Category: Original

The Long Wait (Part 4)

Posted Mish9 CommentsPosted in English, Original, Rupali-Paritosh

Dear Rupali,

I don’t know if you will ever read this. Perhaps some day. Perhaps never. But in case you do. I want you to know that when you told me about your relationship with your father, I had wanted to say more than just “I am sorry”. I had wanted to say that you will never again be uncared for. Whatever happens, I will always care for you. I had also wanted to tell you that I will care for you despite knowing that you are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. I also wanted to tell you how proud I am of you.

I couldn’t say all this. And a lot more. You know why.

Perhaps you still understand everything I don’t say.

Perhaps you don’t.

Perhaps someday I will find out.

Perhaps never.

Right now, this letter, like all others, will take its place in my locked drawer.

Love
Paritosh.

—

“Aniket! I haven’t seen you in a while. How are you?” Paritosh motioned his brother and Meena inside his house.

“I will make some tea,” Meena walked to Paritosh’ kitchen with confident familiarity and Aniket sat down on sofa. For a long moment, he didn’t utter a word. Since their confrontation in Paritosh’ office, the brothers had not talked much. Paritosh pretended that nothing was the matter, but Aniket wasn’t as obliging. Paritosh was about to conclude it will be another one of those fruitless meetings, when Aniket finally spoke.

“I want to speak to Rupali.”

“Okay,” Paritosh replied with studied casualness, “When you want to speak to someone you call them.”

“I can’t.”

“The last I remember,” Paritosh added cautiously, “You were the one who had stopped taking her call. So just call her now.”

“She is the one who is not taking my calls now.”

Paritosh sighed. “In that case, it is obvious, that she doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“That’s why I am here. You can get her to talk to me.”

“How can I get her to do something like that?”

“She works for you.”

“Of course. And that’s why I have no business dictating who she should or shouldn’t talk to outside of work.”

“And it is your business to fall in her love with a woman half your age.”

“That has got nothing to do with you.”

“Has it not?”

“Aniket. There is nothing between her and me. There can’t be. She works for me. It is unacceptable at the university. Don’t you understand?”

“I don’t think so. I think something has been going on between you two since even before she set her foot here. Come to think of it. She was my friend. How come I didn’t even know that she was applying to your university, and specifically corresponding with you to be her supervisor?”

“Have you considered,” Paritosh no longer felt like he was talking to his baby brother, but rather an adversary; his tone became caustic and harsh, “That the reason could be the same that you have yourself told me a thousand times? That you were least interested in her Ph. D. applications and were struggling with your backlogs while she was diligently applying for the Ph. D. programs, writing Statements of Purpose, getting recommendations, and was also helping you with stay afloat through the last semester of the college?”

“Paritosh!” Meena had come back with tea, “Why are you talking to him like that? Weren’t you the one who had always warned me against making an issue out of his academic performance?”

“Well – you know what? He is no longer a vulnerable adolescent. He needs to grow up.”

“You can help him, Paritosh.”

“Meena ji. He is not asking for a fancy car, or a permission to go to a college I know would be too difficult for him, or an expensive toy. No, I can’t help him.”

“Let me talk to her.”

“It might have just worked out in India. But in this country, if the two of you follow her against her wishes, you will be in trouble for stalking. So, for God’s sake, take my advice. Leave that girl alone.”

Then he stood up to leave, “I have some work to do. I am going to my office. Please remember to lock the door when you leave.”

He called Rupali up from his car, “Have you finished reading those papers?”

“No Dr. Khanna. I need another day–”

“Never mind. Meet me with your notes on whatever you have finished reading. I will be at the coffee shop in fifteen minutes.”

—

When Aniket announced that he was taking up a job on the East Coast and was planning to leave, Paritosh told Rupali about it.

“Is his mother going with him?” she asked.

“I won’t trust him with another person’s responsibility.”

“It is so sweet of you to take care of her. To take care of them both.”

He thought for a bit, trying to decide whether he wanted her to know. Then he spoke, “She had taken care of me when I needed it. I can never forget that.”

Paritosh’ father was violent man. His mother died when he was fourteen. Perhaps succumbing to the injuries from domestic violence. With nobody to manage his father’s temper and drinking, Paritosh lived in constant fear of being beaten up; fear that was realized far too often. He would have run away from home and lived the life of vagabond had the old man not decided to remarry and bring a much younger bride home. Meena was barely ten-years older than Paritosh. He could never bring himself to call her mother and hence always addressed her as “Meena ji”. Whenever it felt like his father was about to lose temper, she would find a way to take her husband to their room. She would keep Paritosh away from them at such times and he never quite figured out if she also took the beatings like his own mother or if she had a way of calming him down. But he did know that she protected him in those crucial years when his life could have been destroyed forever.

Two years later, Paritosh left for college, Aniket was born and his father died. The drinking had consumed him. After Paritosh finished his degree, he came to the US for Ph. D. and brought Aniket and Meena with him. His father had left considerable family property for them. Over time he sold them all, brought all the investments to the US and bought two adjacent houses – one he stayed in, the other was for Meena and Aniket.

“I knew I wasn’t going back to India. The memories of my father would haunt me,” he told Rupali.

“Neither of us has a happy father story. But yours is too horrible.”

“It’s over. It has been a long time.”

“Thank God for that.”

—

To be continued

The Long Wait (Part 3)

Posted Mish2 CommentsPosted in English, Original, Rupali-Paritosh

Paritosh couldn’t sleep. She wanted to wait for him. How tempting the idea was! He had asked her not to do so.

But perhaps she still would.

What he now knew for sure was that he was going to wait for her. Till today, he hadn’t known if she would reciprocate his feelings. Sure, he had noticed her appreciative glances every now and then. But that fleeting crush on a Ph. D. supervisor – an authority figure, whom you looked up to – was quite common. It usually subsided with time. Over the years he had developed an immunity to such glances. Those came and went away, he didn’t even notice them. Those didn’t mean that a student had really strong feelings for him or loved him. So, he hadn’t assumed that Rupali’s admiration meant anything either. It was not humanly possible to be happy about assuming so. Heart trumps brains when it comes to things like love and happiness. But he was definitely relieved. Because acting on those feelings was out of the question. So, it was better she didn’t have them. That helped him keep a lid of his own emotions too.

But now that check had disappeared. Thanks to a rash act by his brother. Now he knew that she was struggling with the same emotions as he. And her emotions were strong enough that she had blurted them out in front of his brother. Strong enough that she wanted to wait.

What will it be like two or three years down the line? Will they survive the tension between them? Will she still feel the same towards him by then? What if his brother was still in love with Rupali then and resented their relationships?

He had no answers to these questions. What he did know – he turned in the bed and thought again with a smile playing on his lips – was that he was going to wait for her.

To ensure that they didn’t slip up and make a mistake before their moment came, he will have to make some rules. He sat up, grabbed a notebook and scribbled something down.

—

Rupali realized that not only had Paritosh reduced the frequency of their meetings, but when they did meet, he would always come up with some excuse to meet in a public place instead of his office. He was punishing her, she concluded. She would put up with it, she decided. She was, after all, responsible for taking them both to the brink of a career suicide.

