AMMI

“Ammi!” A shrill voice erupted and six-seven children dressed in school uniforms emerged from different rooms of the house and ran towards the open courtyard. They disappeared into a dark room at one corner of the courtyard jostling over each other.

A woman sat in a dark corner hunkered over a mud chulha or mud stove. Smoke emerging from the chulha made her appearance even more obscure. She coughed and soldiered on with her cooking. The children sat on the floor in a proper row opposite her. They looked surprisingly well-behaved. She scooped some pakoras with the help of a ladle from an iron cauldron on a plate. One child quickly sprang to her feet and lifted the plate from the ground. By the time another round of pakoras was ready to be scooped, the plate was swiped clean and the kids were waiting to be served more with eager eyes.

“Eat rice also,” Ammi retorted, stepping into the faint light filtering through the dark meshed covering of a single window interrupting the flow of ash-laden walls. She stood a few inches away from the plates on the ground towering authoritatively over the kids. Suddenly, she had shape-shifted from a genteel persona to a daunting figure. The kids achingly trained their necks from her cracked naked feet to her wrinkly frowning countenance. This was enough. They promptly dug into the rice to the last grain standing on their plate. Ammi smirked making her paan-stained teeth reflect her delight.

She was always dressed in a faded cotton saari; often the same one for days. Premature wrinkles belied her age. She had come to relish paan of late, which was the only luxury she afforded herself. Other than that, as long as her two daughters were well looked after by her brothers, there was not much she needed. She had found her purpose in the kitchen. As long as she was around, nobody had to lift a finger for even a cup of tea. It was hard to imagine that she was considered a fashion icon of her small Anglo-Indian community once. She was known for her beauty and had many suitors piling over each other to gain her assent.

Kalaikunda was a part of the Bengal Presidency in colonial India. Her father was a mid-level government servant and her mother a homemaker. She had seven brothers; not much apart in age. She was the eldest.

Second World War was at its peak. Royal Air Force had set up Kalaikunda Air Force base to counter the Japanese threat from the east. Young Nancy had found temporary recruitment in the base for documentation work.

Officers were still arriving and taking their positions. She met Lieutenant Riaz Qureshi during one of the casually organised parties in the base. He was part of a new group that had arrived. He was a chain smoker and Nancy merely commented on his unpleasant habit. Little did she know that this chance meeting would turn into love. Riaz had been to many countries and when he spoke eloquently about his experiences in different places, she was smitten.

Religion was not the only factor her father objected to her relationship. Riaz was already married with a child. He came from a traditional Muslim family of landowners based just outside Lahore. Nancy’s father was certain that his daughter was making a mistake, but she was headstrong.

Second World War had drawn to a close, but the Indian subcontinent was amidst its most divisive phase. The war had taken its toll and the Britishers were in no position to continue their rule over India. So they had begun their withdrawal plan. Complicated negotiations and counter-negotiations were taking place with various religious and political groups. It was one of those times when faultlines between the two largest communities in India, Hindus and Muslims were never so apparent. This is when Nancy and Riaz decided to solemnise their relationship. They had a nikah in which she also adopted a new Muslim name, Salma.

Independence came at the cost of partitioning the Indian subcontinent into two countries: India and Pakistan. Riaz was offered to join the Pakistan Air Force which he duly accepted. Accompanying her husband was a natural choice for Nancy, even though the prospect of not being able to meet them as easily was painful.

Raiz’s family accepted her wholeheartedly and she made efforts to adjust with his first wife Asma and her son. The two newly separated countries were in turmoil, but she felt well protected.

Nancy and Riaz soon became parents of two beautiful girls—Ayesha and Niloufer. By now she had adjusted into a traditional Muslim household.

Just when life was chugging along, a disaster struck. Riaz was diagnosed with lung cancer and he succumbed to it within a year. Ayesha was four and Niloufer two.

Riaz had protected Nancy from the strict ways of his feudal family so far. She wasn’t religious, but she liked to say her Christian prayers occasionally. She never wore a burqa when she stepped out even though other women of the family did. She privately celebrated Christmas with Riaz and her daughters. The only other person from the family who joined them in the celebration was Fatima, Riaz’s younger sister.

Things were different now. Widows were expected to maintain a certain pious decorum. Nancy had scrutinising eyes of the elders on her all the time and was expected to follow strict Islamic customs. She couldn’t step out of the house at will and unassisted.

Four years had passed since India’s independence. Carnage had stopped, but tensions between the two communities still prevailed; and so did confusion. There were families and individuals on both sides who were still making up their minds to choose one country over the other. Some had switched countries and were reconsidering their decision.

The border crossing was still taking place furtively, but it was perilous. Those who were caught were sent to jail and then unceremoniously deported.

Nancy was still a young woman in her early thirties. Gradually, she was engulfed by loneliness and depression. A new country that had little relevance as long as she was with Riaz, now felt suffocating. She was missing her parents terribly. Fatima was her only support at this time.

With the help of Fatima, she sent a letter to her father, which got no response. Due to a fractured relationship between the two countries, a lot of government departments were operating under duress.

