SATYABHAMA

I think I’m stupid because I’m impulsive. I speak the truth. I open my mouth in the most unexpected places and blurt out the most unspeakable statement of the year. The stares, glares, hand gestures, and people tightly covering my mouth don’t deter me. Something rumbles in my stomach, my lungs gasp for air, my eyes pop out, my throat screams, my hands flail and my feet jump to say it. No matter what the repercussions are I need to breathe for my peace at any cost, even if it means someone else’s ruin. Though unintentionally, because I never give a thought to the aftermath.

I remember my childhood when Papa would give a million instructions on behaving properly before visiting friends, family and official gatherings but the devil worm in me would peep her head to relish the pleasure of making its presence known. Everyone knew my penchant so they would keep secrets and try not to gossip. I hardly had friends as most children were scared of me. I got AAA on my school’s annual assessment card. Yeah! I was intelligent but my brother made up that the AAA meant arrogant, aggressive and aloof like a fool. The teacher had written active but aggressive in co-curricular activities in the qualitative assessment. He teased me a lot and named me AAA. 

When I complained after beating and scratching him all over the face, he explained to Papa, “Her name has three As so I shortened it to give her a pet name. She’s not A for aggressive but an angel.”

My father smiled and my brother called me AAA. So I was aggressive, angel, ass, ant, aunty, appu or anything as per the day’s mood.  

My father had to forbid me from coming out of the room when his Boss came to visit us. The officer narrated an incident of his bravery in the valley and his near-death experience. Everyone hailed him saying all good but I said, “Uncle, You have narrated this story so many times. Tell us something new.”

There was this dreadful silence in the room. The senior officer was zapped and feebly said, “Oh really! I wasn’t aware. Anyway, I’ll tell you something new next time.”

Flabbergasted, my father tried to expiate the situation, “Sir, Your stories are highly motivating. We are fortunate to listen to the first account and learn from every bit you say. It’s a classic lesson for all the juniors here. Don’t bother! We’re here to learn.”

Everyone said, “Hear! Hear!”

From that day I was forbidden to attend any official gathering lest I spoil Papa’s career.

I grew up an independent woman with far more logic than required. My father thought that I would make a good lawyer but I was interested in the corporate world. Numbers, stocks, sales pitches, business and glamour associated with it attracted me. I was good at studies and always bagged prizes at the debates hosted on various platforms. Getting admission into a premium MBA institute was a cakewalk for me. I found wings to my dreams. 

He always said in jest, “I’m not scared of dodging a bullet of an enemy but my daughter’s blabbering. What she might fire, when and from which place? God can only save us!”

“And God save the boy who will marry her,” My mother added.

“Either she’ll remain a spinster or will soon file for a divorce. I know my daughter. Only a daredevil and patient man can understand her. She’s not made for a weak character. Satyabhama will only accept a man who matches her wits, and strength and considers her an equal rather more than an equal. I sometimes feel she should have been born a son.”

“Where will we find a match for her?” My mother sighed.

“Ah! She will find one herself. I won’t even dare to look for one,” My father raised his hands in utter defeat. 

I hugged Papa and said, “You understand me. You know, I may be brutally honest but well-meaning by heart. I feel better conveying my piece of mind and feel free of any unnecessary burden.”

He agreed, “Quite right, nowadays, I hear so many cases of heart failure in young due to such stresses. No one understands the beauty of truth. I tell everyone to speak out the truth and face the music. You’ll eventually feel light and enjoy the freedom without fear. Yet sometimes we need to understand the circumstances and be a little diplomatic to save the situation. But not at the cost of your upright character and hurting someone’s feelings.” 

My mother taunted, “Yeah! Why take stress when you can transfer the worry to someone else? I’m here to worry about family, and listen to all the complaints, warnings and admonishes because of you two.” 

