Soundarya.

A mark. A stain. A disgrace!

She was all of that, my Soundarya. My daughter, Soundarya. Ten tiny fingers, ten tiny toes and we thought the world was perfect, Vijay and I. We were a family, our beautiful daughter completed our family. And so, we named her Soundarya. And today she is beautiful only to my eyes, sometimes even my eyes deceive me. She stumbles and falls down and sometimes, I don't rush to pick her up. She falters and forgets words and sometimes, I don't correct her. I have done it for three years now. I don't have the strength in me to correct her, to make her what she was meant to be - Soundarya, anymore.

I have a son, Aditya, all of five years old, handsome, too mature for his age and perfect. God made one perfect child for me. I fight to not stay angry at the injustice of it all. I shall not ask why I was chosen, to be the mother who had failed. And yet, I can't forget the downcast eyes, the heavy sighs that surrounded us when we told them that Soundarya will be like this - moody at times, incoherent at times, clumsy at times...and at times like these, I forget I have Aditya. Something tells me, he understands. I wish he did not. A five-year-old had no business trying to fight the shadows that strangle the word, "special".

"Oh, she is a special child? Yes, we admit special children in our day care center."

And on our way out, Aditya asks, "Ma, is Soundarya special?"

And I am faced with one of those heart-wrenching decisions again. To burden a child with the realities of life or to leave him in the dark bliss of ignorance for some more time?

Soundarya stumbles on nothing, falls down and bruises her knee. Aditya rushes to help her and I make my decision.

"Yes Adi, she is special. Because God decided to make her special. God was so fond of her that he wanted to make sure everyone here in our world realize that she is a special child, special to God, special to us. She is God's gift to us, Adi. We always have to take care of her and love her."

"Did you hear that, Soundarya?"

Soundarya - his voice has so much conviction, so much love, so much beauty when he says her name that I wonder if I feel for my daughter what Aditya feels for his sister...

"God loves you Soundarya. We all love you."

The younger of the two consoles the older and they whisper to themselves in a language only children can understand. I watch from a distance as if afraid to intrude and I cry.

***

"She does not eat her food. Mrs.Watson said she tried and all she does is cry for Aditya."

"Okay. We will work something out."

Vijay's indifferent tone annoys me.

"We have to work something out, now! She can't go on like this. I can't go on like this."

I notice Aditya shrinking away to a corner of the room, noticing the familiar strains of anxiety in my shrill voice. This is not the first time.

"What do you want to do?"

"Me? Why can't you decide for a change? She is your daughter too!"

"I didn't mean that Poornima. I was just..."

"Or let me do this. Let me run away from all of this so that noone can blame me..."

I start to cry again. Vijay waits for a few moments, walks towards Aditya and takes him to his room. He no longer hugs me when I cry. He used to do that the first year. Now, I just cry myself to sleep. It's easy to sleep, to not live and face life, but Soundarya is in my dreams too. Only, in my dreams, she is beautiful, flawless and she hates me. I am grateful that she is capable of such emotions atleast in my dreams - be it love or hate and as I drift in and out of consciousness, I try to quell the voice in my head that seem to haunt me every night, "You hate your own child!".

***

I wake up late, with a headache. Vijay has left a note for me, stuck to the fridge door, "Dropped Adi at school. I will pick him up from Joy's place when I come back from work. Get some rest. Soundarya is still asleep. I love you."

I feel guilty for the previous night and I suddenly want to see Vijay and tell him that I am sorry. I start calling him, when I hear Soundarya calling out for Aditya, "Adi, Adi...". I walk towards her room and she looks at me with questioning eyes, "Adi...". She doesn't say much else. I wonder, irrationally, if she cannot call me, "amma" because she knows what goes through my mind sometimes. I walk towards her and hold my hands out to her, "Come here. Talk to me. Say a-m-m-a...".

She leans against the wall and watches me as if I were a stranger in her life. Her eyes move slowly, taking in each part of me. She holds my gaze for so long I think I cannot look into her eyes any longer. She has large, brown eyes. She looks at my expectant hands for a few moments and slowly turns her head away, towards the window. My arms drop down, lifelessly.

