Dreams, Words and Secrets.

#1. Burdens on my Dream.

"I feel her, I feel her!" I cry excitedly to Sudeep. For a moment, in the bewildered and happy smile that we exchange, we are almost our old selves again. It's as if love sneaked in for a moment under his palm that touched my belly and my baby, snuggled there for a fraction before letting itself out, as suddenly as it had appeared. We regain our old selves back - my baby refuses to kick again, perhaps even she realizes that she is not strong enough to hold together the fraying bonds between us - his hands move away without hesitation and we freeze in our earlier positions, sitting close yet not close on the sofa, appearing to be yet not watching the meaningless images flit across the television screen, as if an invisible wall surrounds each of us and we cannot break out of it. Perhaps we don't want to.

"I need to get some work done, do you want something to drink? A glass of milk?"

Just the right amount of concern in his voice, the right expression on his face, yet the right amounts of everything seem to come not naturally, but with a strained effort. I shake my head and forget to thank him anyway.

He runs up the stairs two steps at a time, as if his new gained freedom - from me? - has given his legs an additional vigor. I sit for a long time staring at the television, wondering about us, how did we grow apart so soon? How can I smoothen the wrinkle that creases his brows? Will baby Sapna do what I have failed to so far? Sapna - that is what I have decided to call my baby, she will be the dream that brings us together. Oh Sapna, so young and so many burdens placed on your delicate shoulders already. Will you promise to try? I hug my baby and we fall asleep on the couch once again.

***
#2. Dosas for Breakfast.

The next morning I wake up with a purpose. I move with a lightness in my heart, for Sapna and I have a plan, our little secret. I make sure Sudeep is still asleep and walk down the stairs as soundlessly as possible. I search for the tea kettle in the cupboards, I know Sudeep likes strong ginger tea in the morning, my preference is a hot cup of coffee but today, I will do anything to make him smile, to make our marriage work. Sapna and I thought of this idea in our sleep last night. I bend down with some effort (after all Sapna is all of seven months old now) and find the tea kettle. I set the tea to boil and decide to make dosas for him. I look at the clock, fifteen minutes past eight. He will be down in another fifteen minutes. I make crisp, golden-brown dosas for us and freshen up. I carefully selected a night dress yesterday, a pale pink that he had mentioned (how long ago was that?) was flattering on me. I brush my hair with a few quick strokes and place a bindi on my forehead. I study my reflection in the mirror - not bad, I tell myself, I look almost cute and very pregnant, I decide.

I sit down at the dining table. I am already tired - this is enough exercise for me, no matter what Dr.Sheila tells me. He walks down - the same hurried steps, is it my imagination or is he in a hurry only to leave this house, to leave me? - I am surprised that he is already dressed and ready with his laptop to leave. Sometimes I can't tell if he is getting dressed for a picnic or for work. A programmer needs to be comfortable or all he is going to code are software bugs, he had told me long back. Today though, he is dressed with care, no sleepy stubble on his chin, a white full hand shirt and faded blue jeans. A shirt? He must have a presentation today, I tell myself. His hair is as unruly as ever, what was it that I found so attractive about it? I can't quite recall. He stops when he sees me and the table set, ready for him. For a second, he can't seem to decide what to do, he comes close to me and lightly pats my head. I feel like a dwarf sitting in front of him - at six feet, he towers over me by almost a foot but today I feel short, pudgy, ugly? I try to guess the look in his eyes, eyes that I knew so well not so long ago, now I seem to be guessing what they convey, all the time...

"I am sorry, I have to go for a meeting. Nancy called for a sudden meeting at nine..."

I nod, still trying to guess what he is thinking, the feeling that flits across his eyes so often nowadays. Minutes after he has gone, it hits me - pity! I am suddenly angry at myself, I should have been more careful, just a year in America, I don't even have a drivers license, the time when we should have gotten to know each other better, the time that I should have spent getting to know this country, all lost now...and then I think of Sapna and am overcome by a guilt-laced love, nevertheless, a love so strong, it makes me scared. What if she is not as beautiful as I imagine she would be? What if I die without seeing her? And the question that I always push away before it can haunt me further, what if she cannot bring in Sudeep the change that I myself struggle to bring forth? I nibble on the now cold bits of dosa and wonder if Nancy is pretty.

***
#3. Susheela Aunty Drops In for Tea.

My routine, bland to begin with has become more predictable nowadays. Earlier I used to call Sudeep during the day just to whisper sweet nothings to him. He would always respond in kind, he would always say "love you princess" before he hung up. I hear the words in my head and try to savor the feeling that it generates. I feel a bitter taste in my mouth and before I know it I am sick again - didn't Dr.Sheila say the nausea lasts only the first trimester? Maybe something else leaves this bitter taste in my mouth. Nowadays, I introspect too much, maybe I am reading too much into everything, maybe it's just my hormones driving me crazy, I tell myself unconvincingly.

After Sudeep leaves, I tidy the kitchen a bit if I can stand the food smells. I watch old reruns on TV - Full House is my favorite. Earlier Sudeep used to join me for lunch sometimes and we would laugh together watching the show. After lunch, I try out some calisthenics for about fifteen minutes. Then comes my favorite time - I snuggle into bed for some light afternoon reading and a nap. The reading is often not light though - today I have a penchant for pathos, nothing less than Wuthering Heights! I fall asleep with the book in my hands and dream that I am Catherine pining for Heathcliff, that there is a little girl by my side who cries along with me for her father, even as he gallops farther away on his horse, do I see a woman with him on the horse? I can't tell for I wake up wanting to use the restroom again.

