The Landlady

I tried to gulp the hot tea down in a hurry and sputtered, spilling some over my blouse. Darn! I reached for the tissue box. Then glancing at the huge clock on the wall, I cursed my alarm clock for not sounding at the set time yet again. I knew I would be late for work and didn’t have the gall to face Mr. Yunas.

Mr. Yunas, who? My boss, of course! Yeah, I knew he would never pass the opportunity of giving me a long, boring lecture on punctuality and commitment …and, oh, ‘sense of responsibility’! No matter how hard I tried to avoid him, he always managed to find time to give me that disapproving look whenever I turned up late - which was not that infrequent, mind you! Then he would start droning in that dull monotone that made me want to punch his nose! Unfortunately, I couldn’t do that … why, I needed the job!

I took a deep breath to steady my nerves and shake off my gloomy thoughts. I can handle it, I told myself, and pulled out a burnt toast from the toaster. The light thump-thump of the measured steps of my landlady, as she carried out her morning rituals in the small room she occupied above my modest abode, was beginning to irritate me. I tried to ignore it and went on with my ritual of having a breakfast that would’ve shamed a faqir! Well, I’d never been one to confuse necessities with luxuries - burnt toast and scalding tea worked just fine for me!

Wiping the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand, I took another sip of what was left in the cup. My thoughts drifted to the old widow upstairs, Mrs. Viqar-un-nisa Rahimdad. She was quite a character. She liked to be called by her full name, but I just called her Auntie to soften her image and bring her to my level from the high pedestal she liked to occupy when dealing with tenants. Unfortunately for her, I was just not willing to be pushed around anymore!

Her appearance complemented the impact she aimed to create with her name. She was tall and thin, with sharp intelligent eyes - eyes that missed nothing! - and a shrill voice to match. She kept her hair tied in a neat bun at her nape, mostly kept covered with a dupatta. The only thing that didn’t seem to fit was a truly hideous toothless grin that she displayed on! She had a nasty sense of humour, too… laughed like a hyena at her own jokes … especially if the joke was on me!

Darn that old hag! But I needed the accommodation she’d rented out to me at throwaway rates! No, she hadn’t taken pity on me when I turned up at her doorstep in that state, fresh from my divorce, to inquire about the flat some eight months ago. She was a real Beast! Naturally, there was a catch: I had to keep her company for a couple of hours every evening.

Why I agreed to that, I can never understand. I soon discovered the pure torture of enduring - with a smile, I might add - all her stupid jokes and listening attentively when she blamed and cursed her son and daughter-in-law for all her ills. (I presumed they had pushed her out after her husband’s death.) I was also required to stare wide-eyed and make suitable sounds of fascination as she reminisced about her wonderful previous life… old people have a habit of glorifying their past, you know! And it was quite an effort, I can tell you, to look impressed with the same stories being repeated over and over again!

Now, now…don’t give me that knowing look…I’m not going to repeat mine!

Where was I? Err… yes, I had noticed of late that she’d taken to cursing a lot… and seemed to grow nastier by the day. I dare say who’d want her around, obnoxious as she was? Yes, that’s right, dear - only someone who didn’t have a choice…and that would be me, I guess!

Yep, that was me – no home, no family, and no purpose in life except for day to day survival…wish it were as simple as it sounds, though!

It all started when my mother chose to die the moment she’d given birth to me - why, one would expect she could’ve waited long enough to provide me with a sibling at the very least! And, naturally, my Dad didn’t want me to grow up without a woman around, so he promptly handed me over to my maternal grandmother and took off! After the good ol’ Granny passed away, I got married to the first guy who happened to ask me! Hey, what was I supposed to do? I wasn’t getting any younger at thirty-five, you know. And anyway, a gal like me couldn’t afford to pass on opportunities when they eventually knocked…or so I thought.

As it was, it didn’t work out and I parted ways from the husband who never could find anything worth appreciating in me from the moment we’d solemnized the nikah. Well, to be fair, I soon realized that the feeling was mutual! In fact, I don’t know why I married him in the first place…perhaps, I had confused dependence with love, as we so often do in life!

