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Dina Dalal seldom indulged in looking back at her life with
regret or bitterness, or questioning why things had turned out the way
they had, cheating her of the bright future everyone had predicted for her
when she was in school, when her name was still Dina Shroff. And if she
did sink into one of these rare moods, she quickly swam out of it. What
was the point of repeating the story over and over and over, she asked
herself-it always ended the same way; whichever corridor she took, she
wound up in the same room.
Dina's father had been a doctor, a GP
with a modest practice who followed the Hippocratic oath somewhat more
passionately than others of his profession. During the early years of Dr.
Shroff's career, his devotion to his work was diagnosed, by peers, family
members, and senior physicians, as typical of youthful zeal and vigour.
"How refreshing, this enthusiasm of the young," they smiled, nodding
sagely, confident that time would douse the fires of idealism with a
healthy dose of cynicism and family responsibilities.
But marriage,
and the arrival of a son, followed eleven years later by a daughter,
changed nothing for Dr. Shroff. Time only sharpened the imbalance between
his fervour to ease suffering and his desire to earn a comfortable
income.
"How disappointing," said friends and relatives, shaking
their heads. "Such high hopes we had for him. And he keeps slaving like a
clerk, like a fanatic, refusing to enjoy life. Poor Mrs. Shroff. Never a
vacation, never a party-no fun at all in her existence."
At
fifty-one, when Most GPS would have begun considering options like working
half-time, hiring an inexpensive junior, or even selling the practice in
favour of early retirement, Dr. Shroff had neither the bank balance nor
the temperament to permit such indulgences. Instead, he volunteered to
lead a campaign of medical graduates bound for districts in the interior.
There, where typhoid and cholera, unchallenged by science or technology,
were still reaping their routine harvest of villagers, Dr. Shroff would
try to seize the deadly sickles or, at the very least, to blunt
them.
But Mrs. Shroff undertook a different sort of campaign: to
dissuade her husband from going into what she felt were the jaws of
certain death. She attempted to coach Dina with words to sway her father.
After all, Dina, at twelve, was Daddy's darling. Mrs. Shroff knew that her
son, Nusswan, could be of no help in this enterprise. Enlisting him would
have ruined any chance of changing her husband's mind.
The turning
point in the father-and-son relationship had come seven years ago, on
Nusswan's sixteenth birthday. Uncles and aunts had been invited to dinner,
and someone said, "Well, Nusswan, you will soon be studying to become a
doctor, just like your father."
"I don't want to be a doctor,"
Nusswan answered. "I'll be going into business-import and
export."
Some of the uncles and aunts nodded approvingly. Others
recoiled in mock horror, turning to Dr. Shroff. "Is this true? No
father-son partnership?"
"Of course it's true," he said. "My
children are free to do whatever they please."
But five-year-old
Dina had seen the hurt on her father's face before he could hide it. She
ran to him and clambered onto his lap. "Daddy, I want to be a doctor, just
like you, when I grow up."
Everyone laughed and applauded, and
said, Smart little girl, knows how to get what she wants. Later, they
whispered that the son was obviously not made of the same solid stuff as
the father-no ambition, wouldn't amount to much.
Dina had repeated
her wish in the years to come, continuing to regard her father as some
kind of god who gave people good health, who struggled against illness,
and who, sometimes, succeeded in temporarily thwarting death. And Dr.
Shroff was delighted with his bright child. On parents' night at the
convent school, the principal and teachers always had the highest praise
for her. She would succeed if she wanted to, Dr. Shroff knew it for
certain.
Mrs. Shroff also knew, for certain, that her daughter was
the one to recruit in the campaign against Dr. Shroff's foolish
philanthropic plan of working in remote, Godforsaken villages. But Dina
refused to cooperate; she did not approve of devious means to keep her
beloved father home.
Then Mrs. Shroff resorted to other methods,
using not money or his personal safety or his family to persuade him, for
she knew these would fail hopelessly. Instead, she invoked his patients,
claiming he was abandoning them, old and frail and helpless. "What will
they do if you go so far away? They trust you and rely on you. How can you
be so cruel? You have no idea how much you mean to them."
"No, that
is not the point," said Dr. Shroff. He was familiar with the anfractuous
arguments that her love for him could prompt her to wield. Patiently he
explained there were GPS galore in the city who could take care of the
assorted aches and pains-where he was going, the people had no one. He
comforted her that it was only a temporary assignment, hugging and kissing
her much more than was usual for him. "I promise to be back soon," he
said. "Before you even grow used to my absence."
