Ga-run-tee

"Don't go far, and stay together," I said, tucking Isha's shirt back into her skirt.

Why wouldn't she understand? Our clothes should not grab attention.

I pulled Ishi close.

"We'll be okay, Maa," she said, bouncing her pigtails.

"Chill, Maa! It's a park," said Isha.

The passersby glanced. An unease crept up my back, and I covered it with my sari's pallu.

Isha noticed and exhaled. It hurt, but I looked away.

"Heya," Jina's voice emerged from the park.

They both leaped and giggled, trembling my heart.

"Maa?"

I reluctantly let go of their hands, grazing the tips of their fingers for warmth. They'd be alright, I whispered, settling on a bench.

"Maa?" Ishi called me out of my reverie, her almond eyes raised in anticipation. She pointed at a poster pasted on the park wall. It was chili red, with slime green letters advertising the next Dussehra fair.

My stomach dissolved.

"Can we go?" They both cooed in unison.  

I tried to move my frozen lips, but they didn't thaw. Restless, they disappeared in the group of kids ahead.

Parnika: a leaf or Goddess Parvati. 

My parents named me Parnika to be delicate like a leaf and devoted to homebuilding, like one of the many virtues of Goddess Parvati.

Courage was a virtue, too.

The origins of ga-run-tee: 

On a scorching June morning, Babli, a thin, freckled man with a red-checkered gamcha tied around his bald head, knocked on the wooden door twice. 

"Come in," yelled Chandani, wiping her drenched forehead with the pallu of her floral sari and vigorously swaying the cashew gravy with her other hand. 

The door appeared locked. Babli hesitated before knocking again. 

Chandani's husband, a stout, spectacled man, sat by the table adjacent to the door, devouring his feast — a platter of papaya, banana, plums, butter-laden paranthas, and thick curd.

"Chandani?" he called.

Chandani jerked, leaving the gravy bubbling, and rushed to the door. 

Haggard, Babli entered and got hit by the chilling AC air. His nostrils flared as the whiff of cardamom arose from the gravy and rumbled his stomach. Leaving at 4 a.m., he couldn't satisfy his underfed hunger. The sight of the platter dampened his parched mouth. Revulsed by his desire to gape at his master's meal, he looked away.

"Bhabhiji, ga-run-tee dedo," (Madam, please give ga-run-tee,) he murmured, staring at his dirt-crusted nails. 

Bhabhiji and Bhaiyaji gaped at him, perplexed and embarrassed, unable to understand the word an illiterate had used.

"Acha ruk, lati hoon," (Wait, I'm getting it.) said Chandani, feigning comprehension. 

Bhabhiji scampered to the kitchen, wiped sweat beads from her forehead with a towel, and instantly felt a burning itch in her eyes. She squinted at the towel and realized she had used it to wash her hands after chopping green chili. Ignoring her scratchy eyes, she stirred the gravy and rushed to her husband. He appeared lost in the editorial section of the newspaper, his fruits browning.

"Babli is asking for some ga-run-tee," she said, blinking her eyes rapidly.

Bhaiyaji didn't respond. 

Bhabhiji glanced at the vintage clock. She had an online class in ten minutes, the gravy was far from thickening, and Bhaiyaji had yet to order his third tea. Gloomily, she mumbled, "Babli is waiting," 

Bhaiyaji glared from his smudged spectacles. "Can't you handle one thing yourself?"

Bhabhiji gaped at him, stunned by the abrupt insult in front of Babli. She stepped back and rushed to the bedroom. After a futile and frantic search, she awkwardly came to Bhaiyaji. "I can't find it," 

Exasperated, Bhaiyaji hurled the newspaper and stormed into his room. He came out in seconds and strode toward Babli, who was staring at the platter as his stomach rolled in poverty. 

"Kya chaiye Samar ko?" (What does Samar want?)

"Ga-run-tee," Babli repeated sheepishly. 

Bhaiyaji gritted his teeth and called Samar.

Bhabhiji hurried to sway the gravy, alongside setting a pan for tea. 

