Radha and I.

Radha and I were best friends, the kind that other girls envied. We laughed for the same silly jokes, we had similar tastes (I would later realize just how similar), we were both toppers in our classes and we could make each other laugh and cry. And we were fiercely protective about each other.

And still I broke her heart. I tore it into little shreds that reflected not a bit of my love for her, my almost painfully intense love for her. I broke her heart fully knowing that she let me do it, knowing that I had the power to do it. And I broke it because I let one weak moment of envy overtake my senses.

And now I see her broken in front of me, still holding on to me for support and I hug her in a guilty attempt to console her, my hug a pale shadow of what it used to be - tight, so close that I could hear her heart beat, so close that I felt I would let nothing come in between us. But I did. I came in between us.

***

I was the prettier one ("Kalpana, some poor guy will fall down hard for those big brown eyes of yours"). She was not what you might consider beautiful, but if you took the time to look, you will notice a delicate, almost vulnerable feeling about her, the kind of feeling that wants you to protect her from all the evil in the world.

But, how can I protect her from me?

Radha always used to say, "Kalpana, you will marry a rich NRI and then what will I do Deekra?" Deekra, Deekra - her honey-like words swirled around me to haunt me at nights, Deekra, like a mother calls her child...

"Radha, enough with this nonsense! I don't want to marry a stupid NRI with a false accent! I want to go to exotic places, I want to do my MBA, I want to fall madly in love with a romantic city and make it my own...I don't want to spend my life, catering to the needs of Mr.NRI!"

She would look shocked. My dear Radha, so naive, so genuine in her feelings, even then I could never give back what she gave me so generously - trust, steadfast and complete.

"Kalpana...", she would begin hesitatingly, "do you think someone will fall in love with me? Maybe if I had been a bit more tall and fair, like you...you have the face of an angel, Kalpana!"

And I would disagree, my eyes are too small, my legs too thin, while I secretly accept the praise that she heaped on me.

"Come on Radha! Who cannot fall in love with you? You are smart, witty and perhaps the best wife that a man could hope for!"

And for the smile that would light up her entire face, what would I not give up? How ironic that I, the sentry guarding this delicate smile on her face, would wipe it all away...until all that remained was a face devoid of the life that had made it sparkle.

***

We stayed at a Girls hostel, Radha was in her final year of B.Sc Physics and I was in my final year of BA, Literature. We would often end up staying late, many nights to complete our assignments or prepare for an exam but would spend most of the time talking. I never tired of our conversations, probably because Radha always let me talk. She listened as a mother would, to her child. Sometimes, she would sing, if I insisted and I would fall asleep, listening to her voice. I always envied her voice, smooth and carefree, passionate and powerful, very unlike her self. Maybe it was her voice that killed our friendship, maybe something so pure and compelling should not have existed at all, if only her voice had been a little more coarse, her sense of melody not so flawless...if only, he hadn't closed his eyes to me, to hear her sing...

He, the he that our lives entwined around, struggling for a hold, until one of us had to let go...and Radha being who she was did let go. What she did not know was that I made her let go.

Anand, the joy of our lives. The joy that we both wanted to capture and hold in our hands, the joy that I snatched from her life?

He studied at a nearby Engineering college. Radha was selected as our college candidate for the intra-college individual singing competition. I stuck along for moral support. Our college bus took us, along with other participants on a rainy Thursday morning. We played anthakshari in the bus, joked about the boys in the Engineering college, shared girly secrets and laughed...perhaps we had laughed too much then, perhaps we cried later to make up for that bus trip.

I saw him first. Tall, lanky, a stubbled chin, a cap worn backwards, a tshirt declaring, "I don't care!", jeans that looked like they had not been washed for years and the most bewitching eyes that a man could have! I hated him for trying to be cool and I turned back to look at him thrice. I stealed a glance at Radha and she seemed lost, silently mouthing the song that she was going to sing, boys nowhere in her thoughts, certainly not this kind.

"Hey Anand, one of the girls is a no-show for the singing competition! Substitute her?"

So Anand must be some events-coordinator guy...

"Hmm...let's wait until evening. What's her name?"

"Radha...Radha Shiv...something"

I felt Radha break out of her reverie. She rushed towards them and said, in a breathless voice, "I am Radha...sorry, we got delayed!"

"No problem babes, the competition isn't until 5", and with a grin the two guys vanished into the crowd. "Babes?" That's so not cool.