I look at the small figure framing the window - tousled hair all around her little face, small gold earrings that catch the sunlight at times. I go near her and without touching her, observe my daughter, as if seeing her for the first time. She has such a pensive look on her face - it suits her. She is not pretty, as children her age are. Her left leg is shorter than her right leg and she often leans to one side as she walks, like an old woman. Her left eye is smaller than her right eye, but just as expressive. No, she is not beautiful as girls her age are. No one oohs and aahs when she talks. No one rushes to pick her up when she seems to fall. They just twitch their lips and whisper among themselves.

I hold her by the shoulders and gently, make her face me.

"Soundarya, Soundarya, Soundarya..."

I say her name, clearly, lovingly until she suddenly raises a hand and touches my cheek. I wait for her to do something that would make me love her so much, that it will hurt. I wait for her to wipe my tears away with her tiny hand. I wait for her to hug me. I wait for her to treat me as her child.

Instead, she takes her hand back and puts her wet fingers in her mouth. Her face assumes a comical expression as she tastes my salty tears.

I laugh, hysterically.

***

It is Aditya's big day today. He plays the role of the genie in Aladdin and the magic lamp. His school has been preparing for the play for the past six months. Aditya is excited to be the genie.

"Did you iron my costume?", he demands.

I smile at him and say yes for the third time.

"Now Aditya, don't be nervous. Genies are not nervous. Be confident and smile at the people."

"Ma, I can't smile. I am a genie. I grant wishes, I can't keep grinning at people!"

I shut up and help him get ready. Vijay is trying to give Soundarya her dinner. She is sulking and does not want Aditya to leave her.

"Adi..."

"It's ok Adi. Appa will take care of her. We are getting late for the play. They will join us soon as Soundarya has her dinner."

Instead Aditya leaves his costume bag down and goes to Soundarya.

"Soundarya, if you have your dinner soon, you can come see my play. I am going to be a genie..." and he waves his hands, in his best possible imitation of a friendly genie. Vijay smiles and I do too. Soundarya begins to cry.

She repeats his name and holds on to his sleeve. Vijay and I watch helplessly.

"Soundarya, I am not leaving you. I will be with you always", Aditya holds her close and its as if the words were spoken by someone a lot older than five years.

She cries loudly now and begins to hit him. I try to pry Aditya away from her. I receive a few of her slaps - tiny slaps on my cheeks, her nails scratching my face and leaving little red marks. I am used to them by now - the only way she knows to touch me. And as Aditya and I walk away, she frees herself from Vijay and before I can stop her, bites Aditya on his right arm.

He screams in pain and I do the one thing that comes to my mind then, I drag her aside and slap her - a resounding slap for the years of pain she has given me. Soundarya stops crying instantly and moves away from me, as if I were evil, a witch come to hurt her, a bad dream.

Aditya cries silently. And so does Soundarya. She walks towards him and touches his hand. He shrugs her hand away and says something that makes me forget my own pain, "I hate you, Soundarya, I really hate you."

And her face - the expression in her eyes, keeps coming back to me as I drive Aditya to the play. It's as if she understood every word of what he said, as if its import had killed something within her. She watched him with those surprised, tear-filled eyes until we walked out of the house. And then I realize what it was that I read in her evocative eyes but did not comprehend until later - hurt.

And it is as if I found my daughter again. It is as if I had become a mother again.

***

"Your son was amazing! We loved the genie!", his bubbly English teacher tells me, shaking my hands vigorously.

I smile and say thank you. Aditya grins shyly and hides behind me. Mrs.Kapoor ambles towards me, smiling widely.

My cell phone rings.

"Vijay, Adi was great today. You missed it. Is Soundarya giving you a hard time?"

"Poornima, Soundarya was not feeling good. I am with her at St.Johns hospital. Can you come here? Do you know the way? It's on Woodhill drive..."

My heart skips a beat.

"Your son is a natural on stage, Poornima", Mrs.Kapoor is saying, patting Aditya's head.

I try to smile, excuse myself and Aditya and first walk, then run towards my car. I drop my keys down, curse and take the car ahead instead of backing out of the parking spot and go over the pavement.

"Mom!"

I stop the car and try to take a deep breath. Aditya deserves an explanation.

"Adi, Soundarya has fever and we are going to see the doctor now."

He nods, with a frightened look on his face and asks no questions.

At the hospital, I know something is wrong when I take one look at Vijay's face.

"I just talked to the doctor. She is doing better now. She wouldn't stop crying when you left with Aditya and then she started turning blue, stopped breathing...but she is out of danger now. Its ok."

