Manju was a fearless and free spirited girl. Her chiselled features and the distinctive mole on her chin distinguished her from everyone. At least this is what her grandmother thought about Manju. For the old granny, Manju’s beauty could give the most illustrious and beautiful women of Saurashtra a run for their money. Her only nestled dream was to marry off Manju to the wealthiest businessman.

However, Manju was in no hurry to marry; she was a research student. She was short of six months from earning her doctoral degree from the University.  That year Manju had come home, to spend her winter break with her granny. But poor Manju was more stressed than thrilled.  What if granny throws one of her Bollywood melodramas, like she does always? And plan a ‘Swayamvar’ for her little, pretty girl.
Manju had arrived at Rajkot on the day after Christmas.

The old church on her way to granny place was festooned with satin. The little baby figurine was still snugged in a barn, with dotting parents standing alongside. Manju reached home to a warm welcome from granny. They caught up on many family matters. It had been five days since Manju had arrived in Rajkot and the average temperature was about thirteen degrees. It was very cold for granny’s barometer and pleasantly warm for Manju. At least she was not in the snow laden University campus of Minnesota.
 

‘So, Anadiben! Where’s the party for the new-year?’ teased Manju.
 

‘Huh! Chokari, where are your manners? I have called my sister and her family from Bhavnagar. They will be here with us on new year.’ chided Granny.
 

‘Naaah! Not them Granny. They will come with their stock of mukhvaas and digestive candies. And spoil my holidays. Oh! Rather pollute my holidays!!!’ cried Manju.
 

‘You know nothing. We will leave for Surat on 2nd January. I want you to see this boy. Big diamond merchant.’ replied the resolute granny.

Manju quietly vacated the room and slipped into the balcony of their two bedroom flat. She did not want to ring in the new-year with the annoying Bhavnagar family. But she had no other plan, in any case.
After two days, the last day of the year arrived. The day when the account of our good and bad deeds are self-confessed. When we want to leave all bad memories in the going year and start afresh as a noble soul from the new-year. Only foolish of us; not to understand that ‘We’ are the conduit of ‘Balance Brought Forward’.

Manju was eating heaped tea spoons of Poha with a hot cup of ginger tea for breakfast on 31st December. Still no plan for the new-year. Granny was sitting on the only other chair of their make shift dining table. There were no dialogues, only monologue – Granny doing the talking. Manju was superficially attentive. She had gone through an article in the newspaper about the heritage building of Rajkot. And soon she popped up, ‘Granny, my guide has sent a small gift for his friend in India. I need to pass on the gift on the new-year eve. I might get late. Don’t get too stressed’.
 

Anandiben snorted in her signature style and clamped her hands, wondering about the marital prospects of her accomplished granddaughter.
 

As the evening set in, Rajkot was getting glittery and sparkly. People illuminated the fringes of their houses with light wires. The warmth of the setting sun had been soaked into the ever drying papads, khakras, and pickles of Rajkot household. The residents had called it a year and were retiring with their share of profit and loss. Most of the courtyards had been brightened up by an invincible diya next to the holy basil plant.
 

Manju and Granny lit up their flat; standing at the threshold of a new decade. Presently, Manju got up to pick up the fake packet and slid out before the onslaught of the Bhavnagar Brigade. She lugged her winter overcoat and some tea and sandwich. She preferred walking down to the venue for her new-year party. So the invite was like this.
Invitee – Manju Sheth
Venue -  Sheth Haveli, W – 9, Main Rajkot Road.
Time – 9p.m. to the sunrise of the new decade.
 

Manju, had kept her new-year party venue as a secret from her Granny. It had been ten years since, Granny had been to the Sheth haveli. She had always restrained Manju from visiting the forbidden haveli. A nasty family dispute had split, the once burgeoning Sheth family. Also Granny had always blamed her extended family for the demise of Manju’s parents. For all these years Manju was bearing the burden of forbidden unknown.  She was in Rajkot after so many years and wanted to see the haveli, where her parents lived.

It was well past 9 p.m. when Manju stepped at the gate of the haveli. It was like any other haveli of Rajkot, with entry from an arched main door. The door was quite magnificent with bronze nails and décor on it. The knockers on the door were two brass bangles, dangling against the solid teak wood door. Manju sat down at the protruded cemented space running adjacent to the haveli wall. She was gearing herself to face the multitude of extended family which still inhabited the haveli. As she drank a sip of tea, she found the place to be in solitude. The street light was dim and there were very few passer-byes. Manju thought this was the lull before the storm.

She got up to get it. The main door needed a hard push and it opened up, albeit with a creaky noise. Manju reached to the centre of the courtyard, the planter in the centre of the courtyard had a thick ambush of holy basil, with numerous diyas lit around. To the left was a fleet of stairs, which would take her to the first floor and to the right was the kitchen, washing area, a well and chipped staircase. Manju remembered many years back, Granny had told her that the portion above the utility area, was their part of the haveli. That is where Manju was born and lived till she was eight years old.  Manju did not make much ado about things and quietly walked towards her part of the haveli. Her sneaker had gathered all the dust and grime in the last one hour, which were not even partially so in Minnesota. Manju unlatched one of the bedrooms. Inside there was a colonial styled bed with mosquito net still hanging from the four pillars alongside the edge of the bed. The wall clock in the room chimed 10 p.m. Manju called Granny, reconfirming her welfare and early return. Relieved she grabbed a bite of the sandwich she had carried along. Manju plunged on to the single sofa seat, placed on the right side of the bed. There was completely composed and quaint feel inside the room. From the look of the room, it seemed to be her parents’ bedroom. The signature MF Hussain painting on the wall, validated her mother’s manifestation in the room.  The applique’ work cushion covers again signalled at her mother. Her mother’s needle set with spools of coloured threads were still resting on the teak wood console. Though she did not spot any family photos, but there were many paintings which her mother had painted herself. Manju felt the presence of her mother in the room. Manju appreciated the house keeping of her extended family. There was no film of any dust on any of the items in the room.

