ISSUE 51

‘Are you taking your medication?’

I put Girish on speakerphone as I clean my dressing table. If it weren’t for the gush of air I could hear from his side, I would have thought that the line was dead, because he hasn’t spoken a word in the past fifteen minutes.

‘Yes.’ I reply, ‘Are the dates final, you can’t change the bookings?’

‘No, they booked the tickets today.’

I roll my eyes.

‘Tickets to Kochi are expensive, they can’t just rebook them. I am sorry my leave is not falling in your ovulation period.’

‘Yeah, that would have been helpful.’

‘Please adjust,’ he says, sounding exhausted.

Is he being sarcastic? I don’t know. ‘Okay,’ I reply.

There are only a handful of things I know about my husband. He is an engineer who works on ships in Qatar. I am not sure if he is cleaning them or sailing them, but he has an important role because he gets only fifteen days of leave every six months. He likes eating fish more than chicken. He hates travelling. He is wildly active on Facebook. He has a big circle of friends, who comment on and reshare his posts. His best friends are Anil and Sunil, the two brothers who live next door. When they meet, I suspect that they drink beer and watch porn on our terrace, but I haven’t been able to confirm this yet.

I stay with his parents, Damini and Balakrishnan. In our four-year-long marriage, I have spent a total of 120 days with him, of which I am going to deduct the nights he watches porn with Anil and Sunil, so that’s 98 days then.

We have been trying to get pregnant for a long time now. My cupboard is lined with bottles of ayurvedic arishtams and hopeful homeopathy pills that are supposed to magically make me pregnant without his semen.

‘See you in a month then. Bye.’

His lack of enthusiasm doesn’t bother me. He cuts the call, and I continue, half-heartedly, to rub down the dressing table with a wet cloth. I hate cleaning. But I line up the makeup products neatly. Most of the bottles are brand new. There are lipsticks, perfumes, eye shadow palettes, nail paints, and hand creams that Girish brought from Qatar, just as he is expected to. They are of less use to me. They sit in their luxurious bottles on my dressing table like art on display, confirming my status as a Gulf man’s wife.

Marrying me off to a gulf boy was my mother’s dream. ‘They bring the best perfumes ever.’

Her brother, Monu, worked in Kuwait for a long time before he married a Malayali nurse and moved to Saudi. He cut ties with my mother later because his wife called her greedy.

‘Monu used to bring big cartons taped carefully. They arrived two days after he did and there was always such a fuss. We didn’t open them till all five siblings were in the same room. They leaped at those powders and soaps as I did, but I am the greedy one and he doesn’t speak with me anymore. Stupid silly buffalo he married.’

If I had a penny for every time my mother spoke ill of her family, I would be really rich.

‘But Amma, what am I to do when he isn’t around? He is at sea most of the time.’

‘Shut up Akhila, look at his salary. He is a single child too, everything will be yours and most importantly, he will bring lots of perfumes and soaps to keep you happy. What are you worried about?’

Girish wasn’t present at our engagement ceremony, because he didn’t have leave. There were 150 people present on the day including his parents, and my father announced the engagement from a stage in the auditorium. I wore a light blue silk saree and two gold necklaces; and occupied the whole couch that was set up on the stage for the bride and groom. The wedding was a month after that and the muhurtam fell perfectly on the third day of his arrival. We honeymooned in Munnar.

I loved the tea estates and the fog in the morning. I was wrapped up in a light pink shawl, that Damini had gifted me. His parents accompanied us on the honeymoon, and we didn’t step out anywhere for the two days we were there. We booked a service apartment that came with a kitchen. Damini cooked fish curries for lunch and dinner and I helped her. We couldn’t have sex. It was too cold.

After finishing my cleaning, I lay on the bed waiting for the clock to strike 12, then I snuck up to the terrace. There are two entries to the terrace, one set of stairs from outside and one from inside.

