"Hello?" A tired older woman answered the phone.
"Mama, it's me Raima."
"Raima, what are you doing calling so late? Can't you sleep? Didn't I tell you that when you can't sleep to just get a glass of warm milk and sit out in the living room for a while until you feel tired again. No TV, no books." The older woman was abruptly cut off by her daughter's attempt to rectify the beginning argument.
"No Mama, I just thought I'd give you a call and it's not that late, it's only 9:30." Her voice trembled like a small child's trying to explain why the cookie jar was broken. It wasn't that Raima was afraid of her mother. It was just that her mother always seemed to know what she was supposed to be doing and what she wasn't and always felt it was her special duty to go around telling her, all the time.
"It's raining tonight, really hard, and I thought you might like to hear that. I know how you always wondered if it ever rained in Pune. You told me that you could never understand how anything grew out here if it was sunny all the time." She remembered that talk, when she had first mentioned the idea of going to Pune. She was only twenty then and her mother forbade it by going on for an hour talking about how she didn't understand how so many people could live with sunshine and smog and no rain for so long. She went on to talk about how everyone in Pune was air-headed and dumb and how awful it must be and how Raima would never fit in.
“Raima, did you call me at 9:30 just to tell me about the rain? Or do you have some news for me?" The news Sahana Awasthi was referring to was news of a job. Her daughter had been in Pune for three months and had not given her any news of an acting prospect. She could never understand why the hell her daughter had moved to Pune anyway to get a job when there were plenty of jobs in Bhopal. No, her daughter wanted to be an actress and she had to go to Pune to get her big start. No one ever hears about award-winning actresses from Bhopal, Raima was fond of saying. And no matter how many times Sahana had explained that there were plenty of successful jobs in law or business at home, Raima never seemed to hear that.
"News, of course I have news, why else would I call at this time of day? I got a part today - a commercial, for Pepsi. Everyone out here says that commercials are the doorway to the big time." She lied. She couldn't possibly tell her mother that the only jobs she'd been able to land were the dance hall and cleaning the sound stage. She couldn't tell her mother that every time she even entered an audition, it took the director about five seconds to realize she wasn't a fit for the part.
She did, however, tell a half-truth about the Pepsi commercial. Yesterday, when she arrived to clean the studio, they were wrapping up the remains of the commercial they had shot earlier that day, for Pepsi. She couldn't give her mother the satisfaction that, once again, she'd been right. That all those years that she said her daughter would fail at acting and end up living in some hole, starving, and working at a strip club was so close to the truth, it was frightening.
But she would never tell her mother the truth. Even if she had to lie, she wanted her mother to see that she was actually trying.
"It's great, Mama. I get my hair and make-up done and just stand there and drink Pepsi - and they're paying me. Isn't that great? I don't know anywhere in Bhopal where I can do that."
For a second, she heard nothing. Raima’s first instinct was that the line had been disconnected because of the storm. But then, she realized what had actually happened. Her mother was sighing on the other end of the line, just soft enough to barely be heard. She knew that even if she had landed the part in the commercial, it still wouldn't make her mother happy. She knew her mother was dead-set against her move to Pune and felt that Raima was wasting her life, chasing after a dream that was never going to happen.
When she was little and first told her mother that she wanted to be an actress, her mother laughed. 'Honey, you have to be pretty to be an actress', she said. Her mother explained that no one with mousy brown hair and glasses ever becomes a successful actress and she was right. That was the worst part about everything her mother ever said, she was always right. She always knew what was going to happen to Raima and had always made it clear though Raima had fought against it her entire life. Although, as time passed and reality began to set in, Raima realized her mother was right.
"Well, that's wonderful. I'm looking forward to seeing your face on TV." The monotony in her voice betrayed the compliment Sahana intended. If only her daughter would have some sense. Sense enough to realize you don't put all your efforts into some stupid commercial. But, then again, Raima never did have any sense.
Sahana recalled the day Raima came home from school waving the flyer announcing the tryouts for the school play, begging for permission to audition. She'd firmly explained to Raima that she didn't think it was a good idea, that she would probably lose out to someone pretty and she'd just end up crying and angry. She knew that her daughter was not what the director was looking for. Sahana didn't want to see herself embarrassed by listening to all the apologies the other parents would have to offer when she would pick Raima up at the end of the audition. She didn't want her daughter upset over some stupid play. But Raima took the advice as a challenge and practically demanded Sahana allow her to audition. Thinking of her daughter, as always, Sahana acquiesced.
Not surprisingly, the result had been just as she had predicted. The lead and most of the other roles were given to prettier, skinnier, fair girls. Somewhat chunky, brown-haired Raima was offered a stage hand position as a consolation by the director. Sahana had been so embarrassed by this display she informed Raima she was forbidden to help with the play, citing that if they didn't want her as the lead, she shouldn't give in to the bones they threw at her. Once again, Raima ignored her and accepted the position with even more fervour than she would have the lead role. Sahana watched her make the sets, clean the stage, and help the actresses, all the while never realizing that she had lost and was simply making a fool out of herself. No, thought Sahana, she never really understood that she lost.
With that, she attempted to change the subject.
"How's the car doing? Are you putting enough oil in it? You know how it can heat up, especially in that Pune heat."