Around 3 pm, Susheela aunty sometimes drops by for some afternoon tea and some "useful" advice for pregnant women - "After all, I haven't been a mother to four children for nothing!" She is a kindly old woman of about sixty who is desperate for any company, anyone who will listen to her talk, that is. Her only son – “my sonu beta” - and his wife, Amy both work full time and the old woman often gets lonely in the afternoons. She gives me strange recipes for dishes I can hardly name; to my credit, I did try out her recipe for soya upma, it reached the trash can even before I had swallowed my first spoonful. Today she is in a pleasant mood, she tells me, "You should drink a glass of juice every morning, in your America you get so many varieties of orange juice, why don't you buy one of those bottles?"

When she speaks, it's always "my America". I take an irrational pride in claiming kinship with a country that is still alien to me. I nod kindly and resist an impulse to tell her I can't stand orange juice in this country with its strong tangy taste, so unlike the sweet, frothy orange juice made in Indian fruit stalls.

"Savitha, you must avoid pickles and drink lots of milk with kesar in it. Your daughter will be so fair, a Rajakumar will fall for her pretty soon!", she laughs at her impractical little story and I join her, although it is too soon for me to think of the Rajakumar who will take my dream away. I need her with me for a long time to come. I shiver suddenly and Susheela aunty says, "Here, put this shawl around you, I will make you some chamomile tea today. The American bahu taught me to make it today."

When Susheela aunty talks about Amy, it's always "the daughter-in-law". Like the country, her daughter-in-law would also never become hers. Are we similar in this strange way? Bonded together by a strange country and stranger people (I see them all the time on People's court - who are these people)?

The afternoon passes by pleasantly enough and soon it is five in the evening, six...I stand by the window of our apartment and marvel once again at the colors I see - green, gold, rust, red, the colors of fall spread out in pristine glory while I sit cooped up inside my now suffocating apartment. I promise myself I will go out for a walk tomorrow but I am scared, scared that the rich and beautiful people of this strange country will laugh at me, brown skinned, in a strange costume (I just have a few pair of jeans and they don't fit me now), that I would lose my way and my identity on the way...

I don't hear the key in the lock and Sudeep startles me by kissing me on the cheek from behind. I blush (silly woman, old enough to be a mother and blushing still...), I turn around to hug him with relief and stop when I see his face - strangely flushed, an excited look in his eyes - I am suddenly worried, what causes my husband to be transformed thus?

Sudeep tells me, "I am going to Florida on a big assignment. If this thing works out, I am all set for my promotion!"

I smile because he expects me to, a hundred questions surround me like the sudden flock of birds that appear out of nowhere in these American skies, What will I do alone? What if I need to go to the hospital? Who is going with you to Florida?

He doesn't hear my thoughts, he continues, "Nancy is excited about this! She says..."

I feel as if I am sinking, down, down, until I can sink no further. Nancy is going too, his sexy and successful boss, Nancy, a witch with bewitching eyes. I am being silly, a little envy and it paints such wild images in my head...

He stops talking at my lack of enthusiasm and says, "Savitha, I really want this project to take off. If this works out, we can even think of buying a house, imagine...the baby will have a huge room to herself, we can paint it ourselves..."

So many dreams, one built on another, so fragile...I am scared they will dissolve if I dare to even sigh.

That night we both pretend to sleep as we immerse ourselves with thoughts that seem to be drifting farther apart from each other. Sapna seems to be the only one holding them together.

***
#4. Wuthering Heights meets Catcher in the Rye.

Another day, another resolve that daughter and mother have taken together. Today, I am not anxious when Sudeep leaves me alone at home, today we plan to step outside, to smell the refreshing air outside, to experiment, to set out on our own adventure. I dress in one of my nicer cotton sarees, select a smaller bindi than the one I usually wear, bright kohl lined eyes, a sharp nose, smooth cheeks and well-defined lips stare back at me. I feel confident as Sapna and I step out of the house.

We have decided to walk to the park today. If nothing, Kentucky boasts of several state parks, verdant and lush all around before nature decides to turn more colorful and don shocking shades – purple, gold, maroon, as she has today. I walk at a leisurely pace, Sudeep promised to get dinner from India palace, so I have the whole day to myself. I smile at passersby - mothers like me with their little ones, trotting beside them, in colorful strollers, waving air kisses from their shoulders...I can't wait to take Sapna out on these walks. One old American lady stops to tell me how beautiful my Indian "sahree" looks. Perhaps, I misjudged America...

Although the park is just a ten-minute walk away from the apartment, little beads of sweat line my forehead and I sit down on the park bench conveniently situated under a huge tree with golden arms. Little yellow leaves encircle the base of the tree like garlands on a young bride, I enjoy the rustling sounds they make as I walk on them...I sit down, lean back and close my eyes. My hands rest on the smooth black surface of the bench - even inanimate objects here appear so perfect, flawless...

I must have fallen asleep because I am surprised when I open my eyes to see a man sitting at the other end of the bench immersed in a novel. Curiosity gets the better of me and I lean forward discreetly to read the title on the cover.

"Wuthering Heights", he says with a smile and puts the novel away. I am pleasantly surprised and he says, "Quite a coincidence, isn't it?" he points to the book peeping out of my handbag and I smile some more.

"I was hoping you would wake up, actually..." he continues, "All the Catherines of this world were beginning to get to me!" I laugh imagining his world full of Catherines.

"You know we can continue to talk like this and share deep dark secrets with each other and say goodbye, the way one does with strangers during a trip...or we could call each other by our real names or at least the names that we will tell each other just about now..."

How long has it been since I indulged in a friendly banter with a stranger. In India, the land of no strangers, this conversation would mean little but here, I am thankful to be talking to someone from my country.

"Hi, I am Savitha, new to this place which you can probably tell. I am from Calcutta, newly married, my husband works at Airtel...where are you from?" I groan inwardly as I hear myself - I sound like a first-year student in college.

