Tag: romance

The Normal Life (Part 5)

Posted Mish1 CommentPosted in English, Inspired, Protim-Sarah

Sarah

Ananya turned out to be charming child, though not very sharp. I had to work hard with her. But I didn’t mind. After all that was all I was supposed to do. I can think of many people who would have found the job exhausting and uncomfortable. But not me. I had never known more comfort in my life. I had nothing to worry about. I had a room all to myself, with a heater to keep it warm when the mountain weather was too cold. And I was growing accustomed to it. I had hot food at my table for each meal, and had only to ask for tea or snacks anytime. Could even a princess have more comforts in her life? Sometimes I was so comfortable that I felt anxious about it. Would it last? What if it was taken away?

What scared me most was… not Mr. Roychowdury’s behavior, but my own. My tongue seemed to loosen up in his presence. I often replied to him with a sharpness I had never known in me. What if someday he grew tired of my insolence and threw me out. I needed to be careful.

Scared or not, it was difficult not to find him odd. On the one hand he asked me questions like he was genuinely interested in learning about me. On the other hand, sometimes he ridiculed me in such ways that he couldn’t possibly take me seriously . Even his attitude towards his daughter left me confused. He cared so much about her that he had hired a whole set of staff to take care of the house he didn’t have much use for. Two people, the aayah and I, were hired solely for her. He also kept asking after her health, her meals, her educational progress and her overall well-being. Yet –her affectionate babblings and hugs, he seemed to reciprocate with hesitation and difficulty. I wondered if the child felt that disquiet or not. In any case, she continued to shower her affections on her Daddy.

None of the house staff seemed to care much about his oddity though. He paid handsomely and was a kind employer. That kept them satisfied. If they did gossip about him, they did not seem to do it before me. It turned out that I was considered more his equal by the staff than theirs. That was quite a boost to my ego. Even if it was only because I shared his dinner table with him; for some inexplicable reason!

—

“You have been teaching Annie how to draw?” he continued his conversation even after the dinner was over and the plates were cleared off.

“I’m not trained. But I thought I could get her started.” Would he object?

“She showed me some drawing and paintings that she said were yours. Were they, really?”

“I am not sure what she showed you.”

“If they were, it is much more than what I would ever have expected.”

“You don’t expect much,” I frowned despite the resolve to stay calm before him. It shouldn’t, but it hurt when he dismissed me like that.

“Ah! The ghost is offended.”

It was better to stay silent.

“On second thoughts though, you don’t look so ghost-like any more. Your face is full and bright and your eyes…”

“Excuse me?”

“Bring me your paintings.”

“My paintings?”

“Yes. If you please?” he added with mock courtesy.

His unexpected comments on my face and eyes unsettled me.  And if truth be told it had set my heart fluttering, though I wouldn’t have acknowledged it even at gunpoint. I withdrew silently in confusion and came back with the paintings. At the same time Ananya came running into the dining room, with her aayah following her.

“Daddy!”

“Annie. Why are you still up?”

“Tomorrow is Sunday, Daddy. I don’t have to go to school.”

“But…”

“I am unable to sleep. Read me a story, please.”

“I have work to do…”

“I will do it,” I interjected, “You can see these, meanwhile.” I handed him the bundle and made to lead Ananya out. I wanted to get away from him.

“Wait. Sit on that sofa with her. Read to her there.”

Ananya like the idea. She would be in her father’s presence even if he would not indulge her by reading to her. I was stuck.

As I read to the child, I also watched him from the corner of my eyes. He looked through the paintings and kept three of them aside. He waited patiently until I had finished reading the first story.

“That’s enough Annie.”

“Daddy. Can I look at the paintings?” The child was in no mood for going to the bed.

“All right. Take these,” he offered her the bundle other than the three he had put aside. Then he addressed the aayah in broken Kannada. “Keep an eye on her and make sure she does not tear them.”

“Yes Sir.”

“Ms. Jacob. Come here.”

Ananya and the aayah settled on the sofa, while I went to the dining table and sat across him.

“What is it here? Is this your church?” he spread one of the paintings between us and asked.

“Yes…”

“But these are not the real surroundings, are they? This jungle?”

“No Sir.”

“Why is it there?”

“You don’t like it?”

“It is well-drawn. But I find it uncomfortable. It doesn’t have the warmth. It vast. You can get lost. I see loneliness here.”

I bit my lips and held my silence. I felt his gaze on me for a few moments, before he turned his attention to another painting.

“And this fort? Which one is this?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” he looked surprised, “How did you draw it then?”

“I don’t know. Is this a real place? I just had this vision in my head. Probably something I had read or might have seen a photo or painting…”

“It looks uncannily like a painting of Chitradurga Fort I had seen. I will take you there sometime.”

He noticed me looking startled and added, “Annie would like it. You could accompany us. And who is this? Father Jacob?” He spread out the third painting.

I nodded.

“His looks are uncommonly kind.”

“He is uncommonly kind…”

“Hmm… I will keep these,” he started folding them away, then stopped for a moment, “Is that okay?” He finally remembered to ask me!

—

To be continued

The Normal Life (Part 4)

Posted Mish4 CommentsPosted in English, Inspired, Protim-Sarah

“Have you been told what you are expected to do here?”

“I have some idea, yes…”

“Hmm…” He looked at me curiously. I didn’t understand his intent. “Are you good with kids?” he asked after a pause.

“We often took care of younger girls in the orphanage.”

“Here you have to focus on her education and development. Be a stimulating companion. The rest of it, Kaveri and Chanda will manage.”

“Yes Sir. Is there anything specific you want me to focus on?”

“Her teachers in Bangalore always complained about her handwriting. It is quite bad. Other than that… I don’t know. She is too young.”

I nodded.

“What the fu…” he stopped short, probably remembering the child’s presence there. “I don’t think one should worry so much about the education of a five-year old…”

My heart sank at that. He didn’t really want me there, then? “How would people like me can get a job, then?” Would making a joke out of it help?

I wasn’t prepared for the way he guffawed. Loud, unselfconscious, almost crude! Surely, I hadn’t been that funny.

“Besides I would be a lousy father,” he said, “If I ignored just how competitive the world out there is. And she isn’t getting exposed to that here.”

If it mattered so much to him, why did he need to shift to this plantation? Shouldn’t he have continued living in Bangalore? “I will do my best, Sir.” It wasn’t my place to ask all those questions.

“I am going to be away during the day. Will be back only late in the evening. Annie must be fed in time.” We had finished eating and were about to get up. I nodded. But she had an aayah. He had just reminded me of that. Why should I worry about feeding her? Then I realized that he wasn’t finished. “But you wait for me for dinner.”

I was taken aback by the request, and in the matter-of-fact manner it was put up. Was it an honor? Or was it an insult to presume that I must wait for him if ordered? Before I could decide, he added, in his by now familiar reluctant tone, “I mean, please. If you don’t mind.”

Pleasantries did not come naturally to him.

—

I was disappointed in Mr. Roychowdhury. I had expected him to be a tall, dark, handsome gentleman. He was short and stocky. Although fair-skinned, he was not handsome by any means. Now don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t hoping to seduce him or anything like that. I knew better than that. He had a daughter, for God’s sake. In fact, if I were looking to seduce him, I wouldn’t have wanted him to be tall, dark and handsome at all. I am as plain a woman as one can be. For myself, if I were ever to wish for a man, my wished would be modest. But for a rich employer, I had expected someone else.  So, yes, I was disappointed. Not only with his looks, but also his manners. That was a something rough and crude about him. Probably I was expecting more of the genteel manners of Father Jacob. Probably my expectations from the outside world were all screwed up.

