Blue Bangles

                                             Blue Bangles

          I hear my cousins calling for me.  I quickly fold and put Papa’s sweater and my small blue bangles away and shut the drawer.  Ugadi, our new year, is next week.  I will buy myself bigger size blue bangles this year.
         Ugadi comes every year around March.  It is a celebration where we have early morning oil baths; deck ourselves with new clothes and bangles, do puja, and have delicious lunch with friends and family.
        The specialty is the bevu-bella, a dish with six tastes. Amma says it symbolizes life - a mixture of happiness, sorrow, anger, fear and other feelings. The mixture has neem flowers, grated unripe mango, jaggery, chili, salt and tamarind. We only have a little bit of the bitter-sweet-sour dish mixture.

         My little cousin comes running into the room.

         “Come, Sheema, everyone is waiting for you.” He tugs at my hand.

          My cousins and I run around the large, blue pillars bordering the veranda and the cemented yard. We jump on and over the white washed parapet wall. Renu, my cousin, who is eleven and just a year older than me, is ‘it.
     My uncles sit on the other edge of the large rose garden watching the game. Amma and the aunts are inside in the kitchen and the smell of obbattu, sweet roti filled with lentil, sugar or jaggery paste hangs in the air.  Papa and I loved the sweet treats that could be eaten only on the festival day. I live in a joint family in the ancestral home with my mom, aunts, uncles, and cousins.
      As she chases us, Renu trips and falls.  She runs crying to her dad, who sits her on his lap and rubs her bruised hand.
     “You’ll feel better. Go play.” Her dad hugs and pats Renu on her back.
      I remember Papa- the times I would sit on his lap and slide down onto his ankles facing him, and he would lift me. Whenever I was hurt or bruised, he would do that to make me laugh. I feel a lump rise in my throat.  I don’t feel like playing anymore. I want to sit in a corner and think of my papa.
     Suddenly one of my cousins shout, “Look! It’s the bangle seller!”
      I see the bangle seller coming down the mud road wearing a white kurta and dhoti.  His huge white bundle hangs on his left shoulder. He comes every year around the same time to sell us bangles for Ugadi.  My chest hurts. I feel sad. Why can’t papa be here?    

    “Wonder what kind of bangles he has,” said Ram.
      My mother, the aunts, the servant girls who are washing clothes, and the boy feeding the cows all rush to the veranda.  Amma has a calm expression on her face. I run to her.
     “I'm first! I'm first!” shouts Ram. Everyone starts laughing except me.  I hug Amma tight.

     The bangle seller gives his wide grin, teeth all stained with betel paan. Betel leaf and betel nut when chewed give a red color. His black slippers are dusty from walking the dry rocky road, and he wears a white turban. He places his bundle down and sits next to it.
      “I have lovely bangles this time, gold flecked, purple, dark red, yellow, lots of different colors and also metal bracelets for the little boy. Plastic ones too,” says the bangle seller.
     He sees me sitting with Amma and calls me to his side. “Sheema, I have blue bangles which I brought from Mysore just for you.” He smiles. I am not able to return the smile. I have chosen only blue bangles the last couple of years, and the bangle seller remembers.

        The color of Papa’s sweater that Amma has kept tucked away in the bottom drawer, wrapped in a soft white cloth, is blue. It has been three years since Papa died in a car accident.  It was a month after Ugadi and I was still wearing the Ugadi bangles, only then the bangles were purple.

     My aunts’ hands jingle with the sounds of the bangles.  My mother is the only one who doesn’t buy the bangles.  After Papa died, Amma never wears colorful bangles.  Amma’s glass bangles were broken at Papa’s funeral by some ladies. That was the custom when a woman’s husband dies. I do not like it. I shouted and cried asking those women to leave the bangles on Amma. “A widow does not wear glass bangles,” they had said.  How I want Amma to adorn herself like the other aunts

      “Go, buy your bangles,” says Amma. I don’t feel excited about the bangles. Amma’s eyes do not shine the way they did when Papa was there. I don’t want to refuse and make Amma sad. I hold back my tears. I sit in front of the bangle seller, hold out my hand to him, and watch him as he carefully slides the blue bangles I selected into my hands.

     “You love blue bangles, don’t you?” says Amma. 

      I do Namaste to the bangle seller, a gesture of respect and thanks.

      After the bangle seller leaves, I run to my room. I hold my wrists against Papa’s sweater in the drawer–my bangles are the same blue as the sweater. I miss you Papa. Somehow it will never be the same without him. I hold the sweater to my cheek. Now I let my tears roll. When my sobbing stops, I wipe my face.

    Just then I hear my cousins shouting in unison, “Sheema! Let’s start our game again.”

     Amma, cousins, my aunts, and uncles all care for me. I love them, too. Papa is no longer here, but I know everyone loved him and still misses him. He was a wonderful man. We were all sad and cried when Papa died.  Amma says Papa’s memories will always be with me and all of us. The thought comforts me.

      I jingle my new blue bangles and run out to play before my little cousin comes looking for me again.                                     

Glossary:

Oil baths – the body and hair is massaged with coconut oil or sesame oil before a hot water bath or shower.

Puja – prayers and offerings to God.

Jaggery - unrefined sugar.

Kurta – traditional loose fitting shirt that falls below or just above the knees.

Dhoti - a cloth of 4.5 meters wound round the waist

Betel paan – betel leaf, areca nut, and a bit of slaked lime are rolled and chewed. It stains the mouth red.

Namaste – a gesture of welcome, farewell, and thanks - hands pressed together, palms touching and fingers pointed upwards, in front of the chest.