JAHNAVI ENAGANTI - PAINFULLY GREEN

Jahnavi Enaganti is an aspiring Indian-American writer who enjoys writing short contemporary fiction stories. When she isn't glued to her computer writing she enjoys reading a good book, going on long walks, and painting. Jahnavi currently lives in India and dreams of exploring new places and cultures to inspire her stories

Painfully Green
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​Every afternoon after being dropped off from school by auto rickshaw, Diya made her way to the tea museum to sell tourists little souvenirs while her mother worker at a tea plantation picking leaves. Most of the tourists visiting Munnar that Diya encountered were from other parts of India, few from Britain, even fewer from the rest of the world. One thing they all had in common was that they spoke in English to her. So, Diya taught herself English until it came easier than even Malayalam.
The air was cooler than usual as Diya made her way up the hills to the museum. The constant winding of the road made her feet ache, regardless of how many times she made the climb. She had a bag full of trinkets tucked under her arm which she would be selling for peanuts. Around her the world was a bright, vibrant green. She was surrounded tea leaves, billions of them as if each one represented a different life. Diya had grown to hate them. The green hurt her eyes.
Diya made it to the tea museum just as a minivan full of tourists pulled up. The museum was an old factory that had fallen into disuse. Now, it boasted about a hundred tourist visits in a day. Diya opened up her stall near the exit. It was barely any larger than Diya, but it served its purpose well. It was from here that Diya sold her souvenirs until late into the night, earning a meagre income.
Diya emptied her bag and set the souvenirs on the shelves. She sold her souvenirs for twice as much as she got them for. They were worthless pieces of junk, but the tourist didn’t know that and Diya capitalized on their ignorance. 
“Diya! Want some chai?” Ramesh asked by way of greeting.
“Never. Some coffee will do.” She said handing him some money. 
He went back into his restaurant to make her coffee. Every day he made it a point to ask Diya if she wanted tea, and everyday her answer remained the same. The first time he asked her answer had shocked him so much that he walked back into his restaurant in a daze without replying, taking her money with him. The next day he was waiting with a cup of coffee. He told Diya all about how he went to the nearest store and bought all of the instant coffee in stock, which to be fair was less than a kilogram. The coffee tasted terrible but she still drank it anyway. Maybe one day she could gift Ramesh an espresso machine. But that would be long after Diya left this place.
Ramesh came back with Diya’s coffee, but it was already cold. 
“How’s Amrita?” He asked.
“Mumma is doing fine.”
 Her Mumma was always doing fine. No matter how much her life sucked, she was doing fine. That's why Diya would get wealthy, so her mother’s life could stop being fine and start being great.   
“Well, looks like you’ve got company.” Ramesh said, sauntering back to his restaurant. It had an old board in front of it that read Hotel Sai Ramesh Dhaba. Diya would have to ask him to rename it one day.
An old couple walked up to Diya’s stall. Instinctively, her back straightened and she felt a smile grow on her face. Customers meant sales, sales meant money, and money meant Diya was one step closer to making her Mumma’s life better. 
“Hi, sweety. Could I take a look at that?” The woman pointed at a bobble head Kathakali dancer. 
Diya handed her the bobble head. The woman’s hand brushed Diya’s. Where the woman’s hand was soft, Diya’s was rough and calloused. The woman asked Diya what her name was, the man asked whether she went to school or not. Diya felt like she was being interrogated. She was used to tourists asking her questions, but that didn’t mean she was comfortable with it. It made her ashamed of her life. 
The tourists told her how they would be visiting places all over India. They told her all about the wonderful adventures they’d had. Diya listened intently as they told her about how they rode camels in the desert of Rajasthan, made snowmen in Jammu, kissed in front of the Taj Mahal, partied on the beaches of Goa, bargained in the many markets of Mumbai. They were from an entirely different world. They lived for the joy of it, something Diya couldn’t understand. While they spoke, Diya imagined she was in paradise. She saw the mountains and forests and deserts and large cities that were full of so much life. This was the India Diya wanted to see, the life she wanted to live. This was what she wanted to make her reality. Every day the tourists would remind her of this, creating new memories in her mind and making old ones fresh.
“Where are you going next?” Diya asked.
“Fort Kochi.” The man said.
“Fort Kochi?”
