Side by Side

by Anita Kushwaha

  She wonders if Nirav has finished his speech by now and decides to check on him. Upstairs, she opens his bedroom door without a creak. She finds him hunched over a small desk. The room is dim apart from the desk lamp that offers a funnel of citrusy light over his pages. He lowers his pencil and glances over.

  She grins and takes a seat on the end of his bed. “How’s the speech coming?” she asks.

  He leans back on his chair with a slight groan. “I’m rubbish at this sort of thing. I’ve never been comfortable speaking in front of crowds. Apparently loads of people are coming tomorrow. So many people knew Nani from the shop. I still don’t know how I’m going to stand in front of them and say something that doesn’t sound like a load of bollocks.”

  “Once your up there, things will start rolling, and it’ll be over before you know it. You’re going to do great. I know it.”

  “The thought of it makes me a bit ill, actually.” He rubs soothing circles over his stomach. “You know me, love. I’d rather just keep my head down and keep to myself.”

  “Can I help at all?”

  “No, it’s all right. It’s just taking a lot longer than I thought it would, is all.” He scratches the stubble on his chin. “Anyway, how about you? What have you been up to?”

  “I made dinner,” she says. “Not much else.” She hesitates. “I’m feeling a little stiff from the flight, actually. Do you feel like stretching your legs? The writing might come easier if you take a little break.” Then she can tell him what happened, out in the open air, where it is safe.

  “Sorry, love, but if I don’t push through, I’ll just give up.”

  “You’re right,” she says, crestfallen beneath her thin smile. “The speech is important. Of course, you should finish it.”

  “Hopefully it won’t take much longer. Maybe we can go for a stroll after dinner, yeah?”

  She gives him a faint parting smile, then leaves.

  Back in the kitchen, she walks through a fine, rippling cloud of incense. Closing her eyes for a moment, she inhales the comforting aroma of smoky rose. As she exhales, she wonders what to do with herself.

  She considers calling her parents, but they will be asleep by now because of the time difference. She craves a cigarette, but doesn’t know where the nearest corner store is, nor does she trust her navigational skills in the warren roads of Nirav’s old neighbourhood. She might have gotten some fresh air in the garden, if it weren’t for the relentless drizzle, and patio chairs covered in unwelcoming puddles. She scolds herself for not packing one of her library books.

  In the living room, she searches for something to read but only finds a copy of The Sun and a stack of Hello! magazines. Flopping on the couch, she reaches for the remote, and starts clicking.

  Eventually, she comes across a rerun of Friends. “The smelly cat episode,” she grins. “I love this one.” She remembers watching this episode with Sunil, when it was first aired, back in the nineties. How he doubled over, his high-pitched, hyena of a laugh echoing through the basement as Phoebe strummed her guitar and sang in her nasal voice that was so charmingly out of key.

  The fragile moment of nostalgia and the momentary joy it brought quickly fades. Something about the memory causes the words to surge back.

  No one knows about him.

  No one knows about him.

  No one knows about him….

  “I bloody love this episode,” says a distant voice, pushing Kavita off her merry-go-round of thought. She looks to the right and finds Nirav’s father standing there in a brown cardigan. As he lowers himself onto the adjacent loveseat by the window, he draws his black horn-rimmed glasses from his breast pocket, and makes himself comfortable. “This is the one when Rachel puts mince in the trifle, isn’t it?”

  Kavita blinks at the television, puzzled. The smelly cat episode had ended without her noticing.

  By the end of the episode, the sun has nearly set. Nirav’s father flicks on the lights. The room is suffused with soft pearly light. He peers over at the dining room. “I see you’ve made supper,” He pats his stomach. “I’m famished. Shall we call the others?”

  Kavita rises slowly to her feet, her head dull as if wakened from a heavy nap. “I’ll get Nirav,” she says.

  Back upstairs, she peeks her head through Nirav’s bedroom door and finds him in much the same hunched posture as earlier. “Dinner time,” she grins. “Sorry for bothering you.”