I look through the glass door, at the little figure huddled under blue hospital sheets and wires running around her. But, what concerns me further is the way Aditya presses his nose against the door and stares at his sister, stiff and unmoving, I can't even tell if he is breathing. Vijay moves towards Aditya and I motion for him to stop. I need to handle this. Vijay is too exhasusted to argue. He walks inside and sits with Soundarya, holding her hand.

I stand next to Aditya and look at my husband and daughter through the glass door.

I hear a sniff and Aditya says, "It's my fault. I made her cry and now she won't wake up, ma"

"No Adi. It's not your fault. Soundarya will wake up but...she is sick because I did not understand her, because I have not been a good mother to her."

And once again, I forget I am talking to my son. It's as if I am conversing with someone my age, exchanging views, arguing, consoling each other...

"Does Soundarya hate me?"

"No, Adi. She loves you...she loves you more than she loves me or appa...you are her big brother who will take care of her forever, remember?"

Adi nods, his eyes still on his sister and he says, "Ma, God gave me the best little sister."

"And the best daughter I can ask for", I whisper, hoping Soundarya will hear it, someday.

I put my arm around my son and we stand together, hoping, praying for Soundarya. Vijay looks up at us and motions for us to come in.

We take tentative steps towards Soundarya, tentative steps towards the destiny that Soundarya will carve for us. We sit around her, taking turns to hold her hand, talking to her, waiting for her to wake up, to complete us.

And she does. She opens her eyes and smiles at Adi and then at us. And in the bluish glow that night, I realize I have the most beautiful daughter in the world - she creates beauty all around her - beauty in a brother's love, beauty in a father's tears, beauty in a mother's realization, beauty that defines life, us - my beautiful daughter, Soundarya.
***Excerpt***

The harmony in my life.

I sit down on the sand, facing the ocean, far away from whispering couples and boisterous teenagers. In some dim corner of my mind, I notice the beauty of the marked moon, I notice how it catches each of the rising waves, giving it its moment of glory before it dies - like my own life until now? At some sub-conscious level, I feel grateful for the stinging chillness of the wind hitting my face. But today, I will not let the calming elements of nature console me. Today, I want to think, alone.

But instead I cry. I cry for reasons I don't fully understand. I cry until the wind dries my wet cheeks. I cry like a man who has lost, a man who is lost.

And I have neither lost nor am lost. Without her. Because she is still with me.

***
"I am getting married."

Priya says it in one of her matter-of-fact tones. She has several tones, their repertoire, almost a second nature to me, in just two years? I feel I know her like I know myself - natural, instinctive.

So, I do what comes naturally to me. I laugh.

"What's so funny? He happens to be a sensitive, good-looking gentleman..." and she adds, "unlike you!", when I continue to laugh.

"Poor guy. Did he not take a good look at you?"

"He did! And he happens to like me. A lot. He said he liked me from the time he met me first at the coffee shop!"

"Oh...that guy. The oh-am-so-goody-goody-I-will-turn-up-fifteen-minutes-early chap!"

"Yes and that chap has a name - Arvind. OK, Prem, please be serious, for once?"

"As you wish, madame. When do I get to meet him? Obviously you are joking about the marriage bit, right? You didn't already say yes, did you?", I ask in mock anger.

My feeble attempt to make her feel guilty. And I lose, as always. The girl never gives me a chance!

"Of course not. That was just to get your attention. Am not saying yes, until you give the go-ahead, buddy!"

And she tilts her head a bit to the side - something she always does when she is happy - and smiles.

For a moment, I feel a pang of something I can't quite place my fingers on. I touch her lightly on the head and tousle her hair - "I am going to miss you, Priya."

She doesn't say anything, just closes her eyes and leans against my hand for a few seconds.
***
"Excellent", I make a little circle with my thumb and forefinger and Priya's mom laughs.

"Have few more idlis, Prem. You seem to be growing thinner by the day!"

I am about to reply when Priya rushes in, "Amma, do you think I should wear a saree instead?"

She looks adorable.

"You look fat."

"Amma! See what Prem is saying...", she turns to her mom, with a querulous tone in her voice. Her childish pout delights me, I grin and Priya's mom rolls her eyes as if she were settling a fight between two children.

She is still a child, atleast to me. Just as she is about to walk off in a huff, I catch her hand and say, "Arvind is going to be swept off his feet today".