But there was one positive aspect of this disappointment. I didn’t feel intimated by him the way I would have felt with a tall, dark, handsome gentleman. And that was going to be my undoing.  But I am getting ahead of myself.

—

At dinner he questioned me incessantly. But while the questions about my education and hobbies sounded mechanical, he grew really interested when I told him that I knew nothing about my family.

“Nothing at all? Who had brought you to the orphanage?”

“I don’t know.”

“You must have asked someone?”

“Nobody knew. I was… I was left at the church steps…”

“How old were you?” He was frowning!

“They guessed I was a newborn. Probably a day-old.”

“Don’t’ you wonder…”

“I have always shared my room with at least ten other girls at the orphanage. I wonder what having a room to myself would be like. But you don’t wonder about it, do you?”

“No,” he replied with a barely perceptible smile.

“We don’t question or wonder about what has always been the way of our lives.”

“Are you mad at me? For asking these personal questions?” he sounded uncharacteristically gentle and genuine.

“You are trusting me with your daughter. You have the right to know whatever you want to know about me.”

“I tend to be insensitive at times. I have no right to pry in your personal life…”

“I have no personal life that you cannot find out about by writing to Father Jacob. Or anyone at the orphanage.”

“Nobody has such transparent life.” The moment of gentility was past. He was his sour self again.

“There is nothing in my life that Father Jacob doesn’t know about.”

“Yeah? He has a list of all your boyfriends and…”

“I haven’t had any boyfriends or relationships. And I won’t.”

“You won’t?”

“I won’t, unless I am sure I am getting married and stay in it for life.”

“Stay for life? You are one of those who believe in in ‘till death do us apart’?”

“I do.”

“Do you know about the divorce rates around the world?”

“That doesn’t make it a lesser sin. People live in sin all the time. It’s still a sin.”

“Unbelievable!” he groaned.

I had gone too far! “My religious beliefs are my own though. If you are worried about Ananya, you don’t need to be. My task is limited to her education – the secular education I mean.”

“Hmmm…” he didn’t seem to have heard me. All of a sudden he had withdrawn to a world of his own. He did not speak for the rest of the dinner. Even when I wished him good night, he only nodded absent-mindedly without as much a throwing a glance at me. To think that he had ordered me to wait for him at dinner.

—

Protim

She was scrawny the first time I had seen her. But the comfortable lifestyle, good food and mountain air was suiting her well. Her figure had filled up. And in just the right way. Her cheeks had grown full and rosy. The walks on the mountain roads had increased her stamina and strength.  Her face could not be called beautiful, but she looked refreshed and youthful. A pleasant, sweet aura was present around her

Her improving physique wasn’t the only thing that impressed me. I knew very well that Ananya was an average student. Still Sarah worked with her diligently. She didn’t seem to mind if a spelling needed to be repeated several times for her student. Or if a sum needed to be explained over and over. She had infinite patience. Probably the life in orphanage had done that to her. From waiting in line for food, to putting up with whimsical wardens and teachers, she had learned to take life as it came. I had found out quite a bit about her through our dinner conversations. Her patience showed there too. If she was annoyed by my inquisitiveness, she bore it well. I felt boorish imposing myself of her like that. But I had grown so tired of staying silent that I just couldn’t resist the urge to talk to someone who would understand. But would she understand? Would she care too?

Why would she? I was an obnoxious, employer whom she has to tolerate, just like she tolerated those patrons of orphanage with their noses in the air, or the old, wizened sisters with their ancient notions of how to raise orphan children.

And yet – I couldn’t seem to stop myself from asking her to share my table at dinner and from blabbering on while she sat donning a polite silence, or mumbling the requisite acknowledgements.

—

To be continued

The Normal Life (Part 3)

Posted Mish6 CommentsPosted in English, Inspired, Protim-Sarah

When I came down for tea, there was another young woman in the hall. She spoke Kannada and introduced herself to me. Her name was Kaveri. She was a local woman and worked as Ananya’s aayah. Chanda had too much to look after, as she did all the cooking and cleaning. So, Mr. Roychowdhury had hired Kaveri to look after his daughter.

“Annie baby is sleeping,” she informed me, “And I hope Sir comes before she wakes up. She has been quite cranky today. She would demand to see her Daddy.”

“She is very attached to Mr. Roychowdhury, then.”

“What is a motherless child to do?”

I thought of inquiring about her employer’s routine and when he was expected home that evening. But I checked my curiosity.  It would appear too forward and intrusive for a newcomer. I, instead, focused the conversation on my ward and her mother.

“Her mother is dead?”

“Don’t know.”

“Don’t know?”

“Some people say she’s dead. Some say she ran away. Some say they are divorced. Chanda Auntie doesn’t say anything. So, I don’t know. And I am not really the kind to put my nose in other people’s affairs. All I care about is that Sir is a really good employer. A gentleman.”

‘Unlike his driver,’ I thought as I recalled the man who was supposed to pick me up today. I had been civil with him to the end. But that was only because of the strange circumstances. In any other situation…

I was tired, and at Chanda’s advice went to bed early. Neither Mr. Roychowdhury had returned by then, nor Ananya had woken up. So, I could meet neither of them on my first evening.

—

I slept soundly despite unfamiliar surroundings and the room whose size threatened to gobble me up. I woke up at five by habit. The hilly air was chillier than what I was used to in Bangalore, but not uncomfortable enough to keep me in bed. I got up and washed, then felt puzzled. What was I to do now? No assigned duties?

I looked out of the window. The house was in the middle of a coffee plantation and the vast expanse tempted me to take a walk. I didn’t notice the short figure doubled over amidst the plants and was so startled when he suddenly stood up that I let out a small cry.

“Ah! The ghost again!” my acquaintance from the previous evening exclaimed.

The recognition and the oddity of his remark struck me at the same time. “Excuse me?”

“Good morning, Ms. Jacob.”

“What ghost?”

“I don’t suppose you have cat paws. So, your ability to appear from nowhere without making a sound can only be explained by you being a ghost.”

“I see. You have a penchant for plausible explanations, instead of the exotic.”

“I had wished you ‘good morning’. To think that Annie is supposed to learn from you.”

“Let my employer be the judge of my suitability.”

“Ahan!” an all-knowing smile formed on his lips. “Sure,” he added, “From what I know, he would like to meet you at breakfast.”

“Thank you. Have a good morning.”

—

I struggled between the four dresses I had. Two black ones, one of which I wore at night and was still wearing while on my walk that was cut short.  The other black one I had worn the previous day. One was a cream dress, with a bit of lace. Too festive, I thought with my orphanage standard and settled on the brown one. I redid my hair and applied a little face cream. There was a full-length mirror in the room. I looked at myself critically. Was I ready for Mr. Roychowdhury? Well. This was the best I could do. And anyway. My job was to teach his daughter, not to groom her for some beauty contest. My fashion quotient didn’t matter. I repeated this like a mantra to myself. Deep down, I wanted to impress him, but I knew my limitations. I wasn’t capable of being the fasion-queen. Better be the intellectual, then.

Chanda was setting up the table when I entered the dining room. Kaveri also stepped soon after her. There was no sign of the father or the daughter.

I tried to silently rehearse my introduction, but I only grew nervous.  And the sight of the man who was followed by a child in his tow did nothing to calm my nerves.

His eyes brightened up almost menacingly at my sight. “There Annie. That’s your new friend,” he addressed the child, “Ghost Teacher.”

