Mrs Rao watches over me like a hawk. She orders Ankit to sit in the last seat and I am made to sit right in front. As though Ankit and I will begin to kiss in the bus or something.
I feel miserable and scared, but a part of me is angry too. Is kissing a guy you like so wrong that I am being treated like I killed somebody?
Tanu reminds me that I have to accept that we live in a very conservative city like Chennai. It is definitely against Indian culture. She says it may be okay in the West. But even in the West, it is most certainly not permitted when you are on school time. What you do outside school is perhaps your business. She says that what I did was undeniably wrong.
I know that she is perfectly right, but am too upset to accept it yet. I ignore what she is saying and tell her that I am sorry and do not want to talk. I thank her for being a great friend. Then I bury my head in a book for the rest of the journey.
But the worst is yet to come.
Once we get back home, Rohan narrates the entire episode to my parents in detail. My father is furious with me. My mother starts weeping.
I feel even more miserable than I already am when I see her crying.
‘Ma, please don’t cry. Nothing happened,’ I try to console her.
‘How can you even say that, Diksha? How could you behave like this? I feel that I have failed in raising you. If I was not able to instill a little bit of culture in you, what was the point of all these years of my parenting? I have really gone wrong somewhere. And you have the guts to say nothing happened?’ My mother’s voice comes out raggedly, as though saying it all hurts. Perhaps it does.
‘Ma, everyone is acting like we had sex or something,’ I say and at that moment my father steps forward and slaps me hard across my face.
‘DON’T YOU DARE SAY A WORD. Look at her guts. She dares talk back after all that she’s done. Didn’t you think of your family even once?’ His eyes are blazing and he is breathing hard.
His is burning wrath. I am terrified just looking at him. His voice is ringing in my ears. This man standing in front of me does not seem like my father at all. It is as though he has transformed into a beast.
I am stunned by the slap. My cheek stings with pain. My father has never hit me as far back as I can remember.
My hands begin to tremble and tears roll down my cheeks again.
‘We are pulling you out of that school. No more co-ed for you. We will see what can be done,’ he says with an air of finality.
I am shocked by this pronouncement. What are they going to do? Where are they going to send me? I do not want to go to a different school. I like my school and my friends. The thought of not seeing Ankit again makes my heart go heavy.
Later, that evening, I beg and plead with my mother. I apologise a thousand times. I tell her I am terribly sorry and to please not send me to another school.
But her heart is as hard as stone and she does not melt. No amount of pleading or apologising works.
‘Diksha, sixteen is an age where you have to be careful. You don’t even know what you are doing. We are your parents. We know what is best for you. Leave it to us,’ she says with an edge in her voice that is alien to me.
My parents’ attitude towards me has completely changed. Rohan is told that none of his friends can come home now.
‘Like I am going to call that bastard home anymore,’ mutters Rohan under his breath.
When I go back to school the next day, it seems as though the whole school is talking about me and Ankit.
All the seniors, the juniors, and even the staff. Everywhere I go, there are hushed whispers.
‘Tanu, what am I going to do?’ I ask her
‘Don’t worry, Diksha, it will die down soon,’ she says and squeezes my hand. I feel very grateful to her. I tell her what my parents said about sending me to another school.
Tanu is shocked.
‘Surely, they can’t mean it?’ she asks in disbelief.
‘I don’t know, Tanu. My mother sounded as though she did. They have even banned Rohan from inviting his friends home.’
‘I feel so bad, Diksha. If I hadn’t written all that silly stuff in Ankit’s book, all of this would never have happened.’
‘No, Tanu. It isn’t your fault. Ankit and I met many times after that. I knew fully well what I was doing. Or at least I thought I did. I downplayed it as I thought you might get hurt. I like him so much, Tanu. In fact, I love him. I feel so happy when he is around. But I should have controlled myself. I am so silly. I deserve all this,’ I say
‘Hey, don’t be so harsh on yourself. He too pushed you into meeting him, didn’t he? Why should he be excused? Just because he is a guy? That is so not fair. You can’t blame yourself alone.’
