Mish' Fiction

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 –

“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

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

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

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

“Everybody loves you. I don’t remember when was the last time anybody came to drop me to the airport.” They had needed three big cars to accommodate everyone on their way to the airport. Mrinal’s parents, sisters, brother-in-law, nephew and nieces had accompanied them to the airport. So had Parikshit and Antara’s uncle.

“They all love you. You shun them,” she said in an indulgent, and not a complaining tone.

Mrinal sighed and leaned back on the chair. They had completed the check-in and security check, and were waiting for the boarding.

“I don’t know when it happened, Antara. But I just lost connect. There is just too much hypocrisy. Even love is selfish and loved ones a means to achieve some other end. Get married so that we can host a lavish wedding and prove to everyone in the market that we are a “strong party”. Or get married traditionally so that I can show off the dowry my daughter-in-law has brought. Or get married quickly so that I live long enough to see and flaunt my grandchildren and see their wedding too.”

Antara chuckled. “I understand the hypocrisy part, but you can be funny about it.”

“I sound weird, don’t I?”

“No,” she frowned, “Absolutely not. Just brutally honest.”

“And is it okay? To be brutally honest with you?”

“What kind of a question is that? Of course, Mrinal ji…”

“Then let’s start with this. Please stop calling me Mrinal ji.”

“What else do I call you?”

“I have a name.”

“That’s what I am using…”

“Mrinal ji?” he emphasized on ji.

“Oh!” she looked away nervously.

“What?”

“I’m not used to it…”

“Come on. It can’t be that difficult. It’s not like you have been addressing me like this for years.”

Actually she had been. He didn’t know how often his mother would talk about him before neighbors, relatives, acquaintances and anyone who would listen. And there couldn’t have been a more patient listener than Antara. Mohini Agarwal’s focus was mostly on his weird ways, his not being interested in family business, his ascetic lifestyle and his unwillingness to get married. But Antara would often try to picture the real person behind her rants. And she had always referred to him as Mrinal ji.

Presently she smiled and acquiesced, “Okay.”

“Okay? Then let’s test it.”

“What?”

“Call me by my name.”

“Huh?”

He shrugged and looked on expectantly.

She threw up her hands and gave in, “Fine. Mrinal. Happy?”

“Very.”

She shook her head smiling.

—

Mrinal grew nervous as they approached his house in the campus. How would she find the small two-bedroom house allotted to him in faculty quarters?

“This is a humble teacher’s abode,” he said as he unlocked the door, “I don’t know if you will find it livable.”

Antara looked at him surprised. In the short time that she has known him, he had taken charge of their relationship; making decisions, leading her, assuring her… This sudden display of anxiety on his part was new to her.

She waited until they had stepped in to reply, “It is ours, right?”

Mrinal felt like a huge burden was lifted off his chest. He smiled looking relieved, “Yes. It is. That is until I get promoted and hopefully get another one with one more bedroom,” he said, still sounding self-deprecating, but comfortable.

“We will worry about it when it comes,” she spoke in jest and walked around the hall they had stepped in.

“Antara,” he went to her and held her hands, “I know you would be overwhelmed with all the exhaustion and dealing with so much change, not to mention my demands and questions… And I am not asking you to make an immediate decision…”

“Mrinal ji!” she grew alarmed and forgot her promise to call him by name only. What was it leading to? “What is it?”

“No. Nothing to worry about. Come. Sit here,” he led her to the sofa lying in the hall, “Antara. There was something important about me that I should have told you before the wedding, or before the wedding was decided. But I skipped it. Partly due to circumstances. But more importantly because I am willing to change it for you.”

Despite his assurance, Antara’s face looked deadly pale. Was the incredibly good future that was smiling at her a mirage after all? Was something horrible going to be revealed?

“Antara. It’s not just the family and family business I have distanced myself from, but also the family money. I live off my own salary. It doesn’t feel uncomfortable to me. But it can’t sustain the lifestyle that they lead back in Kolkata. At my or your house. This isn’t a choice that you have made, however.  And this isn’t a choice you are bound by. Papa transfers money to an account of mine every month. If you want to use it…”

Antara had gradually relaxed and was smiling by now. “Mrinal,” she interrupted and remembered her promise in addressing him, “I also know a bit more about you than you think. Auntie had described your meager accommodation in gory details to me multiple times, bemoaning why you were inflicting this hardship on yourself; and why you won’t use family money. I have walked into this marriage with my eyes open. Stop worrying.”