But Dr. Shroff
could not keep his promise. Three weeks into the medical campaign he was
dead, not from typhoid or cholera, but from a cobra's bite, far from the
lifesaving reach of antivenins.
Mrs. Shroff received the news
calmly. People said it was because she was a doctor's wife, more familiar
with death than other mortals. They reasoned that Dr. Shroff must have
often carried such tidings to her regarding his own patients, thus
preparing her for the inevitable.
When she took brisk charge of the
funeral arrangements, managing everything with superb efficiency, people
wondered if there was not something a little abnormal about her behaviour.
Between disbursing funds from her handbag for the various expenses, she
accepted condolences, comforted grieving relatives, tended the oil lamp at
the head of Dr. Shroff's bed, washed and ironed her white sari, and made
sure there was a supply of incense and sandalwood in the house. She
personally instructed the cook about the special vegetarian meal for the
next day.
After the full four days of death ceremonies, Dina was
still crying. Mrs. Shroff, who was busy tallying the prayer-bungalow
charges from the Towers of Silence, said briskly, "Come, my daughter, be
sensible now. Daddy would not like this." So Dina did her best to control
herself.
Then Mrs. Shroff continued absentmindedly, writing out the
cheque. "You could have stopped him if you wanted. He would have listened
to you," she said.
Dina's sobs burst out with renewed intensity. In
addition to the grief for her father, her tears now included anger towards
her mother, even hatred. It would take her a few months to understand that
there was no malice or accusation contained in what had been said, just a
sad and simple statement of fact as seen by her mother.
Six months
after Dr. Shroff's death, after being the pillar that everyone could lean
on, Mrs. Shroff gradually began to crumble. Retreating from daily life,
she took very little interest in the running of her household or in her
own person.
It made little difference to Nusswan, who was
twenty-three and busy planning his own future. But Dina, at twelve, could
have done with a parent for a few more years. She missed her father
dreadfully. Her mother's withdrawal made it much worse.
Nusswan
Shroff had earned his own living as a businessman for two years prior to
his father's death. He was still single, living at home, saving his money
while searching for a suitable flat and a suitable wife. With his father's
passing and his mother's reclusion, he realized that the pursuit of a flat
was unnecessary, and a wife, urgent.
He now assumed the role of
head of the family, and legal guardian to Dina. All their relatives agreed
this was as it should be. They praised his selfless decision, admitting
they had been wrong about his capabilities. He also took over the family
finances, promising that his mother and sister would want for nothing; he
would look after them out of his own salary. But, even as he spoke, he
knew there was no need for this. The money from the sale of Dr. Shroff's
dispensary was sufficient.
Nusswan's first decision as head of the
family was to cut back on the hired help. The cook, who came for half the
day and prepared the two main meals, was kept on; Lily, the live-in
servant, was let go. "We cannot continue in the same luxury as before," he
declared. "I just can't afford the wages."
Mrs. Shroff expressed
some doubt about the change. "Who will do the cleaning? My hands and feet
don't work like before."
"Don't worry, Mamma, we will all share it.
You can do easy things, like dusting the furniture. We can wash our own
cups and saucers, surely. And Dina is a young girl, full of energy. It
will be good for her, teach her how to look after a home."
"Yes,
maybe you are right," said Mrs. Shroff, vaguely convinced of the need for
money-saving measures.
But Dina knew there was more to it. The week
before, while passing the kitchen on her way to the wc well past midnight,
she had noticed her brother with the ayah: Lily sitting on one end of the
kitchen table, her feet resting on the edge; Nusswan, his pyjamas around
his ankles, stood between Lily's thighs, clasping her hips to him. Dina
watched his bare buttocks with sleepy curiosity, then crept back to bed
without using the toilet, her cheeks flushed. But she must have lingered a
moment too long, for Nusswan had seen her.
Not a word was spoken
about it. Lily departed (with a modest bonus, unbeknownst to Mrs. Shroff),
tearfully declaring that she would never find as nice a family to work for
ever again. Dina felt sorry for her, and also despised her.
Then
the new household arrangement got under way. Everyone made an honest
effort. The experiment in self-reliance seemed like fun. "It's a little
like going camping," said Mrs. Shroff.