Hmmm… that sure was cured, though, when he ran into the waiting arms of his former love! Everyone said I shouldn’t have given him up so easily … but honestly, I was just so darned glad, I said, ‘Good riddance!’ and moved on!

Well, anyway… where was I? Uh…um…yes, I was getting late…so, having stacked the dirty dishes in the sink, I reached over and gathered my purse. Then, I stepped out and locked the door behind me. Habitually, I turned and waved. The old lady gave me her usual nod of acknowledgement.

Did she look a little pale, or was it my imagination? I considered for a brief moment…but the disapproving eyes of Mr. Yunas seemed to bore holes into my face with Black & Decker drilling precision, so I decided against giving it any serious thought and floored the accelerator, rushing off to my destination at breakneck speed. Ah, me…and the vitality of youth!

“Good day, Ms. Early-bird!” said Mr. Sarcasm, the moment I entered the office.

Long day ahead, I could tell!

Time, somehow, seemed to come to a standstill in the office where I worked as assistant to the Boss’s secretary…just carrying around files that nobody wanted! Nothing grand, I know, but I was hoping to graduate to being the secretary one day. Of course, only if Mr. Yunas happened to suffer a heart attack that day!

When the clock finally struck five, I was the first one to jump to my feet…much to the annoyance of you-know-who! But a gal’s gotta do what a gal’s gotta do…so I ignored his daunting looks and, leaving the work unfinished on my desk, strode out of the office feigning childlike innocence! Yeah, I was good at that!

Safely inside the car, I turned up the volume of the stereo and humming along with my favourite Beatles song, backed out of the parking lot and drove off. Life was great.

I’ll get something sweet for the old lady, I suddenly decided, and swerved into the parking area of the famous bakery. She loved sweets … and so did I, for that matter! But, you see, that wasn’t really the reason I was being so generous… we needed to negotiate the rent for the next year - she’d been indicating to me for the past two weeks - and I wanted to be on the right side of her that day! I picked up her favourite coffeecake.

Reaching my destination, I slowed down and turned into the gate. I parked in the driveway. As I started climbing the steps to her room, I started thinking of all the excuses I’d have to make to get her to stick to our previous arrangement. But she was a sly one, the Old Devil!

“Yes?” I heard a subdued voice, as I knocked.

Whatever happened to the bellow that I was used to hearing? Tentatively, I entered her lair. The room was slightly dark and appeared gloomy, the only light being that from the window. She was not in her usual place, sitting stiff-backed or stiff-necked, but instead lying in bed!

“Are you alright, Auntie?” I asked her, concerned…genuinely so, mind you!

“Of course I’m alright! You don’t think I’d die so soon and leave this place to you?” She drawled, but the bite was missing…

I laughed - as I was supposed to - but what was the matter with her anyway? I wondered.

“Bring that album to me and take a chair.” She commanded, pointing one bony finger towards the dusty bookshelf.

‘Oh, the privilege!’ I thought to myself. She had never before allowed me to go near the rack! I placed the cake on the small side table and walked over with exaggerated casualness, making it look like something I did everyday lest she should change her mind. I picked up the worn-out album and handed it to her.

She started flipping through the pages. There was a softness about her features holding an unfathomable depth of emotion as her eyes rested on the face of a middle-aged man. Her late husband, I guessed. Then she turned the page to the picture of her son. A shadow crossed over her face.

“Do you know why I don’t allow my son to come and see me?” she asked.

I remembered the last visit, a couple of months ago. I had heard loud voices and, concerned, run upstairs to check on her …and almost bumped into an aggressive-looking young man, who brushed past without any acknowledgement. She had told me then, quite matter-of-factly, that he was her son who was rushing off to take care of some urgent matter.

Since I’d never seen him before, I’d presumed that like most youngsters of his age he didn’t have any time for his old mother…and like most mothers of all generations, she was just covering for his lack of manners!

“I...err…I thought it was the other way around.” I ventured cautiously.

She laughed…a bitter, unnatural sound. “The love of my life, snatched from me by my own son!” she spoke with a mixture of pain and hatred that I found both pitiful and sinister…and in her eyes was raw, undisguised pain…

I refrained from making any comment... what did she mean, ‘love of her life snatched by her own son’, anyway?