And to my surprise, Radha turned to me and said almost shyly, "What was his name? Anand?"

And I wondered why I didn't like the sound of that name in her mouth.

***

A pleasant breeze rustled the leaves in the trees, they seemed to sway lightly to and fro, a flock of birds flew across the sky and even the fluttering of their wings seemed to carry a rhythm, a light rain fell on me and it was as if I noticed all this just in a corner of my mind, a frame that resonated with the pretty picture in front of me, my Radha singing on stage. And even as she sang, I knew she would win, her voice seemed to flow all around us and take us with it...I closed my eyes and heard her sing, no words, just the sound of her voice.

She finished and it was as if a spell had been broken, a pause and then suddenly everyone started clapping at once, I clapped the loudest. I looked around to capture the expressions on the faces around me so that I could tell Radha, I couldn't wait. Until I saw him clapping.

He was standing, clapping with a careless abandon, his eyes focused unwaveringly on Radha and that was when I stopped clapping, that was when I lost the smile on my face. And as I watched, he walked up to the stage and held out his hand to her. I watched, almost holding my breath as she extended a shy hand towards him, I watched him hold her hand with both of his hands and shake it. And before I could react, the light drizzle suddenly turned into a downpour, saving me the need to confront my feelings.

As I was about to leave, Radha caught my eye and waved excitedly. I hesitated for an instant, turned back and left. I caught an auto and came back to the hostel, headed straight to the mess and ate everything that I saw. I walked back alone to my room and started leafing through an old issue of Women's Era.

She came in after an hour or so. I heard her footsteps near the door and wondered what I would tell her.

"You didn't wait for me...you didn't even come with us in the bus..."

"I had a headache and you seemed to be too busy to notice me anyway..." My words sounded false even to me but to my surprise she said, "Deekra, sorry, please don't be angry."

She sat down next to me and leaned against my shoulder.

"Deekra, am so happy, Anand told me he thought I would surely win. He said..."

"Radha, you didn't ask me if I liked it?"

"Kalpana, what's come over you today? I don't have to ask you, I know you liked it, it's one of your favourite songs, remember?"

And then she started humming the song, I closed my eyes and tried to forget what I felt, standing in the rain, and slowly the image dissolved and soon I sang with her too, in a voice high-pitched and a bit too cheerful, as if to make up for what happened earlier.

***

Things moved pretty fast after that day. The more Radha talked about Anand, the more she described his bold antics and exciting talk ("An adventure, Radha, marry me and I promise you a roller-coaster ride for life!"), the more she confided her own feelings for him, the more distant I felt from her. I wished I could scream at her and make her stop. But, I did not. I heard every single word she said about Anand and at night, wondered if maybe a quirk of fate had delivered Anand to her instead of me. What if I had talked to him first? How could he fall in love with Radha then? Radha, who was shorter and fatter than me, who...and I suddenly stopped, wondering when I stopped being her friend.

But, that's not true. I still loved her. I still felt a gnawing, rise from the pit of my chest, when I saw her hurt or sad, a feeling that overwhelmed me and scared me for what she could make me feel. And then I wondered, did she feel the same about me? If she did, how could she not see in my eyes, what I felt for him? How could she be so selfish?

A few weeks later, we both sat on the small verandah. I read a novel and she just sat there and smiled at everything. I had an uneasy feeling.

"Kalpana, do you want to come out with Anand and me? I mean, if he is the one - I don't know if he wants to marry me - but if he is, I want you two to get to know each other. I want to know what you think of him, Kalpana."

I wanted to say no, for all the right reasons but instead I said in a light voice, "Sure, why not? He can't be that bad after all..."

"He said his friend, do you remember him from the other day at the competition? wants to ask you out and maybe all four of us could go out for coffee..."

I vaguely remembered a guy talking to Anand that day but I wasn't interested in that guy. I wanted to talk to Anand and what was wrong with that? She wants me to get to know him better...I should, maybe once I talk to him some more, I wouldn't feel jealous anymore, maybe I would like him much less...

"Kalpana...?", she placed a hand on my arm, "Is something wrong? You don't like Anand?", she was studying my face carefully and I wondered if she had read my mind once again.

"I don't know Radha, I'll come because you asked me to but I can't promise to like him."

And I had become a liar too. Jealousy, envy and now lies had made their way slowly into our lives, all because of a stranger! I gripped her hand and said, "Don't worry Radha, I will like him..."

And silently, I told myself - only a little, not so much that it hurts.