A call rang, and Samar picked up. "Yes, Papa?" 

"What have you sent Babli for?" 

"Green tea," said Samar instantly. 

The room exploded in laughter. Bhaiyaji roared with Samar on the phone. Bhabhiji dropped the spoonful of sugar, chortling. I chuckled, dropping my pretense of studying algebra in my room.  

Babli sensed his mockery and buried his gaze in the ground, waiting for his masters to get over their amusement and hand him the ga-run-tee.

That's how green tea became ga-run-tee. 

My life's ga-run-tee: 

1. Boiling Water:

Childhood was every bit as dramatic as it should be. I threw water balloons at strollers, rang doorbells of the neighbors' houses and disappeared, ate all the melody toffees from the glass jar, and lied to my parents about staying up at night.

But, when I blew out my birthday candles this year, the present was adolescence. The fact that my body was riding a growth roller coaster was trivial compared to the changes the world forced. My closet was bombarded with pink, while I had a thing for blue. On a weirder note, Mum advised me to refrain from hugging males (including family) as my bosom was developing.

"Why?"

"So they don't feel uncomfortable," she said.

"Why would my 'developing' bosom make others uncomfortable?"

Mum never answered. But I could not hug males anymore. So, yeah! Adolescence hit at odd angles.

But like every self-obsessed teenager, all I cared for was my it-girl persona at school.

2. Choosing Tea Leaves: 

Dussehra was the great Hindu festival celebrating Lord Rama's victory over the demon king Ravana, a highly intellectual baddie.

In a small town with no cinemas, malls, or game parlors, the Dussehra Fair was the biggest thing — a night of firecrackers, sword fights, sweets, fried food, laughter, and fun.

And being the it-girl, being best dressed was kinda the biggest thing, too.

3. Preheating the Teapot: 

Being the visionary, I bought a tight black capri with a tank top. Mum was hysterical. She tried every trick out of her bag to sway me from buying it, but I was not one to choke. My bravado thawed her refusal, and we purchased it. However, she did bicker all the way home about how I was growing up and should avoid attention-grabbing garments. I bit my grin.

How could parents be so gullible?

That was the whole intent of buying it!

On D-day, I donned my warrior outfit but couldn't get my hands on Mum's Blue-Haven lipstick. Honestly, she was on a mission to curb my femininity.

Unruffled, I nudged my round spectacles up my nose and twirled my high pony on the "taal se taal" of Dussehra.  

4. Adding Tea Leaves: 

How do I put this?

My entrance into the school circle rocked some nerves. Ram, a senior, did a double take. Pari, my classmate, frowned at her bubblegum-pink dress as it fluffed in the wind, turning her into a giant candy floss. With my heart thumping, I joined my friends and began the best night of my life.

I strode through the excited crowd, devoured spicy peanuts, and made a ball of real candy floss as the sky blurred in a boom of golden confetti. Juniors billowed dust, dueling with cardboard swords and flashing bows and arrows, looking like they had returned from the epic battle of Lanka.

I bought a silver bow with arrows from my pocket money. They rocked with my fierce black attire, accentuating Rani Lakshmi Bai's vibe. I couldn't wait to go home and write in my diary. Just one thing remained — the torching of Ravana.

With friends and family, I gathered alongside the excited crowd around an enormous effigy of Ravana. With colossal cheers, a flaming arrow soared, igniting Ravana. It was a sight to behold. The sky-high statue burned to crumbs. Endless rockets shot from its pit and flashed through the sky in celebration, coating us with soot and delight. 

I clapped and cheered, freezing the moment in my eyes, when I suddenly felt violated — 

5. Pouring Hot Water:

My breath choked, and my belly hardened as a sickening tightness spread across my bum. The hand grew tighter, squeezing my bum like it was not a part of my body but someone's toy.

The happiness on my family and friends' faces told me they hadn't noticed. Appalled, I whipped around and freed myself from the horrible touch.

