Read Online A House for Happy Mothers: A Novel by Amulya Malladi - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Amulya Malladi
Tags: Literary, Literature & Fiction, Family Life, Genre Fiction, Contemporary Fiction, Contemporary Women, Women's Fiction, Domestic Life
Ads: Link
girl.”
Mohini turned away from Asha, grabbed the steel tumbler containing milk that Pratap held out, and guzzled it down.
Asha watched her daughter drink with gusto and felt relief. In the past, there were some days when they didn’t have enough milk. But those days were over. They would now always have enough money to buy milk.
The poverty of their past would stay behind them. Each day would no longer be a struggle. They would be able to buy rice and sugar, the vegetables they wanted, and not just potatoes.
Asha used to count the money she hid in an empty steel container in their hut’s small cramped kitchen to make sure there was enough to buy food for the coming day. It was a ritual on the weeks when Pratap didn’t have work, weeks when they had to survive on the meager money they were able to save when Pratap did have work.
Pratap would feel guilty for sitting around the house, so he’d walk around the village, talking to people, seeing if he could find work in neighboring villages or in Srirampuram.
“We can always borrow some money from the village food store,” Pratap had suggested more than once.
Afraid of owing money and being under anyone’s thumb, Asha had always asked him not to do so. It wasn’t as if Pratap listened to her, but he didn’t want to be burdened by debt, either. He had seen his father work his entire life to pay off debt he had taken on as a young man, and that had been a lesson to both Pratap and Raman.
“We’ll make do with what we have,” Asha would say. “There’s enough for the children to eat.” But even as she spoke, Asha would worry about having enough for rent at the end of the month. Manoj went to a government-run school. It wasn’t a good school, but it was a school and it was free. However, there were other expenses, and she knew that at this rate they would never have enough money to pay for a good school for Manoj.
“As long as there is food for the children,” Pratap would repeat, “then we’re OK.”
Those had been difficult days. Impossible days. And there had been no end in sight. But now they would have a home, their own home, and they wouldn’t have to worry about rent every month. They would have savings, so when things got tough they could still survive. She wouldn’t have to go to bed hungry because she had given all the food to the children and Pratap. Manoj could become the man he was destined to be.
Thinking of the benefits this baby would bring calmed her upset stomach, helped the nausea subside. But it was a short respite, and before long she was running to the bathroom again, her stomach churning.
“You should have come to the wedding,” Kaveri said to Asha the night they got back from Hyderabad. “You can’t hide for the next nine months. We’ll just tell everyone you lost the baby, like I did.”
Puttamma was already asleep in the bed while Kaveri and Asha lay on coconut straw mats on the floor, their heads resting on fluffy pillows.
“I’m just not feeling so good,” Asha confessed. “All this nausea. I never had this with Manoj or Mohini.”
“I was also tired a lot more,” Kaveri admitted. “Do you think our bodies behave differently because the baby is not ours?”
Asha thought about it for a moment. “Maybe,” she said. “You really didn’t feel anything, giving the baby away?”
“It wasn’t mine,” Kaveri said. “It was someone else’s. I always knew that. In the last months when I lived in the house, there was one woman who was very upset. She felt the baby was hers and that she would be cutting off a part of her soul. But we sign a contract; it’s our job to be smart and not get attached to what’s not ours.”
Asha hoped she wouldn’t be like that woman when the time came to give up her newborn. She hoped that she would be detached and not feel anything. But as she put a hand on her stomach, she wondered how a woman could not be attached to the life growing inside her.
“But you grow this
Mohini turned away from Asha, grabbed the steel tumbler containing milk that Pratap held out, and guzzled it down.
Asha watched her daughter drink with gusto and felt relief. In the past, there were some days when they didn’t have enough milk. But those days were over. They would now always have enough money to buy milk.
The poverty of their past would stay behind them. Each day would no longer be a struggle. They would be able to buy rice and sugar, the vegetables they wanted, and not just potatoes.
Asha used to count the money she hid in an empty steel container in their hut’s small cramped kitchen to make sure there was enough to buy food for the coming day. It was a ritual on the weeks when Pratap didn’t have work, weeks when they had to survive on the meager money they were able to save when Pratap did have work.
Pratap would feel guilty for sitting around the house, so he’d walk around the village, talking to people, seeing if he could find work in neighboring villages or in Srirampuram.
“We can always borrow some money from the village food store,” Pratap had suggested more than once.
Afraid of owing money and being under anyone’s thumb, Asha had always asked him not to do so. It wasn’t as if Pratap listened to her, but he didn’t want to be burdened by debt, either. He had seen his father work his entire life to pay off debt he had taken on as a young man, and that had been a lesson to both Pratap and Raman.
“We’ll make do with what we have,” Asha would say. “There’s enough for the children to eat.” But even as she spoke, Asha would worry about having enough for rent at the end of the month. Manoj went to a government-run school. It wasn’t a good school, but it was a school and it was free. However, there were other expenses, and she knew that at this rate they would never have enough money to pay for a good school for Manoj.
“As long as there is food for the children,” Pratap would repeat, “then we’re OK.”
Those had been difficult days. Impossible days. And there had been no end in sight. But now they would have a home, their own home, and they wouldn’t have to worry about rent every month. They would have savings, so when things got tough they could still survive. She wouldn’t have to go to bed hungry because she had given all the food to the children and Pratap. Manoj could become the man he was destined to be.
Thinking of the benefits this baby would bring calmed her upset stomach, helped the nausea subside. But it was a short respite, and before long she was running to the bathroom again, her stomach churning.
“You should have come to the wedding,” Kaveri said to Asha the night they got back from Hyderabad. “You can’t hide for the next nine months. We’ll just tell everyone you lost the baby, like I did.”
Puttamma was already asleep in the bed while Kaveri and Asha lay on coconut straw mats on the floor, their heads resting on fluffy pillows.
“I’m just not feeling so good,” Asha confessed. “All this nausea. I never had this with Manoj or Mohini.”
“I was also tired a lot more,” Kaveri admitted. “Do you think our bodies behave differently because the baby is not ours?”
Asha thought about it for a moment. “Maybe,” she said. “You really didn’t feel anything, giving the baby away?”
“It wasn’t mine,” Kaveri said. “It was someone else’s. I always knew that. In the last months when I lived in the house, there was one woman who was very upset. She felt the baby was hers and that she would be cutting off a part of her soul. But we sign a contract; it’s our job to be smart and not get attached to what’s not ours.”
Asha hoped she wouldn’t be like that woman when the time came to give up her newborn. She hoped that she would be detached and not feel anything. But as she put a hand on her stomach, she wondered how a woman could not be attached to the life growing inside her.
“But you grow this
Similar Books
