"Maaa!!!Fire!!!"A warm orange glow blew into her face as she dropped the tumbler of complan .Her mother's sari was on fire. Almost on cue, the older siblings screamed, some one ran out of the room. Younger ones, confused and shocked, kept screaming their lungs out. Maa swivelled around and the flames leapt up.In the blinking of an eye, she became a huge yellow red flame, the tongues trying to lick the ceiling.The screams reached a crescendo;alerting neighbors and alarming the servant and grandmother on roof, putting out the laundry.
Sobbing,the youngest kid stood her ground, trying to find her mother inside the blazing figure.Mother began running, in sheer panic, fanning the flames further. The kid ran after her, soot from the flames stinging her eyes,half whispering,half sobbing-'Maa,Maa'.
Granny and the help bounded down the stairs. The neighbours rushed in, armed with lathis(sticks), thinking of burglars or snakes.The servant boy risked burns and hugged Mother , arresting her devastating run. The elder daughter produced a pair of scissors to cut the cord of the blazing cotton petticoat. Grandmother peeled off the rest of the smouldering clothes ,and pushed the naked, sobbing screaming Mother into the bathroom as the neighborhood poured into the courtyard.
Finally finding something to attack, the multitude of lathis rained on the blackened ,smoking heap of burnt clothing lying in a small,pathetic heap in the centre.
That fire, started by an innocuously accidental kick to a' sigri'(a coal stove kept indoors for warmth during winters); burnt a lot of things. It burnt the larger part of Mother's lower back;which made her lie on her stomach, in a state of nakedness, for the better part of a month. It also burnt her new polyester sari with matching petticoat and blouse.It burnt Grandmother's hands,and charred the servant boy's shirt.
It also singed the hair on the fore head of the kid, who doggedly followed her hysterical mother ,room to room.
That kid was me.
This was 1975, LPG was yet to arrive on Indian shores(or had not made inroads into the rural india yet) and polyster saris were the rage. Mother's back and grandmother's hands would be scarred for ever . Sigris were , henceforth,always kept outside and cotton handloom saris replaced polyester saris in the family.
Sobbing,the youngest kid stood her ground, trying to find her mother inside the blazing figure.Mother began running, in sheer panic, fanning the flames further. The kid ran after her, soot from the flames stinging her eyes,half whispering,half sobbing-'Maa,Maa'.
Granny and the help bounded down the stairs. The neighbours rushed in, armed with lathis(sticks), thinking of burglars or snakes.The servant boy risked burns and hugged Mother , arresting her devastating run. The elder daughter produced a pair of scissors to cut the cord of the blazing cotton petticoat. Grandmother peeled off the rest of the smouldering clothes ,and pushed the naked, sobbing screaming Mother into the bathroom as the neighborhood poured into the courtyard.
Finally finding something to attack, the multitude of lathis rained on the blackened ,smoking heap of burnt clothing lying in a small,pathetic heap in the centre.
That fire, started by an innocuously accidental kick to a' sigri'(a coal stove kept indoors for warmth during winters); burnt a lot of things. It burnt the larger part of Mother's lower back;which made her lie on her stomach, in a state of nakedness, for the better part of a month. It also burnt her new polyester sari with matching petticoat and blouse.It burnt Grandmother's hands,and charred the servant boy's shirt.
It also singed the hair on the fore head of the kid, who doggedly followed her hysterical mother ,room to room.
That kid was me.
This was 1975, LPG was yet to arrive on Indian shores(or had not made inroads into the rural india yet) and polyster saris were the rage. Mother's back and grandmother's hands would be scarred for ever . Sigris were , henceforth,always kept outside and cotton handloom saris replaced polyester saris in the family.
earth, fire and water so essential to survival but outrightly dangerous when in the wrong place and time...........traumatic memories.......best forgotten and buried but not the lessons i guess!!
ReplyDeleteThanks nan,
ReplyDeleteThe little girl was badly affected by this incident, such that even a candle flame used to scare her till she grew up as a teenager. Sooner or later all of are able to overcome our fear.
ReplyDeletetrue:)
ReplyDelete