Never-Ending Story Issues - Essay Example

'Here it is. Ready for Church', my grandma's wrinkled hands handed my old shoe to me. She had painstakingly stuck coloured cardboard on the holes in my small black shoe. I ran out happily to join my friends heading for the church. "She can fix anything" I thought to myself. The tattered shoe which I loathed to wear yesterday now looks like a stunning new one, stitched, glued and made black with the left out coal and oil. It was New Years Eve. The year was 1900. I was a four year old girl with a long list of things to demand from God for the forthcoming year. I wanted a silk scarf, a huge cake piece with a full cherry and desperately needed a blanket for myself. Living in a house with three sisters and two brothers, I always had to share mine with my younger sister who wets the blanket at half of the night. But, that day I put aside all my other demands and simply prayed I would be like my grandma. "Give me the power to heal everything like my grandma" I prayed wholeheartedly. She was simply a magician. She could make the butter less dried bread and the hated potato soup eatable with her wonderful stories about French Cuisine. She can make the weird lace pieces mother brings home from her seamstress job into a beautiful frock in no time. She can make biting cold go away by tugging me close to her. She can mend the shaking furniture by stuffing wooden pieces under their legs. She can make my crying mother laugh instantly with her whispers and my shouting dad, get out of the house just by entering the room. I seriously wished I could get the power to fix everything just like her. It was not long after the New Year, I saw her asleep serenely in her bed with a thin white foam on her jaw. My little sister wet the blanket again and I went to snuggle myself against grandma. Surprisingly, she was very cold and did not reach out to fondle me. My mother told me grandmother committed suicide because she was suffering from an incurable disease. I did not understand why she did not mend herself when she was capable of fixing everything else in the world. As I grew older I understood the horrible suffering she had to undergo in her old age. Grandma was a lovely dame from a very rich family. She chose to spend her life with a poor carriage driver instead of a posh suitor her parents chose for her. They lived happily for eternity with what little they had. But, grandpa’s untimely death forced her to take up the work of a seamstress. Her wealthy customers, who were once her friends, did little to make life easy for her. She lost three children one after another unable to feed them enough. Time taught her to make the best use of every little resource available in the best possible way. Mother, her only surviving child grew up to succeed her in the seamstress job. With no formal education and very little money, she had little prospects of a good marriage. Dad rescued her like a prince saving a damsel in distress. He was neither wealthy not poor. His business fluctuated constantly. But, he was making enough money to support mother and our large family with six children. All was fine until grandma joined the family unable to work anymore. She was diagnosed with some unknown disease which gave her unbearable pain. Father was very compassionate at first doing everything he could to help her. But, her treatment was beyond affordable. Mother started working again leaving us in the care our diseased grandma. What little we had always went towards buying a medicine to ease her pain. She never showed her pain to us. She filled our lives with stories and prayers and songs. The last string came when mother spent the money father reserved for buying New Year clothes to us on grandmothers, physician visit. It led to a heated argument between them which got cut short by grandma’s entrance into the room and father moving out of the room. She took her life that night, eating all the medicines at a time. Her last note to mother asked to stay hopeful and educate the all her children especially girls, as they would get a better chance to earn and live a dignified life. I felt my grandmother had all rights to demand help from her daughter at her last age. Sacrificing a life for the sake of the happiness of others seemed utterly senseless to me. In fact she could have made us much happier than all the dresses in the world with her love and care. I felt angry at my dad, my mum, the physician and the whole world. I started to feel so lonely and cursed just because we were poor. ‘My mother cherished grandma’s last note preciously. She made all of us get a decent education. She did all odd jobs from domestic work to tailoring along with her seamstress job to give a decent education to us. We often lived on left over things from the rich households my mother worked for. Used books, clothes, extra eatables and old toys were all we got. My friends often ridiculed me and my sisters as Miss. Handovers. I grew up as a sort of reserved child, wondering why we cannot afford the best things in the world. I remember one particular Christmas distinctly. I was fourteen. My younger sister was desperately praying to God to send her a new silk scarf. To our utter surprise, there was a brand new Chinese silk scarf in sky blue colour with beautiful navy blue designs embroidered all over it among the presents. It would have cost a fortune even for rich people. My logical brain wondered how mother could afford it. My sister was jumping up and down with joy. I snatched the scarf from her and examined it bit closely. There it was. This too was a handover. It had the initials of ‘O O’ of Olivia Osborne, the mistress of the house my mother was working. She had cleverly done an embroidery design around it to conceal the initials. I pointed it out to my sister and yelled ‘There is no Santa, we will be Miss. Handovers for ever’ throwing the scarf on my mother. I calmed down in a moment, realizing what I have done. The whole family stood frozen around us. Two or three minutes passed in silence. Then my little sister, still not bitten by the pangs of life took the scarf back and declared ‘it’s ok. I still like it very much’. I will never forget the look of distress in my mother’s face that moment. The vulnerability of my mother’s situation hit me hard. I determined that minute I would change the situation somehow. I wondered what makes parents give false promises to children. After all we know our own position. My mother could have very well refused the request for the gift. I struggled my way to become a secretary of a firm which was still a great achievement for someone of my status in 1920’s. I always dreamed about giving everything best in the world to my children. But alas, not all dreams come true. Mounting bills, rents, meagre salary, drunkard husband, I had my share of long struggles. I often thought about my