What is Your Preference?
written by: Sujata Dash
“A good story or a compelling tale
What is your preference?”
grandma asked her favorite grandchild
as she whisked away the munchkin
to the corner room near the attic
where her tired limbs yearned for some rest and relief
I took time to weigh
as I was a toddler by then
and subtleties between the two
I was unable to comprehend
I chose story over a compelling tale
grandma breathed a sigh of relief
kicking her mind, grandma went on to narrate
It was about a mighty king
His leadership, valiance and heroics
parade of wealth and grandeur of opulence
lavish expenditure during celebrations
especially during marriages and coronations
she covered bit by bit
as if, to all of those she was privy
Her voice was soft and endearing
akin to the effect of a lullaby
I fell asleep in a trice
as I was traveling since morning
but she did not stop amid storytelling
that is what she told me
why she continued even after my siesta
the crux behind, I could not realize
In a few years, I became an adolescent
my granny had added years to her age, by then
her wrinkles grew in size and shape
but she looked graceful and resplendent
and conducted herself well
When evening dawned and night deepened
In our sleepy and non-descript village
entire family was done with supper,
busied themselves in playing ludo and carrom
snake ladder and balloon ping pong
exchanging goodies and knickknacks
I towed behind her to a secluded place
to chit chat at length
We spoke to each other until it was late at night
she asked “Are you sleepy?”
I said “Not at all granny.”
“Then choose between the two honey,
A compelling tale or a regular story?”
I chose a compelling tale this time
and she readied herself to depict
She looked upward for a while, fell silent
then babbled non stop like a wild jet
I could feel each utterance as she emoted
Perhaps! She lived to recount own experience
the love birds in the story had to part ways
social order disapproved of their interfaith amours
I could feel drops of tears falling on my cheeks
a few times her voice choked even!
but she delivered through sobs and yammers
like a first person narrative does
the roads she took for her lyrical ballad
was like a chess board
with no obvious move or turn
still she negotiated like a deft player
She continued till dawn eavesdropped
I was wide awake, listened carefully
with bated breath
as I was an adolescent by then
could read between her lines,
feel subtleties of nuances
Women have a repertoire of
pent up emotions
so much to put forth, yet they shy away from
I realized it thoroughly the said nightfall.
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