***

His friend, Jagan called me and politely asked me out and I said yes. He seemed to be a nice guy but for some reason I couldn't bring myself to be interested in what he said.

That evening, I dressed with care. A bright blue salwar kameez ("It's made for you, Kalpana!"), long earrings that dazzled when they caught the light, bangles (I can't remember when I wore them last) and my long hair left loose.

"Do you think I should wear a saree? No? Too old-fashioned?", Radha asked as she rummaged through our cupboard, she picked a saree and a salwar kameez and held it out to me, when she saw me, her mouth dropped.

"Why Kalpana? You look stunning! Jagan is a goner today!" and I laughed along with her, wondering if I had indeed dressed so carefully for someone that I had spoken ten minutes to. Why not? I had only seen Anand once, how could I be dressing up for him? I shook my head, as if to shake my silly thoughts away.

I noticed that Radha had picked a plain looking salwar kameez for herself, her haid tied neatly in a pony tail, as if she had decided not to compete. With me. Did she know?

And even before I could push it away, a voice spoke in my head, "How can he fall for her when you are with her?"

We caught an auto to the Coffee shop and waited nervously outside, both of us lost in our thoughts. Radha had been silent through out the ride but I was too involved in my worries to ask why.

"Radha!", he waved as he parked the bike. Jagan let out a low whistle when he saw me and I hoped he had heard that.

We walked inside and sat down at a booth, Anand and Radha facing Jagan and me.

"So, Kalpana", I looked up almost immediately, the first time he said my name and my heart was beating so fast, I was scared he would hear it, "Radha tells me you are her best friend and I have no hope of capturing her heart unless you give the go ahead?"

"Radha says the silliest things, Anand. So, shall we order?"

And every time Anand started a conversation with "Radha", I ended up saying something mean, subtle but stinging. Radha was strangely silent throughout.

Even as we ate, I couldn't stop thinking of him, I hated the way his hands lightly rested on her shoulders, I hated the way he whispered to her, asking her if she liked her food, I hated him and I hated Radha.

After our awkward dinner, we broke up in pairs, Anand with Radha and Jagan stuck with me. We stood just enough apart to not be able to hear what we said.

"Kalpana, do you know Anand from before?"

"Uh...no, I saw him at the music competition..."

I could hardly concentrate on our conversation. I kept stealing a glance at Anand and Radha. He sat casually on his bike and held her hand. What did he see in her?

"Kalpana?"

"Oh sorry, you were saying?"

"I am saying, it's not worth your friendship. Don't do it.", and without explanation, he walked towards Anand and said, "Hey, it's getting late, why don't you two love-birds find another time to talk?"

Radha blushed and looked away. Anand grinned. I felt angry and disappointed. We were saying goodbye and he had hardly spoken a sentence to me the whole time.

That night, after we lay down in our beds, I heard Radha's voice in the darkness, "Kalpana, do you like him?"

I pretended to sleep.

"I think he will propose to me...should I say yes?"

"No!" and my head screamed no even as I said it.

She sat up on her bed, "Kalpana, what did you say? Did you say no? Kalpana, look at me!"

And then I spoke the words that I would repent for, for a long time to come, "He hit on me today...I don't like him."

"Kalpana...what are you saying? When? I was with him the whole time!"

"Don't you believe me? Now, he is more important than me?", I was shouting now.

"When...Kalpana, please tell me..."

"When...when you had gone to the ladies room, Jagan left to make a call and Anand asked me out next week..."

"No...no deekra, enough...don't do this..."

I didn't understand what she said. I was too busy crying inside. Why? Why did I do that? I don't know. I am not even sure if I wanted Anand or I just wanted him to not be with Radha, to not see her so completely happy.

Radha said nothing. She didn't even cry that night. The tears would come later. She didn't ask me any more questions and I didn't have the strength to answer them anyway. I was too busy destroying our lives.

***

That was a month ago. A month filled with unhappy nights, Radha cried silently sometimes, sometimes with me. I cried for what I had told her and for what I could not. Now that Anand was no longer in our lives, I began to hover around Radha with a kind of fierce devotion that only guilt can bring. I took care of her, wiped her tears and even sang to her when she couldn't.

Anand called her many times. He even tried to reach me and we both turned away from him. We held on to ourselves and consoled each other for what she had lost and for what I made her lose. But we were once again best friends, bound together by something stronger than before.

***

"And then, what happened? How come I have never met Radha aunty?"

