She was sunk in the sofa, diminutive, shrunken. The once sharp eyes were dim with age, the flawless skin slightly crinkled, the forehead lined, the back bent. But the smile was still in place. It was that same worldly-wise smile I had last seen twenty-seven years ago and her quizzical look seemed to challenge me even now. I remembered so vividly, the days when I used to stand in her presence with awe and admiration. In my eyes she could do no wrong.
She was our next door neighbour , in another time, in another world. I grew up following her footsteps . To me she was the fairy godmother that had changed Cindrella’s life. I believed she could change mine too. And she did. In a background of fanatical moral and social restrictions, my soul was a caged bird that she let free with her careful manoeuvering . She had great influence over my parents and so she managed to convince them to send me away for higher studies, a gigantic leap in their secluded world, strictly guarded and monitored by the so-called head of the family-my uncle. And so I escaped and went in search of my own nirvana.
Decades later I chanced upon her daughter and all those memories came flooding back. I couldn’t wait to meet her. But, I would have to follow the same ritual that she had exercised all her life. I would have to wait till she was ready to receive me. Her daughter rang fifteen days later to say that Mummy would be happy to see me the next week. And so I found myself in her presence once more, with ecstatic pleasure mingled with awe .She had the same regal presence, her dyed black hair tied into a neat bun at the nape of her neck -not a single strand out of place, and her entire family quietly, respectfully assembled around her. An hour passed in emotional highs and lows, quiet reminisces and hearty laughter as we recalled several incidents of my childhood and peered at black and white photographs of those days together. I saw her glancing at her watch discreetly and knew my time was up. As we walked out of the vast drawing-room she offered to show me her room.
Feeling as if a knighthood had been bestowed upon me, I followed her to the entrance of a side-door and stood still in open-mouthed amazement. It was not one room, but two large rooms joined together on one side. Let me explain. The middle wall that would normally have served to separate two rooms, was broken halfway so that one side made a long oblong hall. On the other side was a half-wall and two single beds could be seen set in opposite directions with their headstands against the wall on both sides.Her bed lay on one side, shielded by the wall, and her husband’s bed lay on the other side, partly hidden from view. The rest of the space was furnished beautifully with lush settees, low coffee tables, a television set, a mini library and a rocking chair by a fire-place. It was almost ethereal. I turned to look at her, and she smiled happily. Yes, she declared proudly. Everybody is surprised by her unconventional architecture..
“But,” she said, “At my age, you want to have peace. You need to have your freedom, and your own time to sleep. This way, we both have each other’s company and our solitude too. If ever I need him, I know he is just a call away. And it’s the same for him. But we don’t cause inconvenience for each other. Your uncle wants to sleep early. I like to read late into the night, so I can switch on my table-lamp and read at will. Your Uncle does not like the fan on, and I cannot sleep without it. This way we both do what we want and have our peace. We have had such a good life, why make it difficult for each other now?”
Her words reverberated in my mind long after I reached home. What a practical approach to healthy living. What a realistic attitude. I thought of those numerous times when I’d had to leave the warmth of my blanket to come and sit so uncomfortably in the silent, cold living room at nights, just because I couldn’t sleep. I would have loved to snuggle in my bed with a book for company, but my husband had to sleep, in pitch darkness. My husband snored and I talked in my sleep ( that too in English!). Most mornings saw us stagger out of the room, grouchy and grumpy because one or the other had disturbed our sleep in some way. But we were soul-mates. We just had to be together. Even if we ended the day on a quarrel sometimes, we would make sure we were found together in our room in the morning when the maid arrived. Or she would whisper across the entire neighbourhood , “ SSsssh. Mr. and Mrs. so and so were sleeping in separate rooms yesterday!” And that echo would make the rounds of clubs and dining halls long before the night was out. What an embarrassment that would be.
My question is: Why? Why would that be an embarrassment?
Why do almost all societies and communities follow that husband and wife have to share a room till their last breath? That they may well haw and hammer at each other , despise the other’s presence, long for freedom of action, yet be forced to stay in one room and live like cell-mates rather than soul-mates. Why can we not enjoy each other’s company and be free to enjoy our own time too? Yes, husband and wife may be soulmates, but they are individuals too, who need their own breathing space. Why can they not live as such?
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