Mrs.
Pinto's house
Dear old Mrs. Pinto would sit in the garden
of her ancient three storied bungalow and watch for hours as people passed by.
Occasionally, she would ring the bell to summon her trusted man servant Lalji.
She would sit endlessly on the rusty garden chair, that at some point of time
was painted white as was the fad, and watch as a procession of vehicles pass
her gate.
She
loved watching it- the magic of mobility. People of different shapes and sizes
would make her beloved Mumbai come alive. Of course, what helped keep the love
for this life outside was how, invariably, every one of these passers by in
their many avatars would look at this bungalow, in the middle of a residential
area full of multi storied buildings, and wonder how it had survived.
Mrs. Pinto loved to tell anybody, who
bothered asking, how the bungalow came to be hers and why she could never sell
it. How could anybody help listening to this frail old woman in her flowery
cotton nightie tell her story? You could fall asleep over the tea and cucumber
sandwiches she would serve you, but you woul wake up having listened to every
word of her story.
“I was maybe fifteen when I married that
Mr. Pinto. Of course, in my time, that was very late to be married. You see the
problem was not with me; In those days I was so beautiful everybody wanted to
marry me, but this Papa... You know everyone always said, “What a wonderful man
this Mr. D’Souza is but oh he loves his daughter too much”. You know, he would
bring me sweets everyday and he made sure mama braided my hair in the most
beautiful satin ribbons. Oh, I wore only lace in those days. It was the thing
to do. Not even all these things that you call lace these days, what I had was
just beautiful, it was hand made, needle lace.
“Wait... But that’s not what I was telling
you about. Ah yes! So my darling father, oh he just couldn’t let go of me. You
see, I had three brothers and I was the youngest, the only girl, His own little moon papa called me No, my
father couldn’t let go of me. He said that this is India, only. He said, “Anybody
can come but this is India. Once a girl goes, she goes forever and never comes
back, so how can I let go of my little moon.”
So Mama and Papa would fight everyday. Then
one day, Papa didn’t buy me new lace when I tore my dress. Mama told Uncle Chacha’s wife, Auntie Chachi, to stitch it up for me.
You see these big gardens? Uncle Chacha
tended to them all alone. Oh it was so beautiful then. We grew apples and
oranges and lemons and don’t even let me start about the flowers that we grew.
“Oh my old age I did it again. Where was I?
Yes I was saying, so one day Papa agreed that my torn lace must be mended and
if I lost my ribbons nobody should buy me any more. We didn’t eat apple pies
anymore of drink orange juice anytime we wanted. Even Tommy, Lesley and Bob, my
brothers who were studying in England, had to come back. You see I was just a child then and I was
happy to have my brothers back. Of course I missed my ribbons and my dresses
and limitless supply of everything I wanted but you see, the way I saw it, it was
a fair bargain- give up all the fancies to be treated like a queen by your
three big brothers whom I loved dearly and missed desperately.
“But one day I heard mama and papa shouting
at each other. I can’t say that wasn’t common but, you see, they were in the
attic and I was in the garden and to hear them shouting so far away was quite
uncommon. What was worse was Mama breaking all her China. So dear it, was to
her. You know, it had these delicate blue flowers on them what is that word?
Chintz? Something like that, anyway, it was the pride and joy of her life. No
don’t misunderstand me, she loved all her children and the dogs and cats and
cows we had, but nothing could make her smile quite like her beautiful crockery
on her beautiful lace table cover. It had been a while since we had thrown a
party to put all that on the table. You see we all ate from steel plates.
Mother didn’t trust us with her plates. I mean, a bunch of hooligans like us,
of course she would worry about us breaking and chipping everything, so the
special plates were for special people.
“So you understand why I was worried when I
heard them from where I was standing in the garden. The next thing I remember
is Mama running onto the road in her tattered green gown. Why I remember that
moment is because I had never seen my mother run out onto the road. I had never
seen her run, which was shocking enough, but onto the road? That was something
I hadn’t ever thought of as possible. Something about etiquette she would say.
“Women shouldn’t run, women should comb their hair, women must keep their hands
and nails neat.” You know, my mother was very pretty. Lots of people say I
looked just like her and it made me glow. She had beautiful hair. Auntie Chachi
would brush it for her every night; “hundred strokes”, she said “to have the
hair of Rupunzel.” Sometimes she even let me comb it for her. Mama was always so
delicate. The slightest knot and she would whimper. You see, she didn’t approve
of screaming no? So to set an example she would never scream in my presence.
“Oh why don’t you tell me when I forget
about the story? All you young people, such strange notions of what is proper.
So anyway, I had never seen her go outside our gate so when I saw her run out
like that I was quite shocked. I was tempted to follow her, it might have been
quite a game, but then I remembered the noises upstairs and froze where I was.
Then Papa ran out and said to me,
“That’s it! You must get married. I will
miss you my dear girl”, then he gave me a tight hug and ran out too.
“I don’t remember too much of the rest of
the day. I was quite excited you know. I had seen my cousins get married. I
knew I would get new clothes and ribbons for that. After all, I was going to be
a bride, you know.
“I don’t know how they found Mr. Pinto and
how everything was fixed up. I think the first time I saw him was through the
veil on my wedding dress. What a strapping man that Mr. Pinto was. Some twenty-three
I was told he was. You know, he had this moustache and he certainly looked like
a charmer in his wedding suit. I couldn’t wait to begin the rest of my life
with that handsome man.