Anil is waiting for me there with three cigarettes. One for him, one for me, and one to share. Our walls share a hole through which it is easy for him to cross through. He lights a cigarette as he sees me and passes it to me.

‘How are you?’

‘Same old,’ I say.

‘They slept?’

‘Yeah, long back. I cleaned that cupboard finally. Many products have expired.’

‘Give them to me.’

‘What will you do?’

‘Just give them to me tomorrow.’

I bet he has a string of girls he wants to impress with good perfumes and powder.

‘They have just expired, I can use them for six more months.’

‘You haven’t used them till now, you will not use them now.’

I laugh and my head feels lighter with just a few drags. I pass it back to Anil but he refuses.

‘I quit.’

‘What?’

‘I am serious,’ he says.

I give him a light slap and catching hold of my arm, he pulls me closer. We end up kissing for a while.

‘Liar, I can smell the cigarette on your breath,’ I say, pulling back.

‘I missed you. Why haven’t you replied to my texts for two days? I thought you quit for good this time.’

‘I meant to.’

I take a long drag and sit on the terrace parapet with my feet swinging freely. We are facing Bala’s backyard garden. His papaya and coconut trees have witnessed me coming here alone to cry during the day and make out with Anil during the night.

‘Girish is coming next month,’ I say.

‘I know, he called. Are the dates right?’

‘No, they are wrong.’

‘Why don’t you just tell him?’

‘I did, but he is either really ignorant or very smart at fooling me. I don’t know. We are visiting a gynaecologist this time.’

‘Didn’t you already?’

‘New one.’

We sit like that for some time. Anil takes out his phone and starts scrolling through Facebook. I lean on him, and we see picture after picture of his friends getting married or having babies.

‘Have you been to Wayanad?’ He asks.

‘No.’

‘We should go.’

‘We…?’

Anil looks so lovely in the moonlight, I can’t stop staring at him. During the day, he looks like a villain from Malayalam movies – bulky build, head shaven, big eyes. If I were to pass him on the road, I wouldn’t dare meet his eyes and probably hold on to my purse a little tighter. But right now, I can make out his dimples and his kind eyes scan my face with concern. Wayanad is too far away for me to even dream. But it is cold there. I love cold places. I like wearing sweaters and shawls. How many times have I told him that? I wish it was Anil who had come to ask for my hand in marriage. Even though he works at the Cochin Refinery and has odd hours, life would have been so different spent smoking with him.

‘Girish, Sunil, and I made a plan yesterday night, to go to Wayanad. You should come.’

‘Girish hates traveling.’

‘There is a classmate’s wedding. Our whole class is going to be there. Everyone’s coming with their partners. Girish didn’t tell you? You should come.’

I look down at the ground ten feet below and suddenly have the urge to jump. I have never found myself so close to this thought. It does feel comforting to think I would die under the watchful eye of Anil.

‘Akhila…’

‘I am not interested, Wayanad sounds boring.’

I never meant to start the affair. We are not in love and we do not have sex. We just keep each other company. Anil has sworn to never marry because he doesn’t believe in marriage and so his brother Sunil who is a year younger than him, went ahead and got engaged. He is set to marry when Girish comes home next month.

Next week, I come home to the tv blaring about a virus.

While Damini takes my tiffin box and gives me tea, I ask Bala, ‘What’s Corona?’

‘Are you living under a rock? Don’t you have a tv in the showroom?’

‘No, JK sir says that’s distracting.’

‘I will talk to JK. News is the most important thing right now.’

Bala was the one who got me the job at the Honda showroom. Damini and Bala were very supportive of me going to work because after I spent a month in the house, we realised that there wasn’t enough cooking or cleaning for two women. My mother says I am lucky because Damini doesn’t make me do housework. I am in fact very lucky because Damini is better than my mother. She packs my lunch and even cleans my tiffin box. When I return, she gives me a cup of tea, two cream biscuits and asks me about the happenings of the day. She showers all her love on me because she has no one else to love.