She appeared to be in a mood to share some secrets…unusual! Well, I didn’t mind…I’d built a lifetime around keeping secrets – my own mostly! - and confidentiality had become second nature to me. Besides, I was a bit curious to learn about her past since she never indulged in idle chatter anyway.

“He was a wonderful human being…adored me…took care of me all his life…but succumbed to the greed of his own flesh and blood.”

Tears started to roll, following an irregular path down her wrinkled cheeks, to her chin and beyond. She spoke with bitterness. I didn’t know what to do…so I passed her a tissue, and patted her hand. She jerked her hand away so quickly, it frightened me. I stood up hastily and looked at the door, not sure about my welcome anymore. Realizing my discomfort, she smiled reassuringly…as if to say: “I’m sorry, dear, I got carried away!”

Aloud, she commanded, “Sit down.” I sat down again, perched on the edge of my seat…not an easy thing to do, believe me!

Then she picked up the thread again. “He jabbed the gun in his father’s face and threatened him… ‘It’s my right’ he kept saying…I tried to stop him, to get him to see reason, but his greed had blinded him. If only Rahimdad had given him the money, he would still be alive.” She looked so frail.

“Did your son murder your husband?” I blurted out, shocked.

“No”, she whispered, barely audible. “The gun went off accidentally, of course….” She asserted flatly, not sounding the least bit convincing. “I told the police so…but the ungrateful one now roams about threatening me with dire consequences if I don’t hand over the house to him. ‘It’s my right!’ he says…called me yesterday…he only thinks about himself… I’m damned if I even leave it to him in my will… why, I’d rather leave it to you!” Hotly, she exclaimed…the woman I was used to dealing with, emerged from under the wraps of the frail creature, briefly.

I was startled by her outburst- though not so displeased with the idea, I have to admit. I gave a nervous laugh and cleared my throat to say something appropriate. But she didn’t give me a chance.

“Draw the curtains.” She seemed to withdraw into herself. It was time to leave her to her thoughts.

Slowly, I got up marvelling at her strength. It was the first time in the last eight months I’d known her that she’d seemed close to…err…well, being human! The old woman had a painful memory to account for every wrinkle, every strand of graying hair, and yet her mannerism never gave me a clue about the turmoil within. I couldn’t have guessed she’d been through so much.

As I placed the album back on the rack, I remembered reading something a long time back… a truth that had struck me as strange at the time…something about old age being a quiet place of acceptance because all the sorrows ultimately turn out to be the same. I hadn’t agreed with the writer then. Perhaps age and experience taught one those bitter lessons … and I simply wasn’t old enough to have gathered that kind of wisdom! Naïvely, I had drawn erroneous conclusions about her, taking everything at face value…

I sighed inaudibly, and closed the door quietly behind me.

I was rather subdued the rest of the day…brooding over the events …finding no answers to the host of questions flurrying through my head in a rush…

It must have been very difficult for her to see her husband being killed by her own son and not even get justice… for what mother could stand against her own?

What misguided notion of rights had the son exercised by trampling his father’s right to live and his mother’s right to the protection and care of a loving husband?

Was it a question of rights, really, or just plain selfishness that restricted one’s vision to one’s own needs?

And why do we exercise our right to hate so much more often than the right to love, anyway?

As I dwelled upon the story of the old woman, I began to feel a wave of sadness wash over me…

Memories of my own dilemmas came rushing back, threatening my meticulously re-constructed existence. I remembered how Sohail used to exercise his rights… dictating his ‘dos and don’ts’ all the time, while throwing in little crumbs of comfort every now and then to help me go on… suffocating me slowly and systematically.

How, for a long, long time, I had tortured myself over my inability to convey to him how his high-handedness inflicted deep scars upon my soul…till I finally came to the sad realization that he knew exactly what it was doing to me…

Gosh, was I glad I was free!

The rest of the day passed in a haze… several times I thought of going to her but I knew she didn’t like pity and would’ve been irritated. So I let her be…and late into the night, I fell into a disturbed, exhausted sleep…

The next morning as I woke to the sound of the alarm, I forced myself out of bed. Enough! I said aloud… no more mulling over spilt milk!

