“That’s fine,” she replied somberly, “I understand… I think I do… But here is the thing. If they are the people you care about, and if they are the ones who care about you, then it should just be enough to tell them what has happened and they should accept it. And if you ask them not to question you, and just support you in this hour of need, they should do that too. If they don’t, probably it is the right time you stopped caring about them. And if they do, then you know that you have these friends for life. You might have to ask for support though. You might have to tell them that you don’t need pity, sympathy or curious questions, but support. This isn’t a situation one faces every day.  So, they may not know what is expected of them unless you tell them. So, in your place, I’d do that, and then see where it goes.”

Mrinal was astonished. He had started talking to her purely on an impulse. He had almost regretted being too open. But this was changing things. He had not, even in his wildest dream, expected such well-reasoned advice coming from her – a girl who would have been brought up with the sole aim of getting married and be an obedient wife and daughter-in-law; who hadn’t been able to oppose the terrible match he was for her and had to accept mothering the child of a husband whom she didn’t know and couldn’t love; who would have spent her life trying to do what society thought was the right thing to do. If it weren’t for all that, she couldn’t have been his mother’s favourite. When did independent thoughts manage to grow their roots in her mind? Where did she learn to give a damn to people who didn’t deserve to be cared about?

His stare made her self-conscious. “I’m sorry. I, probably, went overboard. It is easier to preach…”

“No. You are right. Let me hope that I have the courage to do that. And that I am still left with some friends,” he smiled sadly.

“If it matters,” she spoke in a low, but sure voice, “I would still be here.” Then she left without meeting his eyes. She was afraid that her words won’t be valued by him and it would become obvious if she looked at him. She wanted to spare herself the hurt that would inevitably follow.

But he was smiling after her. That night he would have liked to touch her. But she was chatting with her friend in the other room and he fell asleep by the time she came back to the bedroom.

—

“So, what do you do Antara?” a guest asked. Mrinal had wanted her to meet his friends and colleagues. She had suggested a get-together at home. There was awkwardness in the exercise for sure. Mrinal had done exactly what she had suggested. He had sent an e-mail to everyone individually, worded more or less the same. He had told them about Mahi’s birth, about Raksha leaving him and about him marrying Antara. He had requested them for support, and not questions. Then after her suggestion of the get-together, he had invited them home. Most of them had obliged him by not asking questions, despite the speculations that were rife behind his back. But not asking questions, and pretending that it was all usual, did not make the situation any less tricky. The only relief was that Antara was handling it pretty well, attending to the guests and making them comfortable.

“I am a counsellor,” replied Antara surprising Mrinal. He shot her a questioning look, but she avoided it.

“Counsellor, as in a career counsellor?”

“No. As in a psychologist. I work mostly with adolescents and children.”

“Ah! Nice.”

“You are a lucky bastard,” Prof. Sinha, a senior colleague cornered Mrinal, “I know you don’t want any questions asked; so I am not going to ask you how you managed to find someone like her so quickly. But I am happy for you. She won’t let your life fall apart.”

Mrinal nodded and looked at Antara. She had brought Mahi out and was introducing her excitedly to the guests. She was every bit a proud mother. And a caring wife. And a counsellor? A competent one  at that – she had managed to counsel him correctly too.

“Thank you, Sir,” Mrinal replied to his senior deferentially, “And you are right. Come and meet Mahi. Our daughter.”

—

“There was a letter for you in the mailbox,” Mrinal went to her as soon as the guests departed and handed her a letter.

“From whom?”

“Don’t know. Doesn’t say anything on the envelope.”

She frowned, but he didn’t notice. He was too consumed by his curiosity, “You are a counsellor? Mummy never mentioned. Were you working before…”

“She didn’t know,” Antara replied sheepishly, “I am a closet counsellor.”

“Huh?”

After finishing her post-graduation in Psychology, she had taken the training to become a counsellor. “I had told Chachi ji that it was a cooking class,” she grinned, “And to showcase my improving culinary skills, I would scour up Internet for recipes and cook something once in a while.”

He chuckled. “Why did you have to lie?”

“She wouldn’t have liked me trying to do something to get a job. ‘What would people say? That we can’t take care of our orphaned niece and she has to work to provide for herself?’”

Mrinal had known that she stayed with her uncle and aunt because her parents were dead. But the word “orphaned” struck him. She was dependent on people other than her parents. She didn’t have much choice. Not in her career. Not in her marriage! “Hmm… But you said you work with…” he asked wanting to know more.

“Online.”

“How?”

It was her cousin Parikshit’s idea. He was studying in Delhi for last two years. “You have to see, Didi, how pressurized many of the students are. The joker of a counsellor they have in college in useless – only a mouthpiece of administration to save their asses. You can help them.”

That was how it started. Most of her early clients were kids in Parikshit’s college. Then the word spread around. They paid in Parikshit’s account because she didn’t even have a bank account “And every time he came home, he would dutifully carry all of that as cash for me. I told him that I didn’t need it and he should keep it for himself. But he was adamant.”

“That’s impressive, Antara. You never told me.”

She smiled at him and replied after a pause, “You never asked.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Yes. I never asked. I am sorry.”

“I wasn’t complaining,” she replied realizing that she would have sounded accusing.

“No. You weren’t. And that is the most amazing thing. Let’s get you out of the closet then. And get you a bank account too.” He was surprised to see her eyes grow moist. “What happened?” he was alarmed.

“Nothing. Thank you, for the support.”

He looked confounded for a moment. She wasn’t the one who should be saying this. But he replied with a “not a problem”. He should instead have thanked her, for all the support.

—

To be continued