She has such an expectant twinkle in her eye, I suddenly feel protective about her - he better keep my Priya happy. My Priya? I smile to myself - not anymore. I let go of her hand and wonder for the first time, if I really want Arvind to be swept off his feet...

***
That night, she calls me late in the night to tell me all about Arvind.

"I was waiting for mom and dad to sleep. So many questions...do you like him? Does he seem like a decent boy? Did he ask to meet again?"

I interrupt and let her catch her breath, "Well?"

"Well? Well what?"

"Well, do you like him? Did he ask to meet again?"

"Uh huh"

I wait and she says, "Prem?"

"Still here."

"You know how all your life, you wait for this one perfect person? The one person who understands you even when you don't say a thing? The one person who knows you better than yourself? So much so that he completes your thoughts even before you have finished having them?"

I wait for her answer.

"...well, you know, that's kind of impractical. There is no such person. Well, I have you but..." and then she pauses as if her own words confuse her.

I realize I am holding the receiver tightly and I also realize I am holding my breath. Why? She is my friend and I should be happy for her. But, all I feel is a slight sense of relief that her perfect guy is just a figment of her imagination and Arvind is none of those. I assume.

"...but you know, Arvind is sweet, patient and he adores me. He has that look in his eyes, you know what I mean? I can go on waiting for the right person and maybe I will never find him...but I just know that Arvind will keep me happy..."

I still say nothing.

"So?"

"So..."

"Will you meet Arvind?"

"No."

Why did I say that? I should want to meet Arvind now, to make sure he is right for Priya - I am after all her best friend, I should do this for her...

And I hear myself say again, "No, Priya, not tomorrow. This week is not good for me..."

"Prem, you promised! You have to meet him. He is waiting for me to say yes..."

"Oh?"

"...or no. Please, will you meet him sometime this week? I have told him so many things about you..."

The idea of this stranger knowing me intimately, as Priya knows me, infuriates me. I know I am being irrational but several other feelings overpower the practical me.

"Why? You don't have to go behind my back, talking about me, to your sweetheart!"

"Prem, stop being silly. Remember the time when we went forty five minutes late to the carnatic music concert and we tried to bribe the gate-wallah to let us in...I was telling Arvind about that and we had such a laugh...you must..."

"I suppose he had a good laugh and preached about why I must be on time?"

"No...Arvind..."

"Priya, all this talk about Arvind is getting really tiresome. Can we do this someother time? I have an early morning conference call to attend..."

"Prem...ok", she says in a small voice and I know she will cry after she hangs up.

And still, I say bye and hang up. That night, sleep eludes me for a long time. Early morning, I have a dream about Arvind and Priya laughing and pointing...at me! I wake up, feeling just not right.

What is the matter with me? Am I just not ready to let go? Or am I confusing friendship with something else? Why is it that a part of me wants Arvind to hurt her so that she comes running to my arms? That can't be love - I shouldn't want to hurt if I am in love...

I make up my mind. It's just best for her and for me, if I move away from her, for sometime. Time will clear my thoughts and direct our lives. Time...that's all I need.
***
The next few weeks, I feel miserable. I don't return her calls. Her emails to me still announce that they are unread. I avoid her, perhaps hurting myself more than am hurting her. I hardly stay in my apartment, making my working days as long as possible and working even during the weekends.

One dreary Saturday afternoon - it had rained the whole day; I remember because she walked in slightly shivering, rain water dripping from her clothes - she decided I had given time enough time to steer our lives. She decided it was time she took our lives into her hands.

She sits down next to me. The silence around us interrupted only by the constant pitter-patter of the rain outside.

"I am sorry."

"Yes, you are."

"I just thought I needed some time to sort out...my life. Without you."

"You can't."

"Sorry?"

"Your life is a mess", she smiles and it's as if everything is the same between us, "What makes you think you can sort it out without me?"

I smile at her and fight back an impulse to hug her tightly.

"You think I will run away that easily and let you live your life the way you want to, you idiot?"

She continues, "I can't let go that easily, Prem. I know that you can't either."

And I suddenly wonder who the child in our relationship is.

"Priya, I know that. I don't ever want to..."

But, she doesn't let me complete what I wanted to say. Instead, she talks about Arvind. She likes him. She wants to say yes and she is still waiting for me to say yes.

And I say yes. Just like that.

"But, you haven't even met him!"