Bala mutes the television and turns to me, his eyes lighting up at the prospect of enlightening me.

‘There is a virus, it’s traveling from China and spreading all over the world. There are two cases in Kochi.’

‘What? Kochi?’

‘Yes, isn’t that exciting Akku, our very own Kochi! And we are spreading it.’

‘I didn’t know we have Chinese people here,’ Damini says.

‘Wu Han, Malayalis are working all over the world, including Wu Han.’ Bala thumps his thighs.

‘What happens with this disease?’ I ask.

‘Oh, fever and flu.’

‘What? That’s it? Big deal,’ Damini says. ‘Tell me Akku, how was the day?’

On Sunday, I miss the right buses and I have to take three buses to reach my mother’s home.

‘Akhila, you said you will come for lunch, it’s 2 pm?’ My mother greets me. She is wearing a dirty sari with curry stains and soot all over her front. Damini always wears an apron.

‘We always eat at this time only,’ I say, switching on the table fan and standing in front of it.

‘You should have come early to help me out in the kitchen, what is this attitude?’

‘I have been standing for two hours in buses Amma, please stop scolding me.’

Amma switches off the table fan.

‘Missing the AC at your in-laws? Get your ass to the kitchen and set the table. Not everyone is a silly buffalo like your mother-in-law.’

‘Clearly.’

I set the table and eat her rice and mutton curry while she chats about her never-ending ailments. After lunch, I clear the table and clean all the dishes. She has added more utensils in the sink to welcome me.

‘Isn’t it possible for you to stay a few days and help me out?’ Amma says as she digs in her teeth with a toothpick. I sit down on the verandah next to her and stretch my back.

‘I can’t take off from work.’

‘Oh silly, why do you even work when your husband earns so much.’

‘Girish wants me to, and he wouldn’t be happy if I stayed here.’

Girish wouldn’t give two shits if I stayed here, but that shuts her up. For my mother, the husband is the god that every married woman needs to worship. My father passed away two years ago, and I think she misses his temper.

By evening, half a dozen neighbours have spotted me and come down to say hi, including Ammayi, my father’s older sister.

‘Aiyyo, why didn’t you say Akhila had come? How are you mole?’

‘All good.’

‘That mother-in-law still cooking for you?’

I smile back bitterly. None of my family like the comfort I am married into.

‘My cousin’s brother’s sister-in-law’s daughter is expecting. Same age as you,’ she says.

‘She has been married what a month only no?’ My mother asks.

‘Yeah, very quick and fast. Smart girl, she is.’

‘Akhila is also trying really hard, it’s because he is not around much so it’s difficult, you know.’

‘This guy is also in Army, after the wedding he left in four days but did the job very well.’

‘Very well indeed.’

‘It’s the girl, she knows how to get things done, it’s always the girl.’

‘Right right. Girls should know.’

Amma mimicked Ammayi word for word. Ammayi looked so much like my father that even I was a little scared of her. The moment she left, Amma burst out, ‘Her sons are absolute buffaloes. They do nothing. You earn more than them. She walks around as if she is rich or something. She can’t find any matches for them.’

I check my watch and make my way inside to change back into the churidar I had worn in the morning, while my mother follows.

‘I can’t live in this neighbourhood if you don’t get pregnant, just get it done this time. You have to Akhila, otherwise, it will be very difficult for me.’

With that threat, I leave her place and change another set of three buses to get home.

Meeting Amma depresses me to the extent that I have no energy left to speak with Damini or meet Anil.

I sleep badly every time Girish is coming to visit. I have dreams of graveyards and ancient temples next to green murky ponds with eerie music playing in the background.

While Bala is glued to the tv, counting the number of people affected by this virus, Damini comes to my room with curd rice.

‘What is it this time?’ she asks.

I don’t like disappointing Damini, but I can’t help it. ‘Diarrhoea and stomach pain,’ I say.

She presses a hot bag to my tummy and takes my temperature.

‘What day of your cycle is it?’