  “It’s no bother.” He sets down his pencil on the notepad. “I just finished.”

  “Do you want to practice it in front of me?”

  “I don’t think so, love. If it’s awful, I’d rather not know, if you get me.” He winks at her.

  She presses her lips together, wondering if now would be a good time to ask. “Niru,” she says. “Now that you’re finished your speech, can we talk about something after dinner?”

  He gives her a cautious look. “Of course. What’s it about?”

  “Something that happened when we were at Nani’s. I wanted to tell you about it when we got back, but I knew you needed to concentrate on your speech.”

  “I hope it’s nothing serious?”

  “That’s what I’m hoping we’ll be able to figure out.” She hears people in the kitchen. “But it can wait till after dinner. Come on, everyone’s waiting.”

  While the others gather around the table, she reheats the sabji and rice, gets the raita and salad out of the fridge, and rubs ghee on the rotis until they glisten.

  Maya frowns. “My stomach’s eating itself and there’s nothing but veg on the table?”

  Kavita approaches the table with a plate of rotis stacked high. “Aren’t we supposed to eat vegetarian while we’re in mourning?”

  Maya rolls her eyes. “We aren’t properly religious.”

  “Now, now, my darling,” says Mrs. Stone. “I’m sure your blood sugar will balance out once you’ve had something to eat. Everyone gets a tad grouchy on an empty stomach, don’t they?”

  As Kavita takes her seat, Mrs. Stone holds out her plate, and says, “A little bit of everything for me, dear.”

  Kavita rises to her feet once more, takes Mrs. Stone’s plate, who is seated across from her, and serves, then makes her way around the table, clockwise, and fills the plates of Mr. Stone, Maya, and Nirav. Lastly, she serves herself, a small portion, as usual.

  No one speaks for the first few bites, appearing to enjoy the food, except for Maya, who pushes a curried cube of potato around her plate, her face drawn in a familiar dark sulk. Soon she abandons the potato and picks up her mobile. Kavita focuses on her plate and tears into a warm, glistening roti, admiring the simple pleasures of butter and bread.

  “Kavita, dear,” Mrs. Stone says over a partial mouthful. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something. I meant to bring it up earlier, actually, but it was so hectic at Nani’s, it didn’t feel like the right time.”

  Kavita lifts her gaze and peers across the table, wrists hovering over her plate.

  Mrs. Stone gives her husband a serious sidelong look. “We need to confess something to you, don’t we George?”

  “Yes, that’s right. We’ve left it too long already.”

  Kavita’s heart beats quicker. “What is it?”

  “Well, it’s the kind of thing that’s best discussed in person, really. It’s so easy for misunderstandings about these sorts of things to take place. And we wouldn’t want that, now would we? Anyway, you’re here now. So we can speak about things openly, face to face. That’s what families are meant to do. Families can talk about anything.”

  Kavita knew for a fact Nirav spoke to his family about precisely nothing, other than football scores and the trials of both English and Canadian weather, but she pushes this reality aside, nodding encouragingly for Mrs. Stone to edit the preamble and go on.

  “Well dear, it’s hard to
talk about these things, of course. It’s hard to find the right words. Stepping in it seems inevitable. What with the way things are. I suppose people of our generation have never really learned the proper way of approaching these matters. It’s all very delicate, isn’t it?”

  With relief, Kavita senses what is coming. The explanation she has been faithfully awaiting since the moment after disbelief was hissed deeply into her ear.

  “Right, well, out with it now,” Mrs. Stone continues. “Kavita, Nirav: we think it’s time the two of you started a family.”

  For a few beats, Kavita forgets to breath at all.

  “I know, I know, you think we’re out of bounds. But you’ve been married for over a year and the honeymoon can’t last forever, you know. By the time we were your age, we already had both of our children.” Mrs. Stone flicks a critical eye in the direction of Kavita’s lap. “We trust everything’s all right in that area, yes?”

  “Hold up, yeah?” Maya interjects. “I’m too young to be an aunt. I only just started uni!”