"I would like to say Kentucky but somehow think you are looking for something more familiar, so let me say, I am from Pune, my parents are, that is, and I was born there. I have lived most of my life in Kentucky though."

I want to ask if I am that obvious but decide not to sound too vulnerable. I smile and think I should be getting back, it's almost Susheela aunty's tea time when he says, "I come here whenever I get the chance, I love spending time in the open. Buildings, rooms, walls, they suffocate me. My parents think I am crazy."

Something about his frank, almost boyish confession makes me want to know more. I take a closer look at him, he is probably my age, a few years younger perhaps? Kind, almost bored eyes, a lean face with a boyish stubble - almost like a teenager, only his nicely combed hair gave him a semblance of maturity, I think he looks cute.

"I should probably be leaving now. Just thought I would get to know the community a bit..."

"And do you like it so far?" he grins as he talks and displays a broken tooth. I feel much older than him now but I nod anyway. I feel better than I have felt in days. I talked to someone other than Susheela aunty and Sudeep.

I get up slowly to leave and he says, "Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?"

I think his question is not one that should be asked in a first meeting but he has such an innocent inquisitiveness on his face, I say, "It's a girl. Sapna." Something about his expression made me share a little secret with him that even my husband does not know. I now share my dream with a stranger.

He gets up to leave too and I am amused to notice that he wears a long brown kurta and pyjama. "It gets people all the time..." he says and grins some more, a flash of the broken tooth again, "I just like kurtas".

I wave goodbye and start walking away and he says, "Oh I am Ashok and I was reading Catcher in the Rye for the third time but figured I would break the ice faster if I picked Wuthering Heights".

I could have sworn he winked at me as he left. A harmless wink. I smile to myself.

***
#5. Of Stories and Conversations.

A small addition to the routine, ever since Sudeep left - my walk to Jacobson park. Susheela aunty approves, she says the walk will help me have a smoother pregnancy. She even offers to accompany me once - "A brisk walk will probably do an old woman like me also some good..." - and I manage to say no to her without hurting her. It’s the only time when I feet comfortable, free, almost happy being alone, it’s the only time solitude is a blessing and not a curse, how can I explain this to Susheela aunty? So, I make up a more plausible excuse and she seems to buy that.

I take the same route everyday, my newly gained familiarity walks with me like an old friend, comfortable in silence. I take one of my fat novels with me usually and park myself at the now familiar bench and for an hour, Sapna and I are lost in a surprisingly life-like but definitely imaginary world of weeping heroines, handsome princes, majestic villains, glorious castles and lives very different from our own. Sometimes, I read out aloud to Sapna and I eagerly look forward to the time when my daughter will sit beside me on this very bench and discuss these stories with me, with a fire-like passion in her dark eyes, the delicate curls around her forehead dancing all around as she gestures animatedly...

And I am almost lost in one of those lazy day dreams when he pops up out of nowhere. "Caught you!" a flash of his crooked teeth brings a spontaneous smile to my face.

"What mischievous dreams are you hiding, madame? I can see all!"

"And you think I would confide them to a stranger so easily?"

He places his palm on his heart, in mock hurt. "Ah, how your words hurt me, fair woman!"

I am not sure when I started looking forward to these pleasant, meaningless conversations with Ashok. There is something nice about talking to a stranger, there is no pressure to say the right things, no expectations from him, just a smooth flow of words meeting their partners, no hidden meanings, no dark corners to worry about, just a well-lit, easy path where they can flow towards any destination they choose...

The next day I stay back in the park longer than I normally do, losing track of time as I tell Ashok about how I met Sudeep, how my parents were not happy with my decision, how my relationship with them had become more strained since I came here. I almost tell him about my worries about Nancy but then decide against it. Ashok insists on walking back with me that evening - "What?! Leave a beautiful mother-to-be alone in the dark? What kind of a man do you take me to be?!"

I step into my apartment and notice that I have a new voice message.

Sudeep's tinny voice floats into the apartment, "Savitha, I have been trying to get in touch with you for the past hour! - he sounds anxious, I smile at the empty room - "Call me back as soon as you reach home. I need to talk to you", a pause and, "Princess, I am worried, don't do this to me again..."

I almost hum to myself as I call his cell. He answers immediately, "Where have you been?! I have been trying to reach you forever!" I feel a small pang of guilt.

"Sorry...I just went for a walk to Jacobson park..."

"Anyway, I wanted to tell you that the project is going really well. Our customers loved what Nancy and I presented to them. If things go as planned, I should be back soon! We are going to celebrate today, dinner and drinks, the usual..."

I try to muster a bit of genuine happiness for my husband and fail. "That's great Sudeep. Come back soon, we are waiting for you."

"We? Oh...yes of course, my kisses for her. See you soon, gotta run!"

We? Did he forget Sapna so soon? My good humor deserts me and I stand alone once again. I look up the number of the nearest Chinese takeout place and order noodles and stir-fry vegetables. So what if she is paper-thin and sinewy, I will eat all I want. I throw away the fortune cookie without looking at it.

***
#6. A friend gained and another lost?

The next day, I wake up feeling not so good. I check the calendar again, almost a month left for my due date, I suddenly panic, what if my water breaks before Sudeep gets home? Whom should I call? I searched frantically for the small post-it that Susheela aunty had given me with her son's number scrawled on it. I find it lying below the telephone, I copy it down on the calendar, label it “Susheela aunty’s son”, circle it and feel better.

I lie in bed for almost an hour, even my novels do not entice me that day. I switch through all the twenty three channels on our television and stare blankly at the screen. I have a sudden urge to speak to my mother, I buy a calling card online and punch my home phone numbers. I don’t get a good connection, I hear my mother's feeble voice on the line, "Amma, can you hear me?" I am screaming into the phone now and she keeps saying "hello". Does she hear me and not want to talk to me? Finally, I hang up tired with the effort.

