DESIRE TO MOVE UP
Dr. Tangirala Meera Subrahmanyam
Beads of sweat were slithering down her forehead. Penchalamma's hands were not free to wipe them.
The sweat, together with the red kumkuma dot on her forehead, the size of one rupee coin, was
splashed all over her face. Her blouse, wet with the sweat, clung to her body. She wrapped a piece of
red cloth on her head as a protection either from the scorching sun or the dust.
Penchalamma was sweeping the street thoroughly with a small broom in one hand and a tin sheet in
the other. The road-roller, parked on the left side of the street was noisy. Seenayya was melting tar by
throwing in coal and splinters to keep the flames ablaze.
Pentamma was on the side of the road. She was crushing the stones from the pile next to her. An
improvised cradle, a piece of cloth, was hanging from a branch about four yards away from her. Her
baby was in the cradle. Pentamma looked at the cradle and called out for Penchalamma, "Look, the
boy is moving. Go, feed him. I'll talk to the supervisor if he shows up."
Penchalamma put the broom and the tin sheet on the ground, took the baby into her arms, and sat
down in the shade. She pulled out the little cloth bag, which was tucked in her saree folds at the waist,
took a couple of wilted pan leaves, a sliver of tobacco leaf, and dark betal nut piece and popped them
inside her mouth.
Just in that moment, a scooter whizzed by, making loud noise. Despite the honking, the workers on the
roadside did not budge, not even one inch, with a "I don't give a damn" look, the same way the
students would when the lecturer walked into his class. The man on the scooter grit his teeth, called
them "dirty rogues", slowed down, and walked the scooter through the crowd. And then he kicked the
pedal to speed up.
Penchalamma, feeding the baby, and Pentamma, crushing the stones, kept staring at the couple on
the scooter without bating an eyelid. They were mesmerized by the sight; forgot even to breathe. The
man on the scooter looked like a hero in the movies. He wore a large belt and sun glasses. The woman
on the backseat was looking modern in her nilex saree. Her hair was not braided but loosely rolled and
tied, and she wore a plastic dot on her forehead. The woman threw a recentful look at them, as if
saying, "How dare you sit in the middle of the street and get in our way?", and then she turned away.
Penchalamma's eyes were glued to the sight, she did not even notice that the boy in her arms was
waving his arms and legs. After the scooter had disappeared round the corner, she turned to
Pentamma. Pentamma said crabbily, "We crush the rocks and lay the road and they get to having a
ball on it."
"Well, that is the way it is, that is our lot. They are the blessed ones," said Penchalamma.
She laid the child in the cradle and picked up the broom again. She pictured in her mind the charming
view of she going around on a scooter with her husband and sighed.
The scooter started out at first like a race horse, and then, turned into a mule. Its owner removed his
sunglasses, handed them to his wife, and began checking the engine. The wife was feeling smoldered
in her nilex saree. She kept wiping her face with her handkerchief. In the process, her make up was
wiped out and the face was looking greasy. Tired of carrying the two-year-old baby in her arms, she
put her down and began fixing her hair. In the next minute, the child started screaming. The mother
remembered that the child had no shoes, and quickly picked up the child again.
In all, everything—the heat from the sun, the problems with the scooter, and the fact that the baby had
no shoes—summed up her plight and made her furious. And she redirected it towards her husband.
She said, "Get rid of that stupid scooter. That will put an end to our miseries. Here we are checking
meena meshaalu to buy shoes for the child, and yet decided to go on a picnic. Isn't that foolish?"
The pleasure the husband had been enjoying up until now evaporated in a second. Downcast, he
started kicking the starter over and again in the hope of reviving it.
Just in that moment, a gorgeous car slid by softly as though it was airborne. For a split second, a
beautiful face flashed through the car's window like a lightning. The young woman standing by the
roadside in blistering sun, with the child in her arms, twitched pitiably. The lingering lavendar aroma left
behind after the car had passed for well over ten minutes, the scooter that would not start, and the
husband who was dripping with sweat—they all bothered her even more. "What a dreary life. Two of us
tear our guts at the school from dawn to dusk, and still our income is like a sheep's tail, barely covers
our daily necessities, leaving nothing for any other pleasure in life. Can't even remember for how long
I've been dreaming about buying a georgette sari just like the one the woman in the car was wearing.
Our children don't even have a couple of decent clothes. How can I expect to have nice clothes and
expensive desires for myself?" she said to herself desperately. She remembered the children she had
left with her neighbor and wondered if they were giving her hard time. Lately she and her husband did
not even go to the movies, because of the costs for the rickshaw and the tickets. This trip to a nearby
village, Maipadu, was pretty much like once in a lifetime chance. What fun one could have on a scooter
like this in this heat? One should go by car, like the other couple who had passed by earlier, that's
what I'd call fun. I think this is the way it is going to be for us ... She drew a long deep breath.
The car stopped in front of the traveler's bungalow. The couple got out of the car, helped the two
children to get out, and went into the bungalow, carrying the basket, bedding etc.
The two children were chattering jubilantly and peaking from one end of the verandah to catch a
glimpse of the sea. Their mother on the other hand was tired. She sat down, and was pondering, "Is it
enough if one has wealth? No, I woudl call it life only when all the others pay us their respects.
Nowadays only the man in power receives such respect. I still remember the day we celebrated our
baby's birthday. The district collector's wife came. One peon opened the door for her, and another
walked behind her carrying the gift. Between the two, she walked like a royalty, while all the others
around bowed to her in veneration. That's what I'd call being fortunate."
Poor husband. He was lost in his own thoughts. "I could do gold business and earn a stash. But how
can I achieve the 'power' she has been hankering for?"
The sun was blazing as always. The day laborers continued to crush rocks on the roadside. They
would skip a day's meal, and barter that money for their colorful dream—losing themselves in the
fantastic life of the hero and the heroine on the screen, live their dreams in their imagination, and
recoup their strength for the hard labor on the next day.
The waves in the sea are attempting to force themselves further and further on to the shore. People
riding scooters, cars and flying planes are trying harder and harder to move up one step higher.
(The Telugu original, aasala metlu, was published in Vanitha monthly, dt. December 1, 1978, and
included in the anthology by the same name, published 2005).