"And then, I don't know, we moved on with our lives. I came to the US to do my MBA, met your daddy and married him. Radha stayed back in Bombay, I don't know whom she married, if she even married...and I don't know why I am telling you all this, Sanju."

Sanjana, my thirteen year old daughter, she shares this quality with her dad - to make me tell her exactly what she wants to know about me, I can't hide anything from her, or her dad. I had told him about Anand and Radha within a few weeks of getting to know him.

"And today, Radha aunty is coming..."

"Are you going to tell her you are sorry, ma?"

"Yes...and many more things that I didn't tell her so many years back..."

We are both silent, when Sunil walks in, "Shouldn't you girls be getting ready for your special visitor? What's all this talking business?"

We both grin and get up to get ready.

The door bell rings at 6.30 PM sharp, always on time, just like before.

I open the door and the years dissolve between us, I don't know how long I stand at the door hugging her or how long the tears continue to fall down my cheeks.

"Deekra, I can't tell you how much I missed you..."

We talk for hours, sharing old stories, catching up on our lives, my MBA, when Radha came to the US, she is happy being a house wife, she doesn't talk much about her husband, I talk continuously, just like old times, about Sunil, about Sanju and me.

And finally, it's time to leave and Radha hesitates at the door, "He is coming to pick me up, he should be here any minute. Kalpana, can I talk to you alone for a second?"

Sanju who has been watching us with her hands on her cheeks, lying stomach down on the floor - her favorite story-time pose, gets up and says, "Yeah, yeah, you girls catch on! I am sleepy anyway...good night aunty, good night ma!"

Radha turns to me and says, "Kalpana, I know. I knew all along. Don't apologize."

How did she know I was going to say sorry? How much more did she know?

She holds my hand and says, "Remember the day we all met at the coffee shop? I understood then and I understand now. That's why I had told Anand that it wouldn't work out. I saw how you looked at him, I saw everything...and I couldn't afford to lose you...I never want to lose you, Deekra."

I stand speechless, still holding on to her hand.

"But no harm done, we are both happy now...aren't we?"

And I hug her once more, like old times, tightly. And when she gets into the car to leave, I try not to notice his face too closely, I try not to think of thoughts that had almost faded, I try not to draw an image of the face that I had fought to forget. And a few seconds later, I recover and walk back in, my past did catch up with my present, but at least now it has completed a circle. I had revisited the past, held on to it for a few seconds and had let go. I notice Sunil and Sanju laughing and throwing pillows at one another. I close the door of my past and walk towards my future. I join in and throw a pillow at them laughing.
***Excerpt***

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***

Shades of gray.

My new task, my new challenge, to put my thoughts into words that would carry its weight after I am gone. Maybe not my hand that would pen the thoughts but my thoughts all the same. It was Srikanth's idea. I didn't think much of it but I have a lot of free time to kill and lately, I have become rather experimental, daring if you will, with my life and so I decide to humor Srikanth, myself more than him, perhaps. And so when Kannamma left that day, Srikanth and I got started on what would become our nightly rendezvous.

"Kannamma...that's not really her name, you know?", I ask

Srikanth holds the pen ready and waits, smiling in anticipation.

"Write", I command and the pen becomes busy filling blank sheets with words.

August 8th, 2006. Kannamma came again today. Violet saree with a cream border...

I want to get this right, I tell him. When she will not come anymore, I want to remember her as she is now.

Vermillion sindoor blazing from her forehead, taunting me, challenging me, every moment. Jasmine flowers dotting her graying bun, vaira mukuthi catching my eye, almost her every accessory a strong reminder to me, a jolt to wake me up from the languorous stupor I get into sometimes. I am her husband. I still am. She feels that now more strongly than ever and I should honor her tenacity. Its been five years now and her anklets herald her arrival at the same time every day. Sometimes, she insists on staying back at night. I don't let her, she has a life to live, to live differently from me, active and alive, a living life.

"You have always called her Kannamma...I never really thought about her real name.", Srikanth rarely interrupts my thoughts, when he does, I welcome it, it gives me a chance to respond to stimuli from the outside world. I need to know that I can still do that.

"Pankajam. My beautiful lotus, shedding tears everyday for me...", I smile and look at Srikanth. He has his head bent, hand furiously scribbling my thoughts, as if tomorrow they may not exist...