The day outside matches my mood - dark and gloomy, it rains whole day, the kind of rain that depresses you, not a full hearty downpour, not a gentle drizzle, rain that came in unruly patches, taking you by surprise, leaving you drenched and helpless. I watch from inside my apartment even more upset that I cannot take my daily walk, Sapna would miss that...

Days roll into each other, marked by nothing noticeable except their sameness. At least it didn't rain today and I can step outside the apartment. I pick my novel - Catcher in the Rye, I found it among Sudeep's collection of novels – lock the apartment and walk towards my bench. Perhaps I take the novel because I hope to run into Ashok, I hope that he would express his surprise (mixed with delight of course) that I had chosen to read it too...I don't see anything wrong in wanting to run into him, after all, he had become a good friend over the past few days and what is wrong in wanting to talk to a friend? Didn't Sudeep talk to Nancy all the time? Maybe they were friends too like Ashok and me...

"And how are we feeling today?"

He appears as if he had just jumped out of my thoughts in front of me and much to my embarrassment, I blush.

"And to what shall I ascribe her bright smile to? Perhaps dear husband is expected back soon with roses and gifts for his beloved?"

"Enough Ashok. Sudeep is not going to bring me roses or gifts. He is too busy with Nancy!"

I feel bad as soon as I say that and even before I can admonish myself for their unfairness, something else distracts me. Ashok. He looks preoccupied, despite his light-hearted questions, and almost restless...

"Are you ok? Did you have a rough day?"

And I suddenly realize, I know nothing of this young man sitting in front of me in his crumpled yet charming kurta, his hand distractedly smoothening out his hair, stray strands unusually out of place, gentle brown eyes studying me as if trying to reach a decision, almost melancholy without the constant twinkle that accompanies them...Is he? What if he...likes me…?

Even before I can complete my thoughts he says, "Things are not going so well between us."

"Us?", I blurt out spontaneously...

"My wife and me, that is..."

I let out an almost audible sigh and he looks at me curiously, "Yes, my wife Amy and me. Did you think? Oh come now, Savitha, you didn't think I was hitting on you!"

I blush again and look down not wanting to lie to him and to my surprise he laughs. "My dear dear Savitha, no, I would never have taken advantage of our relationship...I have grown too fond of you to spoil it by doing something silly like that..." He puts an arm around me and leans his head towards mine. I lean back on his shoulder gratefully because now I know that it cannot be misconstrued, acceptance won through innocence.

Relationships are like that, especially a young one, still finding its foothold, wavering this way and that, sometimes strained, sometimes delightful but growing all the same, taking tiny steps towards adulthood and along the way, like a child falls down and learns, we misjudge and fall too and grow up wiser, the bonds that hold us together, stronger by the very things that had threatened to break them apart. I begin to trust Ashok that day.

He tells me about the small fights that he had had with his wife, especially since his mother came to stay with them. His mother, an old-fashioned woman very different from his American wife. He talks for a long time and I share my own experiences with him, a woman's view of the world. He says he is going to try to have a heart-to-heart talk with his wife and his mother and see if he can help them sort out their differences. I begin to say that perhaps that is a good idea but stop myself. Maybe he is right, maybe being frank is the key to a strong marriage. I wish him good luck and he leans towards me and kisses me on my cheek, "Savitha, you are like the Indian sis I never had, I owe you one babe!" and he is gone taking with him the impression that he leaves behind on my cheek. "I owe you too, Ashok", I whisper and get up from the bench. A sudden thought strikes me, what did Susheela aunty say her daughter-in-law's name was?

But I don't have much time to ponder on this trail of thought.

There comes a time in a woman's life when she is made to feel guilty for no apparent reason. She is wrapped all around by a look so grave, so poignant in its loss, so jealous with indignation that she feels suffocated, as if she can breathe no more, as if she caused the pain...but why should she feel that when she has done no wrong?

I cannot answer that question. I just feel as if Sudeep's look will scorch me to cinders, to ash that the wind will scatter away heartlessly. He storms back to our apartment and I rush as fast as I can calling out his name over and over again.

***
#7. Words - his and mine.

"Sudeep, will you just stop and listen to me?" I am running, screaming, not at all relaxed, all a big no-no according to Dr.Sheila but I didn't care, I pray for Sapna to be asleep. I talk in a rush, I tell him that I was afraid, jealous of Nancy - I had seen her once, young, arrogant, confident, a head turner and here I was ugly, fat, so dependent, that I met Ashok during my walks, that we became friends and that's all we were...

I speak so fast I almost don't hear my own words. They jumble and fall twisted all around me, powerless and meaningless, words made more weak by huge tear drops that betray me, as if I am guilty, I cry for all my lonely days, for my insecurity, for my parents who no longer think of their daughter, for Sudeep who no longer loves his wife, for Ashok whose wife no longer understands him, I cry for all my problems and all problems that are not my own but have become mine that moment...

Sudeep remains silent through out and then speaks calmly, in measured tones. Words are funny, they are so short-lived and yet you hear them as if they are permanently etched in your self, and the funny thing with words is also that you learn how to use them - to hurt, to delight, to pacify, to cut, to heal - the more familiar a person, the more you are privy to their inner thoughts, the more they become vulnerable, you twist and turn words in your mouth, choose the right ones to use - words, daggers and doves, today they prick my heart leaving behind scars...

And suddenly I feel Sapna move in my stomach and a strong pain ripples through me, again and again...contractions! And then I feel myself drift away, away...

When I wake up, a man leans towards me, his brows lined with sweat, his breath hot on my face, breath smelling of fear, guilt, love? I shut my eyes tight and open them again, squinting in the bright light that fell all around his kind face, Sudeep's face. Did I die? Is that why I cannot hear what he says? I try once again.