"Yes, but I have heard a hundred things about him, from you. I am sure he will be a nice and boring husband - no surprises! And if he is not, I will kill him for you."

We laugh together and I wish, I could make that moment last forever.

***
I know she is probably getting ready for her engagement tomorrow. I know I should probably be with her now. I just can't bring myself to face us together, one more time. So, I walk to the beach and sit down at her favourite spot. It reminds me of time spent in her company, of laughter, of friendship - of all the things close to my heart. And then I cry.

I am not sure how long I have been sitting there. I think about friendship and love. I think about Priya and Arvind and I know we have taken the right decisions in our lives - Priya and Prem...

I know it is Priya. Even before her hand touches my shoulders. Even before she sits down next to me and takes my hand in hers. I just know. And these are the little things that confuse me - this feeling of nothingness, lightness when she is around, it's as if there is not another person sitting next to me - I can be myself - boring, witty, caustic, funny, whatever I want to be because I know she will understand...

"I thought about it for a long time too", she looks at the waves as she talks and for once, I see their turbulence reflected in her eyes.

The wind carries her hair all around her tear-stained face, hiding it from me. She tries to smoothen out stray strands of hair with her right hand and the moonlight reveals a bride's delicate hand - the mehendi has not even dried.

"Arvind knows am here...with you. Everyone's so excited - my parents, Arvind...they are all talking about the engagement and I just needed to be alone, to listen to the voices in my head. But, then I realized, I just wanted to hear you talk. I knew you'd be here."

We sit there, seemingly no different from the other couples who sit at the beach that day - holding hands. But we don't whisper like them - the silence between us talks for us. I know we are different because we are friends. We were meant to be friends. To be anything else would be unnatural, incomplete. And that night, holding Priya's hand, I know as she does that we will always be friends.

"I love you Priya. I should have said this a long back, without hurting you...I love you as I can love no one, perhaps not even my wife."

"And I love you too...",

It's as if the wind is whispering those words to me.

"...in a way, I can never love Arvind. I am sure I will be insanely possessive about him, I would not want his eyes to even dare to settle on another pretty woman, I would want to own him, make him mine and I am looking forward to that. But you...are different. I don't want to spoil what we have by trying to thrust newer meanings to it. Its perfect as it is."

It was as if she had just read out my thoughs to me. And she - my thoughts - convinced me that our decision was taken if not rightly, atleast for the right reasons. Sometimes, we gain by letting go but I had everything I wanted, I was letting go to gain nothing, to lose nothing. I was letting go so that I could still hear the harmony I hear now - in the waves, in her words, in my thoughts - years later when I want to hear it again.

And then, I hug her, without guilt, without thinking - my moment of glory. And I know she will always be with me.

***
***Excerpt***

The argument.

"One plate samosa, one coffee. Is the leg better now?", I smile at Murugan. A pleasant smile suffuses across his young face and he says, "Much better ayya. It now hurts only here." and he bends down and points to the region around his ankle.

"Another great story ayya? I shall not disturb you", and he is gone as quickly as he appeared. That is one smart lad, I think to myself, watching him talk with the same comfort with several other regulars in the restaurant, if you could call it that.

"Anandam Coffee shop" - the billboard declared in a slightly garish red. The m tilts down at an angle, as if to bless the customers. The walls inside are painted an unrecognizable shade of brown, that has peeled off in corners. A few rusty fans make sure that the smoke from the kitchen swirls inside in a haze. I cannot say why but sitting in this little smoke-filled place, my mind settles down to a lazy calm, that I cannot seem to achieve anywhere else. I come here every evening with my little notebook and pen, looking inside my mind, looking around me for inspirations and ideas.

I write, for a living. I manage to make ends meet with what I write - articles to the tamil magazines, short stories and if I am lucky, interviews with people who are a lot more famous than I am. Murugan always serves me. I don't tip him much. I don't eat much but over the years, we have established a comfortable rapport. I listen to his stories about his life, his boyish ambitions, his dreamy-eyed goals and see a part of my self that I left behind a long time ago...

But this story is not about me. It is about two women, as different from each other as can be. It is about clashing ideals, friendship, fate and a mother's love. That is probably how I will introduce my article if it ever gets published. For now, let me call it what it is - an interesting conversation between two women, powerful in curiously different ways.