Nancy came to a resolution that she couldn’t stay on like this and wouldn’t subject her daughters to this kind of life. A train service between Lahore and Amritsar was still operational. This was her only way out. She sought Fatima’s assistance. She sent another letter to her father requesting him to receive her at the Amritsar railway station. It had been six years since she had left India.

Fatima organised a man to take Nancy and her daughters to Lahore clandestinely. Nancy left all her jewellery and clothes in her bedroom and just carried some money for immediate expenses.

She made her way out from the kitchen backdoor where a horse cart was waiting for her in the dark.

Winter was setting in and a thin layer of fog had started building up. Nancy and the girls mounted the ride and the cart slowly started moving on its way. Fatima was not only Riaz’s favourite kid sister, Nancy had found a soulmate in her. Without her, she would have been all alone. Saying goodbye to her felt sad. She would have been married by now if Riaz was still alive.

Nancy didn’t have any documents to prove her identity. She just had a few photographs of Riaz and her parents. She was not sure if her father received the letter and would be there to receive her. She was worried about the safety of her daughters.

The man helping Nancy and her daughters was a trusted aid of Riaz's family for years. He made sure they boarded the train.

Lahore to Amritsar was only a 4-hour train journey, but Nancy’s mind was engulfed with myriad thoughts. Ayesha was old enough to be excited about her first train ride. The train was occupied with mostly Sikhs and Hindus. Nancy covers her face with a blanket and wraps Ayesha and Niloufer under it. The girls were advised not to speak with anyone on the train or station and not to let out their names.

The train reached Amritsar, but unknown dangers still prevailed. She strained her face against the bar of the window and peered outside hoping to spot her father or brothers, but in vain.

Her worst fears were coming true. It seems her father hadn’t received her letter. She got nervous. Just then a gentle male voice caught her attention, “Nancy?”? She turns and finds an old sikh gentleman giving her a familiar look. Nancy nods apprehensively. “I’m Gurmeet Sodhi”, he says. “I used to work with your father”, he adds.

Nancy’s face comes alive. “Hello, uncle! So nice to see you,” she answers with relieved gratitude. “Let us go to my house. You and your children can rest today. Then we can plan your trip back home,” he says. He cautioned her that she should be wary of government sleuths who are keeping an eye on people entering the Indian territory from Pakistan to never return.

Her stay with Sodhi uncle was extended to a fortnight. He was a widower. His only daughter was married and lived in Delhi. He took excellent care of Nancy and her daughters. He kept saying that he owed her father without disclosing anything further. When he was assured that the situation was safe, he accompanied Nancy to Kalaikunda. She insisted it wasn’t necessary, but he insisted back—this was his opportunity to pay back his father in kind.

Much had changed on the home front. Three of her brothers were married with children. The remaining four were also not far behind. The house which seemed big once, looked small and divided. All the brothers had secured their individual spaces in the house. Even though all still ate in one kitchen, nobody wanted to take the responsibility of cooking for everybody. Nancy’s mother was old, but when she cooked she did it for everybody. However, she didn’t have the strength to do it consistently. The wives only cooked for their respective husbands and children.

Nancy always had a great equation with her brothers. They all genuinely welcomed her. She wasn’t sure of their wives though. None raised a voice against her because the house was in her father’s name and he still made important decisions in the house. She didn’t have much choice anyway even if there was opposition.

Nancy’s father raised the option of remarriage before her. She gave it a thought, but realised it wouldn’t be fair to the man. She could never forget Riaz. Besides, her daughters were her priority. Any new relationship that competes with her daughters for her attention was not acceptable to her.

Nancy began giving tuition to the children of the locality, including her brother’s children who had started going to school. She came to be addressed as “Nancy Miss” by the children.

Nancy’s father used all his government connections and bribes in some cases to get fake domicile documents made for Nancy and her daughters. According to legal papers, her daughters were born in Kalaikunda and her Indian husband was missing in the second world war.? However, the truth was known to one too many. Every now and then, somebody would pop up claiming to be from the government. They would be blackmailed. When things got intense, Nancy’s father would pay up to keep the situation managed.

As time passed, truth became stranger than fiction. It was reduced to a rumour that people liked to gossip about in the community and outside. Sleuths still nosed around, mostly to make money, however, their foundation was often weak.

Nancy buried her past for good. The only vestige she carried was “Ammi” which her daughters addressed her by. That didn't change. Even other children in the family started calling her Ammi. Children from the locality who came to her for tuition also traded their position from Nancy Miss to Ammi. Sometimes Ayesha and Niloufer were loathe to share their mother with others, but they had little choice.

Her sister-in-law Fatima tried getting in touch with her because Riaz’s father had a change of heart towards the end of his life and left some inheritance for his granddaughters. But acknowledging it would mean opening a hornet’s nest. The government would have pounced on her and even deported her for sure.

Where did Ammi begin and Nancy end or Nancy begin and Ammi end? Both were subsumed into one, like two sides of the same coin. Even though in the last few years Nancy had eroded substantially under the weight of Ammi. Sometimes even her brothers called her Ammi. She didn't care. She had made peace with her life. She just wanted to see her daughters to a good future and keep the family she knew together. And they stayed together long after her parents passed away; till she was alive.