Both their families gathered together to see them off on the day they were to leave. They both behaved as if nothing was wrong between them although they avoided speaking to each other as much as possible. Their suitcases were also piled on the same trolley at the airport. So after bidding goodbyes to their families they went to the check in counter together and got seats next to each other.

Mukundo had felt worse in the last five days that he had felt even in the months after his breakup with Aporna. He was ashamed and angry at the same time. He didn’t want to stay at home because Mohima would try incessantly to cheer him up and it would only depress him further. He did not want to step out because he didn’t want to see anyone. And he was afraid of running into Piyali. He didn’t think he would be able to face her again.

He was dreading this inevitable meeting and was grateful that Piyali didn’t expose him. He couldn’t have hoped for more. But as they sat at the airport now, waiting for the boarding announcement, with their laptop bags on the seat between them separating them, he grew restless to break the silence. It was suffocating. What was it with this chit of a girl? Ten-years junior to him. A child, really. Well – no longer a child, perhaps. A grown, mature woman who may shy away from the world, but understood it nonetheless. A strong woman who may not meet the eyes of strangers, but who could provide you with strong shoulders to lean on. He craved for those shoulders. It seemed so within the reach, yet so far away! If only he could grasp it and—

“Is the next semester going to be busy for you?” he blurted before he realized that he was planning to speak.

Piyali managed to not show the start she got and replied calmly, “No more than the current one, I hope.”

He nodded, unable to figure out how to continue the conversation, unable even to decide whether he should continue. But Piyali came to his rescue.

“What about you?” she asked.

“Just the usual. One course to teach and then research and Ph. D. students.”

“Do you know the Bengali Association in the campus is planning to celebrate Basant Panchami in a big way this year. Would you like to get involved?”

“I’m too old for all that, Piyali. It is for the students.”

“Bad excuse! Many professionals, professors and their spouses are involved. It’s fine. If you are not interested, you are not interested. Don’t say stupid things like you are too old.”

He took a deep breath and did not reply. Instead rested his head back on the chair and closed his eyes. Piyali eyed him with concern, then looked away to hide her tears.

—

She was around more often. She would sometimes knock at his door early in the morning, carrying her latest breakfast experiment in her newly acquired Tupperware. At other times, she would drop into his office between her classes wanting to know if he was free for lunch or dinner. He always was. But he would calculatingly tell her no some times. Her being around should have elated him. But he was only getting depressed. She didn’t come to him because she wanted to, he would remind himself all the time. She only pitied him. An old, broken man who was lonely and bereft. He hated her when he thought of that. And he hated himself.

Then the news came. He had been denied tenure. Something he had been working hard towards for years, since the very beginning of his career.

—

“You are joining an obscure State University?”

“Yes.”

“Leaving Stanford to join that?” Piyali was incredulous.

“I suppose it’s time to get off the high horse. I am not getting tenure here.”

“You know the decision?”

“It is out.”

“What? When? You never told me.”

“Why should I have? What could you have done?”

She stumbled back on hearing his bitter reply and found herself tongue-tied.

When Mukundo finally looked at her face, hurt and pain obvious in her eyes, he regretted his behavior. But she found her voice before him.

“Nothing,” she mumbled, “I could have done nothing. I’m not Aporna. I could never be.” She turned on her heels.

“Piyali!”

But she didn’t heed him and ran out of his house.

—

Piyali stared at the phone for a moment and took a deep breath before picking it up.

“Hello.”

“Piyali. It’s me. Mukundo.”

“I know, Mukundo Babu.”

“Ma is coming here. Tomorrow.”

“I know.”

Mohima had called Piyali after learning of Mukundo’s decision to leave Stanford at the end of the academic year. She had been frantic. “Has he lost his mind over Aporna, Piyali?”

“Let him be, Kaki. Stanford is not the end of the world,” Piyali had defended him, “A change of place might do him good.”

“I want to come there. For a while.”

“Then come. Don’t pester him about Aporna or about his job decisions. And I’m sure he would be happy to have you around.”

“When should I meet her?” Piyali shook off her thoughts and asked.

“Would you… come to the airport with me?”

He didn’t want to meet his mother alone. He was scared of pestering. You needn’t worry, she felt like assuring him. But held her tongue and instead said, “Okay. Will you pick me up?”

“Yes. At seven in the morning.”

She had watched him from afar in past few days. He had looked shabby. He had often gone days without shaving. But when he came to pick her up that morning, he had clearly taken care to groom himself. He almost looked like his old self, except for that slouch and those sad eyes.

After picking Mohima up and coming back to Mukundo’s house with her, Piyali tried to leave several times. But Mukundo insisted that she stay for breakfast, then for lunch and finally even for dinner. He almost seemed on the verge of making some excuse to make her stay the night, but she preempted him.

“I have an early morning class, Kaki. I must be going now. I also have to finish my assignment.”

“I will drop you,” Mukundo hastened with his offer.

“I will walk, Mukundo Babu.”

“No. It’s late–” Mohima concurred with her son, “He will drop you.”

“This is not some shady end of Kolkata, Kaki–”

“That’s all right. But I have said it. He will drop you.”

Piyali could not keep her cool in the car.

“What are you trying to do, Mukundo Babu? Are you going to avoid your mother all your life?”

He didn’t retort, instead stayed silent and avoided meeting her eyes. That softened her.

“You don’t need to worry. She is not going to pester you about your job or about Aporna. I have begged her not to.”

He braked hard. They were lucky that there was nobody else on the road, else they would have gotten into an accident.

He looked her full in face now and his eyes betrayed his astonishment. “You have?” he asked.

Piyali misunderstood him. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interfere. But she called me and she was frantic and I thought–”

“Piyali. I–” he stooped mid-sentence and continued staring at her as his mouth opened and closed several times. Finally, he decided against voicing his thoughts, returned his eyes to the road and drove on in silence.

Piyali tossed and turned in her bed all night. How uncomplicated their relationship was in her childhood! Why do children ever want to grow up? If only the wheels of time could turn back…

—

To be continued