Yellow eyes, grimy hands, and a tattered black shirt blurred my vision until I saw a lustful sneer and gasped in horror. He stood tall and proud, his bloodshot eyes daring me to retaliate as his gang sniggered. The fearlessness in their eyes dissolved my insides. My head dizzied, but the fear of him touching me again kept me awake.

I ran away from the monster and his gang, not daring to look back at their wicked faces. 

6. Observing the Infusion: 

The blank pages of my diary splashed open in the breeze as the dull moon flashed in my burning eyes. The ugly sensation of his grimy hand squeezing my bum clenched my intestines. I squirmed in bed, pinching my eyes to erase the memory, but it etched deeper. Restless, I sat, unable to stop the terrifying questions bursting into my head.

How could he do that to me?

Did he know I would choke and run away?

But why did I run?

I had my family and friends. They would have helped me.

Was I scared for their safety or of what would happen next?

My stomach dropped.

Mum would blame me for wearing attention-grabbing clothes. Everyone would agree. Telling them wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t change what happened. But it would change their behavior. They would restrict me, and worse, they would look at me differently — like I was tainted.

I shivered at my thoughts. But there was no going back. I was adamant about wearing that capri when Mum advised me to be cautious.

I was the reason.

I decided to keep my mouth shut. No one would know. I could act like it never happened. And one day, I wouldn't even remember it. 

It was the last Dussehra fair I attended.

7. Gradual Color Change:  

It took me only a few nights to realize that time never healed you.

It changed you.

And I changed. 

My carefree strolls were haunted by the thought of being exposed in the crowd. No matter what I wore, my hands instinctively covered my backside, afraid the monster would strike again. 

It was the year of the board exam, and topping them would secure a permanent spot on the school's wall of fame. Determined, my mother appointed a new tutor, the costliest one so far, anything for my bright future.

My study was a structure of boring lemon-yellow walls stuffed with a brown L-shaped sofa with white crochet covers, on which sat my new teacher. He was young and seemed well-mannered until he got friendly and started spilling his dirt. He overtly raved about his extramarital affair when his wife and kids waited at home. 

It shook me how fearless and proud he was of his obscenity.

It should have been my warning!

I don't know why I thought that a fiend like him would have the decency to not prey on a kid.

I wouldn't call myself naive.

No, I was downright stupid!

I was engrossed in a math problem when he raised his hand. I glanced and froze as he had the same lustful sneer. Even before I could breathe, he brushed his hand past my breasts, rubbing roughly, like they were not a part of my body but someone's squishy toy.

My pen rolled out of my numb fingers and plinked, shattering the spell of safety I felt at home. I sat paralyzed, unable to face him. And he just picked up the pen and thrust it into my hand as if he hadn't just charred my innocence.  

I didn't dare to speak because words never came.  

8. Steeping Time: 

How could it happen again?

I was in my brother's uninviting hand-me-downs. I hadn't touched the black capri.

Then, why?

A string of sleepless nights and dried tears brought clarity. It wasn't something I did but didn't do. I never stopped him from raving about his illicit life and carried the pretense of being unfazed. My avoidance made him believe that if I had no problem hearing about it, I wouldn't have any living it.

I was the reason again.

I knew I couldn't undo or forget what happened. But I could carry the pretense of being alright. I had done it for so long now that the real and fake hues blended seamlessly.

I told my mother I could not understand his teaching and got a new teacher. He had a weird quirk. Whenever I errored, he squeezed my forearm. It seemed like an unharmful warning. But it sent shivers down my legs. But he seemed nice otherwise. Focused and reserved. And I excelled in my exams. 

The celebration of my achievement came with the subtext of paranoia. I had to move out now. Live alone in a world of men. And so I carried on the pretense.

I wore looser clothes and looked less appealing. 

I always double-checked the door.

I copped out of all the parties.

I spoke minimum to men.

I was no longer the it-girl.

But at least I was the safe girl.

Safe if I didn't count the countless instances of catcalling, ogling, and pawing splattered over my consciousness. And I didn't. There was no escaping them, only pretending.

Did men ever feel the sensation of their skin crawling because a woman was waiting to catcall, ogle, and paw them?