The consolation was that after a few days, when she had started playing along with his punishments, herself proposing to meet at the campus coffee shop, or one the open quads while requesting meetings, and making sure that she wasn’t the first one to reach for a group meeting or get-togethers, their conversations went back to normal. Even though it was at a public place, they would still spend hours discussing the latest papers either of them had read, or figuring out her research plan.

One day, about two months later, she felt bold enough to enquire. “Is everything fine at your home? Are Aniket and his mother okay?”

“Why yes – Rupali. You don’t have to bother about them.”

“I don’t have to. I just want to. Just normal human curiosity, you know!”

Her annoyance showed and Paritosh mellowed.

“Of course. Don’t be angry, Rupali. I just– I sometimes worry that you might get entangled in things and lose your way. But I am reminded as often that you know your way around the world and I needn’t act like a guardian to you. Not that I make a good guardian,” he chuckled here, “Look at how messed up Aniket has turned out.”

“Aniket doesn’t know how lucky he is to have you. Most fathers can’t care for their children the way you care for him.”

“One could say I have spoiled him.”

“He is fine. He will find his way, in time.”

“You talk like you are his grandmother’s age or something. You are the same age. And you know what you want from life. He mostly doesn’t even know what he wants the next hour.”

“I didn’t have a choice. I had to know what I wanted from life. Else nobody was going to give it me.”

Due to complications during her birth, Rupali’s mother had to have her uterus removed. She could not bear any more children and Rupali’s father wanted nothing more than a boy. Her mother died when she was ten. Her father didn’t remarry, which was surprising considering how badly he had wanted a boy. He wasn’t in the least bothered about bringing up of her daughter.  After her mother died, some relatives from the extended family took care of her for a while, but soon enough she was taking care of not just herself, but also the entire house. The good thing about her father’s indifference was that he never objected to whatever she wanted to do. She when she prepared for her engineering entrance exams, got admitted into the Computer Science program of one of the best colleges in India, and after that decided to go to the US for her Ph. D., her father did not stand in her way. He didn’t drop her to the college hostel on her first day as the other parents did. He didn’t even come for the convocation when she was awarded a degree as well as many other prizes. But he didn’t mind when she needed money for anything.

Now, with her fellowship, she didn’t even need money. So, she was practically living on her own.

—

To be continued

The Long Wait (Part 2)

Posted Mish5 CommentsPosted in English, Original, Rupali-Paritosh

Rupali entered the coffee shop and found Paritosh already there, occupying a corner table. Two cups of cappuccino were already placed on the table.

“I ordered for you. I hope you don’t mind,” he said as she slipped into the chair opposite his.

“Thanks,” she replied, fully aware the neither of them were likely to finish their coffee.

“Firstly, I am sorry for the way my brother behaved.”

“I am sorry for triggering it in the first place.”

“It isn’t as much about you as it is about me. So, don’t blame yourself.”

It was at the last monthly get-together he had organized for his students at his home that Aniket had spilled the secret of his heart to Paritosh. That Rupali was the mystery woman he was in love with all along. And that he intended to ask her out soon.

“Rupali? Really?” Paritosh’ first reaction was of disbelief. Thankfully Aniket was too excited to notice it or take offence.

“Is she expecting it?” Paritosh had asked more carefully next.

“I am sure she is.”

It wasn’t just his conflicting emotion that made Paritosh wary of Aniket’s confidence. He genuinely could not imagine Rupali and his brother together. The two were totally different. Aniket, to Paritosh’ eternal regret, was a spoiled brat. Rupali, on the other hand, knew what she wanted from life and would do whatever it took to achieve it. Her maturity belied her age, without which Paritosh would never have fallen for her.

Now Aniket and Rupali! Strange as it sounded, he realized that he had no business interfering. If Rupali could indeed love someone like Aniket, perhaps she knew what for.

Presently Rupali was objecting, “But you aren’t–”

“Rupali. He has found out something about me that I would never have told you. At least not while you work under me. But it is better that you don’t find out about it in the same bombastic way that I found out about you.”

She went rigid. It couldn’t be what it sounded like. Or could it?

“But you and I, right now,” he continued, “We are both adults, right? We understand the consequences of our actions. We know how to control them to avoid unpleasant consequences. Do you agree?”

He paused and looked at her. His question was not rhetorical. He was expecting an answer.

“Yes,” she managed to hiss.

“So here is the truth about me. I am–” here he paused and drew in a breath, “I am attracted to you. And that I suppose makes it two of us.”

She averted her eyes.

“But we both know we can’t act on it.”

She nodded, “We can’t act on it.”

“I am at a good place in my career; you are at the beginning of what I foresee to be a wonderful career. Even a whiff of a scandal and both will be destroyed. You understand that, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Good. So now we can leave this behind us and get back to work as usual.”

Despite herself, that hurt her. She understood everything he said. She had known them herself all along. University rules didn’t look kindly at a professor-student relationship, especially when it was between a Ph. D. student and her supervisor – a direct hierarchical relationship.  And yet – how could it be work as usual after knowing that her feelings were reciprocated?

Outwardly, she held her composure and told him, “Your mother called me.”

He looked puzzled, “Who?”

“Your mother. She wanted to meet me and talk about Aniket.”

“Meena ji?”

It was Rupali’s turn to look puzzled.

He rubbed his temple, and looked completely out of wits.

Assuming that the idea of Rupali meeting her had troubled him, she clarified to comfort him, “I haven’t met her. I told her that I will speak to you first.”

“Yes. You don’t have to. I’m sorry. I will talk to her not to do something like that again. Meena ji wants to bring the world into her son’s laps if he desires and this time she has crossed a line. Oh right! You are confused. She is not my– I mean she is my step-mother.”

“Oh!” That put the relationship between the brothers in a different light. “I’m really sorry, Dr. Khanna that I have strained your relationship with your family. Is there anything I can do to fix it? I have been trying to talk to Aniket since leaving your office, but he won’t pick up my phone–”

“Don’t! This is not your fault, Rupali. This is not your problem to fix. You must not worry about it. The only thing you need to worry about is,” here he smiled, “Doing well in your research and getting your Ph. D. And of course, living your life without being affected by all this.”

She nodded, non-committal.

“Promise me that you would do that, Rupali,” he insisted.

“I promise that I will give my all to my research and one day – hopefully soon enough – I will have defended my thesis. And then we will not be in this fix. We will be free to make our own decisions.”

He fell speechless for a moment, then spoke slowly and deliberately, “No. You can’t go there, Rupali. We don’t know when that will be, what kind of people we would be by then and what other questions we may have to ask at that point. Please. Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t do this to me.”

“Fair enough.” She was seething from inside, but he had been nothing if not rational.

“I will repeat this. Live your life. You will meet people. Including, I must say, my brother. He may not have behaved his best today. But know that if you ever got together, I will be very happy!”

“No! Dr. Khanna. You can’t do this. Yes – I know where we stand. What we can or can’t do. But I am not a doll that you can sacrifice me to your brother.”