“Ghost?”

“See. You scare her,” he looked back at me with a crooked smile, as he helped the child into a chair.

“You are the one scaring her with this nonsense,” I replied with a sharpness I hadn’t imagined using with my employer. But he hadn’t given me time to collect myself and give a studied reaction. “Hello Ananya. I am Sarah.”

“Are you a ghost?”

“Do I look like one?”

“I don’t know. I have never seen a ghost.”

“And one never sees a ghost. If you can see me, I am not a ghost.”

“Daddy?” the child won’t be satisfied unless she heard it from her father.

“I was joking, Annie,” he replied not angrily, but impatiently.

“And she can speak English?”

“Yes. She can,” he replied to her daughter, then explained to me, “Most people here, including our staff, speak Kannada. She doesn’t know Kannada. Never needed to learn it in Bangalore. I myself know only a little. I hope you know…”

“Yes. Of course, I know Kannada.” And that’s when it struck me. Why had I expected the driver of the house of speak impeccable English? That should have been the giveaway that he was… my employer. I could feel the blush creeping on my cheek. Just then my eyes met his and it seemed that he had read my thoughts and was thoroughly amusing himself at my expense. I wouldn’t give him that pleasure. I willed myself to appear normal.

He had already taken his seat by now. “Sit down,” he ordered me unceremoniously. Then frowned and added a reluctant-sounding, “Please.”

“Thank you.”

I knew even as I was eating that I was being gluttonous. But I just could not help ravishing the hot breakfast of idli, bread and egg with fruits. It wasn’t very often that we got to eat such delicious food to our heart’s and stomach’s content at Home of Hope. Everything was rationed there. Chanda might not be a Kannadiga or South Indian, but her idli’s were soft, and sambhar delectable. And she had made enough to feed the entire orphanage. For at least ten minutes I had as good as forgotten other people on the table – my employer and my ward. And Kaveri who was helping Ananya eat. And Chanda who was bringing more eggs, toasted bread and sambhar to the table.

Mr. Roychowdhury must have noticed how greedily I was eating. He waited until I had finished eating and had picked up coffee to speak to me about the job.

—

To be continued

The Normal Life (Part 2)

Posted Mish5 CommentsPosted in English, Inspired, Protim-Sarah

I got down from the bus at a stop before the town of Madikeri. I was expecting someone to meet me there. The village, I had been told, was about six kilometers from that stop. It was better to stop there than going all the way to Madikeri, as that would have taken me four kilometers further from my destination. But I didn’t see anybody who was looking for me. It wasn’t a particularly busy stop. Other passengers who had disembarked with me dispersed soon and I found myself alone. There was only a small coffee shop at some distance from the bus stop shelter. At first I waited patiently, but grew anxious when half an hour passed.  The sunset hour was looming. It couldn’t be safe for me to be there for much longer.

Trying to appear unabashed and nonchalant, I walked to the coffee shop and got myself a cup of meter coffee. I asked the shopkeeper about my destination – Hojukeri. It was six kilometers from there, as I already knew. No bus would be available until next morning. Could I walk? Yes. I could take the way through fields so that I would have two kilometers less to walk. But if I was a stranger to the area, taking the mud road was a better option. It was the fourth village along the road. I sipped my coffee slowly, hoping that the shopkeeper would offer some more assistance, in some way. But he was an absent-minded man, who didn’t mind answering the questions that were put to him, but paid no further attention to me. A young woman asking about a village so difficult to reach at this hour, with nobody to accompany her, did not pique his interest as it would normally have done for anybody else in his position.

Realizing that no further help, or information, was forthcoming, I gulped down the rest of my coffee, tendered exact change for him, and set off to the village. I should have been afraid that that I might reach the wrong place, or never reach there, or given that nobody came to fetch me, I might no longer be wanted there. But I wasn’t thinking of such possibilities. I was solely concentrated on reaching where I had to. I put my arms through my bag’s strap and made a makeshift backpack out of the duffle bag. It wasn’t as comfortable as a regular backpack would be. But it would be less tiring in my six kilometers walk than having to carry it in my hands or one of the shoulders.

—

Apart from an occasional worker returning after the day’s labour, and a few stray animals, I didn’t have any company for first two kilometers of my on-foot journey. So, a jeep occupying a good portion of the narrow road was bound to draw my attention. I stopped in my tracks.

“What bloody roads…” A man appearing from the driver’s side of the jeep startled me.  He also noticed me, but didn’t show any signs of being embarrassed about his swearing. “Yes?” he asked her gruffly.

“Has your jeep broken down?” I asked.

“No. I like camping out. In the middle of a road hardly wide enough for my jeep.”

“Oh…. What?”

“Do you lack basic common sense, Miss? Of course, it is broken down. But you are walking, right? You can just go around it. You need not complain.”

“I… I was just asking if you need some help.”

“Are you a mechanic?”

“No.”

“I thought so. Leave now.”

I frowned and made to leave.

“Excuse me,” he stopped me.

“Yes?”

“Are you carrying a phone?”

“No.”

“Not carrying a phone? In this time and age? Heights of uselessness.”

“Excuse me?” his inexplicable rudeness got on even my orphanage-trained patient nerves, “Why aren’t you yourself carrying one, then?”

“Because…”

“I am sure you have a reason. And a lame one on top of that. So, please do allow for the possibility that others have their reasons too.”

“I see. What kind of reasons they may be?” Later I would know that he was amused at this point, but then I was too angry to notice.

“Like people can’t afford it…” I stopped short. Why was I talking like this to a stranger? My only concern was to offer help. And if he didn’t want any… But I could try once more. “Anyway. If you want to call someone, I could go to a phone booth…”

“The nearest one is three kilometers away.”

“I have to walk for at least four kilometers this way. So, if you can give me the number and message…”

“Where are you going?”

“Hojukeri?”

“Where in Hojukeri? Where are you coming from?”

“I am not comfortable telling a stranger all about myself.”

“If I wanted to abduct you, I would have done that already. But you have yourself declared that you have no money. So, what will I take the risk for? Anything else you can give, there are less dangerous ways of getting that.”

I flushed. And if only to hide my embarrassment, replied to his question, “I am coming from Bangalore. I have to go to Mr. Roychowdhury’s farmhouse.”

“Sarah Jacob?”

“How… how do you know?”

“It’s you I was supposed to pick up. But the jeep broke down…”

“Oh!”

“Would you mind babysitting this monster,” he pointed to the jeep, “While I go and make some arrangements to send you to your destination? And also to fix this?”

I hadn’t realized that I was subconsciously so anxious about my situation. Knowing that my future employer hadn’t just abandoned me gave me such relief that I did not refuse his rude driver’s offer even for formality’s sake. I no longer fancied walking, not even for another hundred meters. So, I nodded at him. He left once I was safely inside the jeep.

—

He came back in an old, rickety ambassador accompanied by a driver and a mechanic. He asked me to go home with the driver. Presumably he’d follow after getting the jeep fixed.

At home I was met by the housekeeper – Chanda. She was a kind-looking, elderly woman.  But she spoke mostly Bengali and some broken Hindi. I spoke Kannada and English, and extremely broken Hindi. Communication was going to be a funny, when not problematic!

But there was something inviting about her. She was, obviously, glad to have me there and showed me around enthusiastically. The tour ended when we reached the room on the first floor that was to be mine. With gestures and both our broken Hindi, we managed to understand each other. She was inviting me for tea after I had freshened up.