Diya didn’t know much about Fort Kochi, only that she had an uncle there. Her mother hardly ever talked about her family, and Diya was pretty sure it had something to do with her late father. The tourist couple told her about Fort Kochi. They had been there before coming to Munnar, and they would be going there again. They told her that stepping into Fort Kochi was like stepping back in time. Gone were the large commercial complexes and traffic jammed roads. Instead all around would be colonial era buildings repurposed into small shops, art cafes, and inns. The beach would be lined with thousands and thousands of fishing nets, and at the break of dawn the fishermen would come out of their houses for a day of work. The couple called it ‘Hippie Central’ and although Diya didn’t know what that meant she laughed along with them. She also decided that Fort Kochi would be the first place she would visit after leaving her permanently green world. She would visit her uncle for the first time and her mother would never get that sad look on her face when Diya asked about her family again.
The tourists left without buying anything, but Diya didn’t mind. Her mind was someplace else. Ramesh came over once again.
“No luck?”
Diya nodded.
“Have you ever been to Fort Kochi?” She suddenly asked him.
An error on her part. Ramesh launched into full detail how he had once went to Fort Kochi on an errand, fallen in love with a Portuguese woman who spoke no language Ramesh could understand, and how in the end Ramesh bravely fought the local gang leader to remain with her. Then she left him to go back to Europe. The only thing true about the story was that he indeed visited Fort Kochi once in his life, the rest he ripped off from a movie he had watched over the weekend with his wife and children. Diya, of course, believed every word, for in her mind Fort Kochi was not a place of this earth, but an embodiment for all she aspired. 
No other tourists came to her stall and Diya went back home empty handed. Yet, she felt as if she were carrying the weight of the world as she made her way back down the hills. It was around nine when she got home. Diya and her mother lived in a workers' quarter, where each home consisted of a single room and communal bathrooms. Her mother sat in a corner chopping vegetables. Next to her the rice cooker was steaming. Slight rust had started to form on the metal body.
“Hello, Ma.” Diya said.
Her mother gave her a weak smile and went back to preparing dinner. Diya dropped her bag onto the cot they both shared and went up to her mother, taking a seat next to her. There was barely enough room for them to both sleep comfortably on the cot. Some nights, long after her mother had fallen asleep, Diya would take out one of the winter blankets and sleep on the hard floor. 
Diya watched her mother intently, observing her like a doctor. Her mother’s skin was abnormally pale, the veins stark contrast to her greying skin. Her fray hair hung limp, nearly balding. Breathing labored and body far thinner than her daughters, anyone who saw Amrita Nambiar would know she was dying.
“How was your day.” Her mother asked.
Diya looked into her mother’s dull eyes. She felt hopeless.
“Great! School was boring as usual, but at least Math Sir was absent. I heard he got malaria. There are rumors going around that headmistress ma’am got pregnant. She’s 60! I went to the tea museum today and Ramesh made me coffee. It still sucks.”
She didn’t want to stop talking, it distanced her from this world. It distanced her from the grief of her dying mother, and she hoped it distanced her mother from her pain.
Her mother chuckled and shook her head.
“Silly goose” she said, rubbing Diya’s head.
Once dinner was prepared, Diya and her mother sat on the floor to eat. They had rice with lentils. It was a standard meal; one they could eat every day without complaint.
“How was work today?” Diya asked.
“Fine.” Her mother said with a reassuring smile.
Lies. Diya knew her mother had stopped going to work at least a week ago. There was no way a frail woman like her could survive such a strenuous job. Diya hated that her mother felt she had to lie to her about such a thing. What concerned her more were the bundles of money her mother sometimes brought home. Diya could only speculate how her mother was earning them.
“Have some more.” 
Diya’s mother scooped some rice from her plate and put it onto Diya’s.
“Ma!”
“Eat. You’re a growing girl and if you don’t fatten up now which poor man will marry you.” Her mother said, laughing at her own joke.
Diya did her best to hide her smile. They talked some more, her mother letting her in on some gossip spreading amongst the adults. 
“I met some new tourists today. They are visiting India.” Diya continued on, telling her mother about all the places they had been.
“Fort Kochi?” Her mother asked when Diya got to that part.
“Yeah. Even Ramesh Uncle visited Fort Kochi. Told me a wonderful story about how he fell in love there.”
Her mother laughed, “I’m sure he did, he’s always telling some story.”
“Have you ever gone to Fort Kochi?” She asked her mother.
Her mother pondered on the question for a while, although there wasn’t much to think about. It was a yes or no question after all.
“Yes, yes I have.” she answered tentatively.
Diya gave her mother some time to collect her thoughts.
“I think I was only about seventeen when my parents moved me there.” she hesitated, “for my-my brother and I, it was love at first sight.”
“Tell me more.” Diya leaned forward, finding herself completely invested in the story.