Now, who’s this someone else in my life? Most of the time it’s my beloved Husband. Covering up with long explanations he balances my blatant truths with innocuous lies. He’s the smartest of all the men I have ever met. Well, he has to be! He fell in love with me over a thousand other girls who vied for his attention in our college. After all, Harivrat Reddy was one of the most eligible tall, dark, and handsome students who remained grounded, soft-spoken, overtly studious and courteous despite coming from a renowned family. He was the son of the pharmaceutical giant, Moon Pharma’s owner, the yesteryear hero of the Andhra film industry and a powerful political leader, Mr Hariharan Reddy. 

Until I didn’t know him I couldn’t believe a word about his goodness. It looked too good to be true. Harivrat’s behaviour seemed like an ostentatious act his father performed on and off screen. I didn’t understand why someone endowed with everything that a person can wish for could be this humble and shy.

HARIVRAT

I’m an avid reader and books overpower me with their characters, emotions and storylines. I wander in the world of fantasies, wartorn areas, bygone eras and all the places the books take me. I find books better than the real world. Had it been my choice I would’ve become a librarian or a storyteller but my father would’ve either killed me or committed suicide. 

“I remember the precise moment, crouching behind our eight-seater teakwood dining table, peeking into the gallery, leading to the master bedroom. That was a long time ago, I could hear my father roaring and humiliating my mother because she was trying to protect me. It’s wrong what they say about children, they forget. No, they learn to bury it deep into their memory. The past claws its way out and affects their lives again and again unless they learn to accept and face it for good. The memories are still fresh and I don’t know how to make it right.”

This is my version of a quote from the book, ‘The Kite Runner’. I can resonate with the quote and the character Amir, who couldn’t forget his cowardice and wished for redemption. Though I have not faced any such trauma in life, the lines evoke a similar feeling in me. “You see! I’m too booky not filmy like my family!”

“Why do I freeze when I face danger? I observe and distance myself deliberately, like an ostrich I hide my face and find a thousand explanations not to react. I tell myself I prefer peace to unnecessary confrontations. But at what cost?” My mind remains in a permanent conflict with my heart. My body refuses to follow my mind. It shivers and perspires in cold sweats. My heart abuses my mind, giving me hundreds of ways to tackle the issues afterwards. I dream and bask in the imaginary glories of my fights and eventual wins in my daydreams and sleep peacefully. My soul wraps me in a comfortable ostensible shroud and waits for another day. Perhaps another life!

My father is/was/ perhaps will remain forever one of the most revered men in Andhra Pradesh. His movies presented him as an angry young man, a larger-than-life character who defied power, corruption and all misogynist ideology. At sixty-two he was still a hero romancing demure twenty years old and giving a hundred crores business super-hit movies. Being actively involved in politics and his family business with his brothers my father was never home for us. His image was his lifeline and we all had to toe that line irrespective of our feelings. The hero in movies was a contrast to real life. 

My Dad, My Hero was my motto till the age of seven. He was my Superman who flew abroad to bring expensive gifts for me. People thronged in front of our home for just one glimpse of him.  

In all this hero-worshipping, I grew up to see through the pretentious character wearing the mask of a superhero, a ruthless, corrupt male chauvinist who lived on false applause of a sycophant crowd. The masked personality rested at night and after a couple of drinks, tortured my mother mentally and physically for not cooperating in the desired manner.

“Why did you talk to Ranu Rao? The old pervert was caressing your back while posing for the photograph.”

“No, he wasn’t. He’s like a father figure to me.” My mother replied.

“And who’re you? Bloody gold digger, good-for-nothing! You used every unspeakable technique to seduce me, and now acting like a coy bride. Tell me the truth. Aren’t you looking for a comeback and meeting producers?”

“How could you? I was an overnight sensation with my debut movie. I was just seventeen years old. All the big producers and superstars lined up at my door to offer me a role. Even you sent flowers and chocolates every day.”

“I gave hits and superhits and was the youngest actress to receive the national award. You ruined everything.”  My mother would cry and leave the room. 