The idea of a room to myself, with an attached bathroom to top that, felt unreal. There was too much space… Just for me… What was I to do with this? How was I to stay alone? Over time I came to love the privacy I had for the first time in my life. But it was a bewildering idea just then.

To be continued

The Normal Life (Part 1)

Posted Mish5 CommentsPosted in English, Inspired, Protim-Sarah

Sarah

“Thank you, Father,” my voice cracked.

“You are welcome anytime, my child,” Father Jacob smiled fondly.

“Father. You must know… That I am not running away from God or His work…”

“Sarah! You cannot take what Sister Nivedita says to heart. You know how she is. But she doesn’t mean any harm.”

“I know that, Father. But what you think and say matters…”

“You are a restless soul, Sarah…”

“Because I don’t have enough faith?”

“Don’t berate yourself, my child. All work is God’s work. You don’t have to be in church to be of service to Him. Nor do you have to be a wife to do your duty towards mankind. The avenues are endless. And if you want to choose one to your liking, there is nothing wrong in it.”

“You are reassuring, as always.”

“I am not faking it, if that’s what you imply. You are going to help a motherless child. I can’t think of a nobler thing to do. And I am sure you will not give Mr. Roychowdhury a reason to complain.”

“I will not, Father.”

“God bless you, my child. Have a good night’s sleep. You have to leave tomorrow morning.”

—

But sleep eluded me. I had always wanted it. To get out of the confines of the church-run orphanage. To live a ‘normal’ life. I wasn’t exactly unhappy at the orphanage. But the idea of a ‘normal’ life had tempted me. I had never known that normal life. Home of Hope – the orphanage – had been my home since I was a day-old baby. Rumor had it that I must be from a well-to-do family. Father Jacob, then a much younger Brother Jacob, had found me on the steps of the church on a cold Saturday morning. I must have been fed well before being abandoned. Because I was sleeping soundly in a well-padded basket, beneath an old, but expensive, warm baby blanket.

Not everyone at the Home of Hope was like me though. Some had been with their families before they were orphaned, their guardians succumbing to diseases, poverty, crime, drugs or other unspeakable circumstances. Most of them did not have pleasant stories to tell about their earlier lives. Orphanage authorities had a tough time trying to rid them of the influences of that period – habits of swearing, stealing, physical aggression and what not.

But it was none of their lives that represented normal life to me. Whatever vague idea I had of it was from Vineeta. I was five years old, when she had come to Home of Hope. She must be a year older to me, and her parents had died unexpectedly, in a car accident.

She had been so frail, so vulnerable. She cried all the time, asked for her parents and barely ate. When she did come to terms with the death of her parents after a about a week, it was with me that she talked the most. She told me about her parents, her house, how her mother cooked for everyone and fed her lovingly, how her father always brought gifts for her and loved her. She didn’t have chores to do, she did not have to make her own bed, and she could always eat whatever, or how much ever she wanted. The only time her parents admonished her about food was if she ate too little.

Few days later, Vineeta was gone. Her maternal Uncle came and took her away. She still had a family. She needn’t stay in an orphanage.

She had barely been a part of my life for two weeks. But she had given me an itch for a lifetime. The itch to have a normal life outside the orphanage.

Once the girls of the orphanage grew up, there were usually two respectful ways for them to settle their lives. They either got married, usually into lower-middle class Christian families, with the help of the patrons of church. Or they took up church duties, often choosing to become nuns. Them taking up jobs was a recent development and still very rare. Most old-timers, Sister Nivedita being one of them, frowned upon it. Surprisingly though, it was the oldest and the senior-most Father Jacob who supported the choice of these girls. I was a beneficiary of his generosity. He wouldn’t say it in so many words, but he worried about me more than the other girls. Because of what he called the ‘restlessness of my soul.’ He had himself looked out for a job for me. This job had been recommended by a long-time trusted friend of his. Mr. Protim Roychowdhury was a friend of this friend. He had recently bought a plantation at a small village near Coorg and had shifted there with his five-year-old daughter. He wanted a home-tutor for her. He did not trust the local school education much. He needed someone who could stay with them. Not many city educated women fancied staying in a village, howsoever scenic the hills and plantation might be. As for me, I had to start a normal life. If it was to start in a hilly village in Coorg, so be it. Father Jacob was satisfied with my position, as it would not throw me out in the big, bad world at once. I would be at someone’s house and could transition gradually.

But, would it all work out?

—

“We could have sent someone with you, Sarah,” Father Jacob offered once again.

“I will be fine, Father. I really will be,” I assured him yet again.

It was time to take leave from my friends, teachers and caretakers. I felt guilty. I wasn’t as emotional as I had seen the other girls become when the time to leave came. It had been my home for twenty years. But all I could feel was anxiety, trepidation and expectation of what was to come. The thought of leaving all these people behind did not bother me. The only exception was that little tug at my heart about Father Jacob. Let me not be modest and declare the truth. I had been his favorite. He had found me and had saved my life when I was abandoned at the church steps. He had been my friend, philosopher and guide. He had given me his name. I was Sarah Jacob. And this Sarah Jacob was now going out – to live a normal life.

Those who have not been in my position would not understand my excitement about moving from a city like Bangalore to a village in hills. Going from a happening place to a stagnant one. But I was excited. What mattered to me was that I was going out of the orphanage and would live my life on my own. A real life!

To be continued

Next-door (Part 15)

Posted Mish7 CommentsPosted in Antara-Mrinal, English, Original

But she did not stop. “And then I remembered. That frantic afternoon. When I had realized that my diary was missing. I was scared. Terrified. What if it reached Chachiji? What if Chachaji had picked it up thinking it was his? Because he used so many of the company diaries? Even though Pikku was sympathetic to me, what would he think, if he read it? How ungrateful I would sound towards his parents! Worst still what if some neighbour had it…”

“Antara. Stop, please….”

“Then I realized that it had happened before the wedding talks cropped up! Wedding talks that had taken the diary off my mind. Because I was probably more scared about the wedding than the diary.”

Mrinal looked at her puzzled. What was she rambling about? Where was this going?

“Scared about the wedding?” he muttered.

“Have you ever known that fear, Mrinal? When you effortlessly get something you could only have dreamed about, but knew that you did not deserve. And you are scared that someone will come any moment, tell you that it was a mistake and take it away?”

Mrinal could do nothing but stare at her wide-eyed.

“I was that scared. It was through your mother’s constant complaints, but I had come to know so much about you. And had liked everything she complained about. I should have been jumping about with glee during the wedding, except that the fear was gnawing at me. How could you have decided to marry me? You had been resisting all pressure from your mother and family, because you won’t blindly enter into a marriage with someone you didn’t know or like. And you knew nothing about me. It wasn’t even possible to think about love.  My broken heart was not the only thing I had to worry about if you changed your mind. Chachiji’s heart would have been broken a thousand times over and it would all have come out on me. Her constant lecturing about how to behave myself before you had worn me down so much that I thought I did everything wrong in that one meeting we had. But you were cool about it. It calmed my nerves down a bit, but the question was still looming large. All the love, respect, happiness, encouragement you gave me… you made me so happy, Mrinal. But I had really not taken you seriously on your claim that you knew more about me than I thought. How could you? And the question bothered me. Every now and then. Sending me into panic in the moments I was alone. Then you came home, smiled at me, spoiled me, pampered me, and loved me. And I forgot everything else. Until at some point of time it again raised its ugly head. And so it went on. I didn’t ask you. I was too afraid that you would suddenly accept and realize that you got into it with your eyes closed and need to walk out. And as I thought about all this, I looked at the diary again. This little thing…  This had all the answers, did it not? You had read it before deciding, hadn’t you?”