"That's the spirit," said
Nusswan.
With the passing of days, Dina's chores began to increase.
As a token of his participation, Nusswan continued to wash his cup,
saucer, and breakfast plate before going to work. Beyond that, he did
nothing.
One morning, after swallowing his last gulp of tea, he
said, "I'm very late today, Dina. Please wash my things."
"I'm not
your servant! Wash your own dirty plates!" Weeks of pent-up resentment
came gushing. "You said we would each do our own work! All your stinking
things you leave for me!"
"Listen to the little tigress," said
Nusswan, amused.
"You mustn't speak like that to your big brother,"
chided Mrs. Shroff gently. "Remember, we must share and share
alike."
"He's cheating! He doesn't do any work! I do
everything!"
Nusswan hugged his mother: "Bye-bye, Mamma," and gave
Dina a friendly pat on the shoulder to make up. She shrank from him. "The
tigress is still angry," he said and left for the office.
Mrs.
Shroff tried to soothe Dina, promising to discuss it later with Nusswan,
maybe convince him to hire a part-time ayah, but her resolve melted within
hours. Matters continued as before. As weeks went by, instead of restoring
fairness in the household, she began turning into one of the chores on her
daughter's ever-growing list.
Now Mrs. Shroff had to be told what
to do. When food was placed before her, she ate it, though it did her
little good, for she kept losing weight. She had to be reminded to bathe
and change her clothes. If toothpaste was squeezed out and handed to her
on the brush, she brushed her teeth. For Dina, the most unpleasant task
was helping her mother wash her hair-it fell out in clumps on the bathroom
floor, and more followed when she combed it for her.
Once every
month, Mrs. Shroff attended her husband's prayers at the fire-temple. She
said it gave her great comfort to hear the elderly Dustoor Framji's
soothing tones supplicating for her husband's soul. Dina missed school to
accompany her mother, worried about her wandering off
somewhere.
Before commencing the ceremony, Dustoor Framji
unctuously shook Mrs. Shroff's hand and gave Dina a prolonged hug of the
sort he reserved for girls and young women. His reputation for squeezing
and fondling had earned him the title of Dustoor Daab-Chaab, along with
the hostility of his colleagues, who resented not so much his actions but
his lack of subtlety, his refusal to disguise his embraces with fatherly
or spiritual concern. They feared that one day he would go too far, drool
over his victim or something, and disgrace the fire-temple.
Dina
squirmed in his grasp as he patted her head, rubbed her neck, stroked her
back and pressed himself against her. He had a very short beard, stubble
that resembled flakes of grated coconut, and it scraped her cheeks and
forehead. He released her just when she had summoned enough courage to
tear her trapped body from his arms.
After the fire-temple, for the
rest of the day at home Dina tried to make her mother talk, asking her
advice about housework or recipes, and when that failed, about Daddy, and
the days of their newlywed lives. Faced with her mother's dreamy silences,
Dina felt helpless. Soon, her concern for her mother was tempered by the
instinct of youth which held her back-she would surely receive her portion
of grief and sorrow in due course, there was no need to take on the burden
prematurely.
And Mrs. Shroff spoke in monosyllables or sighs,
staring into Dina's face for answers. As for dusting the furniture, she
could never proceed beyond wiping the picture frame containing her
husband's graduation photograph. She spent most of her time gazing out the
window.
Nusswan preferred to regard his mother's disintegration as
a widow's appropriate renunciation, wherein she was sloughing off the
dross of life to concentrate on spiritual matters. He focused his
attention on the raising of Dina. The thought of the enormous
responsibility resting on his shoulders worried him ceaselessly.
He
had always perceived his father to be a strict disciplinarian; he had
stood in awe of him, had even been a little frightened of him. If he was
to fill his father's shoes, he would have to induce the same fear in
others, he decided, and prayed regularly for courage and guidance in his
task. He confided to the relatives-the uncles and aunts-that Dina's
defiance, her stubbornness, was driving him crazy, and only the Almighty's
help gave him the strength to go forward in his duty.
His sincerity
touched them. They promised to pray for him too. "Don't worry, Nusswan,
everything will be all right. We will light a lamp at the fire-temple."
Excerpted from A Fine Balance by Rohinton Mistry
Copyright 1997 by Rohinton Mistry. Excerpted by permission of Vintage, a
division of Random House, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this
excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing
from the publisher.