“I was told later that I had met him before,
but you know it wasn’t till I turned 40 that my memory started improving so
what to do, I didn’t remember seeing him at all. So, two days after the wedding
I was whisked off to some tea garden in Assam where his whole family grew
tea. It was a British thing to do but somehow they managed to get a hill for
themselves.
“Then two months later I was taken home out
of the blue. They said say, “Say goodbye, this is not yours anymore” and
pointed at my beautiful house.
“Now, before I tell you the next part, you
must remember that I was only fifteen and all this happened suddenly. You don’t
take a fifteen year old girl, married or otherwise to her parents house
thinking she is going to meet her family, anxious to tell them about all her
wonderful new adventures and spring a foul surprise like that on her!
My
god! I must have embarrassed my mother that day because I was wailing like a
little child, kicking and screaming. I mean I was a married woman, no? Married
women are expected to be grown up however young (or old) they might be and I here
I was clinging to that post, you see there, refusing to let go. Mr. Pinto went
into a fit and said he would leave without me if I didn’t let go and behave
like a grown up. I told him he could go, that I could live without everything
but this house. I told him, between my sobs, this was my house and nothing
could change that and that it would always be mine.
“Poor Mama and Papa, they just stood there
watching helplessly while I was being dragged off the pillar by my new husband.
I was like a beast hanging on to its prized catch. How that man pulled me. Oh,
bless his soul and may he rest in peace, Mr. Pinto was such a gentleman. That
was the only time he treated me like that. I probably deserved it too, but, you
see, it was my garden and my pillar and house and my… Well I could do this
forever. I just couldn’t part with any of it.
“Mr. Pinto had decided it would be a one
month holiday where I could spend a long time saying goodbye to the house I
grew up in. Clearly, he didn’t anticipate the tantrum I threw. So after all
that travelling, I was only allowed to stay home from the time I walked in
through the gates to the time I was roughly pulled off the pillar.
“That was the last I saw of my parents
before they died together. You know, nobody told me what happened to them. No,
not the part about their train being derailed during what was considered part
of the freedom struggle but about what happened to them after the house was
sold. My brothers also refused to tell me. Then they all died and it remained a
mystery. I would still like to know but there is nobody left to ask.
“See I’ve take off again and you didn’t
tell me. Where was I? Ah yes, so once Mr. Pinto yanked me off the pillar I was
sent back to Assam
where I made countless devious plans to get back my beloved house. You see, I
was happy only in that tea garden, knowing that my house missed me but then to
suddenly be told that I could never come back to the house just broke my heart.
But then things were what they were and for 26 years I didn’t see my house. My
husband and son kept me busy for all that time. Left to myself, I know I would
have acted on one of those plans.
“Then one by one the whole Pinto family
died. First, it was the parents then the son and I don’t know about the rest of
the family but I didn’t wait to hear from them when Mr. Pinto died. You know I
missed the family. They were so patient with me. Mr. Pinto’s mother was as nice
to me as Mama and Mr. Pinto’s father doted on me. They never had any daughters,
you see. There was genuine affection among us. Oh and Mr. Pinto, I still blush
to think of all the things he taught me. Dear man, I still miss him.
“So once Mr. Pinto passed, I grieved my
husband’s death for a month. It was too much really. Even after all that time I
had not really grown up. I was always treated like a spoilt child, no. So when
my whole family died I decided enough of this I will go back to the place that
made me happiest.
I quickly packed my bags before the rest of
the family turned up at the doorstep, found a lawyer and some other people and
all and sold the bloody hill. I packed exactly what I needed and reached Bombay.
That’s when I really grew up. I tell you, a
single woman in Bombay
has much to learn. Especially one who decides to move into a temporary house
and adamantly decides to have a particular house.
“After one year of battling with the world
I finally got my beautiful house back. Of course I was cheated. Think about it
no, who trades a hill for a three storied bungalow? But then again any seller
could see that this crazy woman wasn’t counting the Rupees. I was on a mission
to get my beloved house back and so I did. My poor son also, Jeff, stuck in London that time couldn’t
do a thing. I was a grieving widow and orphan on a mission and no man in his
right mind would choose to get in her way.
“Ah! So that is how I came to get my
beautiful house back. I’m never letting it go. No. All those builders come and
say some rubbish but who’ll give them this beauty to tear down into something
that is lots of ugly boxes stacked one over the other? I’ve told that Jeff also
that he is not getting the house. What will he do with it anyway in that London? So I’ve written
to the Government, some heritage site something, some reporter was telling me.
I told you no, anything to protect my house, so I wrote to some people. They’ll
come sometime and help me. Hopefully I won’t die before that.
“Ah yes some endless families from
everywhere came demanding a piece of my house. I told them off. You, dear
child, see a frail woman, but if you threaten my house and my child you’ll see
the other side of me. I’m at peace now. I have everything I want. If I die in
this house I’ll be the happiest woman there ever was.”
The story never changed. Not the deviances,
not the admonitions in the middle- nothing. Mrs. Pinto breathed her last in her
beautiful house and the pack of wolves for builders clamoured to buy the house
again but Mrs. Pinto had thought of everything before the end.
You can still see the house in the middle
of what she called little boxes stacked
on top of each other. It is a heritage site now, untouched by change, held
in a time wrap.