Mrinal nodded, still looking guilty. “It is not a justification. But yes that’s what had happened.”

“Don’t ever do that again.”

“I won’t. Antara. But can I assume that you have forgiven me this time?”

“I owe my life’s happiness to this abominable act of yours,” she smiled through her moist eyes. Her face was still puffy from her recent crying, “What choice do I have?”

“I had gone crazy, Antara. To be doing this…”

“How crazy?”

“Mad crazy. Desperate crazy. Uncontrollable teenager crazy,” he replied and tightened his arms around her, “I will explain. But later. I have been through hell in last couple of hours. I need assurance.”

She pulled away for a bit. “I’m sorry,” she said somberly, “For worrying you about the diary so much. I had sorted through it. I had come out to tell you that it was okay… But then… Bad fiction happened.” She smiled looking repentant for his pain.

“I deserved worse, much worse. You know you talked about the fear. Of losing something that you got effortlessly, and didn’t think you deserve. I have that fear now, Antara. Of losing you…”

“I am not going anywhere,” she said and leaned into him.

He lowered her on the sofa along with himself. He didn’t have the patience to go to the bedroom.

“So, my mother’s complaints had made you fall in love with me?” he asked in an amused voice as they lay spent on the sofa later. There was only so much space there, and she was lying on top of him, her head resting on his heaving, sweaty chest.

“I know it is weird…” she replied sheepishly.

“Hmm… Yeah… I think weirder than falling in love because of a diary.”

“Don’t tease me.”

“But is that true? You were in love with me?” he asked earnestly this time.

She raised her head a bit to look at him. He expected some smart reply. But she just looked into his eyes and said with a smile, “Yes.” Then she went back to resting her head on his chest.

“So, what have we been? Soul-mates, growing up as next-door neighbours, woefully unaware of our destinies?” he said somewhat philosophically.

“Not exactly next-door. But yeah…”

“How did I never notice you?”

“You were too busy running away.”

“I guess so. You had seen me around?”

“Of course. Everybody knew you.”

“I told you right, I had gone crazy. It was not a figure of speech. I can’t explain what had happened to me when I had seen you walking in with tea.”

“What?”

“I was attracted. Fatally attracted. I had never felt like this even for a hot teacher in school,” he chuckled, drawing a soft laughter from her too. “But… you didn’t show any signs of even noticing me until I had spoken about the sugar.”

“I was nervous. And Chachiji’s insult didn’t help either,” her voice grew sad as she remembered how Mrs. Gupta had treated her that day.

“Hey. I am sorry,” he recognized the change of her voice, “I didn’t mean to remind you… I am really sorry.”

“Don’t be. All that is past. Thanks to you,” he could hear smile in her voice again and took a deep breath.

He then went on to tell her about what he had done the next morning; how he had seen her paintings and gotten hold of her diary.

“I regretted doing that so much. But I was also too tempted to not read it,” he explained at the end.

She just kissed his chest in reply.

He suddenly remembered something. “Antara. Do you feel financially insecure?”

“Huh? Where did that come from?”

He nudged her and they both sat up.

“When you were angry…” he spoke cautiously, “You had said something like you had no one to go to. And you were not financially independent. Is that why you have been doing those portraits?”

She bit her lips and shook her head.

“Is there something I should know?”

“I… just… But no. This has nothing to do with us, Mrinal. I feel absolutely safe and secure with you. Financially or otherwise.”

“Tell me, whatever it is.”

“You believe that everyone should be financially independent, irrespective of gender, family money etc. I think that is right thinking. And I also wanted to be…” she hesitated before adding, “good enough for you.”

“But I also believe that we can’t sell our souls for money, Antara. You don’t like doing those portraits. Do you?”

“I have started hating them.”

“It may not make as much money, but there are other ways of finding financial security. Gallery sales are picking up. Plus… you have a reputation now. You could teach painting.”

Her eyebrows knit together as she thought about it. “I probably have a bias towards the profession of teaching,” he said somewhat apologetically, “But I am sure we can find other options as well. You are psychology graduate. You could get trained as a counsellor…”

“Do you think I can teach?” she interrupted.

“Of course. With your talent and patience, you would be a great teacher.”

She smiled.

“Settled then?”

She nodded, “I am going to return the advance for a job I was commissioned for.”

“Great,” he said and was about the lie down again, but she stopped him.

“We should go to Raksha and tell her about our plan. She would be anxious.”

“Are you really, really sure about this, Antara?”

“Yes. Although….”

“Although?”

“She is your daughter, Mrinal. That’s enough for me and I promise that I will love her like mine. But I do want to carry your child,” she blushed and gulped hard as she finished, but she managed to say it in one breath.

He bent forward and kissed her on forehead, “At this point, Antara, you could have asked me to walk on burning coal. And I would have agreed. This is much nobler! You are too kind.”

“I know all your apprehensions about parenting and children, Mrinal. But I think it’s those apprehension that will help us be good as parents. We will be cautious.”

“It is your sensitivity that will help us be good. Let’s go.”

– The End –

Next-door (Part 14)

Posted Mish1 CommentPosted in Antara-Mrinal, English, Original

“Raksha. I… I need time,” he said miserably.

She nodded and left immediately. This wasn’t exactly a visit that would attract prolonged goodbyes.

Antara also made to go away to the bedroom once Raksha left.

“Antara,” Mrinal cried desperately, “Talk to me. Say something. Shout at me… Berate me… Hit me… Kill me, if you want, but don’t walk away. Don’t fall silent. Please…”

She stopped, but did not speak.

“This has been a horrible day, Antara,” his spoke more calmly as he walked close to her and stood facing her, “Your trust in me would be broken. And some of it is difficult even for me to grasp. But God is my witness, Antara, that I have loved you like I didn’t know I was capable of loving. If you have felt that love even for a moment in last few months, please don’t just shun me and end it all. Please give me one more chance and I will explain what I can and atone for others in whichever way you want me to. Please don’t finish our story, Antara…”

“Do I have a choice?” tears clouded her eyes, “I do not have any parents to go back to. I am not financially and emotionally strong like Raksha to live alone…”

“Antara!”

“That is the reality of my situation.”

Oh God! How bitter she was. She, who had never uttered a word of complaint against her fate, who had put up with all wrongs and all the hypocrisies of people around her with a smile…

“No,” he said emphatically, “That is not the reality of your situation. You may reject me emotionally, Antara. But even then, legally speaking, whatever is mine is yours. At least half of it. And your art career is taking off. And once you tell my parents what my past is like, they will take you in like your parents wouldn’t have.  Not having support is not the reality of your situation. But that will be my reality, if you go away. You don’t need to, Antara, but I am begging you to stay.”

“I need time,” she echoed what he had said to Raksha and went back to the bedroom.

Mrinal slumped on the sofa with nothing to do but reflect on what was going on. The diary issue was one kind of bad… But what about this daughter that had suddenly cropped up. This was the unsolvable kind of bad for their relationship. What was he going to do? How was he going to resolve it all? Was it resolvable? Who should he do right by? His daughter? She is young, and helpless. But he didn’t even know of her existence till an hour ago. Or Antara, who he had married of his own accord and whom he had given so much hope?

—

He was still on the sofa with his arm flung across his forehead covering his eyes.

“What do you plan to do?” she asked.

He got up with a start. “I… I am sorry. About?”

