ISSUE 45

I don’t think I ever planned to have a baby. It was not something I had ever thought of, ever wanted, ever even anticipated. But when that stick turned blue, I decided that this was it. This was when things were going to change. This was when I was going to take control of my life. I would do what the boys in the Malayalam films did when they got their hearts broken – drive to the Himalayas on their Bullets. I don’t like mountains. I can’t drive a bike. So I just decided to take a bus to a quaint village near the sea. Not a very touristy one. A fishing village. I decided that this was going to be the next chapter of my life.

This meant that my plan of killing myself was deferred. Now the plan was to have the baby. Away from everyone and everything. For twenty-seven years of my life, I felt like I had given away parts of myself that I really needed. Without a thought. I gave everything to everyone. And then I had nothing to give. I decided my life was now going to be a chick flick. I was going to have the baby and it would change my life. Fix everything. The baby would give me all the love I needed. And when it was old enough, I’d give up on life.

It seemed like a great plan.

After all the debts and the loans and the gifts and the needs and wants, I had exactly enough money to last me three months. Five months if I was cautious. Two months if I was reckless. In as much as this was an attempt to turn over a new leaf, I knew that I wouldn’t ever spend it all in one month. There are parts of yourself that you create because of your circumstances, which when circumstances change, can change too. And then there’s just parts of you that are burnt into your skull. Those are difficult to change. I was never a spendthrift. I was always aware of the instability that life led to; when you grow up with debt collectors at your doorstep every month, you inevitably end up saving coins in your pillowcase. And all I ever desired was stability. Consistency. Steadiness. A warm bed and some tough shoulders to fall back on.

But I decided that I would not worry for two months. The third month I would look for a job. This wasn’t Eat Pray Love. I wasn’t getting paid to have a revelation. I wasn’t coming back to wealth. This was not a break. This was not a journey of self-exploration. This was just running away from death. Just a deferral of what I knew for sure in my heart – that I was incapable of living. That I just didn’t have what it took to live. And that’s it sometimes. There’s not much that can be done about it.

There are medicines. There are professionals. I tried to explain it to them. When I realised that I was pregnant, I told them that I was ecstatic. She was confused. He was too. All the iterations of the same professional wrote me off saying that there was nothing really right or wrong with me. They asked me to write down the thoughts I had. To write down the actions I took. I didn’t do this. I just found someone new. Explained whatever I believed was wrong with me. And then the cycle repeated.

‘Why not leave home?’

I cannot. Why is this so hard to understand. The people who gave birth to you needed you. This was the time to repay them. Help them out. Lend a hand. How could I just abandon them. How was that a reasonable thing to do. I explained it to one more person and she told me to ‘leave the eye of the storm’.

This is quite the fascinating phrase. Eye of the storm.

One of the Kardashians named their child Stormy. When I endlessly scrolled through mindless content, the Kardashians were the people who made their presence felt. Stormy was a nice name. I liked it as much as I hated that family.

When you feel strong emotions, write them down.

And when I started writing them down, I decided I’d rather just buy pretty notebooks than spend that money on people telling me to write down my thoughts. So I bought pretty notebooks. A stack of them. For a very cheap sum. I’m never a spendthrift.

Maybe we’ll be like the Gilmore Girls. Till season 5. Before she goes off to Yale. Maybe Stormy will be my best friend. Maybe she’ll give me all the validation I ever need. Maybe she’ll love me. Maybe she’ll appreciate me. Stormy had to be a girl. I don’t think I could love a boy. And if my baby was a girl, I knew I would love her the most. Because I wanted to love her the most. I decided these things before she was even the size of a grain. I decided that I would love her because I knew that deciding was all it took.

Its tiny legs and hands would resemble a puppy’s. And you would feel like your heart would burst with mad love for it. Infatuation doesn’t last though. It’ll be cute and wonderful when you feel cute and wonderful. And then you might want to kick the puppy in anger. The thing stopping you is if someone saw you kick the puppy. But it could also simply be because you decided not to kick the puppy.