"Savitha, I am sorry...I understand. You were right all along. I want to tell you so many things. I am sorry I hurt you. I love you my princess..."

I must surely be dead, when I was young and beautiful and alive, my husband used to speak sweet sounding words like these to me...Sudeep continues to talk, "I should probably wait longer but I have to tell you everything right now. No more secrets between us. Nancy...she said she was interested in me, she said Indian men fascinated her and I confess I found her attractive but I told her no. Savitha, do you hear me? I said no, I said I loved my wife..."

A pleasant feeling suffuses through me and I think perhaps that I am alive.

"And then when you held your stomach and fell down at home, I thought I had died, I thought I would never see you smile again, would never fight with you again...I died Savitha, those few moments, you took away my life..."

I taste salty tears on my lips. I am completely, happily alive. I try to speak but words, so many words that I have read and heard, they all swim around me just out of my reach and so I hold my husband's head in my hands and kiss him on his forehead. I touch my cheeks against his, both wet with tears, mine and his, each having appeared for a specific reason - love playing a part in each.

"Dr.Sheila said you were probably experiencing bracks and hicks, our little daughter is not ready to come out yet..." he pats my stomach and smiles at Sapna. My dream seems to be within my reach now. Is this also a dream?

I whisper, "I have to share a secret with you". For a second he looks startled and then smiles back, "The last secret that you have kept from me. No more secrets princess, no more secrets…"

***
#8. The Final Secret.

The next day I wake up in good spirits, I remember wisps of the dream that I had dreamt - a happy dream with sunlight and blue skies and smiling babies. Sudeep walks in with a cup of coffee for me, "Good morning princess, I have a surprise for you today! Get dressed soon and come down" and he kisses my questions away and walks out of the bedroom. I am fully awake now and wonder what my husband has in store for me. I dress up as much as Sapna would let me, she moves so often nowadays as if she can't wait to meet me.

I walk down feeling pretty and the table is set for me. For some reason the post-it note that I had stuck a few days back catches my eye...I try to recall what it was that I had overlooked? A stray thought left incomplete but the smell of ghee and spice ends my speculation. Sudeep has cooked hot rotis for me and panneer masala curry, the panneer slightly burnt but you only see that if you look closely, "Smells lovely, a nice little surprise Sudeep!" and he says, "This is not all" and as if on cue, the bell rings. I watch open-mouthed as Ashok walks in hand in hand with his wife, Amy - she is in a saree and not at all as I imagined she would be, behind them Susheela aunty walks looking resplendent in a silk saree, her nose ring glinting in the sunlight. Ah, that was it, it came back to me now - a circle of bonds, Susheela aunty, Amy, Ashok, Sudeep and I all connected in that circle, bound to each other by strange twists of the past. I am happy to be in the circle. It looks like my womanly words of wisdom and his own worked well with Ashok and his family.

"Surprise!", Sudeep whispers in my ears before welcoming our guests, our family...for once, I feel at home, away from home, I look around the table and each face smiles back at me with a familiarity that puts me at ease, even Amy who is just getting to know me, holds my hands as if she were a childhood girl friend. So many problems that had appeared so big seem to have just dissolved...tomorrow perhaps they will reappear, tomorrow they will seem larger-than-life, complex, confusing but today they don't exist and I hug Sapna and tell her in my thoughts, "Sapna, today is a dream come true just like you are...I can't wait to see you". She hears me, I know that.

I lean towards Sudeep, "My secret is not as big as yours but it's something that daughter and mother have been hiding from you for a few months now. We have decided on a name. Sapna."

***
***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***

'tis the same ol' story!

The Showdown.

"Sahi na? Ava kulam gothram enna? No daughter of mine is going to run away with a meat-eating Punjabi named Sunil Sahi!", his voice rumbled, dangerously, it seemed to Krithika.

Why does he look at my mother when he says this? For once, can you make eye-contact with me, appa? Krithika nervously chewed on her finger nails, silently waiting for the chaos to descend on her.

Her mother did not respond. She stood in front of the vigrahams and perumal padams neatly arranged in the kitchen almirah, hands clasped near her chest, eyes closed tightly, lips mumbling incoherent prayers. Every now and then, she would use the tip of her kattam-potta, brown nine yards saree to wipe her tears and she would quickly steal a timid glance at the drama unfolding in the living room.

*****
"And I suppose Mrs.Smith is a magna cum laude Harvard graduate…all I need to complete my perfect day!" He nervously adjusted his tie and rang the bell. The imposing three storied-house and the perfectly manicured lawns did little to ease his growing apprehension.

"You must be Andrew…how nice to see you", high-pitched voice, strings of pearls so tight around her neck, he wondered if she felt suffocated.

Awkward introductions, Melanie trying her best to make him feel "at home"…

"My husband graduated from Harvard…", the high pitch was beginning to grate on his nerves. "Ah, so it is Mr.Smith that is from Harvard…", Andrew thought morosely as he loosened his tie a bit more.

More innuendos, forced laughs and small talk.

"I am not going to let these uppity know-it-alls make me feel bad, I am proud of my mom and I will be". His father having deserted the family when Andrew was still a baby, his mother had worked hard to bring her only son up. Extra hours at the book store, a few more baby-sitting jobs and…Andrew was now a college graduate, not good enough for the Smith's though.

"The wedding will be Catholic, of course…", Melanie’s mother drawled, with a meaningful look at Andrew, as if being "non-Catholic" was entirely his fault…

*****The Preparations.

"Haan ji, aapko idhar aane ka, baat karna he, ladke leke aayiyega..."

Over broken bits of Hindi and English, the date was set for the parents to meet to decide on "auspicious" engagement and marriage dates.