I decided to please the Boss with my punctuality so that he wouldn’t make a fuss when I asked for short-leave at noon! Actually, I had planned to spend the day with Auntie …and may be we could even have lunch together! Ah, I knew I was taking a big risk… no, not regarding the short leave, but with Auntie… for she was not much averse to biting when not in a good mood!

Summoning some hidden strength slumbering of yore, I made a dash for the shower and changed into a cool outfit. Then, picking up my keys, I stepped out. As I turned to look at the window on the first floor I waved instinctively, but Auntie’s familiar face was missing from its usual place. The gaudy floral curtains in the open window fluttered in the wind fast catching strength. It had started to drizzle. I ran to the car…didn’t want to get caught in the downpour, which seemed imminent.

‘Where the devil is she?’ I wondered aloud. She was never absent from her vigil at the window…not once in the last eight months had she missed seeing me off.

May be I should check on her in case she’s fallen ill, I thought. She did seem rather low on spirits the day before. But then, not wanting to offend the Brute yet again – not that day, anyway - I decided to call her from the office.

Little did I know...

She had died very quietly in her sleep during the night, saying her final goodbye to the invisible throng of ghosts that filled her life when the real-life souls had betrayed her. Was she thinking of me, I still wonder, as the final breath escaped her parched, parted lips - painlessly, I hope - and allowed her easy passage from the world of cruelty and selfishness to eternal bliss?

Did she will me her house? Thankfully, no, this is not a movie, dear! Things don’t quite happen that way in real life. And, anyway, if she had left it to me, I’d be forever fighting court battles with her son…or perhaps, he’d have sent me on an all expenses paid one-way trip, six feet under!

Understandably, she left it to a charity…much to the annoyance of the Ungrateful One! Of course, he contested the will; raised quite a bit of fuss but I was not going to let him get away with another atrocity. So I appeared as witness to her will, and the court chose to believe me! A little white lie never hurt anybody, anyway!

‘Damn the murderer!’ I exclaimed aloud with feeling, as I neared the end of my story, and rolled my eyes at Alveena who was scribbling away diligently! The aspiring little writer! As she looked up and fixed her gaze on me, I felt a little uncomfortable…that sharp, scrutinizing stare…I had an incredible feeling of déjà vu…

I continued, trying to sound convincing... ‘The Charity let me stay on as the tenant, but I shifted to this room that Auntie had occupied, to give them more space for their work. Unfortunately, the NGO had to close down its offices in the country within a year…your Dad bought the place…and I guess the tenant was inherited along with it! I chuckled.

She scanned the pages of her notebook. She was collecting ‘real life stuff’ for her book, she had said. What a well-mannered, sensible girl she was … for all her seventeen years! She had not interrupted me once while I sat recounting the tale of my ordinary life…not even when I’d drifted off pensively every now and then…

I’m glad she didn’t ask me many questions either, for I didn’t have the right answers…

Suddenly I felt drained, re-living the sadness of it all over again. I sighed wearily, and looked at Alveena. “End of story time, Veena Dear”, I said wearily. “Draw the curtains.”

She smiled as she gathered her notepad, and got up. “You’re so brave, Auntie. You did the right thing. I would never have let him have the house either, that murderer!”

Then, as she leaned forward to pull the curtains, she called out to her father down below who had been washing his car in the driveway. His wife stood nearby inspecting rows of dahlias in full bloom. As he looked up, she smiled and blew him a kiss.

I turned my face away, and stared into space. A stray tear escaped my eye. Real life is so different from the world of dreams, I quietly mused - thankful she couldn’t read my thoughts…

…in stories we have no fears, and can claim to have stood up against cruelty and wickedness because no one can refute our assertions…and so we have nothing to lose. While in reality, so many compromises have to be made to endure the ordeal of survival. Besides, what difference does it make to Alveena whether my version of the story is the whole truth or not?

I like Alveena. She’s a real nice kid. And it’s not her fault she’s his daughter.


Tahera Sajid
2.01.08
(Words: 3520)