Silence: the kind that you hear in movies. No words said but there were vehicles purring all around, the wind seemed to be humming under its breath, the trees swished and a few birds crowed.
A large house, one that belonged to Rita's grandmother, was hidden behind the deep green trees that loomed over the avenue. It was quiet and unobtrusive; weathered and ugly like Rita's late grandmother, but exuded a strange warmth (also like Rita's grandmother).
It had no Chettinaad pillars and no fancy red roof like the rest of the houses on the avenue. It had faded blue exteriors, white grills that were carved in a very fashionable 1823 style and a terrace whose terracotta tiles whose blackened state would have appalled all of their better off neighbors who were desperately trying to gain visas to visit their second generation Indian-American children who were either in Seattle or in Boston.
The interiors were simple and bare. A few paintings from Tanjore or those of Goddesses hung in every room. But the furniture was almost all gone.
Rita's grandfather had been a clever man, learned, scholarly and had collected book of every kind from the time he started earning. He was a voracious reader and read from Chaucer to Sidney Sheldon. When Rita had turned seven, he had started reading out to her at night, a chapter of Twain or Blyton or even verses from Wordsworth and Frost.
By the time Rita was sixteen, their roles were reversed. Weekends and summers found her in her Grandfather's library; him in his rocking chair and her in a stiff, upright heavy wooden chair with red cushions.She would read out in her pleasant, deep voice in a little fast, a little monotonous tone. But the monotony was never in her mind. She just desperately wanted to know what was happening next. Her grandfather's eyes would usually be shut, but would flick open as soon as she stopped for a breath. His eyesight grew worse as he grew older and it was another reason he looked forward to her visits. They never talked, never bonded over daily life because they lived according to two different generations. Rita didn't even know her grandfather's likes or dislikes except for those of books. She remembered her surprise when he had once mentioned the Shopaholic series to her. He even read a few pages out to her. Despite giggling for the first few minutes, she knew he actually understood Sophie Kinsella even better than she did- considering that she was an "impulse buyer herself". She had felt a little embarrassed while reading out the "sexually explicit" chapters and had stuttered and stammered and then protested saying that she could not read it. But he quelled it with just a glance; no words said, no consolatory and no friendly talk. He gave her one of his rare contemptuous glances. She lowered her eyes to the book and soon forgot herself, the study as well as her Thatha. ( I will call him Thatha as she did from now )
He knew her in and out though. He was severe and strict but his gruff voice betrayed a tinge of pride when he spoke about his favorite granddaughter to his friends at the beach. They spent hours together; Summery afternoons when the heat and the incense from Patti's pooja room made her feel dozy ; December afternoons when a pleasant breeze would flit through and turn the pages on their own.
She would wear a kurta whenever she came. She knew that it was one of the things he didn't care about but she did it anyway. She didn't have a cellphone or a laptop back then but knew that they would have earned his rare contemptuous stares. She spent almost all her weekends and two weeks of the summer there. Her Patti loved having a young soul and talked incessantly, to make up for her Thatha's silences.
It had all changed when he passed away and Rita had been affected more than anyone could ever guessed.
It was a mid May afternoon, sultry and hot. They were reading "Little Women" for the second time. Four pages into the chapter called "The Valley of Shadow", Rita noticed that his chair was not rocking. His eyes were closed as usual but there seemed to be a curious sort of smile on his face. It was the first time he had slept though her reading in nine years and was the last time he slept.
The look on her face as she stepped out of the study was one her Patti never forgot till her last breath. But Patti took it bravely. She moved with her usual grace, a slight tremor, but with steel in her eyes. The funeral was large and unmoving as people hoarded through the house and disturbed everything that made the house serene. Patti shooed them all out in a month.She knew they would immediately start raising questions about the house and the property and the option of her moving out. She didn't give them the chance. Rita's parents offered to move in with her because they knew she wouldn't have it any other way. Patti accepted. She doted on her son, even more on her daughter-in-law and took particular pleasure in inviting all of Rita's cousins home. Rita's cousins came, but they came only because of Patti's gold jewellery that would be given away after her death.
Rita felt so disgusted by these visits that she would leave. She was not old fashioned or stubborn. She had her own friends, her laptop, I-pod and phone around which most her life revolved. Moreover, she could not bear fake smiles and the irritating subtle hints. She left for college in less than a year after her Thatha's death. She stayed in a hostel, stopped missing home, worked hard and partied harder. She studied liberal arts, did a post graduate degree in something insignificant and hen started working. She tired herself out with journalism.She was in between jobs when she heard that her grandmother had died. Painfully from a long drawn out illness, Patti had passed away. She had left Thatha's will unaltered though. Rita got the house and the books.
After several book houses contacted her asking if she could sell them the books, she was struck by an epiphany. She would start a library. She had more than Six thousand books - her grandmother had simply purchased almost all the fiction that had released since Thatha's death ( whether she did it in his memory or on his orders were unknown). Rita simply bought more books, expanded the non-fiction part of it and with the help of a few trusted friends, started a library. Most of the front part of the house was modified, repainted in somber colors and bookshelves were built. Books that were earlier housed in cartons and cardboard boxes in the loft, were now in sturdy shelves in the hall. Her parents and friends helped her out, either monetarily or morally. Rita loved them for both. She hired two librarians with the most experience and they sat and numbered the books painstakingly. Then they somehow configured their new Desktop computers for the same and the library boasted of an OPAC system. Five years after Thatha died, Rita opened a library in his name. First, her friends joined up, then she coaxed the teachers from her old school and spoke to children who pestered her parents into joining up. Other new subscriptions trickled in. It was not that great but they kept their head well above the water.
On late evenings, after she was done closing up, she would saunter into the study ( now it was the Reading Room) and pick up one of their favorite books. But one book thatshe could never complete was the vellum bound of "Little Women". After attempting to read it a few times, she stopped because she knew it would never be possible.Somehow Beth's death managed to fill her eyes with such pain that suggested that she had never let go of a few things.
(to be continued)