Her mother started, opening her mouth to let the words spill free. Every action she took was delicate, every movement except the next one. She started coughing terribly. Her body bent over, clutching her chest. Diya felt her wonder turn to horror. She didn’t know what to do, what to think. Diya was overcome with panic. Her mother was having a fit, possibly dying right in front of her eyes and she felt helpless to do anything. Diya could only watch while tears of desperation fell from her eyes. 
Panic is an odd sensation, where the mind is both overflowing with thoughts and at the same time entirely blank. Diya’s mother reached for Diya’s and, every movement a struggle taking an eternity.
“Get…” she struggled to speak, her voice drowning out, “Get help.”
Diya finally felt her nerves come back to life. She rushed out of the house, stubbing her toe against a wall while rounding a corner. She banged on the neighbors’ door. Her eyes were aching and her head felt heavy. 
When her neighbors finally opened the door, Diya was slumped against the wall, having given up. Alarmed, they bent over asking what was wrong. Diya managed to sputter out a few words, but enough for them to get a hold of the situation. They rushed into action, calling an ambulance. 
Her mother was taken to the hospital and Diya stayed with her neighbors until Ramesh came over with his wife to give her company. Despite the early hour, the entire complex seemed awake and buzzing with news of what had happened.
“Everything will be alright child.” Ramesh’s wife to her.
She stroked her hair, offering what little comfort she could. And when they left for the hospital around three in the morning, she held her hand the entire way.
It was an hour-long drive by auto rickshaw. The auto went at a snail’s pace down the twisting roads. On either side of Diya, the hills were covered with the tea plants she had grown to hate so much. Yet, they seemed to be the only constant in her life.
Soon the hills blended into the sleepy setting of a town. Diya arrived in front of the town municipal hospital at the break of dawn. It used to be an old villa. It most likely had housed rich landowners, being the dominating structure it was. Now, it looked dull with disrepair. Diya jumped out of the auto, tripping over Ramesh’s wife, and ran into the hospital.
“Wait.” Ramesh called after her. 
Diya found her mother was in room 3. There were only about three rooms. It was a bare room with only a bed and a monitor next to it. Her eyes were closed and the only sound heard was the steady beeping of the heart monitor. The effect, haunting in itself, made Diya tremble. She didn’t want to admit it, but she knew this was the day she would lose her mother. Diya shook her head to clear her mind of the thought. Such notions wouldn’t be entertained. The others were kind enough to wait outside, letting a mother spend her last few moments alone with her daughter.
“Ma?” Diya asked tentatively.
A body shifted under the white muslin. Her mother turned so that she was facing Diya. There was nowhere for Diya to sit so she simply stood at the bedside.
“Diya.”
Her mother grabbed her hand. She held it as tightly as possible. Diya’s hands were a lot larger than hers and full of life. It gave her warmth, a sweet sensation that made its way through her body, to hold her daughter’s hand so intimately.
“Ma.” Diya wailed. 
She couldn’t keep it in her any longer, couldn’t be strong anymore. She let her tears run down her face as sobs overcame her. Never had Diya felt so lost and alone.
Her mother stroked her face, “I will be fine.”
“No, you won’t.” Diya cried in between tears. 
She shook her head furiously, refusing to listen to her mother’s words. She knew her mother was dying, and she knew they were too poor for her mother to get better. Everyone around her was just lying, lying to themselves and lying to Diya as they said that her mother was fine. That everything was fine.
Her mother fell quiet and a tear slipped out of the corner of her eye. Diya hated crying herself, but more so seeing others cry. Especially her mother.
“Don’t cry.” She told her mother while interlacing their fingers. 
A doctor came into the room and sent Diya outside to talk to her mother in private. Outside she found Ramesh asleep.
“Where’s aunty?”
“I sent her home to get some sleep.” He told me.
Ramesh patted the space on the bench next to him. Diya sat down and embraced the feeling of the cold hard metal.  Ramesh looked like he wanted to tell her something, but kept quiet instead. 
“You should get some sleep too.” He finally told me.
Diya shook my head, “I don’t think I can.”
“I don’t blame you.” 
Ramesh fell asleep by the time the doctor came back out. 
Diya jumped out of my seat, “What happened?”
The doctor gave Diya a sad look and said, “Your mother’s inside, you can go speak with her if you wish.”
“You were asking me about Fort Kochi.” Her mother said as soon as she entered the room.
It was a statement not a question, so Diya simply nodded in response. She sat next to her bed and let her mother speak.
“Vikram is a good brother- a wonderful man.” She told Diya, “He’ll take good care of you.”
“What are you talking about Ma.” Diya asked with a shaky voice.