"We do not have marriages in the month of December, highly inauspicious, Marghazhi, the month to pray and we take that seriously, you see..." It was not a question, a command and he expected immediate acquiescence.

"Of course, you do not have to teach a Sikh about being devout, Sir."

Krithika watched the verbal volley with a sense of despair. A few hours passed and a date was set for the engagement, the one date that both parties had reluctantly agreed to after throwing aside several others that had been carefully selected by the priests of both families.

"The marriage will be our style?", a voice boldly ventured and Sunil looked ready to kill his uncle...
*****
"Yes tulips, tulips ofcourse, they will do nicely...", Melanie's mother was the decision maker for their wedding. The table setting, the flower arrangements, the hall, the invitations and even the dress had to be go through her mother's stringent approval process. The wedding planner tagged along uncertainly, jotting down instructions from time to time.

"It's going to be an amazing wedding! We even have a theme for the reception party...and oh, you should see the bridesmaids' dresses, they are to die for! You will have so much fun, Eva!", Melanie impulsively hugged Eva. Eva hugged her back smiling, sadly. For once she wished she could do more for her son...

*****The Event.

"Will you let go of my hair...now?!", Krithika forcibly pulled herself away, leaving a few strands of her hair in the bewildered beautician's hands.

Krithika undid the hideous coiffure and started untangling her hair. She barely finished when her mother came rushing in, "Krithu, we are very late, Muhurta neram tanda pordu, come soon!"

Krithika gingerly smoothened out her now-wrinkled koora podavai and walked to the mandapam. A cacophony of sounds and images blurred her senses. The tunes of the reedy nadaswaram seemed to mingle discordantly with the mirudangam beats, punctuated by loud Sanskrit slokas uttered, without a pause, by vadhyars sitting around the fire. Excited chatter, screaming kids running around the pillars of the mandapam, sweaty mothers rushing in all directions with garlands, vilakkus, silver plates and kumkumam, pot-bellied uncles standing in small circles, laughing loudly at comments that hardly deserved a smirk...a 3D movie in fast-forward, with the smoke from the fire adding the final touches! She looked at Sunil, clad in a white veshti, holding the sacred poonal around his chest, managing admirably with the mandrams and suddenly, the haze cleared and everything made sense to her. She smiled.

*****
"Where is the veil?!", Melanie was almost in tears. The perfect white dress, the perfect diamond necklace, perfect shoes and the veil, the finishing touch to her fantasy, missing. A few minutes of frantic searching and one of the bridesmaids came running with the precious piece of cloth.

"Do I look alright? Has the music already started?! Where is daddy?!", Mr.Smith touched his daughter's shoulder from behind her. She turned and he kissed her on the forehead, "You look beautiful and today is going to be perfect." The conviction and affection in his voice calmed Melanie considerably and she smiled.

She walked slowly down the aisle of the church, with her father. A picture-perfect wedding, flowers, just the right amount, tastefully adorned the walls, candles cast a romantic glow all around, Andrew's eyes unwaveringly followed his bride, his right hand touching his heart. She walked gracefully, stepping on the rose petals scattered on the floor by two little girls in pink dresses and matching pink baskets in their hands...

"With this ring I thee wed.", the words echoed down the hall. Andrew caught his mother's eyes for a moment and they exchanged a smile that spoke volumes.

*****
***Excerpt***

The Choice.

"And that’s why young women like you need to consider Engineering as a potential career choice. It’s not just a man’s world anymore, is it?"

She finished with a flourish, her conspiratorial wink earning her warm smiles from many of the teenage girls of St.Clark’s High School for Girls. She had started her speech on "Career opportunities for women – Engineering, a whole new world" with some trepidation. After all, a Master’s degree alone did not make her an expert about Women and their career choices; she did accept the offer anyway – not everyday did a Software Engineer get to make inspirational speeches to shape the youth of the country.

Not many questions were asked and soon the class was dismissed. Sunitha picked up her Thinkpad and her small handbag and confidently strode out of the room. Before leaving the school she quickly studied her reflection in the huge antique mirror that covered most of the hallway, she wondered what purpose it served but was glad it was there.

Stylishly short hair with streaks of brown – she considered that her little act of defiance, a dusky complexion, intelligent black eyes behind brown spectacles, a modern career-woman complete with the air of confidence greeted her back and she smiled.

*****
"Do you have to play that dumb piece of whatchamacallit every evening?"

The exasperation so evident in her voice did not penetrate through the hypnotic hold that The War of the Worlds had on Sethu.

"I promise you, I will not hesitate to throw your xbox right out the window!"

The comment hit home and he looked up in a daze and made a sound that vaguely resembled "Duh...."

She threw her handbag on the dining table and strode out of the living room, muttering to herself. When she came back to the living room after 30 minutes, she was considerably calm after her long scented bath with essential oils, candles and daily dose of Jane Austen. He was quietly cutting brinjals into small equal sized cubes. She watched him silently for some time as he washed the vegetables meticulously. His unruly hair kept falling on his eyes and his unsuccessful attempts to push them back using his elbow made her earlier irritation evaporate as quickly as it had appeared.

She sat down with the latest edition of India Abroad and started leafing through the pages, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. Her life was as she had designed it to be. She did not become the typical house wife whose life revolved around spices and cooking, managing the maid and taking care of in-laws – a life of servitude and dependence that she did not care for. She had studied hard, worked hard, dreamt big dreams and had built her life, as she wanted it, chiseling out pieces that she felt were not conducive to her ambitions and goals. She had a life to speak of, a job that commanded respect, people listened when she spoke and Sethu gave her all the independence she demanded. She made it a point to divide housely chores between them and stuck to the demarcation to a fault. Ironically, the demarcation was a bridge in her eyes, a bridge that reduced the different responsibilities that have been thrusted on Indian men and women over the ages, responsibilities acutely biased in favor of the Indian man. Her strong views did not change when she watched her docile mother yielding to every wish, every command decreed by her obstinate and irascible father; if anything, they increased her conviction to be everything that her mother was not – strong, independent, career-oriented…

*****
"Must we really go to Sumit and Anjana’s party?" Sunitha drawled, using her most convincing tone, which she had used to some degree of success, atleast the first few months into their marriage.

