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Story Asia

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The Earrings

 

My wife was one of those pretty and charming girls born, as though God made a mistake with her, into a family of labourers who lived in a low-cost flat. As such, she had minimal education, few opportunities to further her studies, no means of getting to know suitable young men and absolutely no chances of falling in love prior to marriage. She did not love me at the time of our marriage but, if the truth be known, I did not love her either. We were both unhappy. Much later, during one of our arguments, in a failed attempt to insult me, she told me she’d married beneath her station. Though she had no caste or class, she assumed that her beauty, charm and grace, with that natural delicacy of her movements would elevate her to the position she thought she was meant to be born.

 

My wife, she suffered endlessly from the continuous feeling of inferiority and being deprived of the life of luxury she yearned for. She cringed when she glanced around at the poorness of our inner-city, low-cost flat, from its gray walls, sofas with the support springs visible to all and our torn and faded yellow curtains. All these things, which would never have concerned other women of her station, bothered her. In fact, they insulted her.

When we sat down to dinner at our table covered with a torn cloth, I always relished what she cooked for she certainly was a good cook. But, I could see that she imagined us having our meals using bone-china crockery rather than the inherited stainless steel plates my parents presented to us as a wedding present. I could tell that when she closed her eyes, she imagined herself in a bungalow with marble flooring, wooden panels which would house ornate statues, silk tapestries which hung from high ceilings, mother-of-pearl encrusted furniture and intimate tea sessions with ladies of high society.

About a month after our marriage, we were walking along the city’s main road when we chanced upon a goldsmith’s shop. Up until then, the only piece of gold we had between us was the thali, the sacred chain I used to tie around her neck when our marriage was sanctified according to Hindu custom. You’d think she would have had her own earrings but no one had money, even for that. For our wedding, she borrowed her mother’s set of gold earrings. Everything else was imitation jewellery. She longed for amethysts, diamonds and anything precious. Still, that day in front of the goldsmith’s shop, for the first time, I saw a genuine smile my wife’s beautiful face; it reminded me of how the darkness of a night sky quickly disappears with the rising of the morning sun. When she turned away from the window display and looked into my eyes, I fell in love. To see her smile like that again, I swore to myself, I would do anything.

 

***

“Shanta, I have something for you.”

 

“What is it, Suren?”

 

“Well, have a look. And read it out. I want to see your face as you read.”

“The Post Master of Brickfields Post Office, Mr. Thamboopillay and his wife, Mrs Thamboopilly, request the pleasure of the company of Mr. and Mrs. Surendran Ponniah at the Kalyana Mandap of Brickfields Temple on 29^th of January 1991 at 7.30 p.m. to witness the marriage of their son, Mayandi, to Sita Devi, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Gopinathan.”

“Aren’t you happy, Shanta? Aren’t you just excited?”

 

“Why are you showing me this?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Why are you showing me this?”

 

“Aren’t you excited? I thought you would be happy to go to a wedding. You’re always in the house. This will be fun for you.”

 

“Huh! That’s how much you know.”

 

“Shanta, don’t be like that. I don’t understand what the problem is.”

 

“The problem, Suren-dear, is that I have nothing to wear. I cannot go to a wedding without anything to wear.”

 

“Is that all?”

 

“What do you mean is that all?”

 

“Shanta, come on. This is a small problem. Just wear one of the saris you got for our wedding. That should be OK. Everyone will be there.”

 

“Shanta?”

 

“Shanta! What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

 

“Don’t touch me. You don’t understand anything at all. I cannot wear an old sari for this wedding. I’m not going.”

 

“But, Shanta, I’ve already told them that we’re going. I thought you’d be excited.”

 

“Give the invitation to your sister and don’t sigh like that. You don’t understand anything at all and don’t you get angry with me for this.”

 

“Shanta, I’m not angry. I just want you to be happy. Come, don’t be like that. I tell you what? I’ve got some money saved. I’ll buy you a new sari. How much would one cost, hmmm…?”

 

“You will? You will really buy me a new silk sari?”

 

“Of course, I will. I love you and I’ll do anything to see you smile like that.

 

“Oh. Thank you.”

 

“Now, tell me. What kind of sari do you want?”

 

“Ummm … I know. I saw one in the shop the other day. It’s a red one with a mango design embroidered in gold.”

 

“How much will it cost?”

 

“It was priced at RM420.00 but I’m sure I can get it at a discount.”

 

“Four hundred ringgit? That’s more than the shoes I wanted.”

 

“But, you said you’d get it for me.”

 

“I didn’t say I won’t. I’m just saying it’s more than those Bata shoes I was looking at.”

 

“OK. Never mind, next month, we can get your shoes.”

 

“Yes. By then, I’ll also need one because this one has got too many holes in it.”

 

***

 

“What’s wrong? Why are you so sad?”

 

“I’m not sad.”

 

“But, you look so unhappy. I thought you were excited with the sari. You got it for half the price, on top of it. Has it got a hole somewhere or what?”

 

“No. No. That’s not the problem.”

 

“Then, what?”