9. Enjoy the Transformation: 

Marriage was never a thought, but its occurrence shook me. I never thought I could say it, but Rohman came into my life, and I didn't have to pretend to be alright. His love and care healed me. And between the sterilized smell of the hospital and unendurable pains arrived Isha and Ishi, my greatest blessings.

As I held my daughters, despair, not happiness, engulfed me. My daughters didn't deserve this world. It scarred innocent girls. I had to save them from the monsters. I had to protect them.

But today, their innocent question, "Can we go to a fair?" twisted my insides.

How could I protect Isha and Ishi when I couldn't even protect myself?

I couldn't take them. I could never —

10. Strain the Tea Leaves:  

I knew something had happened before the screams reached me. I raced past the burgeoning crowd, my heart juddering. I heard snuffles and finally saw bobbling pigtails. Pushing through the crowd, I found Isha sprawled on the ground, dirt-ridden, with Jina beside her. Jina was crying, her spectacles askew. Ishi stood close, trying to help. I pushed harder, earning revolting glances when a male groan shook me.

I hadn't noticed the boy, twice Isha's height, lying spread-eagled a little ahead, clasping his left elbow and wincing lousily. 

"Don't cry," Isha heaved Jina with Ishi's help. 

Jina wiped her flushed face. "Thanks," 

"Not yet," said Isha, raising her hand to help the boy. 

The crowd booed. The boy pondered momentarily before accepting help. He turned to leave, but Isha didn't let go.

"Apologise," she commanded, and I gasped.

"But, you shoved me," he complained. 

"Not me," Isha pointed at Jina.

My breath froze.

Jina reddened. "It's ok —  

Ishi stopped her. "No, he should apologize,"

"He can't get away with it," Isha added, and my stomach dropped.

Looking at the ground, the boy murmured, "I'm sorry, I called you elephant thighs,"

He fled before anyone could react.

The crowd cheered. Isha and Ishi hugged Jina.

"You guys are the best," said Jina.

My eyes blurred.

"Maa," Isha spotted me. Her grin wavered. "I'm sorry," she said, "I know you said not to speak to strangers, but —

"How could we let him bully Jina?" Ishi interjected.

"You won't cancel the fair, will you —

Isha stopped and took my hand. "Maa?" she said, squeezing it, "Are you alright?"

My lips trembled. I tried to hold it, but I couldn't and cried. I let the tears fall one after another, not stopping, not wiping, just letting them flow. My legs wobbled, and I crumbled on the ground.

Isha and Ishi hurried and enclosed me in their warm embrace. And I sobbed more —

Not because I wasn't there when they needed me. Not because I was scared for them. Because I finally knew that they never needed my savings. They needed my courage.

I needed my courage.

I needed to retaliate when he groped me.

I needed to share with my family and not face it alone.

I needed to shut the obscene tutor and slap him for his act. 

I needed to voice my unease about the squeezing tutor.

I needed to look in the eyes, not below.

I needed to dress as I liked.

I needed to live, not hide.

I needed to be me.

11. Sip and Savor: 

I closed my eyes and saw the girl in black Capri with a twirling ponytail, round spectacles, and no blue-haven lipstick. Her eyes were bright, not puffy, cheeks pink, not pale, her gait playful, not trembling.

I embraced my pillar-like daughters, Isha, the protector, and Ishi, Goddess Durga, both synonyms of Goddess Parvati. They were what I always wanted to be — courageous. And holding their hand, I became the Parnika named after the virtue of Goddess Parvati — courage. 

Together, we would voice every emotion, fight every wrong, and live fearlessly. 

Epilogue: 

"But how did you all end up on the ground?" I asked in the elevator.

Isha grinned. "Ishi tied his laces from behind,"

"But then Isha and Jina tripped, running away from him," Ishi giggled.

Isha ignored her and unwinded on the strawberry-shaped beanbag. "Maa, is the fair still on?"

I smiled, putting a pan. "Not before I brew myself a new ga-run-tee,"