Damn! In Rupali’s eyes he had made the same mistake that he had warned Meena ji against.

“I’m sorry,” he quickly acquiesced, “You are right. It wasn’t my intention. But I was way out of line there. I didn’t mean to set you up or anything. I was just saying… Anyway. None of my business. Never again.”

Despite winning the argument, she felt utterly defeated. The situation was set up for her defeat. There was no way she could win. This wasn’t what she had come for. When she had received her Ph. D. offer and had learned that she had been accepted by one of most renowned professor in her field of choice, she had been on the top of her world. She hadn’t landed in the US expecting to fall in love with this professor in her very first meeting with him. She hadn’t thought that she would not call him by his first name – like all his students did – despite him having requested so in that very first meeting because she would become afraid of any intimacy between them.

And she was definitely not prepared for the eventuality that her supervisor’s brother, who had been her batchmate during undergraduate days, would fall in love with her, react badly to her refusal and goad her into blurting out the name of the person she was really in love with.

Paritosh, then, made her promise that if she was ever troubled by Aniket or his mother, she must come to him immediately.

—

To be continued

The Long Wait (Part 1)

Posted Mish8 CommentsPosted in English, Original, Rupali-Paritosh

“Are you all right?” Paritosh looked up from the screen and asked, making Rupali start.

“Yes. Why do you ask?” she searched his face for any knowledge of what had transpired between her and Aniket last evening. There seemed none. But she couldn’t trust her judgment. She might not be seeing it, because she didn’t want to see it.

“You are unusually fidgety. If you have to be somewhere, you can come back later. I will finish reading the document and send you an email.”

“I’m fine, Dr. Khanna. There isn’t a whole lot to read. So, if you could read now and give me your feedback, I can get started on further reading.”

“As you wish.”

He turned his attention back to the screen and Rupali felt relieved. Aniket hadn’t been stupid enough to talk to his brother about it after all. But her relief was short-lived. A minute later, the door to Paritosh’ office flung open. It had been shut partially to indicate that he was busy.

“You really should knock, Aniket,” Mildly annoyed at the interruption, Paritosh chided his brother.

“Oh, I am sorry,” he shot dagger eyes at Rupali, which she met boldly, despite her throat going dry at the thought of immanent proverbial spilling of beans. “Did I interrupt something private?”

Paritosh now turned his full attention to his brother, realized that he was drunk, and asked sternly, “And what do you mean by that?”

“I mean exactly what I should mean, Bro. You are pretty sneaky. But your girlfriend here spilled all the secrets. All I have come here to ask is why! Why must you go after the one woman who I wanted?”

“Aniket!” Rupali cried, “I never said anything on Dr. Khanna’s behalf.”

“I am talking to my brother, Ma’am. Will you please shut up?”

“You are the one who will shut up and leave, Aniket. You have no business coming to my office drunk. Leave now.”

“You must always be the hero, right Bro? Fine, I am leaving. But what you did wasn’t right. And you will pay for it.”

“I’m sorry, Rupali. What on earth was that?” Paritosh started speaking apologetically, then the guilty look on Rupali’s face gave him pause. “You know something about it?” he sounded tentative.

“Aniket has made a mountain out of a molehill. I will speak to him,” she replied.

“What is the molehill here?”

“You don’t need to be bothered about it, Dr. Khanna. I spoke hastily, in anger–”

“What did you say?”

She fell silent, but he didn’t relent. “What did you say, Rupali?” he repeated, more insistent this time, with the same sternness in his voice with which he had asked Aniket to leave.

“I did not say anything on your behalf. I only spoke of my feelings for you. He was badgering me–”

Paritosh slumped back into his chair.

“This is a disaster,” he mumbled.

“I will speak to Aniket. He is wrong to blame you. I never–”

“Leave Rupali. I need to think this over.”

Her breath caught in her throat. It had been almost two years since she had started her Ph. D. program with him as her supervisor. He had never spoken to her like that before. As she dragged her feet away, they felt as heavy as lead. At the door she turned back, but saw him leaning back in his chair, his eyes closed and his brows furrowed. It was a disaster, after all.

—

Paritosh opened his eyes as soon as he heard the door being shut behind her. What a terrible way to discover that she had feelings for him. And what terrible timing. It was still at least two years before she could finish her Ph. D. under him. She surely understood the situation. That must be why he had never guessed it. She had hidden it well. So why would she go ahead and blurt it out all of a sudden? To his brother of all people?

Perhaps he would be calm and collected enough later to figure this out. But right now, he had to manage an immediate crisis. If Aniket went blabbing around before people at the university, both his and Rupali’s career would be in jeopardy. He called up Aniket’s mother.

Yes, Aniket has talked to her and asked her if she knew about Rupali and what Paritosh felt for her. And yes, she had happily told him that Paritosh loved her.

“Meena ji. Hadn’t I told you that nobody was to know about it?”

“But it was your brother. What harm could it–”

“Well. He is in love with Rupali too and creating a ruckus about it now.”

That unsettled her for a moment. But soon she was singing a different tune altogether. Since Paritosh could not be with Rupali anyway, what was the harm? Aniket would be happy with Rupali and surely keep her happy too. Would her parents agree to an inter-caste marriage?

“That is not for you and me to decide, Meena ji. Rupali will love and marry whosoever she likes. And if it isn’t Aniket–”

“But you could talk to her.”

“I will talk to her what I must talk to her about. But not about this. Now please listen, there is an immediate problem and you must help me with it.”

He explained to her that if Aniket breathed a word about him and Rupali to people at the university it could create a huge problem. He extracted a promise from her that she would talk to her son right away and stop him from doing something like that. Then he returned his attention to what he must do with Rupali.

—

To be continued

The Ward (Part 8)

Posted Mish6 CommentsPosted in English, Mukundo-Piyali, Original

He clutched the paper and hurried out of the house. He tried to peer into the dark roads. It was a chilly and foggy night. At a distance, he thought he saw a shadow moving and ran after it with all his might. As he closed in, the shadow turned out to be a tree by the roadside. But he had moved in the right direction. A little further he could clearly see a human figure walking slowly, with a backpack and a handbag. It didn’t take him long to catch up and yank at her hands.

She screamed.

“Shut up, you stupid girl,” he yelled, “What do you think you are doing? What if it was indeed not me and some ruffian?”

She blanched. “Mukundo Babu!” The words barely escaped her throat.

Without another word, he started dragging her back to the house. Finally, she found her voice.

“No, Mukundo Babu! Please let me go.”

He stopped and looked at her with dagger eyes. “Don’t make me slap you again.”

She cowered then and followed him meekly.

—

“Tell me now,” his voice had softened now that they were safely home, “What does this mean?” He brandished her letter at her. She was sitting on the edge of her bed and he was standing before her.

Exhausted and cornered, she couldn’t hold out against him.

“My mother was a prosti…” she started speaking, then stopped and decided to not use the English word, but the word Meher Jaan had used, “tawayaf.” She had said something about the crafts of tawayafs. Perhaps that was a saving grace.

“What on earth are you talking about? Ma knew your mother.”