I don’t know what to tell her. So I hug her and she hugs me back.
I just think to myself, how lucky I am to have her support.
Within the very first hour of school, I am summoned to the Principal’s office. I am jolted to see both my parents sitting there.
‘Diksha, whatever happened is unfortunate. You have fine parents and you come from such a cultured family. Your parents have decided that sending you to another school is the best option. We will be completing all the transfer formalities within this week itself. You have a bright future ahead of you. Do not get into bad company like Ankit. His family background is not too good and that boy is nothing but trouble. I personally think your parents are doing a wise thing,’ says Mr Shetty, the school principal.
This is so unfair. I feel like screaming. How can Ankit’s parents fighting with each other be his fault? I agree I have made a mistake. But does it warrant this big a punishment? I want to say I am sorry. I want to ask to be allowed to continue in this school. I really cannot bear the thought of not seeing Ankit every day. I like my school and have been a very good student. This is the only time I have slipped up. Please give me one chance, I want to beg.
But no words come. The look in my parents’ eyes breaks me down.
A plethora of emotions washes over me in those few moments. I feel anger, bitterness, regret, helplessness, sadness.
I don’t know what to say or do. So I stand there, hanging my head in shame, scrunching my toes inside my shoe and making a fist so hard that my finger nails dig into my palms and leave a red mark.
This one incident is going to change the course of my entire life. But I have no idea to what extent and, for the moment, all I feel is this huge heaviness in my heart and the horrible feeling that life as I know it is about to change forever.
Eight
IT IS ELEVEN THIRTY PM. SANDEEP IS FAST ASLEEP and I am reading in bed when the phone call shatters the silence of the night.
Sandeep, a creature of habit, always stops watching television at eleven pm. If he is in the mood for sex, he initiates it. There is no foreplay, no conversation, no sweet-talk. He claims it like it is his right. He reaches straight for my breasts and I can predict exactly what he will do next. But I have learnt, over the years, to just give in to whatever he wants. He is usually in a better mood then the next day. I look at the fan rotating and think of the next day’s chores as he finishes his act, grunts in satisfaction, rolls over and falls asleep.
I usually read after that to take my mind off the niggling feeling that if our society was as conscious of women’s rights as they were in the West, what Sandeep did would probably be construed as marital rape. But, here in India, where people hush up even rape and do not speak about it, how do things like ‘marital rape’ even stand a chance to be discussed. Fact is, I hate sex with Sandeep. But I do my duty as a wife. How can he have no clue as to what I really want? How can he be so darn insensitive to my needs?
The phone call puts an abrupt end to all these thoughts racing through my head and it also wakes up Sandeep, who sits up in surprise, rubbing his eyes. He is beginning to go bald and without his glasses or shirt, with a burgeoning potbelly, looks so comical I almost laugh.
But when I answer the phone, any mirth I am fe
eling dissipates. It is Vibha.
‘Diksha,’ she says haltingly as though she finds it hard to speak. I know instantly from her voice that something is wrong. Terribly wrong.
‘It’s all over,’ she says.
‘Huh? What are you saying? Mohan wants a divorce?’ I ask puzzled. As far I knew, things between her and Mohan weren’t that bad. Sure, he had been complaining that Vibha was always busy and barely had time for anything other than her work. Vibha herself had mentioned this to me many times. But that definitely didn’t warrant a divorce, that too so suddenly.
‘No. He passed away an hour back,’ she says and I can hear her breaking down.
‘Oh my God. How? What happened?’ I ask.
But she is unable to answer. Her father-in-law comes on the line and says that the funeral will take place the next day at three pm. It was a cardiac arrest, he says.
I am too stunned to ask for any more details.
