Free A Life Less Ordinary by Baby Halder

bear this tension between the two of you because of me. God knows why it happens, but I must leave.”
    I would have said more, but just then my cousin came running and cried out to Ma that her brother had died. Ma began to cry, and Grandmother, who was there, fainted. Baba did not know what to do or who to look after. He took Ma with him and went quickly to her brother’s house. I was left at home with Grandmother. Many of the neighbors came along to comfort her. I sat her down and sprinkled her forehead with water, but she was inconsolable, and kept sobbing.
    When Ma and Baba got to Uncle’s home, they found his body laid out in front of the house. Ma sat down at his feet and began to cry. My aunt’s grief was different. Everyone around had been so unkind to her because she had not borne any children and she, too, no longer had any real interest in my uncle. The neighbors got everything ready to take Uncle away. Ma was sent to fetch Grandmother so she could look at her son’s face one last time. But then everyone began to say that she shouldn’t be taken to see him, that she would not be able to stand to see him like that, and so Ma showed her his face from quite far away and then took her into the house.
    Uncle had no son, so his last rites had to be performed by Grandmother’s younger son. He had had his head shaved for this. On the satkarya day, they all went and left me at home—I had not left until then because Baba had held me back, saying he would not be able to manage two distraught and grief-stricken women on his own.
    The moment the rituals were over, I set off for home. When I got there, I found the house was locked. I went to Sandhya-di’s. When she saw me she exclaimed, “ Arre , you’re back so soon? We were just talking about you. We thought you’d finish everything and then come back.”
    â€œDo you think anyone can survive that daily bickering?” I replied. “I was going to come back much earlier but because my uncle died, I had to stay on. Do you know why my house is locked up? How will I get in?”
    â€œThere’s nothing you can do. Just wait here till Shankar comes back.”
    â€œCan you not ask Bhagirath to take a look? My husband may still be at the decorator’s shop.” So Sandhya-di sent her son off to find him.
    Sandhya-di was Bengali and her husband Bihari, so shewould speak to her children and her husband in Bihari, but would talk to me in Bengali. In a short while, Bhagirath came back with the key. He said he’d found my husband at the shop and when he told him that I had returned, my husband just gave him the key and sent him straight back. I took the key and went home. When I opened the door, the sight that assailed me made my head spin: the house was filthy, with dust and mud everywhere; the kitchen was full of mouse holes where they had dug up the earthen floor and nested; all the utensils were lying in a heap, soiled from being used and caked with dried-up food. It was so terrible that I felt deeply ashamed. I could not bear it, and I ran to Sandhya-di’s house and began beating my head on the wall. When she asked me what was wrong I said to her, “Didi, just come and take a look at the state of the house.”
    â€œI know what it is like,” she said, “I don’t need to see for myself. This is what happens when there is no woman in the house.” After a while she added, “I noticed that often there were days when he would not even bathe, and he’d cook in the same dirty utensils and eat.”
    â€œBut why should it need a woman around for a place to stay clean? A man should at least keep the place where he cooks and eats clean.”
    Sometimes Grandmother would visit me. One day when she came, I said to her, “Look, just look at what a state my home is in.”
    â€œMy dear child,” she said to me, “everything is in your hands. You need to sit him down and