Her mind simply didn’t want to process her mother’s words. Diya refused to accept that her mother would no longer be with her. She no longer wanted to go to Fort Kochi and she no longer cared about her dreams. She just wanted her mother to stay with her.
“Mumma, Mumma.” Diya repeated shaking her mother by a shoulder, “answer me.”
Her mother sighed. She looked worse than before, her skin sunken and graying, but most of all she looked tired of living.
“Let me tell you a story, Diya. But you must not interrupt me.”
“Okay.” Diya spoke quietly.
It was in her deathbed, that Diya’s mother, Amrita Nambiar, turned to face her past with a hope to teach her daughter all the lesson she had hoped to have years to do. And with a hope that she herself would find closure and peace.
Amrita met Vishal when she was only sixteen. He was one of Vikram’s friends, so she paid him no heed at first. Then they got talking. Amrita needed someone to drive her to the next city over for some competition she had gotten selected for. Their parents were busy, so Vikram asked Vishal to take her. Amrita lost the competition, but she came back with Vishal as her prize. They kept their relationship a secret until Amrita was eighteen. A week after her eighteenth birthday she asked her parents if she could marry Vishal. She thought she loved him.
“Did you really love him?” Diya asked.
“I thought I did.” She replied, sounding unconvinced herself.
Her parents forbid her from seeing Vishal every again. They locked her in her room and didn’t let her out for anything. They punished Vikram too, for ‘introducing such shame into their lives’. Her parents objections to her love only made it burn brighter though. Amrita would sneak out of her window to meet Vishal every night, long after her brother had stopped talking to him too. The night she was turning nineteen, Vishal asked her to elope with him. He told her how he’d gotten a job in the hill station Munnar. He told her about what a beautiful place it was, surrounded by tea plantations as far as the eye could see. 
“What happened after that? Did you leave with him?” Diya asked, her words coming out all at once.
Her mother had stopped speaking, a reminiscent look in her eyes starkly contrasting her labored breathing.
“I did.” A tear slipped out of her mother’s eye.
Diya leant over to brush it away, “Don’t cry.”
She spoke so quietly her mother couldn’t hear her.
“We settled here, in Munnar, and everything was amazing at first. Even though I could never go back home, I was fine. My new home was with Vishal.”
Amrita and Vishal spent the first few months of their married life in bliss. Amrita found a job at a nearby school. And even though between the two of them they barely made money, they made ends meet. Vishal found a nice two-bedroom apartment for them to move into together and Amrita even started toying with the idea of having a child. A couple months after she turned twenty, Amrita got pregnant with Diya. She thought herself the happiest person on the planet. And for a while she was. However, things changed with Vishal a couple months into her pregnancy. It only started with him borrowing a lot of money and coming home much later. Then, her started drinking a lot, disappearing for weeks on end too. Amrita found herself wracked with despair. She barely managed to keep strong enough for the child growing inside of her. Vishal would become physical with her, screaming and hitting. Amrita, lost and confused with what she had done wrong, would cry herself to sleep every night. Her husband was no longer the man she had fallen in love with. Something had changed within him; her parents had warned her marriage did that to people. If only she had listened to them. Amrita wished more than anything to turn back time, for her life to return back to normal. A couple of weeks before she was due, Vishal left the house and simply never came back. Destroyed by grief and misery, Amrita went into premature labor. The doctors said it was a miracle Diya and her mother had come out of it alive. It was only when Amrita had looked at her small and helpless child that she promised herself to be strong, if not for herself then for her daughter.
The monitor started beeping, scaring Diya. Diya got up frantically to call the doctor, but her mother gripped her arm tightly.
“My brother, go to him. H- he’ll care for you.”
Not knowing what to do Diya nodded.
“And promise me you’ll be strong. Don’t make the mistakes I made.” her voice was raspy and dying. 
It was a struggle for her to even breath. Diya’s mother overcome with breathlessness, and Diya used the opportunity to wrestle her arm free, crying out for the doctor. 
The next few moments went by slowly and painfully. Diya was waiting outside with Ramesh while the doctor and a couple nurses tried their best to keep her mother alive in the hospital room. Every now and then, Diya would bring her hand to her face to rub the tears away. No matter what she tried, she couldn’t stop crying. 
The sun was shining bright outside by the time the doctor came out of the room. Her spoke quietly with Ramesh before leaving.
“What did he say?”
Amrita Nambiar had passed away at 6:34 in the morning at the age of 34. She left behind a cryptic letter for her only daughter who would be heading to Fort Kochi to live with Amrita’s brother.
Diya stepped out of the hospital, pain searing her eyes, with the letter clutched close to her heart. Her world was no longer felt green and for the first time in her life Diya longed for that green world.