The phone rings almost as soon as I hang up. It is my parents calling from Dubai where they now live with Rohan’s family. They tell me that Rohan will be flying to India to attend the funeral. My father and mother will not be able to travel. Mother’s arthritis has been plaguing her and Papa’s treatment for prostate enlargement has just started, due to which he is constantly tired, has spells of dizziness and pounding headaches. For them to travel from Dubai to India for the funeral and fly back is difficult. Also Rohan’s wife is expecting their second child and they help her look after his first who is a year old. Mother explains to me, at great length, why it is not possible for them to come.
I haven’t asked for any explanation. But perhaps she feels guilty as Vibha is her niece and wants my assurance. But the way my parents have treated me over the years—never forgiven me for my one stupid silly slip-up at sixteen—has left in me an enormous bitterness towards them. Every action of theirs over the years, ever since the day they pulled me out of school and sent me to an all-women’s college in Kerala, away from Tanu, away from Ankit, as though in exile, and then the way they forced me to get married even though I was only in the second year of college, has killed something within me.
Their act has created a permanent fence in my heart, with Rohan and my parents on one side, and me on the other. Even after all these years, I have never ever really come to terms with it and the scars of that hurt still manifest themselves in my lonely moments, though I pretend outwardly to be fine. I have tried to compensate for my childhood mistake by doing all I can to please and placate my parents all through my adult life. Really, I have led my entire life as they have wanted me to lead it.
For, it is as though they have constantly judged me for that one mistake, never allowing me to even raise my head for anything I wanted. It is hard for me to now reassure my mother and so I just say an okay and keep listening to her till she hangs up.
‘What happened?’ asks Sandeep.
‘Vibha’s husband passed away. Cardiac arrest. I don’t know the details. My parents aren’t coming for the funeral, but Rohan is. I have to fly to Hyderabad tomorrow,’ I say.
‘Oh,’ he says, the news slowly sinking in.
I expect him to offer to come along with me. I wait for him to say that we will fly to Hyderabad together.
Instead he says, ‘I have a presentation tomorrow. You know the team from Korea is coming. I cannot take leave. What are you going to do about Abhay?’
I feel angry. The person closest to me, someone who is almost like my sister, has lost her husband and he is more bothered about his presentation and about Abhay. But this is no time to pick a fight with him or point out his insensitivity. Besides, years of marriage has already conditioned me to his black and white approach to most things.
‘Well, your mother can look after Abhay, surely? I will be gone for just a day. I will be back after the funeral. I simply have to go,’ I say.
‘Yes, yes. I will ask her tomorrow morning. You book your tickets now,’ he says to my relief. Then I stare in disbelief as he rolls over once more, adjusts his blanket and is snoring within seconds.
I am in shock. I badly want to talk to someone about it. The only ‘friends’ I have are the mothers of the children in Abhay’s class. And I am not that close to them that I can call them late in the night for a chat. I have always been too busy raising Abhay and catering to Sandeep to make any deep friendships. Vibha is the closest friend I have and, of course, she is in no state to talk.
I book my tickets to Hyderabad using my add-on credit card which Sandeep has made for me. I never use it except in emergencies like this one. I usually pay for all the groceries in cash. In the early days of marriage, I had been excited about a credit card. I had shopped like crazy. But at the end of the month, when the credit-card statement had arrived, Sandeep had given me a pasting for overspending and lectured me on the value of money. Somehow after that, I had never ever spent money on myself, preferring to use cash whenever I shopped. The cash too was ‘rationed’ and strictly governed by Sandeep. There was a designated amount which he had calculated as ‘fair spending’ and all the household expenditure had to be within this limit. He also insisted that I maintain accounts for everything I spent. I found it all very stifling. Sometimes, when I could not for the life of me remember what I had spent on, I would make up stuff to write in the account book. Once, when that had happened, I had put down: ‘Five packets of sanitary napkins’ and filled in the amount to match the money I had remaining. Sandeep’s reaction had been typical and hilarious.
‘Five packets?’ he had bellowed. ‘Why?’
‘I have a rather heavy flow. Maybe I have cysts. I might have to go to the gynaecologist,’ I had lied.
He had quickly closed the topic after that, his mind perhaps calculating the doctor’s fee. And I had giggled later at the cheap thrills I got in getting back at him this way.
