MUM'S LAND

It had been twenty-four years since she’d last seen it, but the place looked exactly the same. The long, muddy driveway leading up to the huge litchi tree right in front of the main entrance of the main house, with plumpy, red fruit gravitating towards the fence-less balcony on the upper floor.

As she stepped out off her cousin, Sid’s, 1994 Toyota Corolla (the first new thing she identified), her foot went: “puch!” Her new Puma takkies were initiated with chocolate coating of the puddle she stepped into. “Oh, well,” she struggled in annoyance, knowing very well that this was what she should expect for the rest of her visit.

Sid, whom she remembered as a puny, shy and extremely quiet young lad, ran around the car and held opened the door, emphatically repeating: “I’m so sorry Juliette. I will clean up your shoes immediately.”

“It’s ok,” came Juliette’s irritated reply.

Outside in the yard was a little crowd, waiting with loving smiles. She could see little ones eagerly emerging from different doors. The smell of spicy, home cooked curry reached her nose as she received the traditional kisses on both cheeks from each of her aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews (the second new observance from twenty-four years ago).

“That’s Aunt Juliette from overseas in France,” she heard the children whisper to each other with a thrill, making her feel like a fairy God mother of some sort.

“Come, come… let’s go inside,” chided the ladies as she was whisked in and made to sit at the table. Everyone else found a spot in the kitchen to stand and continue the rapid fire round of questions. “How’s your father? How is Mahi? How’s work? How was the flight? Are you tired? What did you eat on the flight? How long was the journey? You came through Paris? After how many years are you coming to Mauritius?”

Juliette very politely answered with a smile on her face, although all she really wanted was to have a hot shower, put on her pyjamas and snuggle up.

“Ok you wash up and we will serve lunch,” requested her eldest aunt, the wife of her mum’s brother.

The food smelled divine but she wasn’t too hungry. however, realising that it may be best to eat immediately so that she could leave for her hotel sooner.

A newly opened soap bar and a brand new towel was left at the sink for her, and by the time she returned, a small feast was laid out on kitchen table.

“Here, eat,” said almost everyone there excited for her to sample each of their special dishes.

“There was only one plate on the table, but she insisted that everyone eat with her. Finally, all the children were given a seat at the table, while their mum’s filled their plates directly from the pots. The food on the table was reserved strictly for Juliette. Everyone else stood around chatting and drank half-filled glasses of cool-drink.

It was a pure vegetarian meal, seeing that it was Tuesday, one of the fasting days observed by the family. “Oh dammit!” she had forgotten about that tradition. “Some things never change”, she squealed in her mind. It turned out to be one of the most heavenly lunches she had ever enjoyed.

This was followed by a tour of each her uncle’s houses. Downstairs was the eldest uncle who renovated one of the rooms when his eldest son got married about four years before. Her mom’s second brother lived upstairs and his family had new curtains, and a new lounge suite to proudly show off to her. And her youngest uncle lived right next door. If you stood between the houses you could touch the two brother’s houses with your outstretched arms.

Dusk was setting in and the over-enthusiastic welcome wasn’t quite over. She was escourted to her bedroom, where her suitcase was already neatly kept next to the antique wardrobe that she clearly remembered from two decades before.

The freshly painted lilac walls glistened as they switched on the light to reveal the brand new light fitting, which was chosen by her Sid’s wife. Lilac curtains with grey embroidery danced softly as the breeze swished in though the half-opened window. The bed was covered with a new cotton bed spread, in red paisley.

Juliette was born in France, two years after her parents got married. Her mother had emigrated from Mauritius and her father, an only child, was a thoroughbred Frenchman. So, she is a French woman with an Indian face, and her mother made sure that they followed some of the Indian traditions and culture too. The Indian in her loved the paisley, but the French in her thought for just a brief moment, “red?”