My mother, Dipali Rao, lived in the fantasy of her bygone era where she was a more famous and successful actor than her husband. Dipali foolishly fell in love and left the field for Hariharan Reddy who promised her more stars than her superstardom. 

My parent's relationship saw the stars in the day and the scorching Sun in the night that burned both of them in the fire of jealousy, Dad’s infidelity, ambitions, insecurities and political ploys.

On top of that, Hariharan Reddy had a timid son who acquired his father’s looks but the nature of a soft-spoken, sensitive and submissive mother.

My teachers at school treated me as a star. They would select me in school plays and functions and request Dad to preside as a chief guest. But I was Harivrat and I stammered in my father’s limelight.

“What an imbecile! He stammers! Tearjerker bookworm like his mother. Is he really my son?” He would ask my mother. 

I wished to argue with Dad and run away with Mom but it never happened. Thus I made another fantastic world in my mind and hid behind the books I read.

 I became the ostrich literally and figuratively with my tall and bulky figure and inclination to avoid confrontations, and unpleasantness in any regard. I had no friends as kids found me boring. I would tell them stories, they would laugh and coax me to play video games or talk about the Marvel movies. Perhaps I was wiser or they were much smarter or pursued hobbies I disliked. Though my mother while busy with her social work listened to the stories I found she lacked attention. 

Whenever I asked, “Mom, do you think Bagheera should send Mowgli to the village? Mom, what did I tell you?”

“Hmmm! Mowgli and Balu saw the monkeys.” She heard but didn’t register what I narrated.

I wished to be Mowgli. I didn’t need the village but Bagheera and Balu to listen to my stories.

Looking back, I feel all three of us were lost in different worlds. My father was in love with himself and his stardom, my mother in her past glories of beauty and success, and I in a parallel world of stories I read.

It was clear that I wasn’t born to act. My mother was worried.

 Mummy asked, “What would you like to do? How long do you wish to stay in your father’s shadow? Find your path and make me proud. I love you, son. Just don’t get lost in this big bad world. Take a firm stand and be confident before your father’s ambitions kill your dreams.”

“What were his ambitions for me?” I wondered. We never interacted as father and son. 

I had heard him saying to Mom, “Your son is a hopeless daydreamer, a sensitive softy. Make him a man or else I will.”

“What was the definition of a man? Being macho, demeaning woman?” I wondered.

I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I loved reading, going places and enjoying the scenic beauty in peace. Fortunately, I hated my father enough not to indulge in drinking or any other vices. 

Again my mother decided for me, “Learn the intricacies of business.”

Our family was one of the trustees of the prestigious business institute of Hyderabad. I got admission to the trust’s seat quota.

My mother gave another birth to me. And this time it was worth being born again. The entry into the college changed my life.

SATYABHAMA

I knew him because of his father’s name. He wasn’t popular initially. Everybody thought him to be a snob because of his bashful manner. He sat in the library most of the time buried in books. He was another privileged son who attended college to get a fancy degree. But he proved me wrong. His first presentation was a piece of art. He was in command of his subject. His PowerPoint presentations kept me spellbound with his innovative ideas and pop-ups. It was like a seamless story that you could listen to on and on. He spoke about sustainable strategies while keeping the business interest abound.  

I congratulated him, “You spoke well. Hope this idea takes shape in your pharma industry for a sustainable future.”

He looked bewildered, “Do you think so? Can we do that?”

“Yeah! You’re the future of your industry. Why not? Someone has to make strong decisions. Your project may reduce profits initially but it will go a long way in creating a better environment which will make you access government grants for sustainable organic plants.”

He seemed nice and simple. It was quite the contrary of the image I had in my mind. 

Whenever we met in class I found him with a book-a book in the time of smartphones, laptops, YouTube and social media. 

“Are you on Insta?” I asked.

“No, I’m not.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Never thought of it.”

“What do you do in your free time?”

“I read.”