Mention of them triggered Manju to check out on her relatives, who lived on the other side. She craned her neck to check out. The family was cuddled up in one room, rest of the lights were switched off. Manju appreciated their sensitivity to the conserving energy. The rattle of their giggling and chirping was audible, but faint. She heard some music being played in the back drop. She could not see faces, but there shadows were doing the talking.  There was a couple who was dancing and another was pouring wine from a bottle. ‘Hah! My granny thought that my extended family was a bunch of rustic and ignorant people. Wish she had come along to witness, what I can see’, thought Manju. Manju went back to the sofa, but continued to hear the snigger. There was a TV set in the bedroom, but there was no trace of the remote. She stood up to look around, when her wrist watch alarmed at 11:30 p.m.  She put that alarm on purpose, only to ensure that she begins to stay happy and cheerful to welcome the new-year. With every passing minute the jamboree in the room on the ground floor was getting louder and louder. Soon she heard people in the lane burning crackers and etching the sleepy sky with their fireworks. People were flocking their terraces to light even more crackers. The wall clock was at 11: 45 p.m. and Manjus’s Tissot displayed 11:50 p.m. ‘Oh, I am in a rush to ring in the new year with a Big Bang’, thought Manju. The glitterati continued on the canvas of the sky.  Rajkotians had graduated to coloured firecrackers and fireworks. The view was worth every minute. But to her immense surprise, no one from her extended family had stepped out to witness the orb lit sky. To her surprise, the sounds from the room had stopped coming and there was dense silence.  Manju missed her parents. How she wished they were around to witness all the rhapsodies of her life. Thinking and remembering them, Manju fell off to sleep on the plastic chair she had pulled for herself on the terrace.  Just the time she knocked off, her Tissot had displayed a new time 00:00 hrs, 1st January 2010.

Next day early morning, Manju woke up at 7:30 a.m. to the jarring sound of her mobile. It was Granny, who had no update from Manju in the last nine hours. ‘Happy new year! Granny. Yes, I am fine. I am just coming back home’, replied Manju, who was trying to figure out on what exactly had happened. She vividly remembered that she had slept off on the plastic chair on the terrace, then when did she get in to sleep on the bed.
 

Manju quickly gathered her things and walked back home. She was greeted by a room full of ulta pallu aunty’s, rotund uncles, fashionista nieces and squirrel moustached nephews…That was the Bhavnagar Bundobast. All pleasantries had got exchanged between Manju and the guest. Granny had knitted a very believable cover-up story for Manju.
 

Post lunch, during the afternoon siesta, Granny pulled Manju to her room; to know the real story.
‘Granny, please don’t get upset, but I wanted to go to the haveli. I wanted to see where my mother lived. I wanted to feel her things and room, confessed Manju.
 

‘I thought as much dearly, because this time you did not clamp my brains, asking questions about your mother. I suspected, the time you mentioned about your guide, since your guide is also in Rajkot, why would he ask you to deliver the gift?’ exclaimed Granny.
 

‘Oh My My! You are a clever old hag. My darling Granny’, replied Manju.
‘Alright! Tell me did Phaguniben and Kishore Bhaisahab, meet you? Did you tell them that you are studying in the USA? Did they give any sweets?’ asked Granny with a whiff of pride.

‘What sweets Granny!! They are much more modern. They were having wine, while enjoying English music. And, they have levelled the well. The same one, where you bathed me, when I was tiny’, shared Manju.

 A bewildered Granny dropped the hot cup of tea. She looked at Manju with aghast and said, ‘Are you sure you went to the correct haveli?’
 

‘Yes Granny. The address was my home for eight years. It is W-9, Sheth haveli’s’, replied Manju.
 

‘Oh no. Dearie dear, it is M-6…And not to scare you. You went to the haveli which, according to hearsay is inhabited by evil spirits. People say that a family of foreigners were lodging there, but during the plague epidemic in Gujrat, they succumbed to the poison and died. But it is also said that they visit there every new-year and are harmless’, said granny with a sigh of relief.

‘What fun? Really Granny? No wonder there was no one to see the fireworks….But granny why were mom’s belongings in the room...Granny, please pinch me… Really did I ring in the new-year with banshees? Did they take me in from the terrace to the comfortable bed and swaddle me in the duvet?’ saying this, Manju fainted on granny’s lap.
 

Granny caressed Manju’s mop of hair and spoke with moist eyes, ‘because, that is where your mother lived in the last six months of their life, when Kishore Bhaisahab refused to accept your brother’s wife, who was from a different caste. And we two widows- your mother and your granny could do nothing in a patriarchal household.’