‘Not the right day,’ I say and turn around.

‘Damini, Akku…’ Bala comes running to my bedroom, his naked belly jiggling. ‘They are saying all international passengers must quarantine before coming home, they are taken to a hospital from the airport itself.’

‘For what?’

‘What’s a quarantine?’

Bala explains that foreigners are to be kept under observation for seven days. My stomach pain disappears in a minute. I wipe the sweat off my forehead. My heart leaps out of my chest and I smile. ‘Are you sure?’

Frowning, they leave my room.

That night I make out with Anil on the terrace, my joy knowing no bounds. He wants to do more but I have my rules. I smoke a cigarette slowly and we sing our favourite Malayalam song in low voices.

‘This time he will be home for just eight days, that’s all.’

‘You are such a bitch! He will be stuck in some hospital.’

‘Hey, I didn’t cause this. It’s not my decision, the government wants him to.’

‘But you shouldn’t be rejoicing.’

‘Okay, I am leaving then.’

I get up to leave but Anil pulls me down and I sit on his lap. He nuzzles against my neck.

‘Why do you have to disappear? One week this time,’ he says.

‘I was busy.’

‘Liar. I can’t go without talking, Akhila, I missed you.’ Anil is kissing my neck.

‘What do you miss?’ I ask.

‘All these … small small things,’ he says with a soft bite.

Girish lands the next week and is taken to Medical Trust Hospital. He refuses to talk to any of us for three days. Bala and Damini are frantic about the virus. There is no one to look after me. I cook my own lunch, pack a tiffin and go to work. But my showroom is shut the day after.

‘When will it open?’ I ask my manager.

‘Let’s see, maybe all this will blow over in a week. We will call you. Don’t worry. you can continue the preparations for your party after a week.’

I am planning a combined Vishu and Easter party for the office. It will be one of a kind. When I get home, I toss my bags in anger. I cry for some time and then heat up the leftover dinner in the kitchen.

‘Don’t worry, Akku. I am praying, he will definitely call today,’ Damini says.

‘What a stupid virus!’

The landline rings and Bala runs to it. It’s Girish. He puts it on speakerphone and Damini starts crying.

‘Amma, stop it. I am okay,’ he says.

She wipes her eyes, and sobs silently.

‘Mone, what are they saying?’ Bala asks.

‘I will come home on Saturday.’ I hear Girish speak. I burn my finger on the stove.

‘Please extend your stay,’ Damini says.

‘Tickets are booked.’

‘But who would have thought that you would be imprisoned at a hospital for half of the vacation.’

‘It doesn’t work like that, they don’t care.’

They ask about the hospital sanitation and Girish replies in monosyllables. He cuts the call after a while and I realise that I have overboiled the mor curry, the rice is burnt and stuck to the bottom of the pot.

The day Girish comes home from the hospital, the country announces a lockdown for twenty days. His return flight is cancelled. International travel is banned. His manager promises to fly him out soon then refuses to pick up his call. Many people test positive on his ship and there is a whirlwind of confusion about this virus.

Bala and Damini are ecstatic to get their son home before the lockdown.

But soon, Damini is tired of kitchen work for the first time ever. She is not able to make fish curry for her son, because we can’t go out to buy fish. A vegetable kit arrives weekly at the doorstep from a nearby store that has the brinjals and drumsticks for a sambar or aviyal. She makes a hot concoction of ginger and tulsi every few hours and forces it down everyone’s throat. In a week, our tongues have a permanently burnt bitter taste. Bala sleeps in front of the tv, never giving the remote to Girish. Girish strolls between the living room and the dining table, not able to find his own space. He sleeps in the spare bedroom and watches endless videos on youtube.

The first week of Girish’s return is the hardest for me. Damini is so busy hovering over her son that she forgets about me. I burn with a high fever for three days, and my bedroom is isolated because everyone thinks I am carrying the virus. Girish hasn’t even looked at me since his return. Damini leaves the food and concoctions outside my room, without any pity. She knows I am carrying no virus.