"Oh yeah, I just got it checked the other day. It runs great, thanks Mom. I even had someone from the commercial tell me they thought it was cool." The car that her mother let her have when she went to Pune, the car that Sahana hung over her head as the final sacrifice she could make, was sold exactly one month and two days after Raima arrived in Pune. She needed the money to pay the rent. Raima was surprised at how much rent was considering the dump she found herself in.
Lying about the car was just another example of Raima feeling the need to lie to her mother about her life. Not in the same way that other grown children might offer up some placating bullshit to assure their mothers that everything in their life is really okay. No, this is more like a shield put up against the abuse. She thought that by answering the questions with the answers her mother wanted to hear, she could keep up a civil, even pleasant conversation.
Raima wondered now why she had actually called. She could have gone through with it without speaking to her mother. Maybe she just needed that final push that is her mother's specialty, the final assurance that the decision she'd made was the right one. The phone call was a form of self-pity. The way a person with low self-esteem continues to call himself ugly or stupid. It is in the problem that they find comfort. Comfort that they know they have analyzed the situation correctly.
"How are Dad and Ryan?" Raima asked.
"Well, your father has taken it upon himself to finish shingling the roof before winter. I keep telling him that he should just hire someone to finish it for him. He's not getting any younger, you know? But he listens about as well as you and your brother does. As for your brother, he's about the same. In that I mean that he's still failing at school and staying out all hours. Your dad seems to think there might be some drugs involved so I've got my hands full on that one. I guess I deserve all of this somehow. It seems no matter how hard I try to help everyone, they seem to get worse and worse."
Sahana sighed because she knew that she was the only one who had ever really tried to make the family work. Lord knows Jai had never done anything. He seemed to go throughout life like a robot, involving himself as little as possible. She was the one who gave of herself constantly. She was the one who helped the children and who spent all her time worrying about the future. And it wasn't as if she asked for much. All she ever wanted was one of her children to actually succeed at something, to show the world what a hard-working mother they have behind them.
When the children were little, Sahana dreamed of a daughter who would grow up to be a successful lawyer and a son who would become a master surgeon. How proud she would be, sitting in the wings, accepting the praise. She longed for the chance to explain how her tough love approach had made the children what they were. But it never happened. As soon as she started pushing, they pushed back. They were never able to see what she was doing for them.
Instead of being able to show off her smart, successful children, she found herself constantly making excuses for why this one didn't look pretty, why this one didn't understand the homework, or this one never tried hard enough. It was impossible to bear all these years but she did it in the hopes that sometime, before she died, she would be able to show off one of her children. And with each passing day, she became bitterer as she realized she was hoping for something that would never happen.
"Mama, I guess I just wanted to tell you I love you and I miss you. Tell Dad and Ryan, too. I'm not sure when I'll get to come home again, what with all the work coming in and all." She laughed.
Raima laughed because part of her wished that the reason she wouldn't be coming home was that she was so busy with her successful life. There was a small part of her that still felt hopeful and wished that any of the lies were true. That small part of her was who had decided to call home. To listen and see, for the last time, if Mama really loved and accepted her. That was the part that laughed because it was the last part to realize that it had lost. It was her heart and it had hung in the longest. Longer than her body that gave up any dream of stardom the first night it stripped nude and danced in front of fifty drunken men. Much longer than her head that realized that coming to Pune was a mistake the first day. When it realized that no matter how hard it worked, it would still fail. And certainly longer than her soul, which she wasn't sure had ever been there in the first place. It was her heart that finally found the pistol, the one she had purchased three days prior with the last of the money she received from selling the car.
“Raima, are you alright? You sound like you're not getting enough sleep. You have to remember to sleep. You don't see any successful TV stars with bags under their eyes, do you? You have to work hard and take care of yourself." With that, Sahana felt a glimmer a hope. Maybe she would see her daughter up there after all. She did say she was in a commercial, didn't she? That could lead somewhere. Yes, she would just have to keep on the girl now that she had an opportunity. She wasn't going to let this slip away like all the other chances and leave Raima to her own resources. She would need her mother to push her along. Yes, there was still hope for her.
She could see it now, her daughter starring in film and TV, winning the Academy Award, taking everyone by surprise. Not everyone though. Sahana knew it could happen because she was the one to make it happen. She could picture it now, everyone shaking her hand and saying things like, 'You should be so proud! An award and she's only been in the business six months! You must be a great mom and who knows what she can continue to achieve with your backing. It's just too bad that everyone doesn't have a mother like you. But, then again, that's what makes you so special, Sahana.'
Finally, she would have her moment. Yes, she would keep on the girl with no mistakes this time. Starting tomorrow, she would start calling her at five every morning for training and...
"I'm just fine, Mama. I'll get enough sleep, don't worry. I'll look great tomorrow. You won't believe what they'll say about me. I love you, Mama. Good night."
Raima Awasthi hung up the phone. For a minute, she listened to the sounds of her apartment, holding the gun in her hand, mere inches from the floor. The creak and shake of the water pipes, the squeak of the rats hiding in the walls, the cursing of the couple upstairs, the bizarre honking of the traffic , they echoed in her ears. She looked around and realized, with every part of her being, that she lost. With that, she took the pistol in her left hand, pointed it to her temple, and fired...
