasion is seriously lacking but then so is mine. Consider for example, a person walks into the grocery store with the express purpose of buying detergent because they are fresh out of it and laundry is only half way done. However instead of heading straight for detergent, they wander over to the natural foods aisle and go berserk upon finding goat milk on sale for a dollar a gallon. They at once proceed to stock pile so they can turn it to huge quantities home-made feta cheese. That person would be me. It would not concern me in the least that I ha...

Part Liberated Woman

An expat desi friend and I were discussing what it means to return to India when you have cobbled together a life in a foreign country no matter how flawed and imperfect. We have both spent over a decade outside India and have kids who were born abroad and have spent very little time back home. Returning "home" is something a lot of new immigrants like L and myself think about. We want very much for that to be an option because a full assimilation into our country of domicile is likely never going to happen. L has visited India more often than I have and has a much better pulse on what's going on there. For me the strongest drag force working against my desire to return home is my experience of life as a woman in India. I neither want to live that suffocatingly sheltered existence myself nor subject J to it. The freedom, independence and safety I have had in here in suburban America was not even something I knew I could expect to have in India. I never knew what it felt t...

Under Advisement

Recently a desi dude who is more acquaintance less friend called to check in on me. Those who have read this blog before might know that such calls tend to make me anxious. Depending on how far back we go, there are sets of FAQs that I brace myself to answer. The trick is to be sufficiently evasive without being downright offensive - a fine balancing act given the provocative nature of questions involved. I look at these calls as opportunities for building patience and tolerance both of which I seriously lack. Basically, they are very desirous of finding out how I am doing in my personal and professional life to be sure that they have me correctly categorized and filed for future reference. The major buckets appear to be loser, struggling, average, arrived, superstar and uncategorizable. My goal needless to say, is to be in the last bucket - the unknown, unquantifiable and therefore uninteresting entity. Their aim is to pull me into something more tangible. So anyways, the dude in ques...