“About Raksha? About that little girl?”

“Antara I… I don’t know. Even if she is my daughter, it’s not her that I am thinking about right now. It’s you. I probably sound like a horrible person, but I am not going to lose you for her sake. I will make whatever arrangement I have to make for her. Send her to a hostel. To an orphanage. To someplace…” Antara looked stunned. “And if I am wrong,” he continued, correct me. If I am right, support me. But don’t leave me alone, Antara. Please…”

“She has her father. Why should she be sent to someplace… to live like an orphan?”

“What good a father like me will do to her? If I couldn’t keep a woman with simple pleasures like you happy, what good will I do to a child who will have infinite demands growing up?”

Antara stood silent with her eyes downcast.

Mrinal fell on his knees startling her. He touched her for the first time during the conversation by holding her hand, “I am a flawed man, Antara. But if there is one reason in my life to try and become better, it is you. Before I met you, I couldn’t have imagined saying this for anyone, but I will not be able to live without you. Please save my life. My soul.”

Antara also kneeled to face him and started crying. They didn’t know who initiated it first, but soon both of them were crying in each other’s arms. Antara was hurt; she needed a shoulder to cry on. Mrinal was scared to the bones at the possibility of losing her. He needed a shoulder to cry on. Who else could they have gone to? They had each other; and only each other.

—

“I didn’t know about her, Antara… I don’t even know how it happened. I was always cautious…” they were sitting on the sofa, more collected now.

“Raksha herself admitted that it was her carelessness… ”

“You really think she is my… I would have gone ahead with DNA test…”

“She wasn’t lying, Mrinal.”

“What do I do?” he was agitated.

“We need to adopt her… Formally…”

“We?”

“Who else?”

“This isn’t you mess to clean, Antara,” he said in a low, drowning voice…

“If we are together, Mrinal, we are together in everything. And do you really think I can leave a little girl to be orphaned when it is in my power to prevent it? I might not be big-hearted woman. But this… this situation is too close to heart…”

“You are a big-hearted woman,” Mrinal said with a finality that did not leave any scope for further discussion.

“We are adopting her, then?”

“When you are ready, how can I… Oh God! Antara. I am nervous. Really nervous. I wasn’t prepared for this? I am not prepared…”

“You are a caring man. You will make a great father.”

He grew too overwhelmed to say anything. He just hugged her tight. So tight that she thought he would make love to her right then. But he withdrew.

“This looks like bad fiction, Antara. How could two revelations that could destroy me, happen on the same day. But… if you accept this for me, you would probably forgive me about the diary…”

“I felt violated… And betrayed…” her tone suddenly became solemn.

He kept his eyes downcast like a guilty child and nodded; accepting that she was right in feelings so.

“For a while I could not reconcile with the idea that you… you who has given me so much respect as a person… would do something like this to me…”

Mrinal closed his eyes and pressed his temple, as if unable to take in all she was implying.

“You aren’t that kind of person; that much I know by now. You wouldn’t go around reading people’s diaries for voyeuristic pleasures. What was it then, I wondered. Did you not trust me? Were you looking for the past ghosts… the relationships that I had denied…”

“Oh God! Antara. Please stop,” Mrinal cried miserably. Even if justified, her accusations were going beyond his tolerance. Why weren’t the right words coming to his lips? Surely there was some way of explaining this that will absolve him of such sinister motives.

—

To be continued

Next-door (Part 13)

Posted Mish1 CommentPosted in Antara-Mrinal, English, Original

One thing had led to another and some of Antara’s paintings had found a place in one of the city’s most prestigious galleries. One of the paintings there was a portrait she had created of Mrinal. She didn’t usually do portraits. But she had wanted to make one of him.

“You are making me famous,” he had joked when that painting was accepted in the gallery.

“It is the other way round,” she had protested, “It is because I painted you that I might become famous.”

“Amen to that!”

Some of her paintings started selling too. And a few were licensed for use in designs.

And then a request came from one the prominent industrialists of the city. He had seen her portrait of Mrinal and wanted her to do a portrait of his wife as a birthday gift from him. She wasn’t sure initially. She hadn’t practiced portraits extensively, nor was she trained. But the price he had named was beyond anything she had hoped to make anytime soon. After initial hesitation she agreed. When she asked for Mrinal’s advice, he told her to decide for herself. He trusted that she would do all right either way.

She wasn’t sure if it was the elite society’s appreciation of art, or just the copycat tendencies, but after that portrait, she started getting requests for many more.

—

“You haven’t painted anything new in a while,” Mrinal said. He had noticed that all his time was going in doing portraits and was not happy about it. But he didn’t say anything to her directly. If she enjoyed it, he wouldn’t interfere.

“Not getting any time at all. Haven’t even finished the book I had you issue from the library. You have to return it, right?”

“I can re-issue it when you have time. Are you enjoying all these portrait assignments?”

She sighed. “No. Doing your portrait was different. These things are… mechanical, calculated. I am finding myself touching up the paintings to make them look good in it. It is an ego-boosting exercise for rich, jobless women.”

“Don’t do it, then, Antara.”

“They pay so well.”

“But… Hadn’t you always wanted a life where your expressions were not bounded by other people’s ego?”

She looked startled. “When… did… I… say that?”

Mrinal himself jolted back. He had made the mistake of his life. She had never said that… It was in her diary. Should he lie? Should he claim that she had indeed said that sometime or the other and try to get away with it? Or should he treat this as the opportunity, the right time? To confess his misdemeanor of stealing and reading her diary?

He took a deep breath, preparing himself for the worst, leaned away from her, and said, “Please try not to get mad…” He took out the diary from his pocket. He still kept it with him all the time; only skillfully slipping it under his pillow or into his side of the drawer at night.

Antara was so shocked; she couldn’t react at all for a while.

“Antara… I know how this looks… But please…”

She gave him a perplexed and pained look; then ran off to their bedroom.

“Antara… Please, talk to me…”

The doorbell rang just then distracting him and he stopped for a moment. She had locked herself in the room by then. Mrinal stood there motionless and stupefied. The doorbell rang again. He listlessly walked to the door and opened it.

“Raksha?” she was the last person he would have liked to see at that moment, “What are you doing here?”

“Wow!” she smiled nervously, “That was… I think I am disturbing you… I should have called…”

He realized immediately that he had been extremely rude. “I… I’m sorry. Please come in,” he tried to talk as calmly as possible. What was Antara thinking? What would she do now? Even as he led Raksha inside, his thoughts were so consumed by his wife that he didn’t notice a barely two-year old girl tumbling along in her tow, until they sat down on the sofa. Even then he didn’t think much of the child.

“Antara is not around?” Raksha asked cautiously.

“No… Umm… Yes… I mean she is in the bedroom. She isn’t feeling well.”

“Oh! Nothing serious, I hope.”

“No. Nothing… serious… I think… I will see if she is awake…” he wanted some alibi, any alibi to go check on her.

“No. No Mrinal. Let her take rest. Actually we can spare her. I came here because I had something really important to talk to you about.”

Mrinal stared at her. It had been two years. Despite the ups and downs they had parted on good terms. But they hadn’t kept in touch. He hadn’t seen her after that until that chance meeting in Mauritius. What important could she have to talk to him about?

“Mrinal… I… I am not well… Actually I am dying…”

“What? What did you say?” That was shocking enough to distract him from Antara at least for the time being.

“Lung cancer… All that smoking… I won’t survive it…”

“Don’t say that. I’m sure there is something…”

“I’m not worried about myself, Mrinal… Not any longer… Impending death makes you humble… It is Mahi that I am worried about…”

“Mahi?”