I am restless because I don’t know when Girish will return to Qatar. His vacation with no return ticket fills me with anxiety that kills my appetite and makes my body temperature rise. With the showroom also closed, I have never felt this trapped. I even consider moving to my mother’s house.

‘How’s the fever now?’ Amma asks on phone.

‘I can still feel the temperature.’

‘What are you scared of Akhila? Why are you getting this exam fever?’ I missed many exams and wrote a few, all hot and weak.

‘I can’t explain this.’

‘You need a good beating from Girish to knock some sense into your head. Don’t you see, this is God’s design to make you pregnant?’

I break down and cry. What a cruel God.

After four days, Damini takes my temperature and declares me fit. ‘She is okay only, this is just a regular thing.’

But Girish continues to sleep in the spare bedroom and I sigh in relief.

When Girish and Bala sit down for lunch, I watch him from the corner of my eye. He is hairier than I remember, with a full beard covering his face. I serve him quickly and then disappear into the kitchen. I eat with Damini later, reading the paper and waiting for some conversation.

But Damini doesn’t speak to me. For the first time, the feeling dawns on me that I am an outsider in this house. When trapped inside together, my lack of love for her son is starkly evident.

It is also clear that he dislikes me.

‘You make the effort, she is a little shy,’ I hear Damini tell Girish.

‘She is not shy.’

‘You will never get a chance like this. Sleep in the same room please.’

‘I don’t think she wants me in her room.’

‘It’s not her room, it’s your room.’

‘Ask her to sleep in the spare room then. I am not sleeping with her.’

I find myself, several times, on the terrace. The hot sun burns my neck. This is not how I like the terrace. I like singing songs in low voices at midnight when there is a slight breeze. I like looking at the silhouettes of Bala’s trees watching me over with love. Not how they stare me down in the afternoon sun, cracked and bent.

I know how to make things right, but I hate myself for it. I forcefully walk myself into Girish’s room one night.

‘Come, let’s shift you to the bedroom,’ I say.

‘There is no need.’

He is busy scrolling through Facebook. He doesn’t even put the phone down.

‘We can make them happy,’ I say.

‘What?’

‘By pretending to be a good couple.’

‘How much shall we pretend?’

‘Let’s start by moving into the same bedroom.’

He looks at me with a sigh. I beg some more. He agrees. We sleep in the same room from that night, though we don’t touch each other.

The next day, Damini and Bala beam at me. Damini gives me a little kiss on the cheek and Bala looks like he also wants to.

I spend my days staring out of the window and keeping myself out of Girish’s way. He stays up the whole night deliberately, watching loud movies on his phone, and snores throughout the day. I have lost the privacy of my room to him. I sometimes sleep in Damini’s room during the afternoon.

‘Not sleeping much at night, are you both? Good, good.’ She pats my head.

I know Girish had a Christian girlfriend in college whose parents rejected him without even meeting him. He married me in anger. I married him out of convenience.

After twenty days, we are all glued to the tv to know more about the virus. There are deaths around the world and the number of cases in Kochi is on the rise. I feel all the more helpless and then the Prime Minister announces that the lockdown is extended.

I consider jumping from the terrace. Breaking a few bones to escape the home sounds like a good plan to me. Damini would take care of me in the hospital.

But that evening, Anil comes by and calls out from the gate.

‘How’s everything going Giri?’

Girish goes out to meet him and smiles. I listen in from the window, holding my breath.

‘Come in,’ he replies.

‘Lockdown extended huh. How awful are things?’

‘Yes, very. Come in bro.’

‘No, that’s fine. Sunil lost his job last week. The bastards aren’t even paying him for last month. We are planning to go ask the management.’ ‘Oh, why didn’t you tell? I will also come.’

‘No, that’s fine. We are going now. Less crowd is better.’

‘Hmm…’

‘We are also laying off employees at the refinery.’