“But it still wasn’t your choice…”

“But this is a choice I am proud of. I can’t promise, Mrinal, that it would all be smooth. Money or no money, I have never run a house. I don’t even know what your salary is. I don’t know what our monthly budget should be for everything. I don’t know what can or cannot be accommodated in that monthly budget. I don’t know if we can afford this honeymoon in Mauritius. But I am more than willing to learn; happy to learn. And… I don’t know if I am worthy enough… But I would like to contribute…”

Antara watched astonished as Mrinal’s eyes moistened. “I can’t believe my luck,” his voice was thick. He embraced her gently at first. But the hormones that he had suppressed with efforts for last two days were fueled by his emotional high and they raged beyond his control. He caressed, then rubbed her hair and back. Still aware of his assurance to her that he would go slow, he tried to pull away, but she put her arms around him. “Don’t stop,” she mumbled through her shallow breathing, “Don’t stop today whatever happens.” Encouraged, he threw the caution out of window, leaned forward and nibbled at her ear lobes. They turned out to be extremely sensitive, and she moaned out aloud.

“Come inside,” he whispered in her ear and then led her to the bedroom. The sheets hadn’t been changed in weeks, but neither of them were in a position to care. He seated her on the edge of the bed and approached her left shoulder with trembling hands. He unpinned her aanchal from her blouse. The pleats spread out covering her arms. “Is there another pin?” he asked. She shook her head. There were no insurmountable barriers now! He sat on the bed and pulled her down. He took care to penetrate her slowly. She herself was prepared and did not let even an accidental sound slip. What came out of her were tears. Not of pain, but of pleasure. And happiness! She wouldn’t have admitted it earlier. But now there could be no harm. She was in love with this man. Through his mother’s complaints, she had been falling in love, bit by bit. She could never have imagined that she would have him for herself one day. And that too so easily!

—

To be continued

She did not go to the dresser at all after shower and came directly to him. He had changed into comfortable night dress and was already waiting for her on the bed. He lent her a hand as she climbed on the bed and welcomed her with a kiss on her forehead. She looked down and waited in anxiety as well as excitement for his next move. It took forever! He spoke.

“You look gorgeous in red,” his voice was hoarse. Seeing her in red saree that morning had stunned him. That’s why he had chosen red for the night-dress too. He hadn’t erred.

Her throat went dry and she gulped hard. His hands slipped down her shoulders, caressing her arms ever so lightly, finally reaching down to her palms, which he held in his. He coughed before willing himself to speak in a normal voice, “If you are not ready, or feel uncomfortable, you can stop me. Right now. Or at any point of time. Okay?”

Even with her inexperience, she could feel desire oozing out of his body. How could he still be so careful… so caring… so much in control. “Men need what they need,” Chachiji was definitely not talking about men like him. Were there men like him? Or was he the only one.

“You must do that, Anatara. Tell me that you understand,” he spoke again when she did not answer his earlier question.

She wasn’t looking at him. But she could feel his intense gaze on herself. She nodded slowly. There was no way words were coming out of her throat in such an overwhelming situation. He pulled away for a moment as he reached out and switched off the light. The next moment she was in his arms, in a bone-crushing hug. After breaking the hug, he didn’t give her even a moment’s respite. He flung open the gown of her nightdress. Inside it was a knee-length dress with noodle strap. He didn’t bother about it. It didn’t offer him much resistance. He laid her down on the bed. She got unsettled when he kissed her feet. She sat up with a start. “Mrinal ji… No… Don’t…”

He cupped her face and replied, “Even saints have worshipped beauty, Antara. I am a mere mortal and there is such beauty before me today… Don’t stop me. Relax and enjoy. Please.”

He was gentle, but he knew what he wanted. And in a way that could not be described in words, he was demanding it from her. She wouldn’t deny him anything he wanted. He kissed her on the lips and made her lie down again.  He covered every inch of her body with kisses. Despite his arousal he keenly observed when she enjoyed and when she flinched, adjusting his position accordingly. She was writhing under him, her own desire shooting through the roof with the foreplay, when he finally straddled her. But hers was virgin body. When he entered her, despite his precaution, it hurt. It came unexpectedly to her, and she let out a cry. He stopped immediately, pulling away.

“Antara!”

When she realized what had happened, she grew tongue-tied. Hadn’t all those Internet articles and columns in women’s magazines warned her? Why wasn’t she prepared? She should have anticipated and not cried out!

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he didn’t sense her mortification and was more worried about her pain. He helped her sit up. Before he could do or say something more coherent, however, he needed to calm himself down. “Give me a minute,” he said, grabbed his clothes and went to the bathroom.

She was sobbing by the time he came back.

“What… what happened, Antara. Talk to me. Are you hurt? Please…”

“Don’t be so nice to me,” came the listless reply through her sobs. Then the obvious realization dawned on him. It wasn’t the pain. She was embarrassed.