Raksha picked up the girl who had fallen silent in strange surroundings and put her on her lap. “Mahi. My daughter.”

“Oh! I… I didn’t know you were… We have been out of touch all this while… Where is her father?”

She took a deep breath and a long pause before speaking. “You are her father.”

Mrinal literally jumped in shock. “That is a bad joke, Raksha,” he grew angry.

Raksha seated Mahi on the sofa and stood up herself. “Your shock and disbelief are reasonable, Mrinal. But…”

“Reasonable? What is reasonable about any of this? If what you are saying is right, why didn’t I know all this time? You can’t just come up with some…”

“I realized I was pregnant after we had broken up. You were always so careful. It was my fault, when I had said it was safe… So, I didn’t want to burden you. And I couldn’t get myself to abort… But life… luck isn’t helping me. If I am gone… my family doesn’t even want to acknowledge her presence. I am being selfish by bringing you into this now… But where do I take her? She is too young…”

Mrinal stared at the child. Perplexed and Pained. Was that how Antara felt when she saw the diary with him? And how will she feel when she sees the child? His child? But he didn’t feel anything about the girl. No natural fatherly emotion claimed him. He was just confounded, annoyed and angry.

“Humiliating as it is to me, Mrinal, you can go ahead with a DNA test…”

“That isn’t needed…” Antara’s voice surprised them both.

“Antara…” Mrinal tried to say something, but words refused to come out of his throat.

“Look at her eyes. And nose,” Antara continued in a flat voice, “No DNA test is needed.”

Mrinal hadn’t thought of trying to match the physical features. He hadn’t thought of anything at all. The idea just wasn’t sinking in. But Antara had just finalized it. There would be no running away now. But… where was he to go? What was he to do?

—

To be continued

Next-door (Part 12)

Posted MishLeave a commentPosted in Antara-Mrinal, English, Original

When Mrinal entered the bedroom that night, he found Antara looking thoughtful.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she managed to smile at him.

“Tired? There were many people.”

She hadn’t cooked. Mrinal hadn’t agreed to it. It would be too exhausting, he had insisted. So, he had only made some kheer for dessert and rest of the food had been ordered from outside. Unlike him social interaction did not tire her out. But that was the best alibi to explain her subdued mood.

“Yes.”

He snuggled up close to her. “How tired?” he asked with a mischievous look in his eyes. He needed his fix. And probably today even she could do with a fix.

“Not that tired,” she replied and put her arms around him. But her body did not respond to the foreplay. They both felt it.

“What is it, Antara?” his control and ability to withdraw surprised her more than his vigor.

“Nothing. You… don’t need to stop…”

“Come on. You know me better than that.”

“I don’t know, Mrinal,” she felt miserable, “Probably… Just…” she hesitated. They hadn’t yet had any occasion to talk about it, “I am expecting my periods soon. I might not be feeling well because of that…”

“Oh! Why are you so miserable about it, you stupid girl. Just tell me. It is true that I can never have enough of you. But it is truer that I hate seeing you in discomfort.”

“I know,” she said. Whatever emotion she was feeling, it was overwhelming her and she feared that tears would betray her. Partly to hide the tears from him, and partly to feel the warmth of his embrace, she buried her head in his chest. He reached out and switched off the lights; then slipped down on the bed while holding her in his embrace.

“Why did you marry me, Mrinal?” she asked quietly.

“Because,” his reply was unhesitant and firm, “I had fallen in love with you.”

The next day her periods indeed started and neither of them were put to the love-making test. She started working on another painting and Mrinal looked like an excited child waiting for the cookies to be baked!

—

Few days later, Mrinal was ecstatic when he came back. “Guess who called me today.”

“Who?”

“Remember Arti Sinha?”

“Yeah. Very well.”

“She wants to use your painting on the cover of her publication’s upcoming book. It’s a collection of literary short stories.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I told her that you will call back to talk further and confirm if you want this. But I guess… you would want this, won’t you?”

“This is so unexpected. But yeah… Any reason I shouldn’t want this?”

“None!” he kissed her forehead. “I am really proud of you, Antara. You should never underestimate yourself.”

Her eyes grew moist. He wasn’t only playing the role of a lover and husband in her life. But also that of the parents she had long lost. Parents who would have cared about her. He had gone a step ahead and was playing the parent she wouldn’t have had even if her biological parents were alive. Because while they had cared about her, she had no reason to believe that their ultimate aim would have been any different than that of her uncle and aunt. To get her married and settled. They would have encouraged her painting because it made for a good matrimonial ad. But this man saw in her the person she was. Beyond being his wife.

She hugged him and rubbed her face against his chest.

“Don’t do that,” his voice was hoarse and he pushed her slightly, “Not unless you are ready.”

She leaned towards him again and kissed his chest. He dragged her to bed without even waiting to change. Antara could feel elation in his love-making.

—

“Just switch that thing off. It is so depressing,” Mrinal complained.

“It is. But it is also the reality.”

They had been watching a crime show on TV, which was supposedly based on real incidents. That episode was about a couple whose abuse and neglect led to the death of their baby girl.

“Yes. And you know what is the most sickening part of it all. That our society makes us believe that we all must have children. And every Tom, Dick, Harry goes about producing babies.”

“Should it be dictated by some authorities who can or cannot have babies?”

“Why not? Come to think of it. If you want to adopt, you have to bend over backwards to prove that you will be an able and a good parent. But if you just decide to have babies, there is no need to prove your parenting abilities. How logical is that?”

Antara found his statement strange. “That’s pretty harsh. Isn’t wanting children a natural thing?”

“I am not so sure, Antara.”

“How so?”

“Come to think of it. Why do most people around us have children? Because it is considered natural. Now, there is indeed a Darwinian urge to multiply and gain dominance for your species. But humans are so evolved that their contribution to their species’ dominance is not limited to producing children. Even if many of us don’t have children, we contribute in other ways. By making the world a better and safer place for fellow humans. So, even with lesser reproduction rate, the species would do fine. But let’s forget something as obscure as Darwin. Just think of all the parents around us. What do they do with their children apart from taking care of them? They boast about them, show them off. It’s silly. Because every parent goes ga-ga over the same set of things every normal child does. What is really happening is that after a point in life, people do not know what more to do with their lives. But there is a need to feel important, successful. Children become a way to fulfill that need. They can’t continue being happy about their own abilities that have stopped developing. Nor do they have any significant achievement to show off. They don’t have a purpose in life either, which will keep them busy. So, they take pride in their children’s developing abilities and achievements. In most cases the abilities and achievements of their children is not significantly different from others of the same age and background. But that little fact is easily ignored. The children become the purpose that they otherwise don’t have. And then they start thinking that they have done some kind of favour to their kids by bringing them in this world and doing all those ‘wonderful’ things for them. But firstly – most parents are quite mediocre at parenting, no better than the next door mediocre parent. Secondly – it was your fucking decision to bring the child to this world. Why should he or she be under some kind of debt? Indian parents are the worst offenders here. The entire thing is so unhealthy from the very beginning that it is doomed. You shouldn’t have a baby, unless you can be a good parent. And have the time as well as resources.”

He was almost panting in excitement when he finished his long monologue. Antara’s amazed stare made him self-conscious.

“I sounded weird, didn’t I?” he gave a self-deprecating smile.

She shook her head and broke into a smile, “No. Just rational. And brutally honest, as usual.”