mother when my son fought with me for the latest shoes or some equipment I could not afford. How she had struggled to meet the needs of all of us with no steady job or background. What my mother managed to get from her employers as handovers, I purchased from garage sales and low cost stores. My kid was frenzy about branded items which I was never able to afford. Every time I used to see the hurt look on my son’s face when he found out, the gifts are things he received were a cheaper version or an imitation of what he originally asked for, I will feel utterly helpless. Strange enough I will call my mother some time that day. I wanted to apologize to her every time for that incident, but could never bring myself to do so. Something told me, changing the situation would be the only answer to the issue, not a sorry. But, life passed by me like water passing through the fingers, fast and swift. I wanted to purchase a property on my own, but I was hardly able to pay the rent on time even a single month. I wanted to buy many fine things for myself, but was never able to afford any of them. I wanted to save at least a little, but always ended up borrowing more money than ever and struggling to meet the mounting interests. I dreamed about owning my own car, but was able to afford only public transport. Of course, I earned. But, with very little support from my husband the emotional trauma caused by the death of my only daughter, I was not able to go past the secretary position, which offered just enough to live a decent life. I remember taking my son to a newly opened mall one day. I have done overtime for nearly a week to save for the trip. We were spellbound at its grandeur. We passed through long lines of racks, wondering how much food is available in the world. ‘Why do you cook beans and bread always? There is so much here’ he kept asking me. I was afraid whether I would be able to afford anything he asks. We bought that and this and finally he stopped in front of a renowned health drink and asked whether we can purchase it. I would have refused it flat on his face. But, something stopped me from doing it. The desire in his eyes made me take the packet. I suddenly felt I was in the same vulnerable person my grandmother and mother was. The situation I yearned to avoid all my life has arrived and I did not know how to handle it. We neared the billing counter. I was damn sure we did not have enough money to afford it. But, I purchased it using my overtime pay as well as some money from the salary. We came home and my son drank the drink all his favourite sports stars recommended with glee. I tossed and turned on my bed all night, not knowing how to explain our real situation to my son. The day dawned and my son rushed into the kitchen without even anyone waking him up. He has already brushed and cleaned without anyone prompting him to do so. He came into the kitchen and looked at me eagerly for another cup of the same drink. I broke down and started crying uncontrollably for the first time in my life. My husband patted him on the back and announced ‘your mother spent all the money kept for this month’s milk on that drink. You have to wait another month to taste that damn thing again’. To say my son was bewildered is not the exact phrase. He had what he wanted so close, but could not taste it. Sadly he never got to taste that again. The costly health drink bottle was ceased by my house owner the next month for a small reduction on my ever late rent. My son didn’t even put a big fuss that day. He had lost all hopes of tasting it again the day he was asked to wait for one more month. I wondered how many more generations this struggle will go on. I did not have any answer. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- ‘Here it is. Ready for church’ my granddaughter handed me a brand new pair of shoes. Her words strangely reminded me of my grandma. I smiled to myself. Eighty years have passed by. We now live in the modern age. Just like my mother I was determined to give a decent education to my children and went on to make my only son a professor. Life was a bit merciful to him. But, again not all men share the same burdens we women chose to bear either willingly or unwillingly. My granddaughter is an IT professional earning what I used to earn for a full year in a month. She stands before me as an embodiment of my dream and the generations of sufferings we women underwent. She is serving our family a real French Cuisine, which I have only heard of in my grandmother’s stories. She is everything my grandmother wanted to be, my mother struggled to make me and all I aspired. Powerful, confident and economically free, no man or social situation could hurt her. ‘She can fix anything’ I thought proudly. She need not cheat her children with handovers and cheap imitations. She need not make them share blankets on cold nights. No more running to the pawnbroker to borrow money in exchange of the marriage ring or sighing during window shopping. She had her own flat and car. She earned enough to purchase any jewellery she want and enjoy luxurious holidays in far off destinations. She need not struggle with a drunkard husband or an ill-treating boyfriend ever. She was an embodiment of all I have envisioned so far in my life. She gathered all her friends and family for a New Year party. I was amazed how much she was able to afford for one single nights celebration. It showed her love and appreciation for the people around her. The party that night was enormous. It was similar to the one I saw in the houses my mother worked as a seamstress. It was grand, graceful and filled with pomp and grandeur. The only difference was, we were the hosts now, not workers. I took the shoe from her with pride. I prayed earnestly that day again thanking God for her and to make me more like her. I returned home with a happy heart and a deep sense of satisfaction that I have achieved something. The struggles of my grandmother, mother and many other generations of women had been answered. The situation I so yearned to change have actually changed at last. The never ending story which continued for nearly four generations have finally come to an end. That night I received a call from the local police. My granddaughter committed suicide. She had lost her job due to office politics a few months back. She was falling behind on her car payment and flat instalment deliberately. She was suffering from breast cancer. The disease had sucked the last penny of her savings. She took her own life with the hope her ex-husband will take care of the children and provide them with a better life than she, the same dream we all shared. References 1. Kennedy, K., & Jerz. G. D., 2011, 'Short Stories: 10 Tips for Creative Writers', Jerz's Literacy Weblog, Retrieved 21st January, 2013, from http://jerz.setonhill.edu/writing/creative1/shortstory/ Read More