  Mrs. Stone gives Maya an indulgent smile. “This isn’t about you, my darling.” Then she fixes her eyes on Kavita again. “What this family needs is new life, Kavita. It’s been a dreadful year, what with my mother passing so unexpectedly. A baby would surely sweep away all of our sorrows. One of the ladies who comes in to the shop regularly just had a grandchild. The other day, she brought in pictures of the little cherub, all snuggled in a pink blanket she had knitted herself. I was positively bursting with envy!”

  “Stretch marks,” Maya says, pulling a face. “Rank.”

  “Oh, don’t listen to her. It’s all worth it in the end, isn’t it? Stretch marks are a privilege! Just like motherhood. That’s the problem with girls today. They care more about their careers and their figures that their duty to their families. It’s all terribly selfish, isn’t it?”

  Maya snickers.

  “But you know, dear,” Mrs. Stone continues. “There are some serious things to consider. It may not seem immediate to you now, but the reality is you aren’t getting any younger. You’ll never be healthier than you are now. Pregnancy only gets more difficult with age. And let’s be honest, at this point, you don’t even know if things will go smoothly in that department, if you read me. The truth is, you and Nirav aren’t even really a family yet, not without children. Isn’t that right, George?”

  “Yes, quite right. Children are a family’s raison d’être, isn’t it?”

  “We know you’re resistant to changing your lives. You’ve grown accustomed to only thinking about yourselves. But trust me, children, you don’t want have any regrets. I didn’t want to have to mention it, but there’s an elderly woman who comes into the shop nearly every day, a sad little thing, she is. Lives on her own in one of those fancy retirement residences, which I’m sure sounds like a luxurious old age, but let me tell you, despite all her money, she’s as lonely as sin. It’s absolutely heartbreaking. I suppose it’s her own fault for being selfish and short-sighted, really. But, because I care, I wouldn’t want that to happen to you.” Mrs. Stone pauses, briefly, a thoughtful smile on face. “I can’t wait to be called Dadi,” she continues. “Dear me, I’m getting misty just thinking about it.”

  “The little nipper shall call me Grandpa Stone.”

  “What? Not G-Daddy?” Maya smirks, then she lets out a wistful sigh. “I suppose I could tolerate being called Auntie M. Oh no, will it have an horrible American accent and all?”

  “Canadian, my darling.”

  “Uh, what’s the difference?”

  “Well, Kavita dear,” Mrs. Stone says, leaning in. “Don’t leave us in the lurch. Tell us about your plans.”

  “Yes,” her father-in-law says, offering a rare smile. “Out with it, spit spot.”

  “Mary bloody Poppins,” Maya mutters, thumbing at her mobile.

  Kavita looks sidelong at Nirav. Somehow, miraculously, he hasn’t lost his appetite amid the barrage. As he tears into a roti, she nudges his legs under the table.

  “Wha?” he barks. She blinks at him. He’s gone very London all of a sudden, dropping the “t,” which only happens when he’s in a particularly surly mood.

  She opens her eyes wide and begs him, wordlessly, for help.

  “Bloody hell, can’t we eat in peace for once?”

  “Now, now, there’s no need to get cross, darling.”

  “We haven’t talked about having kids, all right?”

  “Don’t you want a family, Kavita?” her father-in-law asks. “You know, a woman isn’t really a woman until she’s given birth.”

  “Yes, exactly,” Mrs. Stone agrees. “You’re probably worried about losing your independence. But really, you won’t be losing anything at all. You can’t even imagine what you’re going to gain.”

  “Yeah, like, three stone,” Maya laughs.

  The collective weight of their stares crush Kavita’s voice. She glances at Nirav but he keeps his eye on his plate. “I need some more water,” she manages to blurt beyond her shock, grabbing her already-full glass and escaping into the kitchen.

  “Wah-der,” Maya mimics behind her back.

  Kavita runs the tap, rests her glass on the counter, and holds the rim of the sink. The chatter in the dinning room falls behind the roar of the torrent.

