OLD LETTERS
By Satya Sarada Kandula
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[A poignant story narrated in crisp 2 pages—a story others could have taken 300 pages—and
in the form of letters written to Thatha [grand-father]. The story is richer and gains an additional
dimension for the unspoken response from Thatha]
———
Dear Thatha,
Ramesh has curly hair and golden eyes. I’m going to marry him. My decision is final.
Love, Vennela.
Dear Thatha,
Suguna got married. My future mother-in-law came to the wedding. She wants me to be as radiant
a bride as Suguna. I wonder!
Vennela.
Dear Thatha,
I just realized that I don’t want to marry. Why should I throw away certain happiness for an
uncertain future?
V.
Dear Thatha,
Ramesh treats me like a princess. I’m approximately the luckiest girl in the whole world.
Me.
Dear Thatha,
Is this me? Rushing home from the office and cooking like mama. Budgeting and financing like
papa. A person in my own right. With a home of my own.
Heaven comes home with Ramesh... the only thing is he does not come home often enough. I
refused doctors as too busy. Try dedicated actors!
I love you, Vennela.
Dear Thatha,
Little Kanna is like you. Even if no one else thinks so. All the world is in my arms. Ramesh did not
call, wire or write. I was so miserable. The uncaring goose. He was stunned he says. He went
around the countryside dishing out chocolates. He didn’t call me. Grandmother says you were just
as bad. Aunt says uncle was infinitely worse. Well, I don’t care. I have Kanna. I love him.
Vennela.
Dear Thatha,
Life is unbearable. Attha [mother-in-law] used to be so nice as long as I never wanted anything.
But we have differences now. When Ramesh is home, he’s sitting on the fence. Everyone is going
through hell. No compromise.
V.
Thatha,
Wish you were alive. I receive widely varying and conflicting advice. So that no matter what
happens, someone can say “I told you so.”
Vennela.
Dear Thatha,
Someone in me is struggling to come out and live. She’s fighting for a right to determine her life and
live by her values. To make her own decisions, to be someone, to be free.
Vennela.
Thatha,
The die is cast. I will keep my son and attha will keep hers.
V.
Dear Thatha,
This is Pain. My sorrow at your death pales in comparison. The tears I shed when I thought I could
not marry Ramesh were only summer showers. This is when you tear out most of yourself all raw
and bleeding and say, “Now we’re separate.” Why do I hate my lawyer?
Oh God, this shouldn’t happen to anyone. When you love someone and want to live with him you
can’t till your family, friends, society and government say okay. Now the same in reverse. If one
more well meaning uncle suggests reunion, I’ll kill myself.
Dear Thatha,
A clean break is a contradiction in terms. I’m healing though. Now I deal with ‘the outside world;
directly. I now realize how much Ramesh sheltered and pampered me. Losing him is like losing my
skin. Freedom goes with responsibility, courage and competence. I miss the love we shared.
With love, Vennela.
Dear Thatha,
Life is tranquil now. I actually began looking outward to avoid looking at the awful gap inside. But
it’s rewarding and interesting. Some people say there is pain in my eyes. I avoid them. Pity is so
tough to swallow. The storm has passed, that story is over, I feel my life has just begun.
With love, Vennela.
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