***

For someone like me, it takes an intense, almost maniacal kind of concentration to not be bogged down by daily routine and activities. Everyday is a test of my will-power, a challenge to see if I can squeeze an ounce of creativity out of myself. What can I achieve today, acting within the boundaries that shackle me? What do I need to think about today to not concentrate on the boundary itself but to look beyond?

I don't believe in self-delusion. I am not one of those stiffly smiling people who have only themselves and noone else convinced that they are lucky to be who they are and how they are. I am not going to smile and be grateful. It works much better for me to face reality rather than shroud it in a cloud of feel-good dreams. Face reality and stab it in the face. Don't indulge it by giving it a personality it does not possess.

These thoughts, I keep to myself. Why risk invoking sympathy? So, when Srikanth comes that night, I tell him, I want to talk about the weather.

"The weather, Partha?", he looks amused.

"Yes, I want to talk about rainbows and rain, sunshine and sorrow..."

"Do you notice how people attribute their own moods to the weather? Its a sultry summer morning to some, a smiling sunshine to some, pleasant summer showers to you and an outpour of my own tears, to me..."

Srikanth looks up, concerned.

"The heavens cry too sometimes, Srikanth...", I am happy to see him concerned. A need for revalidation, to assuage my restless soul questioning every moment the role I play in people's lives...I who did not care for emotions, drowning in my own self-pity!

I shake my head to clear it, slowly. "It was one such bright summer sunshine that brought Kannamma to me...she shaded her eyes with her right hand and stood carrying a basket of drumsticks, tomatoes and mangoes in her left hand...so simply dressed in a pale half-saree, waiting patiently for the woman beside her to stop haggling...I had an urge to move the hand that shaded her eyes and read what they say...don't ask me why. And then she spoke and it was like raindrops falling gently on parched earth, gentle and melodious. I wanted to hear her talk..."

And I describe the first few words that Kannamma spoke to me, hesitant and shy. My lotus flower, wilting away now...how you blushed when I held your hand the first time, where has the color gone from your cheeks now? Oh, how I wish I could bring them back to you...

***

A lot happens in my life. A lot happens around me, people come and go. Machines hum. Seasons change beyond the window that frames my world. Kannamma, Srikanth...images that come and go. Sometimes before going to sleep, I try to close my eyes tightly and bring their faces infront of me, to hold them with me wherever the night takes me. If I should come back and see them one more time, well, the night has just been kind. If not, I tried. I tried to take with me the memories that made me. For memories are all that we can carry to our sleep, aren't they?

Today, I want to spend in frivolity and so I watch a movie on TV. Images and sounds move meaningless on screen. I try to follow the story, I try to forget, I try to live atleast for these few hours as the little people who move on screen. But, I cannot. Reality keeps dragging me back. Soon static fills the air and the screen is dotted in black and white. My life, neither black nor white, hovering like a ghost in shades of gray.

"Srika, I tried to watch a movie today."

Srikanth sits in his usual place, facing me and picks up the diary.

"No, not today. Let's just talk."

I describe to him what little I gathered from the movie.

"These movies are funny, Srika. They neither portray reality, nor do they deal in anything fantastic, its as if they try to portray life as it is and it turns out to be a mockery of life. Do you know what I mean?"

I can see in his eyes that he doesn't. He can empathize but not well enough to transition to my world, to see movies, through my eyes - a mockery, of people, of time, of life. He is still in his world, a world where one is blessed enough to laugh and cry with the scenes on the screen.

"Am I growing senile, Srika?"

"Senile anna?", Srika laughs, "You are too sane to be senile."

"But I feel old. Life has this way of imposing the maturity of years on you suddenly. One moment you are a child and the other, a world's burden is thrown on you to handle and you suddenly become aged. Do you understand, Srika?"

"Yes Anna, I brought a calendar for you...", he says and I know I want to see what he has brought for me but darkness closes over my protesting eyes and I drift to a dreamless sleep.

***

The next morning, I wake up to see my beloved. I smile and wonder if I am dreaming.

She laughs - the sound that heaven is made of, the sound of bangles tinkling, the sound of temple bells, the sound of music - and I know I am awake.

"No, you are not dreaming. Look what Srika brought for you yesterday!", she points at the calendar on the wall. Krishna holding on to Yasodha or is it the other way around? standing near a pond, a solitary flower blooming at dawn, drawing their eyes to it - a lotus, my Pankajam.

"So now, I have to see your face every morning too?", I ask her and she looks down. My pankajam, blushing like a young bride, still...