‘Yeah, my job’s secured but…’

‘Yes, yes, obviously. How’s everyone at home?’

Anil looks expectantly at the terrace.

‘Good only.’

‘How’s Amma and Achan?’

‘Yeah fine.’

‘How’s Akhila?’

‘Fine.’

He waits for someone to come out. It was Bala and Damini’s nap time.

‘Amma’s leg giving her any trouble?’

‘No.’

‘Achan still glued to the tv?’

‘Yeah mostly, napping now.’

‘And Akhila doing alright?’

I could sense the tone of desperation in his voice, I prayed Girish wouldn’t. I had blocked Anil on WhatsApp and Facebook.

He left after some time and Girish came into the room fuming.

‘He thinks I have the virus or something, didn’t even sit his ass on the verandah. He was wearing a mask and all. The guts!’

That night, I kiss Girish in our bed. I touch him in the right places and he gets on top of me. We have done this a couple of times, but I miss Anil’s familiar hands. Girish’s hands are softer and they caress my thighs, but it feels like an insect is creeping up my legs.

I close my eyes and adjust myself under him.

‘Why are you squirming?’ he snaps.

‘Sorry, go on.’

But he has lost his erection. He tries to get it up for some time while I wait awkwardly. He presses my breasts too hard and I swat his hands away.

‘Not like that,’ I say.

Girish gets up, turns around, and puts his shorts back on. I avert my eyes from his naked butt. I have never seen him fully naked. He leaves the room, and finally I take a pillow and scream into it. I get up and close the door. In response, Girish closes the spare bedroom door with a bang that I am sure wakes up the house. I punch the wall next to me several times till I lose all feeling in my hand and see some blood.

After crying for the whole night, I unblock Anil from WhatsApp in the morning and send him a sorry.

‘Just tell me you are okay,’ he replies within a second.

‘I miss you,’ I reply.

In the second lockdown, two things happen. Girish finally gets a return ticket from his company and Sunil’s wedding date is fixed.

There are a hundred people invited to the wedding, even though only twenty are allowed as per the rules. The whole town has come alive with this wedding. Damini is sending photos of her sari to all her sisters so that they can colour-coordinate on the wedding day and the reception. Bala and Girish are busy preparing the stage and putting up a tent. Since there is still a lockdown imposed, all the groundwork for the marriage is taken care of by the neighbours only.

I have never seen Girish in a such great mood. He leaves home in the morning and returns for dinner, mostly drunk, whistling songs and joking with Damini in the kitchen. He gives me a new silk sari.

‘For me?’

‘Yeah, he selected himself,’ Damini says.

‘No no, Anil is gifting saris. He picked. There is one for you too, Amma,’ Girish corrects her.

After the fight with Girish, I have been pouring out my heart to Anil. We talk every evening now. I cry a lot and he listens. Some days, he talks about his work for hours and I fall asleep to his voice. Since Girish sleeps in the spare bedroom now, I can talk to Anil at night.

I guess Damini knows. None of my secrets are hidden from her. She ignores the bruised knuckles but leaves me balms and antiseptic creams. She has also caught me talking on the phone several times on the terrace. She looks at me differently now but never says a word.

The showroom is also opening in a few days and a small set of the staff has been called in. I am on top of that list. A glimmer of hope develops inside my chest.

The evening before the wedding, Girish comes into the bedroom at midnight. I wake up to the stink of alcohol.

‘I know what you want from me, dear wife,’ he slurs, and tries to kiss me. ‘Let me give you that baby.’ When he starts unbuttoning his pants, I kick him aside and leave the room.

The wedding finally gives us a chance to meet other people. Everyone is masked, wearing bright sarees and gold. I wear Anil’s gifted saree with a low-cut blouse. I am finally going to see him after two months.

After nodding to a couple of aunties, who remark that I have lost weight and I need to eat to get pregnant, I make my way through the crowd to catch a glimpse of Anil. He is nowhere to be seen.