  The rationalizing and scant hope and mantra have failed her completely. Instead of a reasonable explanation, she got what she was never expecting: unreasonable expectations. It has only been months since Sunil passed away. Do they really think she is in any shape for motherhood?

  Before Sunil’s passing, she and Nirav sometimes fantasized about having a child. They mused about what he or she might look like, the names they could live with and the ones they couldn’t stand, how they wanted the baby to learn both Hindi and French.

  Now, her fantasies are dyed a darker hue, and her thoughts about parenthood shoot to the worst possible scenario: What if mental illness is encoded in her genes? What if Gloom has always been inside of her like a spore waiting for ideal conditions to spread its suffocating taint, its black hypha branching through her like chocking vines until she is colonized? What if she has a child, and that child struggles like Sunil did? What if she has a child, and loves it, and cares for it, and makes it the centre of her world, and that child takes the life she gave it?

  It could happen.

  It happened to her parents. They wanted health and happiness and good fortune like anyone else. They had been blessed with those treasures for a while—been lucky as some might smugly boast as if the rest of the world were damned—but then those good things were plucked away, violently plucked away. What makes her think she is immune?

  It could happen again.

  If it happens again, she knows she won’t survive it. Her bloody, broken heart can’t be splintered into any smaller pieces, it simply isn’t possible.

  “Kavita?” Mrs. Stone calls out, puckering her ears against the trill. “Are you filling your glass or the Thames, dear?”

  She shuts off the tap. She wants to excuse herself but there is no escape from the Roman arena that is their dining table. No, there is no safety in this place.

  Kavita returns to her seat at the table. They have moved on to gossiping about the upcoming Royal wedding. Although she isn’t hungry, she eats, if only to close herself off to conversation, her presence for the rest of the meal as slight as the sounds that she makes: tearing, scooping, swallowing with effort.

  20.

  AFTER DINNER, KAVITA SEQUESTERS Nirav in his bedroom at last. By the light of a single floor lamp, they sit on his bed, and she holds her hands in her lap to stop their mutinous quivering from betraying the saint-like air she is strenuously trying to exude, all openness and inner glow like a statue in a temple.

  “That thing I wanted to talk to you about,” she says in her softest manner. The baby shaming will have to w
ait its turn in the queue of inappropriate things have happened during this trip.

  Nirav stifles a yawn. “Oh right. Go on, then.”

  “I don’t know how to say this,” she begins. “So, I’m just going to spit it out. When we were at Nani’s, I went to say hi to the ladies, and Nisha Auntie asked me….” She trails off. She isn’t sure she can go on.

  “What?”

  “She…Niru, she asked how Sunil was. If he was planning on getting married soon. As if he were still alive. As if she didn’t know he had passed away.”

  Nirav doesn’t react to what she has revealed, possibly because he is even more astonished than she is—or perhaps too embarrassed—so she carries on. “Then afterwards, your mom pulled me aside and told me that ‘no one knows about him.’ I’m not even sure what that means. Do you have any idea what’s going on?”

  Nirav says nothing and keeps his stare low. Kavita searches his face for an answer. She sees what she thinks is outrage slowly rippling underneath his placid exterior. She imagines its roar building in his long, introspective pause. Any moment now, it will burst through and shake the walls, validating her pain and confusion.

  “The rest of the time we were there,” she says. “I felt like I had to pretend Sunil was alive. Like I got roped into a terrible secret. I didn’t know what else to do. I was so shell-shocked. I still don’t know what it all means.”

  “Unbelievable,” he says at last.

  “I know,” she agrees. “I still can’t figure out why or what it all means.”

  Nirav looks up from the floor. She expected his amber eyes shine with anger, and yet also expected them to remain soft, at least while they rested upon her. But these eyes are hard, and they frighten her. “You’re what’s unbelievable, Kavita.”

  She blinks quickly as though his words have kicked dust into her eyes. “What did I do?”

  “I can’t believe how selfish you are.”

  He might as well have backhanded her with his steel wedding band. It would have left less of a bruise.