"I have something for you too...", she says hesitantly, holding tightly to her jute bag.

"Show me, kannamma. Today, I will take anything you give me."

She shows me a picture full of smiles. Three faces one in each angle, smiling at the camera. I recognize the face of my son and daughter-in-law, and look closer at the face of the young child smiling innocently at me.

"They are here. They want to see you..."

I close my eyes tiredly. We have had this conversation before. Where were they all these years when Pankajam needed them? Why the sudden re-strengthening of bonds that did not exist?

"Adith...he is three years now...", Pankajam brings the picture closer to me and I obstinately close my eyes. I don't want to see the sickening smiling faces one more time.

Pankajam leaves crying that day too. I open my eyes and see that she has left something else for me. Our first year anniversary photo, taken in Shimla, she is so cold, her nose is red...I remember she held me close in public, for the first time - "It's so cold here, I don't care", she had declared...there was snow all around...one of my favourite photos, where did she find it?

And on the photo frame, the words, "Happy Birthday, Partha ma", inscribed. Partha ma - she called me that during rare moments, the only term of endearment she allowed herself to use for me...Partha ma...

The one day that I did not want to make her cry. My birthday. And she did cry.

***
A few days pass and Adith's face keeps drawing itself in my eyes, weaving its way into my heart. That day, I tell Pankajam, "Bring them to me. I want to see my grandson. If he has his old man's looks..."

Pankajam does not cry this time. She just places her hands on mine. I try to recall her touch, the tingling sensation that coursed through my skin when she touched me...this time, I cry.

Srikanth comes within an hour, he hovers near the door, "Anna..." and clears his throat. I motion him in with my eyes, and with that give him my permission to let my son see me as I am today. Something that I have been preparing myself for, for the past few hours. I will be strong. I tell myself one more time. My ego raising its voice after so many years.

And in runs a child. Straight towards me. He looks straight into my eyes, no awkward, curious looks around me, just my eyes and he holds my gaze for a few moments and then he breaks into a smile, "thatha...", he says almost breathlessly and for the first time in this life, I have an urge to break free and take him into my arms, my strong will to not give way to such thoughts broken by innocence...I admit defeat. My eyes fill up again...

Witnessing the powerful interplay of emotions, the ugly voices of our egos fade to nothingness. We talk, haltingly at first, breathlessly later on, to race time to fill each other's lives.

All the faces that make me whole, faces that make me feel alive even now, faces buried safely in my heart...I look around the room and smile contentedly at fate, "See if you can beat this!"

***
And that night, Srikanth writes as I speak,

Today, an epiphany in the form of a child made me realize that my world is the same as yours. That I can feel love and pain, as strongly as you can, Srika...do you understand?

Today, I lived life as it should be lived, in complete surrender. My life, no longer hovering in shades of gray, my life, now crystals of black and white. I almost forgot my "condition", as these doctors like to call it all the time. Do you know Srika, it took me three times to get it right?

"q u a d r i p l e g i c"
***
***Excerpt***

An incomplete story.

They say, all your life flashes before you, in a moment of clarity, just before you die. Mine did not. Maybe because I knew I was not ready to die. I knew that the images that flash would not complete the story they recount, because the story is still not complete. The story of my life and now death. Incomplete.

I was happy. That was the irony of it all. I was completely immersed in my life, in myself, complacent and satisfied with who I was and what I did in life. Although I had nothing that I could identify, nothing to call my identity, nothing to argue passionately about. I was still happy. And then he came and threw my world into chaos.

***
"Thayyum thath thath, thayyum thaha", she intones and we dance. Sometimes, I dance with my eyes closed. I feel the rhythm better, hear the melody within my head when I do that. I am Meenakshi teacher's favorite student. At kalakshetra, I am a different person - confident and capable. I excel and I am aware that I do. Perhaps it is this vanity that draws me to him in the first place. Not my vanity itself but the fact that I feel none of it, in his presence. He does not allow it and I submit to his wishes, unwillingly and completely.

I dance, with fury, with energy. I am alive when I dance. Transformed. This is probably what Meenakshi teacher notices in me too. My hands and legs move in perfect synchrony, as if they move of their own will, effortless, in smooth movements - it's as if each mudra comes from within, emerging from my soul to give my body a purpose, a shape. We are not separate elements - the thalam, the ragam and my dance steps - they compete and complete each other to form a whole. He tells me this, leaning casually against a wall, just outside Kalakshetra. His words flow all around me and linger behind, long after he has gone, the import of each syllable impressing itself upon me, with each passing second; their intensity dawning upon me, as I stand there listening to them in my head. His words, over time, replaced by my voice, explaining to me what I knew not about myself, my identity that he helped construct, one bit at a time - my vanity withers and yet I am more aware.