"Yes, this promotion means a lot to Sumit..." He hesitated, before adding, "And since they are expecting a baby in six months, it's a cause for more celebration for them, and it will mean a lot to Anjana if we..."

The rest of his words were lost on Sunitha.

"Yes, I am sure Anjana would appreciate having us, or is it you, there? I am sure she would enjoy cooing to you – Sethooo, honey…can you give me a hand with this book please, it’s sooo heavy - flirty, air-headed disgrace of..."

Her thoughts were rudely interrupted by Sethu, "So, 6 PM sharp…we must pick a nice gift for them and for the baby too...."

"Yes dah-ling, we must," She answered mocking Anjana’s lilting voice. Sethu appeared not to have noticed it. It is uncertain whether Anjana did enjoy flirting with Sethu; In Sunitha’s mind, there was no doubt about it. This bent of her mind made her oblivious to many of Anjana’s endearing, even whimsical traits – her naivete, her culinary excellence, scrupulous maintenance of her house, her delectable voice, her constant chatter delivered unpretentiously to anyone who would care to listen – traits that amused Sethu, maybe because she was the very anti-thesis of his wife? At some subconscious level, Sunitha recognized this fact and resented it - "Sumit can indulge her every beck and call, for all I care, but, what does my Sethu see in her?"

Unjustified-possessiveness and jealousy rushed to fill in many nooks and crannies of her head, replacing the hitherto residing trust and rationality. The more Sunitha obsessed over these predominantly imagined and semi-accurate observations, the more she disliked Anjana and the more she felt the need to put Anjana down, which was no big feat, for Anjana was no match for Sunitha, intellectually among other things. But, come to matters of the home and the heart and Anjana was the uncontested Queen.

*****
An expensive red chiffon saree, glittering just enough to catch the eye but simple enough to steer clear of garishness, heart-shaped diamond earrings and a matching chain with a pendant sparkled as she moved, hair flowing down her shoulders, casually, lest it betray the many hours of preparation that went into grooming it, a touch of mascara and a light almost-natural shade of blush touched to the cheeks - Anjana looked positively radiant. Sunitha fumed inwardly as she leaned forward to kiss Anjana's cheek.

"You look nice, Anjana...my, your stomach hardly shows!"

Sunitha ignored Sethu's shocked look and continued, "Your house looks amazing, must say, you are the ideal house-wife...". The stress on "house-wife" was unmistakable.

Anjana being who she was, giggled delightfully and said, "Oh, I am so glad you and Sethu could make it..." Turning to Sethu, she said "So, you did keep up your end of the bargain, clever clever man!", she waggled her index finger playfully in front of Sethu's face, failing to notice his mild embarrassment and his wife's disapproving glare.

A hundred implausible notions ran through Sunitha's mind, "Bargain?! What bargain? When did they meet to conspire for this sneaky bargain?"

After the initial uneasiness, the rest of the evening passed by uneventfully until it was time to sit down for dinner. Everyone had a word of praise for Anjana - "Amazing biriyani, Anju!", "Noone can throw a party like you!" and so on. Sunitha patiently nibbled through the food, expending her pent-up emotions by chewing and grinding her food. She managed to remain in this precarious state of equanimity until Sethu chose to express his unfortunately-timed thought, "Anjana, A guy could marry you just for this!"

Appreciative laughter ensued at the dining table, agreeing to the sentiments just expressed and mingled with the laughter were Sunitha’s tears, which threatened to come pouring down in torrents.

*****
The next day, Sethu sleepily looked around for Sunitha, who usually lay snoring gently next to him in sound sleep, a sleep which would not let go of her until he held a steaming cup of coffee in front of her face, a bribe that she demanded everyday to grace him with her awakening. He walked to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee and stopped abruptly.

Draped clumsily in a slightly wrinked yellow saree, which looked like it had been dragged hastily out of an old trunk, Sunitha was biting her lips in concentration, trying to scrape out the slightly burnt dosa from the tawa. Yellow bangles – one of the first few gifts that he gave her after their marriage that remained ignored until today – looked out of place, resting on her hands. With her left hand, she quickly moved loose strands of hair from her face and tucked them behind her ear and he stood staring at her hair – he had never seen it in anything but a pony-tail or a bun, he stood mesmerized by the jimuki that dangled in her ear. She looked delicate, almost vulnerable in the kitchen…traces of her mother that he had not seen earlier in her, revealed themselves.

She looked up, startled at his footsteps, and then smiled "Sethu, ready for some delicious dosas? Sit down and drink your coffee, it took me a while to figure out how this filter works! Almost burnt my hand...and I..."

He silenced her with a hug. She hesitated for a moment and hugged him back, the dosa maavu still dripping from the ladle that she held in one hand, laughing and crying at the same time.

Several miles away, Sunitha’s mother deftly turned dosas on her tawa for her husband’s dinner.

*****
***Excerpt***

மனம் ஒரு குரங்கு

Author's annoying interruption: I could not think of a title for this short story that is more apt than "Manam oru Kurangu" (The mind is a monkey). I also wanted to touch upon unspoken assumptions of Indian marriage, fidelity and a few other things...but did not want to overload the title!

She woke up because she felt that something was wrong, even as she slept. She stared blankly into the darkness. Her eyes focused on the framed picture in front of her bed with the small heart-shaped night-lamp casting a cone of light on it. A boy and a girl walking hand in hand and scrawled below it the word Love and his signature.

