Daffodils - Part I

“Today the Indian Film Industry in celebrating the 20th anniversary of the philosopher, intellect, genius, script writer, director ever born to the film Industry, a loss which nothing can make up. 25 out of his 30 movies acclaimed recognitions either at the National level or in the State level. A true example of unprecedented creative writer. A legend. We are now at the ‘Daffodils’, Indrajith’s hide-out house from where he gave birth to all his characters in the movie and where the vital discussion of all his movies used to take place. Even though he exposed the dark stories in common man’s life to the light in the silver screen, the motive of his suicide still remains in dark. Alarmingly he committed suicide from the terrace of the same building” Shamita Roy with camera man Ajay for Abc news.

A genius who jumped from the terrace of a single storey building to suicide. Even a fool wouldn’t attempt suicide that way, leave alone a genius like my husband. I am Shanti, Indrajith’s proud wife. The world did not question his suicide as the post mortem report had already revealed a tumor in his pancreas – a probable reason that convinced all his fans and the film industry of his reason for a suicide. But I know it was never a suicide.

Born to a lower middle class family in a hamlet in Palakkad district of Kerala, he wrote his first story in the school magazine when he was 8 years old. 2 years junior to him, I always admired him. Being his uncle’s daughter and a neighbour I grew up with him. Though I did not understand the depths in what he wrote, I always tore the pages of his article from the magazine and kept them safe in the old rusted suitcase where I kept my books. He always hated science and maths. Different from all the boys of his age, neither army nor engineering attracted him. Films had always fascinated him. He used to steal money from his father’s pocket and watch movies in a ‘C’ class theatre, the only theatre in the village. He used to write the stories of those movies, in his own perspective and then throw it away, even that finally took a place in the rusted military suitcase. In the initial stages, I used to understand everything he wrote, with time the depth in his writings took him to a different level, far beyond what I could make out. Still I used to keep all of his writings safe. After completing a one year course in film making, he was all set to go to Kodambakkam, Chennai, the paradise of all film makers then. His plans startled the entire family. His mother agreed to send him, only after his marriage. He objected the very idea and when it turned to be the bottle neck in the pursuit of his dreams, he agreed.
My father was already ready to lend my hand as they were financially better of us and no dowry was demanded. As for any other girl, it was a dream come true for me to live with a person whom I admire. In the presence of some close relatives we got engaged. He never talked to me even after the engagement and the reason was obvious. But I was happy that I could be with the one whom I loved from my childhood. Within a short span of a fortnight the marriage was solemnized. I still remember the first night. My hands were trembling out of nervousness. I sat on the decorated bed in the gaudy saree. Opening sound of the door made my heart tremble more. I held both my palms tight.
I raised my head, and saw him. He came inside and turning back closed the door. I began to sweat a bit, nothing unusual for a village girl. He came near the bed and sat next to me. After a long silence, he spoke to me. He asked ‘Do you know what an arranged marriage is? ’
I dint even have the courage to lift my face. With a sigh he himself gave the answer ‘Arranged Marriage is an unwritten contract, where you have to compulsorily fall in love with your partner. You don’t have a choice. I dint ever think that I too would be trapped in this’ I opened my palm and looked at the mehandi design. ‘Women want lot of sex with the man they love, while men want a lot of sex – these are not my findings, but of Anne Moir and David Jessel’ he continued. Those words seemed too big for a village girl like me to digest. ‘But I have always loved you, right form my childhood. I admire you. It’s a dream that is cherished today’ the feeble voice within me mumbled loud enough that only I could hear. I don’t know what stopped me. I couldn’t ever express the love I had for him. He took the pillow keeping it between us and placed himself in one corner of the bed and I took the other.
Few days went like this without much conversation and after a week I saw him packing his things. I stood near him without uttering a word. He took the suitcase and a bag and said ‘I am leaving for Chennai’. ‘When will you come back, when will I be joining you. Please sent letters’..a volley of statements fired within me..but all I did was to nod. I knew he never loved me. He started off from home at around 7 pm, as I took 2 hours to the nearest railway station from our village. Few months passed by without any letter from him and there was no means to contact him. One day after lunch, the sound of a cycle bell surprised me. I looked through to window. Yes, it was the post man. I wanted to run out to collect the letter, but women are not allowed to come out of the house when other men have come. He handed over a letter to my father-in-law. He opened it. I started biting my nails. He took the letter on one hand and went in search of his spectacles. After a while he found them and went to his room and closed the door. I waited for a while and patience in me died. I took a broom and in the pretext to clean his room, I knocked the door. The door opened and I started to broom. Uncle was still reading the in-land letter. Seconds crawled like hours. And finally when I was about to leave, he said ‘This is letter from Indrajith. He says he is fine’. With all the courage I asked him ‘Shall I have the letter.’ He handed over the letter. I flew from the room. Lied on my bed and closed my eyes for some time. The letter was addressed to his mom and it read ‘I am fine here. I’m staying with a friend in a lodge in Kodambakkam. The rent is Rs.200 per month. I am assisting director Rhagav. His current project is almost complete. He liked one of my stories and his next movie is on my script. ’ I read those lines 100 times. My husband’s name will come on the silver screen and the whole audience would watch it. And towards the end in the letter he said ‘Convey my regards to Shanti’. That made me sleepless for several nights to come. I looked for the ‘From’ address on the back side of the in-land letter and it was blank. Even if it wasn’t I wouldn’t have the courage to write letter to him.
One day uncle came home early after his visit to fields and seemed bit excited. He had a news paper in his hand, probably taken from the village library. He came in haste and called me and aunty to the front room and read the news aloud ‘paathira sooryan (Midnight Sun)’ bags the award for the best film. Veteran director Rhagav credits the victory to the debut writer and his former assistant Indrajith’. His voice quivered and couldn’t proceed and I saw aunty wiping her tears with the piece of her saree.I hugged aunty so that uncle doesn’t notice my tears. I could not control my self. My hero, the short story writer has drafted an award winning movie. The news paper cutting added to my collection.

My excitement crossed the limits when I saw him next day morning. The first visit after one and half years. He looked the same. I felt like hugging him and kissing all over. But let me first gain the courage to look at his face. I went to the front room, gave water to wash his feet before entering the house. And he gave his bag. I felt honoured and kept in room. I was longing to hear the story of the movie. As I dint have the guts to ask, I raised it through aunty. Serving a coffee, she asked him, ‘Indu, why don’t you tell us the story.’ He was busy writing something in his room which was flooded with books; I sat down below his chair. He started of with the story and soon aunty interrupted ‘See..Indu lets stop. I don’t understand all these things.’ It was not different for me but then I loved listening to him. Through aunty I asked him to take me with him as he was planning to leave for Kodambakkam the weekend. And he agreed.
-- To be continued