“Not back then. Not when she was Salma Jaan. When she worked in Meher Jaan’s establishment. When I was conceived.”

“Tell me everything. What do you know and how did you find out?”

Piyali hadn’t thought it would be so easy to talk to Mukundo about it. But she talked. And she was surprised at how unburdened she felt after she had told him everything. It hadn’t been so difficult after all. Even if he wouldn’t want to marry her now, he didn’t look disgusted or angry.

He sat down beside her and put his arm around her. Pulling her close, he planted a kiss on the side of her head. “You are in shock, Piyali. Don’t exert yourself further. Go to bed now. Don’t try to take decisions in this state of mind. And trust me. Can you do that?”

She nodded and her eyes filled up.

“That’s good. Come on now. Take off your shoes and I will tuck you in. I will be here until you fall asleep.”

She wanted to tell him to not worry and go to bed himself. But she was exhausted. So, she just did what he asked and closed her eyes. He pulled up an armchair close to the bed and held her hand.

—

Mukundo woke up in the armchair to an aching neck. Piyali was still fast asleep. She must not have had a good sleep since she had found out, he rued. After gently disengaging his hand from hers, he stepped out of her room only to find Mohima passing by. She raised an eye in mock disapproval.

“It’s not that, Ma,” Mukundo started clarifying, but stopped. After all ‘that’ also had happened earlier in the night. Then it struck him why Piyali had come to his room last night. She had wanted to give herself to him before leaving. To let him know that her love was not to be questioned. To give him that solace. Presently, he sighed. “I need to talk to you, Ma. It is important, and perhaps shocking.”

—

“Has she still not woken up?” Mohima asked later in the morning.

“I will check,” Mukundo replied and tiptoed into her room.

She was awake, sitting on her bed with her knees folded, her arms around her legs and her head buried her in knees.

“Good morning,” he greeted and her head jerked up.

“Mukundo Babu!”

“Yes, me. Now I need you to call up the school and take a day off.”

“Why?”

“Because we have to go out. Be quick. Your breakfast is waiting.”

She obeyed. It wasn’t like she could have gone to the school and worked like nothing had happened.

—

She froze when he drove up to a jewelry shop later.

“Why are we here?” she asked.

“To buy our engagement rings.”

“Mukundo Babu!”

“Yes?”

“Are you… are you still going to marry me?”

“I thought that was decided couple of month ago.”

“You… don’t… have to,” a knot formed in her throat and she talked with difficulty, “You shouldn’t.”

He reached out and cradled her face in a now familiar gesture. “Piyali. I love you. I want you. We never knew what your past was. It could have been anything. It could have been this. It is this. So, what has changed? Besides, it’s not your past. It’s your mother’s. And even she left it behind. For your sake. Why do you want to let that past catch up with you now? Wouldn’t it break her heart?”

“But Mukundo Babu! You? And Kaki?”

“I have spoken to Ma and she agrees. We don’t have to shout about it from rooftop. The world may not be ready for this. But at least we are not hypocrites. I love you. I want to marry you. So, unless you have changed your mind–”

“Mukundo Babu!”

“Thank God, you haven’t,” he smiled, “Let’s go.”

—

After buying the rings, he drove to a poolside restaurant. The seats were well spaced out and they had enough privacy. He shifted his chair so that he sat next to her, instead of sitting across from her. He took her hands in his and said, “Piyali. There is something I want you to know. I understand insecurity. I have dealt with it every single day for over six years. My longing for you was so intense that I have lost count of how many times I thought of walking up to you and confessing. But then I thought of how old I was for you. How I had the responsibility of a young daughter on my shoulders and it didn’t matter how much you loved her, asking you to be her mother would be unfair. And the worst thought was that you would accept me only because you felt grateful. I, of course, hadn’t thought that you would not accept me because you were grateful.” He chuckled here, then continued, “Anyway, the point is that I know what feeling insecure is like. But you know what. The moment I discovered that you reciprocated my feelings, I rose above my insecurities. I felt confident that it didn’t matter what my shortcomings were, I would love you so much that it would compensate for everything.”

“Of course,” she mumbled, feeling overwhelmed.

“Why I gave that little speech was to tell you that I don’t dismiss your insecurities. I only ask you to have trust in our love and to rise above them. And I know I never proposed earlier. So…”

He knelt in front of her and took out the ring they had just bought from his pocket. “Piyali Banerjee. Will you marry me?”

She started crying and could only nod in reply. Satisfied, he slipped the ring into her fingers.

“And now,” he slipped back into his chair and said cheerfully, “We have no engagement ceremony planned really. So, you can do the honors as well.” He handed her the ring they had bought for him. Wiping her tears, she slipped the ring on his finger and smiled.

“With this, you must promise me, Piyali, that you will not repeat the stunt of last night. If I hadn’t woken up and followed you out of the room– I am mad at you. But I’m just so relieved that it was prevented that I am not scolding you. But remember. When you don’t know where to go, you must come to me. Is that understood?”

“Yes,” she said in a clear, but small voice, “And I am sorry. For all my stupidities.”

He brought her hand up to his lips and planted a soft kiss on it. “All is well now. Don’t worry.”

– The End –

The Ward (Part 7)

Posted Mish2 CommentsPosted in English, Mukundo-Piyali, Original

If Piyali didn’t find it so difficult to approach strangers she would have liked to be a journalist like her friend Sonali. So when Sonali invited her to accompany her to interview an erstwhile tawayaf and well-known singer Meher Jaan, she went eagerly. Meher Jaan was a recluse in her old age and any music lover would cherish a meeting with her. Piyali was no exception.

The old woman was dressed simply, but her house displayed the rich relics of an era gone by. The exquisite carpets and rich chandeliers could have been from a period film set. At first Meher Jaan didn’t pay much attention to Piyali. But she turned to her when Sonali made a formal introduction, and seemed to be taken aback. She squinted at her for a long minute, then asked, “What did you say your name was?”

“Piyali.”

“Piyali what?”

“Piyali Banerjee.”

Meher Jaan nodded, but she looked dissatisfied.

“She is trained in classical music,” Sonali offered, “And sings very well herself. Of course, only by my standards.” She chuckled.

Meher Jaan obliged her by smiling and asked her to start the interview.

In due course, Meher Jaan brought out old albums for Sonali to select some good photographs from for her story.

“Come with me while your friend does your job,” Meher Jaan told Piyali, her voice much kinder than earlier, “You might like some old records from my collection.”

Piyali followed her as her chest tightened. Why did Meher Jaan seem to know her? She couldn’t fathom how that could be. But she felt that she was about to find out.

“Would you like to play this one?”  Meher Jaan picked up a record and asked Piyali.

Piyali nodded without looking at the record.

“Put it on then,” she indicated towards the table on which record player was mounted. Piyali went to the table, but before she could place the record in the player, her eyes caught a framed photograph kept on the same table. There were eight women in the photo, all dressed extravagantly. Piyali froze.

“Who is she?” Piyali put her fingers on one of the women and asked.