The bride lives two blocks away, it’s a love marriage. Sunil and Sneha have exchanged garlands at the temple and are now sitting on the stage, smiling and posing for photos. I don’t even notice what they are wearing. Girish is hovering around with his circle of friends, taking jabs at the photographers for taking awkward intimate photos of the couple. I walk around the house and go to the long tables they have put up in the backyard for lunch. His voice reaches me before I see him.

Anil is wearing a crisp white long-sleeved shirt tucked into black trousers. He is pouring sambar into serving buckets and shouting instructions at others. I stand and watch him for a while.

‘Aiyyo lunch hasn’t started, Akku!’ Bala shouts at me from the corner. He is also helping with serving the food to the guests.

Anil turns and looks at me.

I feel an excitement enter my body that I had not thought I was capable of. He puts down the bucket carefully and walks towards me. I look around, not able to meet his eyes. It would give away my feelings. I twist and turn the end of my sari into an ugly knot.

‘I was looking for you at the temple,’ he says.

‘Yeah, I got late,’ I say, still looking over his shoulder.

‘Why?’

‘Ah, woke up late.’

‘Liar!’ he chuckles.

I stop fidgeting with my sari and finally my eyes find his. He still looks like a villain, but a tidy one with neat nails and polished shoes. He has put on some weight and is a little softer around the edges. I want to touch him and feel him next to me. His eyes hover over my neckline and he smiles.

‘There is some time for lunch to start and the crowd is busy with the photographers. Do you want to quickly…’

‘Yeah.’ I cut in.

‘…catch a smoke?’ Anil finishes.

I know it’s reckless, but my house is empty. I walk home, and Anil comes from an alternate route. We end up in my bedroom not the terrace.

My life is a collection of many decisions that I didn’t take. But Anil is one decision that I walk into wholeheartedly. Having sex with him when the town is gathered in his house next door feels like the most rebellious thing to do. I do what feels natural.

I laugh when Anil struggles to take my blouse off, and I cry when he kisses me. His big coarse hands are gentler than Girish’s unknown hands. He touches me everywhere with patience and a hunger that makes me want to tell him that I love him. I want this act to last a lifetime.

After having sex, we lie hugging each other. I am content. I don’t have tears anymore.

Anil gets up to dress. I look at his naked body and don’t look away.

‘Are you not dressing?’

‘No, I don’t want to see them. I am okay.’

I kiss him a lot before letting him go. He leaves behind a cigarette and lighter that I take to the terrace.

Something shifts inside me that day. After spending fifty-seven days in Girish’s company, it is clear to me that I can’t do it anymore. I feel lighter with this knowledge, and life doesn’t feel so suffocating and small.

As Girish spends his last days packing the suitcase, I offer no help. He finds excuses to talk to me, but I ignore him.

‘Do you need something when I come next time?’

‘Take the perfumes you have given me. I never use them.’

I go to my mother’s place for a few days. I sit on her verandah as she calls Ammayi a buffalo. I cook and clean for her. I give her some money that she goes and announces to her sisters and brothers. I return only the day Girish is leaving.

As Bala loads the suitcases into an airport cab, Girish walks towards Damini and me. We are standing by the door, ready to bid him farewell.

‘Look how happy she looks,’ he comments.

‘You look happier,’ I reply.

‘Hopefully we will have a grandkid soon,’ Damini says.

‘No, you will not, and you know it. Let’s … let’s stop this nonsense please,’ Girish says. ‘There is nothing. Nothing between us. Do you think I don’t see how she falls sick whenever I am here? Let’s never talk about a baby. Never ever.’

‘What happened, what’s he saying?’ Bala comes to us, hearing Girish shout.

Girish walks past him angrily into the cab and doesn’t turn back.

He has made the exit easier for me and I am grateful. I couldn’t have done it to Damini. I hug her as she sobs into my chest. I don’t know what she is crying for, but I hold her as she held me all these years.