“Rest assured,” his tone suddenly become playful, “I’m not going to be nice at all. You have no idea how many sleepless nights lie in wait for you. You have tortured me since the first time I saw you.”

Her sobs subsided. How did he manage to switch gears like that, she wondered.

“But Antara,” he was more somber now, “It’s doesn’t happen like in romance novels. What happened was natural. It takes time getting used to it, getting used to each other. We have an entire lifetime before us. We have time to get comfortable. And we should use that. Ideally I shouldn’t have pushed you so early on…. But I got carried away…. You do that to me!” He smiled and kissed her hands.

“How do I thank you…”

“What do you want to thank me for?”

“It has barely been two days with you,” she spoke in a low voice. The lights were still switched off, and in the dim floor-light it was difficult to make out expressions on her face. “And in these two days I have been asked about what I want, or how I am feeling, or whether I am comfortable more number of times than in last fifteen years of my life. I am almost afraid that I will get used to it.”

“Antara!” she had revealed probably one of the deepest emotions to him. Despite not being used to pryaing, he prayed that he would never break her trust. “You weren’t happy at your Uncle’s place?” he asked wanting to hear her talk.

“No. Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t starved or abused… In fact, you see all these suitcases… You had stumped everyone with your insistence on no dowry. They did their best to make up for it with lavishness of wedding, all these clothes, jewelry, expensive gifts and what not.”

“Most of which you are not interested in taking with you.”

“None of it is for me, Mrinal ji. I always had expensive things and luxuries. But not because I would be comfortable in them; rather because they can’t be seen as grudging the responsibility of their unfortunate, orphaned niece.”

Mrinal sighed. Her parents hadn’t died poor. As the elder brother, her father had more to do with the family business than her uncle and he inherited the fruits of his brother’s labour. Still, because she was a girl child, she was a burden. If they took care of her, it was a favour. Nobody thought that all that money was hers too.

“It’s all over, Antara. You can leave all of this behind you. You must,” he said as he pulled her closer in his embrace.

—

“How did you pack your paintings?”

“Paintings?”

“Your paintings.”

“I… That’s nothing serious. I didn’t bring them at all.”

“Arr… Why not? Can somebody fetch them?”

“Who told you I paint?”

“I have seen your paintings.”

“When? Where?”

Mrinal sighed and then broke in to a smile, “Just trust me. I have seen them and they are damn serious. How do we get them? Do you want to make a quick trip home…”

“I don’t know if they would even be there. Chachiji was planning to remodel my room…”

“She couldn’t have just thrown them away…. Anyway, let’s at least try.”

“I will ask Pikku to check.”

“Call right away. He might already be on his way here.”

“Why?”

“I asked him to come.”

“For what?”

“How possessive you are being! Can’t I talk to him?”

“Of course, you can…” she turned away feeling confused and foolish. Mrinal grinned behind her.

—

Parikshit handed her a cylindrical box. “Here. All your paintings. I packed them when Mummy started cleaning the room.”

Mrs. Gupta had indeed started on her plans to reclaim Antara’s room already!

“Thank you. Where did you get this box from?” Antara felt overwhelmed and asked to distract herself.

“It came with one of the posters I had ordered. Should keep them safe in the journey.”

“Thank you, Parikshit,” Mrinal interposed and handed him a gift-wrapped box, “This is for you.”

“What is this?”

“Open it.”

Parikshit eagerly opened the box and gave a cry of joy when he saw the sealed box of a mobile phone. It was the same model Mrinal had bought for Antara earlier.

“Wow! Thank you so much, Mrinal Bhai…. Rather Jijaji,” he grinned happily, “How did you know I wanted this phone?”

“It was no rocket science. You were so interested and excited when I had given you Antara’s phone.”

“It wasn’t needed,” Antara told Mrinal after Parikshit had left, “He has already been spoiled during the wedding. He might have extracted more gifts for himself than were bought for me.” She was smiling fondly thinking about her brother.

“It wasn’t needed. It was just to acknowledge that he matters to you; hence to me too.”

Antara looked grateful, “Yes. He matters to me. I have practically brought him up.”

“Yeah?”

“When my parents died he was barely one- year old. And Chachiji was frantic about having been saddled with the responsibility of another seven-year old child, that too a girl. I was so scared and insecure. I felt the need to prove my worth. That’s why I started looking after him. To prove to her that I would not be a burden. But afterwards… I was thankful I did that. He has been my solace. Probably this is what being a mother feels like. And after growing up, he has been a great support and companion.”

“But he doesn’t stay at home.”

“He went off only last year.”

“And you have been lonely?”

“Very.”

“Well. Not any longer.”

She smiled shyly.

—

To be continued