“Her real name was something else,” Meher Jaan replied, “But here she was called Salma Jaan. We always gave new names to the girls here. She was a refugee from East Pakistan. Had come here as a young girl. Her family was killed there. She had survived somehow. She and her training in music. What mastery she had at such a young age!”

“What happened to her?” Piyali asked, her voice trembling.

“The days when tawayafs were respected for their craft were past. I couldn’t keep her here. After she became pregnant, she ran away. She wouldn’t have her child grow up here. I ran a tight ship. Girls didn’t just run away from me. For a long time I knew where she was. But I let her go. I couldn’t really have kept her here, I knew that. Her willpower was strong.”

“Salma Jaan,” Piyali mumbled, the unfamiliar name felt rough on her tongue.

Meher Jaan came forward and cradled Piyali’s face in her palm, “Not her real name. You are lucky, Piyali.”

Piyali felt numb. She turned on her heels and walked out of the room.

“Sonali. Mukundo Babu called. I must go home right away. You continue and finish your work,” she told her friend in a measured tone and left the house with equally measured steps. Once outside she ran mindlessly until she was exhausted and out of breath.  She found herself in a secluded area. She dropped to her knees right there on the pavement and sobbed into her hands.

—

The knock was soft, almost inaudible. If Mukundo hadn’t been sitting still on the table with no other sound in the room, he may not have heard it. It must be Piyali. Sumedha or Mohima wouldn’t knock like that. It was strange for Piyali to knock that late at night, but she had been acting weird since yesterday. Perhaps she had come to have a tete-a-tete now. Hopeful and curious, he opened the door. There she was. Wearing her clean, ironed night dress; her hair in a high ponytail, no makeup on the face – just the way he liked her the best. He resisted his temptation to draw her in an embrace and wasn’t prepared for it when she did just the same as soon as she entered the room.

“Hey,” he said softly, as her hands clutched him, “Everything alright?”

“Yes,” she spoke into his chest, “I was missing you.”

He broke the hug and cupped her face, “I hope so. Because I miss you every moment, even if you are only in the next room.”

Her lips parted slightly inviting a kiss from him. He was happy to oblige her. Next, he groaned loudly as she ran her fingers over his spine and planted a kiss on his chest.

“Piyali, don’t!”

“Why not?”

“I won’t be able to stop then.”

“I don’t want you to.”

He held her and looked straight into her eyes, “Are you sure?”

“Yes. Is it wrong?”

“Of course not! When we both want it, it is the most beautiful thing.”

“Are you sure?”

“You are a brutal woman! Don’t you know that I have been sure for years?”

“Then why worry,” she said and snuggled up to him.

He wrapped his arms around her and led her to his bed.

—

She had wanted to leave afterwards. But Mukundo had insisted that she stayed with him.

“But Kaki…” she had protested.

“She won’t wake up until six. I am putting an alarm for five in the morning. Then you can go to your room.”

She had agreed to that. But when Mukundo woke up she wasn’t in the bed. The clock showed it was two at night. At first, he thought she must have panicked and decided to go to her room early. But some instinct made him want to check up on her.

He saw her entering her room just as he came out of his. She must have left just before he woke up. That must be what had woken him up too.

There was a bathroom between their rooms. Assured that she was all right, he went in to relieve himself and decided to go back to bed after that. But after coming out, he decided to pay her a surprise visit in her room.

Her door was shut, but not locked. He opened it cautiously. She wasn’t there and her bed was not slept in. He went to check the attached bathroom.  The door was unlocked and she wasn’t inside. He hurried back to his room wondering if she had gone back. She was not there either.

He panicked and went to her room again. When he switched on the lights, he noticed a paper lying on her table. He grabbed it and started reading.

“Mukundo Babu.

Until I didn’t know who I was, your love made it easy to imagine that it couldn’t have been anything that bad. But now I know. I love you and will always love you. Till my last breath. I love Sumi and Kaki too. But I am not the wife you deserve. I am not the mother Sumi deserves.

Please remember the good memories and try to forgive me for the bad ones.

Your unfortunate lover
Piyali”

—

To be continued

The Ward (Part 6)

Posted Mish2 CommentsPosted in English, Mukundo-Piyali, Original

Mohima looked on partly amused, and partly exasperated, as Piyali explained her logic.

“Did this lead to Mukundo hitting you?”

“No. No, Kaki. That was my fault. I had said something reprehensible and I can’t repeat it before you.”

“Then, my child, if you must pay me back for what you think has been my graciousness, do it this way. Give me my son’s happiness. Which seems to lie in you.”

“Kaki!”

“Your mother was wise, Piyali. But you are not a nineteen-year old orphan anymore. You are an adult, who can take her own decisions. And when I tell you that the things you are so worried about don’t matter, when Mukundo tells you that they don’t matter, will you not consider changing your old views? Your mother only wanted to caution you against trying to take shortcuts. And you have done justice to her values. At this stage, when you are both capable to making your own decision, accepting your mutual love isn’t wrong. It will make me very happy, Piyali. And for the first time in years, I will feel assured that my son is happy and taken care of. You think about it.”

—

“Come in,” his voice boomed from behind the doors when she knocked.

She entered gingerly and stood near the door. He was lying on his bed, his arms shading his eyes. But he knew who had entered. He spoke without moving his arms or head.

“What have you come here for? To offer another solution for my heartache?”

He was sulking! Piyali felt like laughing and crying at the same time.

“I have come to apologize.”

“For what?” he sat up.

“For being silly. Idiotic really. For not accepting the obvious. For hurting you.”

“Fine. You are forgiven,” he went back to lying down on the bed and shading his eyes with his arms, “Please shut the door while leaving.”

“Mukundo Babu!” she called him pleadingly.

“What?” He removed his arms from his eyes and looked at her innocently.

“That’s it?”

“That’s what you came for, right?”

“I—I–” she stammered, then seemed to gather her wits together, “I came to confess something to you honestly.”

“Okay?”

“That the reason I would never marry anyone else is that I am in love with you. Have always been. Will always be.”

Mukundo stirred now and moved with alacrity. He strode towards the door where she stood, shut the door and then pinned her against it.

“Say that again,” he hissed.

“I love you,” she croaked.

He pressed his lips against hers. This time there was no surprise or shock. Only a sweet anticipation, well fulfilled.

“No listen to me,” he said after breaking the kiss, but still holding her captive against the door, “You have made me run after you a bit too much–”

“I’m sorry,” she responded automatically, but he interrupted her.

“That’s not enough. You must show your repentance in action.”

“How?” she asked, apprehensive.

“By proposing to me.”

“What?”

“You heard me. If you don’t propose to me, I am going to keep you at arm’s length for the rest of our lives. You can take your time, of course.”

As if to demonstrate, he stepped back and put an arm’s length distance between them. He flashed a challenging smile at her and turned on his heels, meaning to go back to his bed.

But he hadn’t taken even the first step when Piyali’s hand grabbed his. “Mukundo Babu!” she yanked at it to make him turn back. And as he stared wide-eyed, she sunk to her knees and asked, “Will you marry me?”