Initially I struggle to make out much from the girlish chatter than goes on. "Gosh, you have lost so much weight!", "Do you remember Manjunath from our Eco class?" and so on. I pretend to jot down notes as I doodle, waiting to shape their conversation into something interesting. I did not have to wait for long.

"How old is she?", Divya asks, lightly touching the child's cheeks.

"All of two years and seven months...". An unmistakeable touch of pride that only a mother's voice can convey.

"She is adorable. So a year before she goes to school?" Casual, almost disinterested.

"Yes, a little more than a year. I wonder how I can bear to be away from her for so long, once she starts going to school...". A touch of wistfulness?

"What do you mean? Have you taken a break from work, Madhu?!" Surprise evident in her slightly elevated tone.

"Uh, yes of course. I planned to take a break of a year and then I thought, maybe I should wait until she goes to school..." She seems to be revisting the decisions of the past. She finds in her a need to validate her decision. The hint of a defensive edge in her voice confirms my inference.

I continue to jot down my thoughts, derivations, interpretations as the conversation takes on a slightly serious tone.

"And you...have you found your Mr.Right?"

"Still searching. Am confident I will find him!"

As if on cue, Divya's cell phone rings and she speaks in hushed tones, audible to Madhu.

"No Gautam, I can't make it today. Sure, some other day. Yes, I'll give you a call"

A final comment from Gautam makes her laugh and she hangs up, shaking her head, "Guys, can't live with them, can't live without them!"

"So, how did you find him?" Divya winks at Madhu

"I didn't. My parents did...I don't think I could have done a better job!", Madhu winks back but the import is lost on Divya.

I write in my notebook,
Divya has a look of incredulity on her face.

I try to string words to match her thoughts -
"The poor woman?" or "I hope he doesn't give her a rough time, she may be naive but she is my friend?"...I also notice that Madhu is not at all discomfited by the look on her friend's face. Does being a young mother make one accustomed to such looks? Or do they just convey an ignorance that she does not bother to correct - maybe she waits for time to answer the question?

"So, how do you like being a mother? A full-time job, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is. Doesn't leave you much time for anything else. Sometimes, you don't want time to do anything else...", Madhu smiles and Divya nods, unconvincingly.

"But Madhu, what happened to the journalism course that you were going to take? Remember, you wanted to travel the world...this is, this is...quite a surprise."

Madhu pats her daughter's head absently, "Sometimes, life takes us on a journey that we least expect, maybe its not what we had in mind, but its interesting, challenging and it makes sense...you know what I mean?"

Divya does not know. Or she wouldn't be looking at her wrist watch with that now familiar impatient gesture. Madhu looks over her head and catches my eye. I smile at her but she doesn't see me.

"So, it's been fun catching up Madhu but now, I have to go. I still have some work to do for the demo on Monday."

"It's been fun Divya. Do call up sometime, it gets boring when she takes her naps, you know?"

Divya smiles back at Madhu ruefully, or so I thought.

As they get up to leave, a gentleman enters the shop and looks around for a bit before his eyes settle on Madhu and the child. He smiles and walks towards them.

"Madhu! You never keep track of time, do you? We have to go now or your mom will kills us!" He taps lightly on Madhu's head, fondly, as one would to a child.

Madhu smiles and introduces her husband to her friend, "Dinesh, this is Divya..."

Divya stares at the soft-spoken, handsome young man and pauses before extending her hand. He gives her hand a cursory shake before lifting his daughter up. His attention is already completely on his daughter who has suddenly started talking non-stop.

I try once again to read what each fleeting flicker on Divya's face conveys - "And finally I lose to a young girl of not even three?" or "There are men, much unlike the Gautams of this world?" or maybe they are just feelings that sometimes one does not like to acknowledge or express - surprise? jealousy? disbelief?

Divya watches the three of them walk out. Dinesh has his hands draped around Madhu, and his daughter leans her head on his left shoulder. He leans down to whisper something to Madhu that makes her blush and cast her eyes down.

I write down the last line in my notebook,

"And Divya knows she has lost the argument."

***Excerpt***

The choice - 2

I am running out of titles, I guess...my earlier story also titled "The Choice" here :)

I pass the card through the shredder and watch it strip one path of my uncertain fate into little bits. I switch off the light and sit on my chair next to the bed, in semidarkness. The curtains flutter as if whispering to me and I watch the moonlight filtering through it and falling on my wife's face, as if the heavens had made their choice. And I had made mine.