She turned to Sid and with her eyes asked him what was going on. He clearly didn’t inform the family that she had booked a hotel for her stay. She wanted to have some first-world comfort during her stay. Sid took a deep, heavy breath and turned to his mother. “Ma, Juliette will be staying at a hotel.”

“Hotel!!!” cried out her aunt in disbelief. “No, no no…no hotel. You can’t come to Mauritius and stay in a hotel. I will not hear of it. This is your mother’s home. It is your home. You will stay here for as long as you want. Cancel the hotel.” This outburst was supported by her other two aunts.

Before she knew it her bags were unpacked and she was in their bathroom, trying to wash her jet-lagged hair using their ancient low-pressured shower. As the lukewarm water poured over her, she wished it was hotter, but she closed her eyes and relived her first day.

She realised that it was a losing battle and she was destined to spend the next two weeks in this overcrowded, mosquito-laden hamlet. “It’s weird”, she thought, “I tried so hard to keep in touch with these cousins all my teenage years. And there was never a reply to any of my letters. Not even a card for Christmas. Phone calls were reserved for special occasions only. And the moment I learnt of Facebook and WhatsApp, I did everything possible to rekindle our dying relationship. It hurt that no one else was interested. It hurt hard.

My friends told me to give up but I couldn’t. I wanted to know my family from my mother’s country. My ‘motherland’, she laughed. Mahi and I had no family there in France. When we visited Mauritius as children we did not see the ‘third-worldness’ about the island. We were just thrilled to be playing with cousins who were our very own.

Then on that last trip, all our pre-teen and teenage hormones made the trip seem ultra-boring. Just sitting around the house wasn’t so much fun anymore. We wanted to go on explorations and adventures in this tropical island that was supposedly ‘paradise’. But it was difficult to travel around by bus in the blazing heat on those uncomfortably, humid days.

But, when we did go out briefly, the dirty, cramped streets irritated us beyond measure, so we didn’t bother to accompany mum on any of her trips to Mauritius thereafter. We still adored our cousins, but preferred to chat from afar. But they were always too busy to chat to us.

‘Hey cuz, how are you? How’s the new job going? It’s really hot and humid here in France. Wish we could just dive into one of the gorgeous beaches in Mauritius again. Miss those beach trips. Miss our good times.’

Reply (after a few days): ‘Hi. Am good. Work is fine. Didn’t go to beach in a while. Take care.Bye.’

Ohhhhh how those responses killed me inside. But, I eventually learnt, after some serious water works sessions that left my eyes bloodshot, not to bother at all anymore.

And now… just look at how friendly everyone is. What a grand welcome they planned for me. Mum, I miss you more than ever before. How do I deal with this emotional rollercoaster? (And this is not pms)”

The next three days she spent chatting to everyone as they went about their daily duties. She spoke to her heart’s content about her mum. She cried. They cried. She video called her sister Mahi and like little kids, the ladies and children relished their first experience of such advanced technology.

She could still not understand why her cousins, were so lazy to use stay in touch. There were hundreds of ways to stay connected.

Juliette tried her hand at Indian cooking, and with some assistance, her idlis, dalpuri and chutneys (hand ground on the special grinding stone outside) turned out to be “palatable”, the opinion of her cousins (five boys – now men), who used every single the opportunity to playfully tease her. Being a dancer, she used her agility to her advantage by chasing them around the houses until she could dig her fancily manicured designer nails into their skin, or tickled until they screamed out: “SORRY YOU ARE THE BEST COOK.”

It was just like when they were kids.

Early on Sunday morning the entire family squeezed into the hired mini-van and she held the canister with her mum’s ashes close to her heart. Sid’s wife handed over a CD of Indian devotional songs which they listened to. They stopped on the way to the beach to pick up her only female cousin, Divya from her home.

 Silent tears accompanied her throughout the ride. The Hindu songs that played felt like a soothing balm, attempting to gently pacifying the her sore heart. But then, the sitar strings would be pulled in an interlude, and her insides would shatter with the deepest sadness in remembrance that she will never see her mother again. Then a violin piece would once again reveal her mother’s beautiful smile in her mind. The continuous harmonium and tabla played the role of a glue that sub-consciously made her feel a one-ness that she never felt before.