The first time after practice, I don't notice him. The second time, I do. It's not anything about him as a whole that makes me notice him. It's only if you take the time to notice, his eyes that hold your glance for so long, you have to look away; his mouth that taunts you with a hint of a smile; his hands, constantly active, restless? the way he stands, unconcerned, almost indifferent? And I would notice them, not all at once, but would take my time to be drawn to him - slowly but intensely, madly, passionately. How I wish I had known then, that time was the one thing that I had not?

But, I notice him for none of these reasons. I notice him because he criticizes me.

"You missed a step."

"Am sorry?"

"Alaripu - as soon as you began."

And I spend the next three hours fuming over this non-conversation. I cannot take criticism easily. Especially about my dance, the one savior in my otherwise insignificant existence. Yet another revelation! I know I like to dance. I just do not attribute anything more important to it. Talking to him makes me think of priorities in my life. I don't know that yet for this is just the beginning.

***
The next class,

"I did not miss that step."

"But if I say you did, will you react to it better now than before?"

"Are you saying you criticize for the sake of it and not for a reason?"

"Is there not a reason?"

"Yes, there is! You want to put me down because..."

"Because if I do before someone else does. Maybe next time, it will leave you with just a tear and not a scar."

"And why do you care?"

"I do and you know. Does anything else matter?"

Always questions. Questions that make me think, evolve. I don't blame him for making me lose myself. I love him for making me find my real self. Does it matter that I don't live long to spend time with us? Maybe not. Aren't all epiphanies short-lived? They make their mark and are lost forever, carried away by the winds of time to guide some other lost traveller's journey. My gentle philosopher, my epiphany, I wonder if you will be lost too if I don't exist? Did you die the day I died?

***
What is this invisible bond that ties us together? Music, perhaps? In my dance, in his words, in my naivete, in his beats...two people entwined so completely, it is not for either of us to decide when to break free - it is beyond us, dictated by a consciousness that we , as separate individuals do not possess....but together, we create magic. I wonder if he thinks that? My artist, what goes behind that powerful gaze? Do let me glimpse...

He plays the mirudangam. Better than I can dance, I sometimes feel. I will admit that to noone, not even him. I don't need to for, my eyes betray me when I watch him play.

He plays with his head slightly tilted towards his right. His eyes closed. Brows furrowed in concentration, as if constricting, to prevent the music that plays within his head from escaping. His fingers dance across the either ends of the mirudangam - fleeting, light touches or so it seems and yet they evoke such powerful feelings through their rhythm - subliminal yet mesmerizing.

I wonder if he is playing the mirudangam or if indeed the mirudangam is making his fingers dance to its tune. His senses perceive nothing of the reality all around him, he is in a world away from where I stand - a world where music fills the air and the soul, a world of melodies and beats...

and I long to be transformed as he is and for even a moment to step into this world and lose myself, where the only consciousness is music and I am one with it.

***

Love, you ask me? Is this love? I don't know and I turn to him for an answer.

He laughs.

"Don't we all wish it were love?"

And as my eyes brim over, he replies,

"When,
to see you, I look into my eyes,
to hear you, I listen to my heart beat,
to find you, I look into my soul
to feel all that is you, I need only to feel what is within...

And when I feel thus, how can I say anything but that I am in love?"

And that is the moment, I wish with all my heart, that I would live, live forever to be with him, my dear poet. That is the moment that I begin to love. And that is the moment that I hope will surround me just before I take my last breath.

But it does not.

My accident is like all other accidents - a car wreck, flashing lights, shivering people huddled around and silence. No music now. Just silence. My melody has died. So perfect even in death, did I imagine that you called my name when I died? Did you cry when I wouldn't open my eyes? Did you shiver, not from the biting wind but just a gnawing feel deep within you, as if your soul died but you lived on - incomplete and helpless?

And even if you did, how would I know? A million questions yet to be answered. How did I have the heart to leave them all unanswered? My philosopher, my artist, my poet, answer me now - why did I die?

***
And that is the story that I would have told you if I had died. I did not die though. He did. He just took my life with him. That's all.
***Excerpt***

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***