Tonight, the picture did not reassure her. She gulped down some cold water and tried to will herself to sleep. It eluded her. She struggled not to remember the scene that had just woken her up from her dreams. The terribly inappropriate scene. She gave up the futile attempt of trying to distract herself with happy thoughts, thoughts of her honeymoon, their pleasant married life and tried to sleep again.

A few seconds of blissful darkness and then the same scene. There he was, laughing comfortably with her, both hands draped around her shoulder, leaning his head forward to touch hers. She woke up again with a start this time, more tensed than before. She picked up her cell phone to call her husband and dialed the numbers.

"He..llo", a groggy voice replied. She realizes her mistake and without thinking ends the call. Five anxious minutes pass and the cell phone rings. She flips it open even before the first ring is complete.
"Sunil, I am sorry...Ganesh is away and I could not sleep, had nightmares...", she lied, as she was expected to. She cannot believe how thrilled she feels that he had called, yet hoping for the sake of hoping that he would not.

"Shalu? I just called to say I reached safely...cannot hear you clearly...love you, will call you in the morning, bye". The call ended abruptly and once again, she was surrounded by silence.

***Excerpt***

The papers.

"...and that's why I want to be a Doctor when I grow up".

Thats how the little girl’s speech ended on children's day. Her parents sit in the first row, because she asked them to. They clap their hands, a bit too enthusiastically. She is happy.

The little girl finishes with a flourish and blushes furiously at the standing ovation. She stands uncertainly for a few seconds on the stage, smiling widely, before running towards her parents. Her parents are proud. They both reach towards her and their hands touch. Both of them draw back, as if stung. Priya, or Prikutti, as she is fondly known, all of nine years old, is too young to notice anything strange.

”Do you like my trophy, amma?” Priya asks her mother, holding the small trophy close to her heart, tilting it a bit so that the words Priya, engraved in gold letters shine in the light cast by the chandelier above the dining table.

Priya admirably hides her disappointment when she notices that her mother has not looked up from her novel. With downcast eyes, she settles down on her chair and plays around with the food. Her father notices the telltale attention-seeking signs of his daughter but somehow does not indulge her this time.

”Amma, appa hate me,” Priya concludes “because I am not as fair as Sheetal, because I scored 23.5 on 25 and she scored 25/25 in the Geography test”. Unnoticed, innocent tear drops fall down her cheeks.

Being a child gives Priya the privilege to forget what just transpired, in a few moments and she runs off to play with her Barbie dolls. The little respite offered by their only child, having evaporated, a gloomy silence fills the dining room, broken by the cold sounds of cutlery grating against plates. The farce now complete, husband and wife retire to their respective bedrooms.

*****
”But, why can’t you come? Amma, appa, me, you, we can go together to my school like we used to…”, Priya pleadingly looks from her mother to her father, searching for an answer in their impassive expressions. “Appa will take you today and buy you chocolates on the way to school”, her father tells her, hoping that this offer would shield Priya, even if temporarily, from the shock that she eventually would have to face. Priya looks back one final time to see if her mother would come with her, and then walks out with her father. She cannot understand what she has done to bring about this strange change over her parents.

*****
Today, Priya is happy. It is a Saturday, which means no school and her parents got her icecream in the morning. She sits unsuspectingly, happily on the couch, eating icecream and laughing at Tom and Jerry’s antics. Her parents are busy discussing something animatedly, which she cannot understand, a sheaf of papers spread about in front of them. She smiles happily, misconstruing business for marital bliss.

“I think we have reached an agreement then.” the lawyer says, standing up and shaking hands with Priya’s parents. Priya stands between them, curiously staring at the man’s official-looking mustache. The man leaves and Priya’s parents sit down, tired, both looking worriedly at their daughter. Priya knows enough to understand that this cannot mean any good. She tries to edge away to her play room. “Did amma, appa find out that I hit Kanchu today at class yesterday?” she wonders.

To break the uncomfortable silence in the room, Priya’s father clears his throat and says “Prikutti, pattu, inge va, unga kitta konjam pesanum”. Priya is wary but cannot resist his pleading tone. She plops herself on her father’s lap and looks up expectantly at his face. After all, in her eyes, isn't he the most important and intelligent man? the best father in the world?

Her mother looks ready to cry, unseen ghosts tormenting her mind. She stands up decisively. She cannot deceive her child further. “Appa and Amma want to take a small holiday, Priya ma…,” she says, doing her best to maintain her composure. Priya still playfully fiddling with her father’s gold chain, does not look up. Her father gently unwinds her fingers and lifts her chin up. “Holiday polame!”…nine years old and she has already learnt to infuse more enthusiasm into her voice than she actually feels. Her parents exchange a look of pain, concern, love…for a second, they feel a connection, one that they had not felt for so long that they had forgotten what it was like to feel again…what drew them to each other in the first place.

A mother’s heart can take an unbelievable amount of personal misery but somehow always disappoints when the child is concerned, it can no longer maintain its unrelenting stamina. Unconsolable tears stream down her face. Her husband sits unmoving for a few seconds. He sees his wife, the way he has not seen her in a long time. He lets his eyes, his self take in every bit of his wife. He notices the delicate creased lines on her forehead, eyes that he adored until a few months ago and now again, a small nose, red now with emotion (he smiles)…and suddenly he realizes he feels like he had when they had initially started going out. She is the same beautiful, vulnerable, stubborn girl…and he could not love her more than he did now.

Priya did not understand why her mother cried and why her parents were hugging now like they do on TV, when they make her get up to get some water for them. She is happy and runs forward to hug them. Mother, father and daughter stand in an intimate circle, the papers strewn on the floor all around them.

*****
***Excerpt***