The Woman My Grandmother Loved.

Chapter Twenty-three

India, 1977

India and Indonesia sign an agreement to extend the continental shelf boundary to the Andaman Sea and the Indian Ocean.

Indira Gandhi announces the dissolution of the Lok Sabha and announces fresh elections. The Emergency is relaxed and the censorship of the press is removed. The democracy breathes again.

February 11th: President Fakhruddin Ali Ahmed passes away.

March 21st: Janata Party wins the absolute majority in the Lok Sabha. Indira Gandhi resigns from the Prime Ministers' post and Sanjay Gandhi quits politics.

Morarji Desai is sworn in as the new Prime Minister, Jyoti Basu is sworn in as the new chief minister of West Bengal.

Dearest Anita,

I hope you are well. This pause between us felt awful in so many more ways than I can put to words. There wasn't much we heard about The Emergency, but we did know that they were threatening journalists and throwing them in jail. And to think that you come from a family of journalists made my blood run cold. I hope they didn't do anything like that to you. It has been over two years, Anita and every single day I have thought of what I would put in this letter. But yet, as I sit down to write, I fail to put it to words.

I could start by referencing your last letter. I cannot tell you how sorry I was to hear of Bhuwan's demise. I cannot imagine the hell that you must have been to and perhaps still are. If I could, I would wrap my arms around you. It sickens me to think of you all alone there, every single night. That is, if you haven't yet, found somebody else. And if you have, darling, I will never blame you. It does cross my mind; perhaps the pause between us has been too long? With even so many things happening, I am running out of words to say.

It is difficult to say what I want to tell you. We were traveling, Jeremy and I. We traveled over all Italy, met some of Jeremy's friends. He had quite a few, let me tell you. And I enjoyed myself thoroughly; when I look back, I will always remember those days as the best days of my marriage. Jeremy is fluent in Italian and I did manage to pick up a few phrases every week and by the end of our sojourn, I could speak great broken Italian. My heavy British accent will never be removed but what I did manage to remove was any semblance of pride I had in my art. Studying art has humbled me and my belief in my skills more than ever, and this is what I shall forever be grateful to Italy for teaching me. Italy has birthed some of the greatest painters the world has ever seen.

When I gazed at the frescoes in the west wall, behind the altar of the Sistine Chapel, painted by Michelangelo, I have never felt so much aware of my own insignificance. I had seen it in the various books that I studied but seeing it with my own eyes is something I hadn't ever dreamed I would. And yet, now I have. One of my wildest dreams has come true and I have Jeremy to credit for that. I have gazed upon the works of Perugino, Pinturicchio, Sandro Botticelli, Domenico Ghirlandaio, and Cosimo Rosselli, their depiction of the life of Christ. The Italian Renaissance birthed one of the finest artists in the world and several hundred years later, their work is still mesmerizing.

My own work has blossomed; like a good student's would under the watchful gaze of a skillful teacher. And I have tried my best to be as good a student as I can. I have studied art and pained my eyes to learn the language of light and shadows. Jeremy has studied along with me and studied more than me until we both were exhausted and could barely open our eyes. I am living the way I have always wanted to; uninhibited and free to paint. This has always been my dream and I keep reminding myself that. Until a couple of months ago it hit me; Anita, I will never be who I was before I met you. You have moved me and changed me in ways, I'm only realizing after seven years. I was walking along the countryside in Italy; we were staying at the house of one of Jeremy's friends -a painter himself, and we were walking with our brushes and canvas to sit near the brook and paint. It was a beautiful summer morning and I could only desperately wish for you.