He chuckled; then turned serious. “Anyway. You needn’t worry. We don’t have to decide now. We have time.”

That made her blush.

“And thank God we live in an era when birth control is possible. So, abstinence is not exactly required,” he grinned and pulled her towards him.

—

To be continued

Next-door (Part 11)

Posted MishLeave a commentPosted in Antara-Mrinal, English, Original

It was their last day in Mauritius. Antara had told him that she was expected to buy gifts for everybody at home. So, they were going out for shopping. As they were leaving the resort, she realized that she had forgotten her sunglasses. She went back to the room to get it, while Mrinal waited in the lobby. He was talking to a woman almost his own age, when she came out. Mrinal introduced them. “This is Antara, my wife. Antara. This is Raksha. We went to the same university for post-graduation.”

“But I am not a nerd like him,” Raksha interrupted smiling.

“No. She is an MBA and a tough business woman.”

Antara would remember her as a tall, beautiful and confident-looking woman. “Nice to meet you Raksha. Do you stay in Mauritius?”

“No. I am also based in Mumbai. I am here for some work.”

“Oh. Staying here?”

“No. In a hotel closer to the city. But a client wanted a meeting here. So…”

“Okay. Well – hope to see you at our home in Mumbai.”

Mrinal looked fondly at Antara. She was not in the least bit awkward, or intimidated. Her social skills could not be faulted.

“Yeah. Definitely. What do you do, Antara?”

“She is a painter,” Mrinal replied before Antara could declare that she wasn’t working at the moment.

“Oh! Wow! That would suit you very well, Mrinal,” Raksha smiled. Antara wondered if she noticed a hint of sadness in that smile. “Well. I won’t detain you guys any longer. Not on your honeymoon. It’s almost time for my meeting too. Congratulations to both of you. Have a good day.”

—

Mrinal looked distracted during shopping. Antara attributed it to his disinterest in buying gifts for people. But he wasn’t quite himself even after they returned to the resort. Antara had decided to finish packing beforehand, so that they didn’t have to wake up too early in the morning for their flight. But he interrupted her as she was opening one of the suitcases. The few weeks that she had been with him had been enough for her to know what the look in his eyes meant. It wasn’t unusual either. Not only did he have a high level of sexual energy, his love-making was also a way for him to express or deal with his emotions. There were those moments on raw physical desire; and then those where he slowly savored her, reflecting his contentment. At other times he released his stress and frustrations. It was different each time; she could feel it, but he never gave her any reasons to complain. He always displayed the same patience and care for her which he had shown the first time by withdrawing at the peak of his arousal. What was it today though? It was different from all of his emotions she had known till now. He appeared… clingy! For a while she ceased to think about it, as he drove her desire also to its peak with his now expert handling of her body. She could be ready any moment for this man! But as they lay exhausted on the bed, and the thought of their imminent departure and packing returned to her, so did the concern over his mood.

“We need to pack,” she said to start the conversation.

“Yeah,” he said still not looking quite okay. The look he gave her before getting out of the bed was strange. Was he scared of something?

Still not confronting him directly, she got dressed and started packing. “Did you really like Mauritius that much?” she asked casually as Mrinal handed her one of his pants to pack.

“Huh?”

“You look sad to be leaving.”

He gave a half smile; then suddenly held her hands and absentmindedly played with her fingers. She looked at him curiously. Was he planning to take her to the bed again?

“Antara. There is something I need to tell you,” he spoke finally.

She exaggerated her sigh on purpose, “You are an expert at scaring me with your preambles. I am not falling for it now. What is it? It can’t be anything so bad.” It couldn’t be!

Mrinal’s heart warmed up at the camaraderie they had developed and also how easy and relaxed she was with him now. It had happened faster than any relationship he had been in earlier. Probably there was some truth to the things advocates of arranged marriages said. It was treating him very well.

“No. I hope not. Just that… Antara. I have had relationships in past. Most not serious, except… Raksha. We were in a serious relationship at one point of time.”

“Hmm… And?”

“And? And nothing else. We broke up. About two years ago.”

“Okay. Then what is the problem?”

“Nothing,” he smiled, “If you understand and are cool about it.”

“You are too much. Sometimes it almost feels like you are scared of me, Mrinal.”

“Sometimes I am indeed scared. Not of you, but of losing you.”

“Losing me? I can’t fathom why any of your earlier girlfriends let you go. I fancy I am more intelligent than them.”

“Ah! You surely do a lot of good to my ego. I am not complaining, though.”

“Can I ask, though, why you broke up with her?”

“It didn’t work out. At a fundamental level we weren’t compatible. Our ambitions were different.”

“How so?”

“Happiness to her was the next promotion, the doubling and tripling of salary. There was no way I could have kept up with it. She needed people’s approval. She would smoke because she thought it got her the respect of her male colleagues. She would have been happy if I had joined my family business, but I was happy with my meager, slow-to-increase salary, and with my Physics, and other little things I enjoy.”

“I am so happy you are that way,” she said fondly, then tip-toed to give him a quick peck on lips. He hugged her tight.

—

One of the first things they had bought after returning from Mauritius was an easel and canvasses for her to paint on.

“You are too indulgent,” she had said.

“You are too humble,” his comeback was swift, “But tell me honestly. You like painting, don’t you?”

She had to accept, “Yes.”

“Then you don’t have to be apologetic about it.”

She was elated one day when he came back from work.

“Thank you so much for buying this. Oil paint works much better on a canvass.”

“Let me see what you have made.”

“It is still work in progress.”

“That’s fine.”

In her excitement, she barely took a week to finish the painting. Mrinal got it framed and had it installed in the drawing hall.

The coming weekend, he invited some of his colleagues for lunch. He hadn’t gotten time to invite them for the wedding. So, this was to introduce Antara to them.

“Oh wow! Is this done by you, Antara?” asked Arti Sinha, wife of one of the professors, who worked for a publishing house, about the painting in the hall.

Antara smiled and nodded modestly.

“Beautiful. It is beautiful. I hope you are planning to take up painting professionally.”

Antara grew self-conscious, “You are being very generous.”

“Not at all. You are being very self-effacing.”

“Which is what I have been trying to tell her,” Mrinal jumped into the conversation, “But I won’t be taken seriously, I think. May be you can help.”

“Mrinal!” Antara chided him lovingly even as she blushed heavily.

“Do you mind if I take a picture of it?” Arti asked.

“Please! Go ahead. You don’t need to ask,” Antara replied.

When the time for desserts came, they had run out of spoons. Antara went to the kitchen to get some plastic spoons they had bought for such emergency.

“If I think about the society, here is what I have to say,” Antara stopped near the door when she heard Mrinal talking about something very passionately, “If even the intellectual elites of the society, the educators and the likes, think that a women’s career must be sacrificed for the sake of children, then I see little hope for the cause of women emancipation from the rest of the country. And talking about an individual, I think it is stupid on part of anyone – man or woman – to give up their financial independence.”

“Well… people have different priorities.”

“Whatever be the priorities, giving up on your career doesn’t make sense. Financial independence may not be all you need for a secure life, but is a must. Whether you are a man or a woman.”

“All right,” someone intervened as Antara entered with the spoons, “It’s not very often that Mrinal gets so stubborn about something.” That made Antara smile inwardly. He could get stubborn about too many things. Family, business, money, marriage! But she didn’t say anything. “Now that he has gotten so stubborn,” the person continued, “I think everybody else needs to back off. Because he won’t leave any stones unturned.”

That drew good humored laughter from everyone and the topic of the conversation changed.

—

To be continued