“What do you read? Who are your favourite authors?”

“Anything or everything that draws my attention.”

“You watch movies?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Why? Your parents are actors and famous movie stars. I love so many of their movies.”

“Thanks! Will you stop interrogating me?

“Okay! Why are you getting angry? Your replies are evasive.”

“Is there something wrong?”

He got up and left. I was intrigued and wished to know more. Why? I didn’t know.

The mid-terms kept us busy and I didn’t get to interact with anyone. Soon, the most awaited yearly college trip to Switzerland was planned. It was a month-long trip to understand the international business environment. We all had to undertake a project in our chosen field and make a report. 

The problems and I have a close relationship. The day we landed I got robbed of my camera, passport and money. I ran after the person who snatched it. I knew Harivrat was there so I screamed to attract his attention. He followed me. It gave me the strength to pursue the thief. I don’t know why I wanted him to be there with me. 

I was agile and could cover the distance much faster than Harivrat. He was bulky and had hardly run in his entire life.

I laughed and said, “Harivrat, come fast.”

He looked like a fat comedian, huffing and panting with each step. 

I chased the boy running with my father’s only camera and hard-earned money. I was sure I could beat the robber as he looked leaner and shorter than my brother whom I could defeat in no time. I didn’t know where I was. In my pursuit to retrieve my belongings, I forgot to look around. The situation changed once he entered a dark alley and whistled. His friends came out of a building and surrounded me. I hoped Harivrat hadn’t stopped after giving a warning and followed me because I didn’t heed his requests. I prayed to god for Harivrat to appear. Perhaps his size deters the goons from harming. I was scared.

Suddenly, we all heard the faint siren of a police vehicle and then whistles. 

“Heyy! Policia!” The group frantically argued in their language and disintegrated. 

“Hey return my bag,” I shouted.

He threw my bag, cursed and left. 

I looked around and started crying because I was scared. I was in a new country. I didn’t know the language, I was lost in a dark lane with no person in sight. I cursed Harivrat for not following me.

And then he emerged from the dark. Like a hero, he came out from behind a wall, whistling and smiling. I hugged him and cried. Soon my senses returned, my pride took over and I pushed him hard on the ground.

We quarrelled again and found our way back.

HARIVRAT

She was there, fighting alone with a group of boys and girls in Switzerland. 

We were on a college trip to Switzerland on a student exchange programme. She was selected as the group captain of our batch, comprising twenty-three students because of her management and leadership skills. All the important documents and money for the common expenditure were her responsibility.

We had just come out of the airport and wished to eat something after standing in long queues for three hours at the immigration counter. After settling down in a student’s hostel we rushed to the McDonalds to grab a burger. Everyone got inside to order while Satyabhama stayed outside taking pictures of the street and the beautiful scenery to send home. She was on her first trip to Switzerland and behaved like an excited enchanted tourist. She called her parents and showed them around. The excited voices, instructions and banters made me stay back and listen. I had never seen a family so close for real.

Satyabhama was carrying her red and white Ferrari model Puma bag on her right shoulder when a local boy came from nowhere, snatched the bag and ran.

Stayabhama shouted, “Hey! You scoundrel, thief, stop running.”

She ran after him while screaming all the obscenities I had heard in the movies but never thought of uttering aloud. I was impressed with her vocabulary and wondered, “Did all this cursing come naturally to her?”

I followed her while calling out the names of our friends for help. 

I called Satyabhama to persuade her, “Satya, Please come back. We’ll report to the police. It’s not safe to follow goons in an unknown country.”

Satyabhama’s focus was entirely on her bag. She didn’t even look back. I was getting breathless but followed to ensure her safety. Shops, people, vehicles, and flashy cars that I craved to watch brushed past on the road. She kept following the boy who ran into an alley. We crossed a few huge buildings on both sides of the road and then a park. The scene changed after some time. It was a lonely area with not a soul in sight. 