I believed that my decisions were firm. I was not a wavering person. I was steady. Even after seven shots of the strongest alcohol. Even in my most debilitated state, I could walk myself to my bed. And sleep decently. If nothing else. I was steady. I was strong. Till twenty-seven, there were only a handful of times when I hadn’t been steady. But that was when I was young. So young. When even my body wasn’t fully formed. But my body still isn’t fully formed.

I was pregnant. My body was going to expand and grow. To contain Stormy.

The writer in me wants to so badly explain the underlying note in the story – the idea of containing the storm. Did you catch it, reader? If you didn’t, I wanted to explain it to you. The editor in me knows it’ll get cut. It’s a line that doesn’t need explaining. But I’ve been told time and again that I’m pedantic. By my mother, my sister, my teacher, my aunt.

This fishing village in Tamil Nadu is very quaint. Quaint is a very British word. I referred to it as a ‘village’ to my friends. In that derogatory manner that urban children say it. I call my friends who live in other countries and tell them my news. I’m pregnant. I’m in this village. No, I don’t know what I’m doing. No, I didn’t tell him yet. No, I don’t know what my parents will think. Will they call you? Maybe. I don’t know what I want you to tell them. I love you. Please decide for me?

I have so much love to give. When I love, I love deeply. Or I don’t at all. My friend consoles me. She says I will love Stormy more than I’ve loved anything. Not even anyone. Anything. She tells me that maybe Stormy will be what will make all the difference. Maybe Stormy will give me life.

I ration the money. Buy very limited groceries. I just have notebooks and novels to keep me company. I make friends with the lady whose upstairs room I rented. She feeds me fish curry. I tell her I’m pregnant. I break down. She makes me breakfast every day. I think that I’m taking advantage of her. I offer to buy the food from her. Instead of her just making it for me for free. She doesn’t turn down the money. It makes me feel a lot better. What if I wanted to die one day and owed her still. That would bother me a lot. I’d have to slip her a huge amount of money very quickly. She would be devastated about taking it. At least for a while. Then, money is money. There’s only so much sentiment will feed you.

So I pay her on a weekly basis. I stop buying groceries. I don’t move from my room. I don’t go to the shop. I don’t go to the beach. She leaves my meals outside the door. Stormy and I grow together. Stormy and I only want for each other. I can feel her grow inside me. I can feel the life. As I put my fingers to my neck, I can feel the pulse. My pulse. I feel alive. I am alive. I am an incubator for Stormy. Stormy will take my life. Stormy can be my life.

My friend asks me if she can come live with me. I hesitate. I want to be only with Stormy, I tell her. She understands. But she calls me every day. I love her so I answer her call every day. We talk about Stormy. She likes the name too. I describe the village from the window. It’s a village. Everyone works very hard. Everyone loves their wives. I feel like an outsider.

She’s doing laundry. She says it’s been two months. Stormy and I are growing. I ask her if she wants to come visit. She tells me she’ll come next spring. They have such seasons in those countries. Stormy would be out in the world by then. I’m very excited to meet Stormy. I’m very excited for her to meet Stormy. She tells me she’ll tell other friends too. The other friends send me love, they send me blessings. They’ve come around to the idea that Stormy will make me happy.

Stormy came as unexpectedly into my life as this habit of writing did. Maybe all those professionals were not entirely wrong. They were entirely unhelpful. But maybe they were not entirely wrong. I will keep writing for Stormy. I have found a job translating English into Tamil. I translate official notices and papers from English to Tamil and explain them to whoever requires it, for a very small sum. There are barely any expenses in this village. They have accepted that there is no man or woman in the picture. They’re more sympathetic now.

I can’t identify how much time has passed. There are no clocks, no calendars. I’m trying to live like I couldn’t care about what happens outside my little bubble. But I can’t identify stories from lies anymore. Stormy still hasn’t arrived. I don’t think Stormy will arrive. I feel. I feel it. I feel.