Shreya...Shreya. As if I had to shush even to say her name. Even her name must not escape my lips, aloud. A day away from reality and my life had changed. How did I let my mind waver thus? Seven rounds around the fire, three priests chanting vedic verses, even the sacred yellow thread that she still wore around her neck...none of them could shackle my fickle mind. No, I am not fickle. I did not as much as think for a second that I would stray for another woman. But, Shreya was different. Shreya never left me to reappear in my life now. She was always there. I just closed my eyes and thought she was not near.

She fidgets in her sleep, charming even with her mouth slightly open. Suddenly she knits her brows and pouts in her sleep, adorable, a child struggling with a bad dream. And I mirror her expression. Why did she have to be so perfect even in her imperfections? Maybe I need Shreya because I want to fight with a woman's irrationalities and her vagaries, to delight in her moods and quirks...I tire with a woman who offers me no excuse to sense that she is human as I am, and that she makes mistakes as I do. The more she struggled to please me, the more perfect she became, the farther away I reached, with someone who was as flawed as I am, with someone who did not make me feel guilty with her every gesture.

"How do you manage it, Arun?"

"Manage what?"

"Being married! Aren't you bored? Don't you look at other women?"

"Other women..."

"Take me for instance...aren't you wishing you can take me out on a date?"
and then she laughs, carelessly. Everything about her seems frivolous, irresponsible...exciting? As she talks, little curls of her hair fall over her forehead, her smile seems not to touch her eyes and yet I find her irresistible. I don't know why. Maybe because she is just the antithesis of Sumathi - playful and unpredictable. Maybe that's how the human mind is made, to want what it cannot have, to tire of what it should cherish, to beg for a change even when life seems perfect.

"Oh, come on, everyone knew you had a crush on me years ago! I don't blame you for that...but isn't it more than a coincidence that we ran into each other at a conference? Aren't the signs trying to tell us something?"
She moves her fingers as if she were a fortune-teller, reading the signs and she laughs again. It always threw me off. Is she suggesting something or just giving me a hard time?

And then my cell phone rings and the jangle annoys me further.
"Sumathi, yes, am busy...yes, I will be home before nine. No, don't wait for me! I cannot understand why you have to wait every night, stop being silly..."

and I hear the hesitant pause from the other end and say, in a softer tone, "I am not very hungry. I had a late lunch, take your dinner."

And I know she wouldn't. Stupid, old-fashioned woman! I look up at Shreya who seems amused at my embarassing conversation.

"How cute! The wife waits to have dinner with you!"

And suddenly, a trait that should have been endearing, grates me further.

"...while the husband flirts with his lady love!"

I flush and stand up and she puts a hand on my arm.

"Now dear, am just messing with you...sit down, we have so much to catch up on. Do you still play the guitar? Tell me all about your life..."

I must have been an idiot. I had been an idiot in love. Maybe I still am or maybe my definition of love itself is skewed up and I just liked to believe that what I felt was love. I sit down and we talk for a long time. And every fifteen minutes an image creeps into my head and I catch a glimpse of Sumathi hovering near the dining table, peeping out the window, waiting for me...and I resist and push it away. Is this the feeling that assumes the fanciful identity we call love? Or is this just my guilt appearing to frown at me? Something stings my eyes and her words float, meaninglessly around me,

"So, call me up anytime or email, whatever. Lets catch up...'s been fun talking to you!" and she leans over and kisses me lightly on the cheek. I take the card that she extends towards me and try not to think about my wife.

Shreya links her arm with mine and we walk out of the restaurant together.
"We should meet up sometime soon. I fly back tonight. If you ever do come to Washington, holler and I'll be there...have always been there for you, haven't I, Arun?", she winks at me and my heart skips a beat.

She leaves in a cab and I take a long walk before catching a cab home.

The house smells of incense, of Sumathi. The dining table is clean, as if she never waited the whole time for me. She sleeps curled on one side of the bed. So delicate, so vulnerable...her cheeks glisten as if a stray tear forgot to dry. I run my hand over her head and lean close to her just to take in her smell - a smell of anxiety, faithfulness and love. Something that I myself can only sense not experience.

She stirs again and this time, smiles in her sleep. I smile too. Maybe she can teach me to love as she does, completely and unselfishly...

I walk towards my window and stand staring at the darkness outside. The moon seems to wink at me, at a choice well made.

***Excerpt***