Fishing Rod : Short story collection

Visiting Anju

A/N: this was meant to be a school project, please be nice :)

At the last minute, Rashu didn't go. Father declared that if he hated to go so much, then it was fine not to bring him; after all, even Father himself didn't want to go. He would tell me many times, that what's left behind doesn't always have to be brought up today— he did bring up my grades every day though— and the only reason we were still in touch was because of my mother. She was the one who warned us that if we were ever to face trouble, it would be family that would help us. Yes, my two uncles and their wives who hated us with every nerve on them, would surely help us. We've been visiting them for 20 years, from much before I was born and I still don't have an understanding of why my mother holds on to our relationship so desperately. The only conclusion I came to was once during a discussion with my maternal grandparents regarding how my mother was too gentle and too kind to let go of family.

We got in the car for the 4-hour drive. Rashu went to school.

"I still don't like your haircut," she said. "You would look like a chicken among your cousins."
Father sighed. He carefully reversed the car through the narrow parking, trying not to be affected by whatever banter we were up to.

"Be polite there." She said once more: "You don't want them to talk badly about us later." I wanted to say that nothing would stop them from talking badly about us. Instead, I hummed in agreement and the trip could begin.

After the mother's last comment, the mood in the car got tense. We all knew whom she was talking about. Some people talk badly about everyone. They would talk to you as if you're their closest friend, then talk to another about how foolish or selfish you are. My aunt is someone like that and everyone knows it. I don't think I hate her because she talks bad about everyone and no one in their right mind would take her words seriously. If they do, they wouldn't be important enough as we do live in the city. We don't have to face criticism from her company daily. In a few years, we wouldn't even see each other anymore.

"Look," I said, to cheer up my parents. "I'm happy to go because I'll see Anju." I felt a little guilty because I didn't care about meeting her, it was just simple for them to think that I'd like someone near my age.

"Just be a little careful around her. Don't make her upset." Father said. And I didn't like the way he said so because Anju is a nice girl.

Let me tell you what Anju meant to our family. The black sheep. She is my second uncle's
daughter and is eighteen years of age, a year older than me. Growing up, we were compared a lot and honestly, I didn't like her so much. We were children but were both always warned to behave around each other and told bad things about each other. I was told that Anju
complains a lot so I must be careful of what I say around her if I didn't want to look like a bad girl. I couldn't like her so much and thinking about it now, she may have also felt the same.

Today, what makes her any worse than me is her giggle. She laughs funnily and if you upset her, she could get violent. Her mood fluctuates more than the voltage in that big old house, and a few times she has attacked my uncle with a chair— which I feel was a good idea. I slowly started understanding what her future would look like in that house and I didn't like it. My cousin brothers all started attending college and the older sisters got married. Anju stayed home. Her parents keep weeping about what tragedy it was to have a mad daughter and tried hard to not let anyone know. I blame my aunt for why Anju was a celebrity in the village now.

I've asked my mother, why don't they seek medical help? My mother laughed at me and praised me for worrying about my sister.

"If I was to be possessed by a ghost tomorrow, would your father take me to a priest?" She explained. "No. Because your father doesn't believe in spirits and ghosts. He is a man who only believes in logic, he would take me to a psychiatrist. Your uncles are much older than your father and they took her to a priest. It's a difference of faith. I worry about Anju too but it's their daughter and we cannot interfere much."

Maybe because I can't do much about it, I decided to stop thinking about it.

Our car was parked under the big jackfruit tree. Just as my mother had predicted, they did comment about my hair. I didn't find it rude at all but I know mother was upset. There was a lot of talking, exchanging food items, and discussion of recent political happenings.

Backhanded compliments that my sweet mother would never notice, what they meant. Judging other relatives for their ways of living life and pressurizing some brother I've never met to get married sooner. On the façade of a happy family get-together, I would only get negative feelings on our every visit. Maybe this was why I got tired of coming here. The old fascination I got from feeding jackfruit leaves to baby goats, faded into maturity where they would expect me to join in their sly insults.

It's similar to how bullying is depicted in movies. In their group, you have to join them in whatever bad things they do or say, whoever they bully or you would be their next target. This wasn't what family was supposed to feel like. This was the place Anju grew up in.

Later I could finally escape from their gossiping and slipped into the corner room where Anju
stayed. I found her stitching white flowers on a green piece of cloth.

"They're rajnigandhas," She didn't lift her head "I've grown very fond of them recently."

Shouldn't you ask me how I am? I haven't seen you in months." I walk inside and sit beside her on the floor. I haven't thought much about this but Anju is pretty. Keeping her hair untied may be seen as crazy in this village but if she was my classmate, she could be very popular.

"You must've forgotten about me. That's why you didn't visit." She cut the thread and started arranging her things. "Since Shikha didi got married, I don't have anyone to talk to." I'm not sure whom she is talking about. The Shikha didi I know got married when I was 10, is she talking about that far back?

"Do you think I should get married too? It won't be too difficult if my baba tries."

"No, don't get married." Her expression changed and she seemed to agree with me.

I don't know what else to say to her. All I can think is Anju is a nice girl. If she was in my place,
 she would do so much better than me. She is creative, cheerful, and smart. If she got the right medical help, if she got the right support that I get— which I think is a waste — she could achieve great things. She is an embarrassment to my aunt and what my uncle thinks of her future is beyond me but I know she wasn't meant to be like this. Anju is a nice girl.

"I wish we could be sisters instead of cousins."

When we leave this unwelcoming village, even the faces I don't know seem to be rejoicing that we're finally leaving. I can imagine the relief on the faces of both of my aunts. It could just be my imagination but the air around that house makes me uncomfortable, even guilty.
 Being young and childish I used to brag to my friends about that big zamindar house. It's a good house without happiness. I feel the only reason I don't skip our visits like Rashu does is because of Anju.

Our car finally reached the closest bus stop meaning the roads ahead would be clearer. The sun is about to set. From the back seat, I'm tired and could fall asleep at any moment.

"When I can afford it, I will bring Anju with me here. Then I won't visit with you anymore."