 

“I have a sari but no earrings. How to wear a sari without earrings?”

 

“Hmmm.”

 

“What hmmm…? I need a pair of diamond earrings.”

 

“Hah! Where do you expect me to find you some diamond earrings?”

 

“You don’t understand. Gold will not do. This beautiful sari, only diamond earrings will do. Or else, we have wasted the money for the sari.”

 

“Shanta, the wedding is tomorrow. How do you expect me to find diamond earrings for you?”

 

“You’ve already said that. Can’t you think of something else?”

 

“OK. Why don’t you ask your friends if they will lend you one? I know. What about that Mrs. Menon friend of yours?”

 

“Oh, Suren, you’re wonderful. What a brilliant idea. I’ll go now and ask her. You go back to reading whatever you were reading.”

 

***

 

When Suren and his wife, Shanta entered the hall, the wedding people actually stopped to have a good look at this handsome couple. The lady was especially stunning and her happy persona shone through. Though they did not know this couple personally, many found themselves drawn to them. And the couple obliged; they spoke to all the ladies, congratulated the bride and groom and ate heartily. If the truth be known, the lady came close to outshining the bride that day.

 

No one knew that at the end of the day, the couple entered their flat, pleased by the day’s events but somewhat drained and disappointed that their happy day had come to an end too quickly.

 

Once inside their two-bedroom flat, Shanta went straight to their bedroom. She did not want her husband to see the depths of her sadness. As she crossed the threshold, she decided to lift her spirits up by taking one good look in the mirror before she began to undress. With a smile on her face, she switched on the fluorescent light and walked over to their long but cracked mirror. She lifted her head and looked closely at her reflection. But, suddenly, she uttered a cry. There were no diamond studs in her ears.

Suren came running into their room, “What happened?”

 

She turned to him, clutching both her ears, alarmed, “I’ve lost it. I’ve lost the diamond earrings.”

 

He just stared at her. Astonished and frightened all at once.

 

“No. It’s impossible. You’re teasing me.”

 

Exasperated, she shrieked, “Do I look like I’m teasing you?”

 

“It must be here somewhere,” he said and started to look around her.

 

Together, they began to search for these earrings. They began with her sari and Shanta all but removed her clothes before they moved their search to the bed, the dressing table to the chipboard cupboard with a hole in the back. They looked throughout their flat and were exhausted when they finally admitted the diamond studs were no where in the flat. Neither of them slept at wink for the two hours they retired to bed. The caretakers of the hall where the wedding had been conducted the night before were somewhat surprised to see them standing at the entrance first thing in the morning but, when they heard Suren and Shanta’s predicament, they joined in the search for the earrings.

 

With no earrings to be found, Suren and Shanta retraced their steps to their flat and at the end of that day, they finally accepted they were unlikely to find these borrowed items of sheer luxury. Early the next morning, they went to the nearby police station and lodged a report about a possible theft, knowing it was a mere formality as such incidents were usually commonplace and were hardly ever investigated. For two weeks thereafter, Shanta avoided meeting Mrs. Menon. Instead, she accompanied her husband to the newspapers to place a classified advertisement offering reward for the return of the diamond earrings; they went back to the wedding hall and searched again; they re-traced their steps to the wedding hall and back to their flat.

 

When the fifteenth day since the wedding dawned, Shanta, seated at the dining table across from her husband, looked closely at him and for the first time noted that he had aged considerably. The fine lines next to his eyes, the dark circles under his eyes and the white hair at his temples were never there before. Strange, she thought, he’s only twenty four years old.

 

“We’ll have to replace it,” Suren said, and looked at her and slowly, she nodded in agreement.

 

Next day they took the box which had held the pair of diamond earrings and went to see the jeweller whose name was printed inside. The jeweller told them he had no record of making such a sale of the earrings as described by Shanta and Suren. Thereafter, they went to every single jeweller in town and no one seemed to have sold such pair.

 

Eventually, in Petaling Jaya, they found a jeweller who sold something that looked similar to Mrs. Menon’s earrings. The jeweller told them that a pair of diamond earrings like that would cost them up to twenty five thousand ringgit. Suren bargained with him and the jeweller agreed to lower the price to twenty three thousand ringgit.

 

The jeweller was kind enough to hold it for two weeks while Suren found the money. He used up all of his savings of eight thousand ringgit and borrowed the remainder from a whole host of people from friends, family and money-lenders. If had been asked to mortgage his very soul, Suren would have. He signed every piece of document put before him and risked his low cost flat, his motorbike to the point where nothing belonged to him anymore.

 

A month after she borrowed it, Shanta returned a pair of diamond earrings to Mrs. Menon. Shanta could not make eye contact with the lady and hoped that she did not check the box to see if they were the right pair. She heard only the chilly voice of the woman, who was but some three years older to her say, “You should have returned it sooner. I might have needed it.”

 

Shanta mumbled an apology and left.