All his self-control gave way at the sight. He hadn’t expected her to come through so quickly. He helped her up gently and then drew her savagely in a bone-crushing hug.

“Yes,” he whispered in her ears and bit her earlobe to make her moan. Their caresses became so urgent and violent that they soon made their way to his bed. But after a minute, Piyali stopped him and sat up, panting.

“We need to give it time,” he said and she nodded.

“Go to your room,” he added, “Or someplace. I need time to digest this.”

She nodded and started smoothening her dress. But she could not leave the room before another long-drawn passionate kiss from him. She wasn’t complaining.

—

She wondered where she should go. She would be too restless if she stayed alone in her room. And she wasn’t yet ready to face Mohima or even Sumedha. There was only one refuge. The music room. She went there and took out the tanpura.

She spent next half an hour singing the bada and chhota khayal in Raga Pilu. Then she opened her eyes and toyed with the string of her instrument while deciding what to sing next. That’s when she noticed Mukundo standing at the door and flushed.

He walked in, smiling. “I was trying to stay away from you for a while to clear up my head,” he said as he sat down next to her, “Then you started singing. You are brutal.”

“I am sorry,” she replied, averting her eyes, “I did not know where to go.”

“When you don’t know where to go, you come to me, Piyali.”

“You had asked me to go away.”

He cradled her face in his hand and said, “Even then.”

Tears flooded her eyes and she tried to turn her face away from him, but he didn’t let her. “What is it?”

“I am almost afraid, Mukundo Babu. This can’t be real. Will I wake up from a dream and realize that all this never happened?”

“If it were the dream, the solution is simple, isn’t it? You just have to wake up, come to me, and confess.”

They both smiled at it.

“Come now,” he said, “Let’s join Ma for tea.”

“I can’t face her yet.”

He guffawed, “So? You intend to hide here for the rest of your life?”

“Mukundo Babu! You are not helping.”

He sat up and offered his hands to her, “I am. Come on, now. Let’s go together. There is nothing to face. She will be happy that you came around.”

He asked as they left the room, “I never asked you before. But who taught you music? I don’t think you have ever gone to music classes since you are here. ”

“Ma was my Guru. Music was her sole indulgence in life.”

“She must be an accomplished musician to have taught you so well.”

That gave Piyali a pause. Having grown up with her mother’s music she had never wondered where it came from. She knew nothing about her mother’s past. If Mukundo Babu was impressed, her mother must have been accomplished. But how? And if she was so accomplished why did she not earn a better living by giving music lessons instead of struggling with menial jobs all her life?

She looked at Mukundo to voice her thoughts, but realized that he had moved on from the topic. Before she could decide whether to bring his attention back to it, they had reached the porch and Mohima and Sumedha were already waiting for them.

“I see that you two have made up,” Mohima said when she saw them together.

Piyali looked like she would sprint away and hide herself in some corner. Mukundo also blushed, but he laughed and met his mother’s eyes boldly. She nodded slightly to convey her approval.

—

To be continued

The Ward (Part 5)

Posted Mish12 CommentsPosted in English, Mukundo-Piyali, Original

“Mashima!” Sumi ran into her as soon as they entered the house, “I have so much homework today. We must start right away.”

“Ask your Baba to help you with that, Sweetie. I need to finish some urgent work,” she replied and ignoring the confusion and hurt on the child’s face, shut herself in her bedroom.

She was not crying this time. The cat was out of the bag.  She must think calmly if she were to wade through the muddled water it had led her into.

For a moment, her mind went back to the kiss. She had admired Mukundo from even before, when she had only known him as a professor at her university. But from the time she had set foot in their home, the admiration had grown to be overwhelming. And yet she wouldn’t have dared name it love had it not been for that kiss. That had somehow made him accessible, familiar and intimate.

But she had never forgotten her mother’s death-bed warning.

“On the one hand, it is fortunate that you will live with Thakurs, Pihu. You will be taken care of in a way that I could never do for you. But on the other hand, it can be dangerous. Remember what they are. Not only rich, but also an extremely prestigious family. Never ever do anything that will taint their prestige and make them regret taking you in. Do you understand me?”

“Yes Ma,” she had replied pressing her mother’s hand.

A hard knock on her door interrupted her ruminations. Neither Mohima, nor Sumedha would have knocked that hard. It must be Mukundo. She waited hoping he would go away. But the next knock was even harder. Even through the closed door, she could feel his fury seeping in. If she didn’t relent, he wouldn’t be unequal to breaking the door.

Resigned, she went to the door and opened it. He flung it ajar and strode in.

“Don’t you dare,” he growled, “Ask me to leave. And don’t you dare leave this room until I have had my answers. Honest answers.”

She walked back from the door and gingerly sat at the edge of the bed. She didn’t trust herself to remain standing. She flinched when he opened her drawer, but he looked so furious then that she didn’t have it in her to object to it. He pulled out her drawings from the bottom of the paper piles and walked to her.

When he came near her, she noticed that all his aggression had vanished. There was only melancholy written all over his body. She gasped when he knelt before her and spread some of the drawings on the floor between them.

“Why must my love for you always make me a villain, Piyali? I was a villain when I didn’t think you appreciated my feeling. But even today? When I know that you reciprocate it and reciprocate it fiercely? Why?”

She stood up and walked some distance away from him where she stood with her back to him.

“Your villainy is not towards me, Mukundo Babu. It is towards yourself, your family. Have you ever run through the list of proposals that have come your way since you were widowed? It will translate into a list of who-is-who of Kolkata and rest of the country. Beautiful, educated, intelligent women from well-respected families. And you have rejected them all. How can I put myself in your way then? I—I don’t even know who I am. I don’t know who my father was. My mother barely made the ends meet with her sewing and odd jobs. And I have no family except that you and Kaki have graciously made me part of yours. What would it be like introducing me as your wife to your friends and relatives? Embarrassing, that’s what it will be.”

“Which era are you living in, Piyali? You think I care for all that?”

“Convention is there for a reason, Mukundo Babu,” she repeated his own words, “If you go against it, you would be a martyr. Would that be a great payback from me for all you have done for me?”

“But it is okay to make both of us martyrs? Is it a fine payback if I pine for you all my life?”

A chill ran down her spine and she took a moment before turning back towards him.

She smiled through her tears and said, “You want me, Mukundo Babu? Then take me. I will–”

“Piyali!” Mukundo yelled so loud that it brought Mohima running to Piyali’s door.

And before any of them could orient themselves, another loud sound assaulted them. Mukundo had slapped Piyali. Hard. And it had come so unexpectedly to her that she hadn’t offered even the instinctive defense. Her lips were bitten by her own teeth and a thin streak of blood appeared at the corner.

“Mukundo!” Mohima hissed, ran to Piyali and gathered her sobbing form in her arms.

Mukundo’s raging face softened. He looked at his hand as if it was something outside of him and then looked at Piyali, sobbing into Mohima’s shoulders.

“Go Mukundo!” Mohima shouted, “I don’t care what it is, but go now!”

Casting a wretched, guilty look at Piyali, he retreated.

Mohima made Piyali sit in the bed and examined the blood.