They alighted the van, each one hugging her as she stepped out. They walked hand in hand towards the ocean, barefooted.

With both her hands, she clenched the little urn to her chest and wailed as the entire family chanted together: “Aum….Aum…Aum…” followed by a series of divine chants. Juliette listened in silence and joined in for those chants that her mother ingrained in her as a child.

Sid had his phone on video-call mode so that Mahi and her father could also view and participate in the proceedings of the final ceremony. The energy of their collective prayer gave her the courage to open the red silken scarf that covered the urn. She placed the scarf around her neck for safe-keeping. Red was her mum’s favourite colour. One of her uncles opened the tightly closed lid.

She held up the urn, facing it towards the brilliant sun. All hands were held under Juliette’s, and with vibrant chanting, they slowly poured the ashes into the sea. Her mother’s body was at last one with the country of her birth, the country she adored.

As the last grains were dusted off with a few taps, her legs became jelly and she landed on sand. The cool water lapped beneath her and she was given some space, with just Divya holding her, to cry until she felt better…

By the time she opened her eyes again, she could hear sounds of people laughing in the distance. She was awe-struck by the heavenly sight before her. Crystal blue water over the white sand lapped therapeutically before her, giving her the strength to stand up. Completely mesmerised she, appreciated God’s wondrous creation in way that she never experienced before.

A calmness poured into her heart. She knelt and filled her cupped hands with water and splashed her face. A cold flash of energy bolted down her spine. She did it again… and again. Then stood up and smiled.

Turning around to her family who were nearby she uttered: “Thank you. Thank you so, so much. I truly appreciate this.”

Needless to say, it was another hugging and kissing session once again, until they were stopped by her aunt who shoed everyone aside and placed a plateful of hot biryani in her hands. Taking her hand she was led to a clean spot on the picnic mat. Soon the entire family was enjoying an early lunch in view of the incredible Indian ocean.

Ice cold fizzy-drinks were brought out. Emerald green Eski was poured into a paper tumbler for Juliette and they all reminisced on how it was her mum’s favourite Mauritian drink. Her uncles shared childhood stories of her mum. And before long they had joined in the laughter of the others on the beach.

A trip like this is never complete until someone is unwillingly dumped into the water, fully clothed off course. It was carefully planned, taking into consideration Juliette’s sprightly body. While Divya distracted Juliette with stories of her husband and the latest updates of her pregnancy, as they went for walk,  three cousins snuck up from behind, carried Julliette by her hands and legs, and with her still wriggling and screaming, they dumped her and ran off.

Sid successfully captured the scene on video too.

Even in her dripping Punjabi top, she followed up with a chase between the trees, but finally gave up, grabbed another cool-drink and returned with everyone to the mini-van to change into swimming gear.

Memories of their childhood trips to the beach came flooding back as the adult cousins played with the ball in the water, ate ice-cream, bought pungent street food, ate more than they could handle, sang loudly on the sticky trip back home and fought to be first in the bathroom.

No, Juliette was not given preference because she was no longer an overseas guest. She yawned loudly as she dried her long hair with the hair-drier, looking forward to a long, deep sleep, when she heard a horror movie on in the lounge. Packets of chips, bowls of popcorn and a variety of chocolates was piled onto the coffee table.

Divya stayed over too…

No one went to work on Monday morning. Their stories didn’t end.

On Friday, the mini-van was hired again so that everyone could accompany Juliette to the airport, as well as to accommodate the additional gift-laden suitcase.

In the aircraft, as she browsed through her photo gallery with a warmth cuddling her heart, thinking: “I wonder if these useless cousins will keep in touch this time,” the aircraft took off and she smiled.

Juliette knew for sure, in the depths of her heart, that she had family in the world, who loved her dearly ... and that was all that mattered.