I again tried to bring Satyabhama to her senses and shouted, “Satya, let’s go back, It’s not safe. I’m not going to follow you anymore. We don’t know their language. We have no phone and no money. Satya, please stop at once.”

She didn’t. I marvelled at her stamina while catching my breath and watching her disappear into another narrow lane. 

“Oh! God, What a fool, mad girl! She’s going to get us both killed. Mummy’ll be devastated. I love you mummy. Where are our friends? Idiots are enjoying burgers while we are playing robbers and police game in a strange place.” So many thoughts flashed in my mind. I was scared.

I ran again to catch Satyabhama with a debating heart and mind, “Hope I hit that bastard hard and save the day. If I get hurt or killed today Papa will murder my dead body also after listening to my stupidity.”   

The dusk was turning dark and getting colder. The sweat on my face seemed like icicles pinching me. My eyes and ears looked for Satya and then I heard voices in Swedish perhaps saying something. There must be a group of girls and boys as I could make out an altercation between Satyabhama in English and others in an indecipherable language. 

I saw Satyabhama surrounded by a few girls and boys.

“I remember the precise moment, crouching behind a crumbling mud wall, peeking into the alley near the frozen creek. That was a long time ago, but it’s wrong what they say about the past, I’ve learned, about how you can bury it. Because the past claws its way out.” The words became real. I was actually hiding behind a wall in the biting cold weather and frightened in anticipation of what might happen. My mind was numb but my body pushed me to act.

Undeterred by the hooligan group she threatened the boy, “Return my bag or else I’ll call the police.” 

Satyabhama stood firm with her feet apart and her hands on her waist. Her petite short stature seemed taller rather grand, giving competition to Amitabh Bachchan's pose in the movie ‘Coolie’.

I wondered, “Why am I having such weird thoughts in the most dangerous situation ever?”

She pretended to take something out of her pocket. Satyabhama looked menacing, her body language showed the grit to fight, come what may. I froze with the freezing temperature and hoped for our friends to appear from somewhere looking for us. I looked around for help but there wasn’t. 

Something transpired between the group and they threw the bag on the road and left. Satyabhama took a sigh of relief, picked up the bag and looked around. I came out from my hiding place. She hugged me and then pushed me hard on the ground. I fell. My bum hurt and my hands had scratches but my eyes were fixed on her face, a tinge of red glimpsed in her eyes seething with anger. I fell in love.

She said, “You idiot! Why didn’t you help me?”

“What could I have done? Their group was large. What if they were armed? You were rather impulsive to run after them. You could have got yourself killed today because of this stupid bravery.” I tried to state my piece of mind.

“Ha! Our passports, money and university documents were in the bag. We wouldn’t have survived even a day here. As a group captain, it was my responsibility. I’m an army officer’s daughter I would prefer to die than be considered a careless fool by our batchmates. And why did you follow me if It wasn’t smart to run after the boy?” She asked.

“I followed to care of you. Who would have informed the authorities if they had killed or injured you? It’s God’s grace that they left otherwise they could have done anything to you. You might have landed dead in a creek or buried in snow and people would have thought that you vanished in an alien country with money.”

“Why did you hide behind the wall and watch? You’re a coward.”

“Yeah! And get killed with you? Think before you act. You’re not a soldier and this wasn’t a do-or-die situation. Nobody’s presenting a medal to you for this crazy bag chase.”

We returned to the restaurant and found everyone enjoying the burgers. I looked at Satyabhama and taunted, “Fighting a war for these ignorant fools?”

“They don’t know what happened.”

“They’ll never know and understand because they’re self-indulged like the citizens of our nation. Our soldiers put their lives in danger but people shrug their shoulders and say that it’s their job, their duty, they chose for it.”

“So, no one should join the army or choose to become a leader, or should help, fight for anything or anyone in your opinion?”

Her pertinent questions baffled me and I didn’t intend to drag the argument. “Okay, I’m tired. You win but please act wisely.”