“I will get the first aid kit,” she said, “You sit still here.”

“Kaki,” Piyali yanked at her hands, “Please don’t go to Mukundo Babu. Don’t say anything to him. It wasn’t his fault.”

“How was it not, Piyali?”

“I offended him in unmentionable ways. Please Kaki.”

“Sit still. I am only going to get the first aid box.”

—

“I feel wretched that I slapped her, Ma, but I am not going to apologize,” Mukundo burst out when Mohima came to his room later, “This girl will drive me crazy. And if she must stay this way, send her away. She says she is capable of living on her own and I agree. I am also capable to living my life and taking care of my daughter without her.”

“That sounds like lover’s tiff except you are not—Oh! Are you?” She jumped up at the thought.

“Damned if I know, Ma. Ask her.”

“Mukundo,” Mohima looked fearful, “You are not forcing her, are you?”

“Ma!” he looked hurt, “I haven’t. All these years. Fully aware that she was young and I had no business exploiting her gratefulness. But what do I discover? That she won’t marry anyone else because she loves me. But she won’t marry me either.”

“Why?”

“Now THAT! You ask her. I have to help Sumi finish her homework.”

—

To be continued

The Ward (Part 4)

Posted MishLeave a commentPosted in English, Mukundo-Piyali, Original

The things that this girl made him do. He could care less about her strange, mysterious behavior. If only he hadn’t been so madly in love with her. As it happened, he loved her with a passion he could hardly give words to. And the very idea that something might be hurting or troubling her was enough to destroy his peace of mind. Apart from his daughter Sumedha, nobody else provoked this protective instinct in him. But with Sumedha he could act on it expressly. With Piyali he had to work day and night on hiding it.

And so here he was. Invading her room when she was not there. Invading her private space and intimate moments. To find a clue to the mystery. That morning he had declared himself unwell, called up at the university and cancelled all his classes and had decided to stay at home. Piyali had come to his room, looking wretched and close to tears.

“What is it, Mukundo Babu? What happened to you?”

“It’s perhaps just physical exhaustion. I have more classes than usual this semester. I should be fine by the evening.”

She had stayed silent for a moment and then had asked, halting at every word, “Is it because of me? Because of the conversation we had yesterday?”

He had taken a moment to regard her worried, shrunken face and then had answered, “No. You must not worry, Piyali.”

Wordlessly, she had left his room, leaving him a bit more miserable.

Presently he looked around the room, feeling exasperated with himself. What did he expect to find? What should he be looking for?

He sat down on her bed and pulled up a pillow to keep in his lap as was his habit. A piece of paper fell on the floor. He picked it up and jolted in surprise. It was a photograph of the two of them, eating pani-puri at a poojo pandal. They were laughing. It was from three years ago. He was wearing the blue kurta she had brought for him from her first salary. He had seen the photo earlier, several times.  But he had never noticed earlier how she had been looking at him while trying to stuff another puri in her mouth. Every time he took the photo out of his office desk drawer, he had only wondered how transparent his own expressions were. At least to him.

As if suddenly jolted by an electric current, he bolted upright, letting the pillow in his lap fall on the floor. He picked up the pillow and tried to place the photo and the pillow back in their original position as far as he could recall. Next, he hesitated only for a moment before opening her drawer. Hidden beneath the bundle of assignments and tests she had to grade were a bunch of hand-drawings.  Mukundo had never known that she drew. But she drew well enough for him to decipher what, rather who, the subject of most of her drawings was. He tried for a while to find a diary. But she either didn’t keep one, or kept it well-hidden.

—

Piyali recognized his car as soon as she came out of the school premises. Surprised and worried, she almost ran to it.

“Mukundo Babu!” she opened the passenger door and hissed breathlessly, “What are you doing here? You are unwell. You should be resting.”

“Please sit, Piyali. I am fine now.”

“You–” she grew confused now, “You came to pick me up?”

“Yes.”

She climbed in and pulled her seat-belt. Then asked again, “Why?”

“Because I wanted to go for a cup of coffee with you.”

She sighed and tapped the headrest with the back of her head, as if thinking. Then she asked, “And talk?”

“Are you scared of me?”

“What an absurd question that is, Mukundo Babu. Of course, not.”

“Then let’s talk. Talk honestly. What’s the harm?”

“Fine!” said Piyali, “If there is someone you think I should get married to, you let me know and I will get married.”

“We are talking, Piyali. Not getting you married. At least, not until…”

Piyali waited for him to finish, but he didn’t. She closed her eyes in exasperation. She had handled it all wrong. She had been unprepared for the conversation Mohima had sprang up on her from nowhere. She should have appeared more nonchalant, more frivolous. She should not have let her inner struggle show up. And now it was all a mess. She was afraid that if the truth of her heart was revealed she would forever lose them all. Kaki, Mukundo Babu, Sumi – the only people in the whole wide world she could think of as her own. As Mukundo drove silently, she tried to think how she was going to handle the impending conversation.

But all her preparations came to a naught. After picking up their coffee, Mukundo led her to a secluded corner and slipped a photograph across the table. THE photograph. All color drained out of her face.

“You know where I found it, don’t you?”

“It’s just a photograph,” she spoke, haltingly, “You were wearing the kurta I got for you. So…”

“That’s true enough. But I asked for honesty, Piyali. And half-truth is not honesty.”

“Let’s stop right here, Mukundo Babu. Everyone is allowed to be silly once in a while. I might have been silly. But please don’t expose me. Kaki will hate me and I can’t lose the only family I have. Please!”

“You stop right here and tell me something. Remember all those years ago, you had been with us for barely a year and I had done something which had almost wrecked this family. Do you remember?”

She nodded, keeping her eyes glued to the tabletop.

“You hadn’t forgiven me. You didn’t have to. You were never really angry with me, were you?”

She froze up.

“Talk, Piyali. And I promise to be honest with you too. And I promise that you will not lose anything because of this conversation. But I need to know.”

“I—I was shocked, surprised. I wasn’t angry,” she said finally, her head hanging so low that it was barely inches away from falling on the tabletop.

“And this photo is not from beneath your pillow. This is from my drawer,” he said.

Her head shot up, her moist eyes met his for the first time during the conversation, and they were clouded with incomprehension.

“You were not angry with me,” he continued, “On the contrary you felt so strongly for me that even before you had seen anything of life, you had decided you won’t get married to someone else. Even when you didn’t intend to ever tell me why. You were aware of your feelings, Piyali. But you have indeed been silly. Did you never think of what had driven me to that desperate, impulsive act in the first place?”

“It was a mistake, that’s what it was, Mukundo Babu,” she said flatly, “Let’s not talk anymore of this. We had left that incident behind us. We have to leave this conversation behind us too.”

“Why? Why, Piyali? Have I—Oh God! Have I understood you wrong? Tell me if that is the case and I–”

“Are you taking me home or should I get a taxi?”

“We haven’t finished talking.”

“Very well, then,” she stood up and strode out of the coffee-shop without glancing back at him.

Exasperated, Mukundo rushed after her, leaving behind two cups of coffee, untouched, on their table.