***

From the moment I lost those pair of earrings, I came to know the depths of true sadness and what it was to live a ghastly life of abject poverty. After I returned them to Mrs. Menon, I sometimes wondered if I was being punished for having fulfilled my wish to look beautiful and rich that night so long ago. And then, I banish the thought for I counsel myself that at the very least, what I yearned for was wealth and drugs, like most of the people I now have to live with in relative close proximity. Still, it was punishment enough for me to watch the only man who ever loved me suffer for my carelessness.

 

Within two weeks of returning the pair of diamond earrings, I got my first job as a cleaner to assist Suren to pay off our debts. All of Suren’s plans of having children had to be shelved.

 

We immediately moved out of our flat and into a one bedroom shack above a coffee house. For the first year, we slept on the floor as there was no bed. Only when another tenant moved out did we take their mattress off them for free. The issue of comfort no longer entered into the equation for we were usually so exhausted that neither of us noticed.

 

My days began at 6 a.m. when I walked to a set of flats and cleaned at least three flats in the space of 6 hours. Then, I went to look after a child for another four hours before it was time to return to the flat to make Suren’s dinner. By 7 p.m. I was back at a restaurant washing dishes up to 11 p.m.. Suren, on top of his job at the post office, chose to offer to teach all of the children of the Post Officers English as he was good with languages. At night, while I was at the restaurant, he started writing articles which were subsequently published.

 

One Sunday, about six months after we’d moved into our single room, we decided to stay in rather than have our weekly treat of a cup of coffee at the nearby stall. To keep myself occupied, I began to iron some clothes. At one point, I felt the heat from the ray of sunshine on my hands. I turned to look at them and was stunned by the condition of these hands of mine. I had not realised it until then but all my nails were chapped and worn out; there were deep lines in my palms and the skin was all wrinkled and rough. This, I thought to myself, is what happens when one soaks ones hands in industrial cleaners day in day out, and laughed softly.  

 

I did not know that Suren was watching me. Silently, he came up behind me and took my hands in his. I turned to face him, like a child seeking comfort from a parent. He turned my palms upwards with one hand and with the other, reached for the small round tin of Nivea cream. Gently, he applied some of the white substance into my palm and when I looked up at him, I saw the tears in his eyes; in that moment, I fell completely and utterly in love with him. Perhaps, there was some good in losing those jewels after all. I would never have truly appreciated my husband and fallen in love with him. How strange life is!

 

And so, we carried on and our life continued thus for fifteen years. Every month, people had to be paid and during the times we could not, we literally begged for an extension of time, with heavy interest charged, of course.

 

I am now thirty four years old and my husband, thirty nine. Today, we have finally paid off all of our debts and we start out again, on a clean-slate. To celebrate, my husband and I decided to visit the National Museum. A strange place to go but the fact is, it is the one place that’s free to visit. And there, at the entrance, who should we see but Mrs. Menon. Suren put a hand out to stop me from going forward but I smiled up at him and said, “It’s OK.” He let me go with a nod.

 

I walked up to her. She had the hand of her small daughter in one hand and with the other, she caressed her belly, as pregnant women sometimes do. She still looked young and her pregnancy just added to the glow and sheen on her skin.

 

“Hello, Kamala,” I said to her.

 

She looked up and I could see the surprise on her face at being addressed in so familiar a tone. It crossed my mind that perhaps she no longer recognised me for I looked so different from fifteen years ago- my hair was straggly and unkempt, my clothes old and patched in many places and my face deeply lined.

 

“I … I’m sorry,” she stammered. “Do I know you …” she asked.

She looked around, as if ashamed to know one as poor as me.

 

“It’s me, Shanta, Suren’s wife.”

 

Her jaw dropped signalling her disbelief and I laughed a little.

 

“Oh … What happened to you? You’ve changed so much.”

 

“Well, yes, I’ve had some hard times and ….” I paused and looked down. Should I tell her what had happened? Then, I took a deep breath and said, “And, it’s all because of you.”

 

“Because of me?” she asked, immediately on guard to defend herself.

 

“Yes,” I said. “You remember the pair of diamond earrings I borrowed from you?”

 

She nodded.

 

“Well, I lost them,”

 

“You didn’t lose them. You returned them to me. I remember them because they’re my favourite. I’ve been wearing them a lot since then.”

 

“Well, we bought you another just like it. For the last fifteen years, my husband and I have been paying off all our debt. It was not easy for us for we did not have the money then.”

 

She looked stunned and I felt pride as I realised she had not known the difference between the original pair and the ones we replaced them with.

 

Mrs. Menon began to pale and I frowned wondering what was wrong. She then asked me, “Did you say you bought me a new pair of diamond earrings?”

 

“Yes,” I said, nodding.

 

Mrs. Menon licked her lips, took a deep breath, dropped her daughter’s hand and took both of mine in hers. She looked me in the eyes and said, “My dear Shanta, what you must have gone through.”

 

I looked at her alarmed now. She continued.

 

“The pair of earrings I gave you that day were just a pair of imitation ones. They were worth no more than probably one RM100.00!”

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Aneeta Sundararaj is the editor-in-chief of 'How To Tell A Great Story' (http://www.howtotellagreatstory.com ). Visit the website to learn more about her work.