Today is not the day to wonder if plane tickets to Hyderabad amounts to ‘fair spending’ in Sandeep’s books or not. All I know is that Vibha needs me and I will move heaven and earth to get there.
I toss and turn and am unable to sleep. Scenes from Vibha’s marriage keep playing out in front of my eyes. The trip we made together to Darjeeling—Vibha, Mohan, Sandeep and I—when Abhay was a baby, barely eight months old, flashes before my eyes. I had really enjoyed myself. Vibha and I had giggled and chuckled as only cousins can and she had helped me manage Abhay. That was the only trip we had made together.
I cannot believe that Mohan is no more. How is it possible that a person who was perfectly okay yesterday, no longer exists?
I call my mother-in-law as soon as I wake up the next morning. She is shocked to hear the news. Whatever be the state of my marriage, one thing I have lucked out in is having an extremely understanding mother-in-law. She has indeed helped me out with Abhay whenever the need arose. She asks me to pack Abhay’s clothes and to give the bag to Sandeep who agrees to drop it off at her place on his way to office. I instruct Abhay that he has to get off at his granny’s house when the school bus drops him off in the evening.
I tell him that Vibha Mausi needs me as Mohan Mama is sick and I have to go to Hyderabad for a day. Abhay is very excited at the variation in his routine.
‘Don’t worry, Ma. I am a big boy now. I will tell the bus driver where to drop me off,’ he says confidently.
Nevertheless, I write a note to his teacher explaining the circumstances. Then I instruct the house-help to arrive before Sandeep leaves for work. I take care of a hundred other things in the house. This is the very first time I am travelling without Sandeep or Abhay and it feels strange. But it definitely feels reassuring to have my mother-in-law in the same town, that too so close by. I know that Abhay will be well-looked after and Sandeep can get his mother’s cooking. I feel grateful for one less thing to worry about.
Throughout the journey on the flight to Hyderabad, I keep thinking of how unpredictable life can be. How can Vibha’s life turn upside down like that? While I am at the airport, my mother calls once more. Thi
s time she has more details.
‘He was fine last night. Then after dinner, he said he felt uneasy and wanted to go to the loo. He collapsed before reaching the loo and he passed urine on the floor. They immediately called the doctor. He died instantly. Nothing could be done,’ says my mother.
‘I am on my way. Sandeep had some important work,’ I say. I am too shocked to comprehend and process the details of how it could have happened. Mohan was just forty-one. He was even younger than Sandeep. It seems so unfair. That too he was a complete teetotaller.
‘So what about Abhay? Is he with you?’ asks my mother.
‘No, Ma, I saw no sense in taking him along. My mother-in-law will look after him.’
‘Okay, yes, it’s better that way. What will the child do there anyway? Poor Monu. I wonder how Vibha is coping. I wish I could come. But your father as well as Seema need me. Seema’s due date is anytime now. Rohan will be reaching there around the same time as you. Please explain all this to Murali Mama, okay? Rohan won’t open his mouth. You know how he is,’ she says.
‘Yes, Yes. Don’t worry. I will tell them,’ I say.
Nothing prepares me for the sight of Mohan’s dead body lying wrapped in the white shroud with cotton stuffed up his nostrils and a pile of incense sticks lit at his head.
There is a large group of people who have gathered around. My eyes fall on Rohan who is seated next to the body. Mohan’s mother is inconsolable.
As soon as Monu sees me, she runs up to me and hugs me. ‘Can you make me wear some nice clothes?’ she says. ‘So many people are visiting us and I am still in my old clothes.’
I hug her tightly and choke back my tears. But then, when I see Vibha, I cannot hold back my tears anymore.
I embrace her and we both weep.
Nine
DEATH IS A GREAT LEVELLER. IT CHANGES THINGS. It makes you confront your mortality. It shakes you up. It changes your perspective completely. The weight of it is usually so much to bear that people who face it, do things they normally wouldn’t.