He caught up with her before she could hail a taxi and quietly asked her to come to his car. She obeyed and they drove home in uncomfortable silence.

—

The Ward (Part 3)

Posted Mish2 CommentsPosted in English, Mukundo-Piyali, Original

6 years later

Mukundo and Piyali were playing a game of cards, with Sumedha perched up on Piyali’s lap when Mohima walked in.

“What is going on?” she asked, settling herself on the sofa.

“Baba is cheating, Thakuma. He isn’t letting Mashima win any rounds.”

“Is he now?” Mohima laughed.

“Perhaps your Baba is just better at it than me, Sumi,” Piyali said and threw her cards on the table, “I lost again.”

“That’s very ungentlemanly of you, Mukundo,” Mohima grinned, “You should have let her win a few times.”

“This ward of yours, Ma,” Mukundo replied in the same vein, “Has become too much a feminist to accept my losing willingly.”

“What is “too much of a feminist”?” Piyali made a face, “You are either a feminist or you are not.”

“I want a lemon soda,” Sumedha interjected with her demand.

“Go to the kitchen and ask Sonelal to make one for you,” Mohima said. After the child was out of earshot, she turned to Piyali, “Right now is as good as any other time, Piyali. There was something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“What is it, Kaki?” Piyali grew nervous at Mohima’s somber tone.

“Nothing worrisome. Just some future planning.”

Piyali only shot her a quizzical glance, while Mukundo was startled. He knew what it meant when his mother used that phrase. Piyali didn’t.

“You know your mother wanted to get you married because she thought it was the only way to secure your future.”

“Of course, I do. But you–”

“Opposed the idea and brought you here, instead. Because you were too young to be married off just then. But now is the right time to start thinking about it again.”

Mukundo watched Piyali’s profile. She looked more stunned than either shy or anxious.

It was after a long pause that she spoke, in a trembling voice, “Am I a trouble here now, Kaki?”

“Don’t be silly, Piyali. Marriage is not a way to get rid of you. It is a way to find a life partner with whom you can happy your entire life.”

Mukundo stood up. “Perhaps I should leave,” he said.

Piyali shot him a glance and their eyes met for moment. For hours afterwards, he could not get rid of the notion that her eyes were accusing him of something. Of what? Certainly, she couldn’t be comfortable with his presence during that discussion. That was the reason he had voluntarily left. Or was it?

—

Mohima came to his room later that evening.

“She is behaving strangely,” his mother said.

“Who?”

“Piyali, of course.”

“You sprang up the subject of marriage on her from nowhere–”

“It’s not that. It’s not the suddenness. It’s rather the certainty with which she says she doesn’t want to get married.”

“Give it time, Ma.”

“I told her that I am not expecting her to get married tomorrow. I only wanted her to think about it. She wouldn’t have to get married to the first guy we come across. I asked her if there was someone–”

“There is no one,” Mukundo interrupted without meaning to.

“You have spoken to her about it?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know?”

“It’s just that—I don’t know. We always seem to know where she is. There has never been a mystery about her life or schedule.”

“You are right. But then what is it? And I assure you that it wasn’t shyness or unpreparedness for the discussion. She didn’t seem to be waiting for that perfect soulmate either. Her certainty was unnerving, even if she was saying it in a shaking, weak, guilty voice. Would you talk to her?”

“Me?”

“Haven’t the two of you left that little incident behind you? Aren’t you great friends?”

“We are, Ma. But–”

“Please Mukundo. You know I have an intuition about people. I wouldn’t ask you to do it if I thought it was merely her unpreparedness to think about it.”

“All right,” he said with a sigh, “I will try.” And he wondered how on earth would he initiate that conversation with her.

—

Piyali’s door was open and she was sitting with Sumedha, helping her with her homework. Mukundo knocked just to draw her attention and then walked in.

“Please sit, Mukundo Babu,” Piyali said without making much fuss, “We will be done with Sumi’s homework in a moment.” Since Piyali had finished her post-graduation and had taken up a job as a teacher, she had completely taken over the responsibility of overseeing Sumedha’s studies. “It helps me become a better teacher too,” she had said when Mukundo had expressed concerns about whether it will burden her too much.

“I will try to not disturb,” Mukundo grinned presently and pulled up a chair. He spoke again after the girls were done with the homework. “Why don’t you go out and play with your friends now, Sumi?”

“Isn’t Mashima coming with me?”

“You are a big girl now, Sumi. You can go by yourself. Don’t go farther than the park though, okay? Piyali will stay here. I have to talk to her.”

Piyali’s head jerked in surprise. Mukundo noticed, but pretended not to.

He turned to face her after Sumedha had left. “Ma asked me to speak to you.”

In an uncharacteristic reaction, she bowed her head and did not utter a word.

Mukundo chuckled nervously, “I absolutely don’t want to pester you, Piyali. Whatever you choose to do, it really is your life and your decision. Whatever makes you happy. Just tell me that you are not ready for the marriage discussion right now and that will be it. I came to talk only because Ma felt like there was something else behind your hesitation. Is there?”

She slowly lifted her head, but didn’t look at him. “I don’t want to get married.”

“Not now, right?”

“Not ever.”

Mukundo sat up on hearing that. For the first time, he gave credence to Mohima’s fear that something was going on in Piyali’s mind. Outwardly he spoke calmly.

“That is a fair choice, Piyali. You know me. You know about my friends, many of whom have made unconventional life choices and are happy. Including the choice of not getting married. But convention is there for a reason. It works for most people. If you decide to go against convention, you should have a good reason. And if you give me a good reason, I promise I will not pester you again.”

“I prefer to maintain my independence,” she said.

Her voice was flat, her slouched shoulders looked unconvincing.

Mukundo shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“Marrying the right person is not about losing your independence. It is about getting some support. We all need support in our lives.”

“Nobody knows it better than me, Mukundo Babu. But I have support here, in this house.”

“Piyali–”

“I can’t stay here forever, Mukundo Babu. I know that. And I am capable to staying on my own. Even today. And I will do it whenever you think it is time for me to move out–”

“Stop it, Piyali. Do you really think that I and Ma want to send you away?”

He paused and Piyali realized that the question was not rhetorical. So, at last she shook her head.

“And you must realize that this conversation is no longer about your marriage. It is about your well-being. What I feel right now is that there is something to worry about. Something you are not telling me. What is it, Piyali?”

“Nothing. Nothing, Mukundo Babu. Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I am not ready to think about it just now. I–”

“Has anybody hurt you? Now or sometime in past?”

She shook her head.

“Is there someone you are afraid to tell us about? You know that neither Ma, nor I care for things like caste, religion or whatever else.”

Mukundo noticed a moment of delay before she shook her head.

“Look at me, Piyali,” there was a harshness and edge in his voice. Piyali looked up, scared. “You are not being honest with me, and let’s not even debate this. But you are not a child and I am not your guardian. So, I don’t know what to do about it. I can’t force you, but know that until you come clean I will be worried about you.”

With those words, he stood up and left.

Piyali buried her face in her knees and sobbed silently.

—

To be continued