Well, she didn’t! She was arrogant, and loud, picked fights at the drop of a hat and lectured everyone on almost everything. Yet she was popular for her good sense of humour, wisdom and happy, lively spirit. That boundless energy in her made everyone cheerful and zealous to act.

We quarrelled almost every day. I found my voice with her. Our constant arguments made me confident I could speak for myself without blathering in front of Dad. She listened to me and discussed the books I read.

Though she would nitpick every sentence her words encouraged me, “Your stories rejuvenate me. Like a song, your words become soothing music taking me away to another world. The stories are cathartic and quite interesting. 

She was all that I wasn’t. We returned forming close bonds and fond memories with everyone.

SATYABHAMA

After returning from Switzerland, we became inseparable. We studied together, planned events, made projects, and met each other’s families. He started expressing more and I found logical reasons in his explanations. He was the one who could argue with me, who could understand my frustrations and notion of equality. His habit of reading made him a learned man on varied subjects. He could talk sensibly for hours on any given subject. I was impressed and fell head over heels for him because he gained my respect.

There were skirmishes every day and if I did not fight he would get worried and ask, “Are you alright? You didn’t raise an eyebrow or object to anything?”We completed and complemented each other. He was the cool calm water and I was the violent storm that made waves and caused turbulence, all the time. He had the arms that made me rest and I was his energy that made him smile and love this world. 

We loved each other and there was nothing under the Sun, we didn’t discuss. After the MBA course, he joined his family business, and I started working with an NGO to develop skill-based infrastructure in the villages for useful employment. 

We got married and shifted to a new home. Life was busy, we were happy but I found him uneasy. He did well in expanding the business but his heart was somewhere else. 

He did his mom’s job-defending me in front of his father who hated my guts but admired me in his heart. He once said, “Though you’re the man of his home, thank you! You made a man out of my boy.”

“No, we’re two humans in love who vowed to be together for better, for worse…”

My pregnancy brought much-needed smiles and I observed a transformed man with kids. I knew it was him who made those sirens and whistling sounds. He was an expert in mimicking the sounds of various animals, instruments and actors. He doesn’t admit but I know. I have seen him playing with our children. He becomes a kid with them, telling them stories with actions and sounds. It germinated the idea of a storytelling club for children.

I asked him, “What would you like to do?”

He replied, “I don’t know. I enjoy being with children, reading books and playing with them.”

I said, “Then enjoy what you like. I’m here for you.”

He told me, “Satya, I wish to open a school where education is not a burden but full of fun, where books are friends that open windows to the world, where history has stories and science has the experience, where life has love and compassion, where there is no rat race but everyone on a mission to make this world a better place, each day for everyone.”

Luckily we had the resources to open a school and we started the school with his ideology. And then I saw a side of Harivrat that I had never imagined. He turned into a passionate man with a dream.

He found the land overlooking the lake in Hyderabad, next to the fort to give shape to his dreams. The building had a unique design with various bright colourful geometrical shapes, auditoriums, libraries, audio-visual rooms, botanical gardens, playgrounds, labs, stages, playrooms, sports facilities, arts and crafts, skill developments and all a child could ask for. Murals, landscaping, statues, artefacts and beautiful paintings made the school a wonderful hub of interesting activities.

The concept was practical training, learning by doing, with no exam schedules but projects of choice with no time limit. 

Harivrat loved going to school, visiting classrooms and telling stories. Children loved him and requested him to tell stories. He enjoyed and the children were enthralled listening to the stories. I observed that not just children but elders also loved listening to stories. I organised live storytelling programs at various institutes and corporates, it became a huge success. 

Now, Harivrat was training people on how to tell stories. His mother joined him in his dream and started telling stories. 

Little did we know that his passion for reading and telling stories could become a source of happiness and inspiration for millions of listeners. He was his parent's son, a great performer.

Life with Harivrat became a lovely story of love and passion. Find your truth and do what you love!