The Smiling Photograph in the Frame

 

The Smiling Photograph in the Frame

Life passed in poverty and scarcity. The wish to eat good food, the desire to wear fine clothes, and the dream of traveling abroad were never fulfilled. In a way, life was lived wearing whatever others gave us.

Whenever there was a wedding feast, I would suggest we go, but she never agreed. After skipping many weddings, I wondered, “Why does she refuse to go?” With my small teacher’s salary, to manage household expenses, I had to mortgage her jewelry. Many pieces of jewelry were lost forever because I could not pay back the interest on loans. Without ornaments, she could not go to weddings. Women there arrived adorned with jewelry, glowing with pride. Facing friends without ornaments would have been humiliating for her. So, she chose not to go. Yet, she never once complained, “You never bought me jewelry.”

When Father told us to come to the Madhes with a camera for Grandfather’s eighty-fourth birthday, we couldn’t manage. In those days, there were no digital cameras like today. A 36-shot reel cost 125 rupees. We could not afford even that, so we could not attend Grandfather’s celebration as husband and wife.

When my brother, who worked abroad, returned on leave, he would buy her jewelry. But the next time he came back, her ears and nose were empty again.

In such circumstances, the thought of taking a portrait and framing it never arose. While she was alive, we never managed to frame even a single large photo of her. Once illness struck, even the desire for a photo faded away. Diabetes, thyroid, high blood pressure, kidney disease — during dialysis, heart disease was added to the list. Eventually, the illnesses defeated her; her life ended.

After her death, many condolence letters came in her name, placed inside frames. Each time I looked at those framed condolence letters, my heart would sink, leaving me in tears. If I kept on crying like this, I felt I would not be able to survive.

So I decided: I  measured the size of those framed condolence letters, printed single smiling photographs of her in the same size, and replace the condolence letters with her smiling portraits.

The single photographs I could not place in frames while she was alive—at least, after death, I  placed them in frames. And looking at those framed smiling photographs of her, I  attempted a failed attempt to smile myself.