“Is this your way of punishing me? By going off on holiday with him?”
She has no sighs left to exhale. “Scattering the ashes of a beloved sister who died by suicide isn’t a holiday, Nirav.”
Coal mews in his cage.
“Kavita, I know my family hurt you—”
“Not just them, Nirav. You hurt me too. You hurt me by the things you did, and mostly by the things you didn’t.”
“Forgive me, my darling, and we’ll start again. We’ll put all this behind us and get back to normal.”
“That isn’t an answer,” she tells him. “That’s just more silence. More pretending.”
The longer their conversation goes on, the clearer it is to Kavita that she isn’t getting through to him. But she will try, one more time. “My pain is supposed to be your pain, Nirav. But you shrug it off like it’s nothing. That’s how I know you don’t really know how I feel, and you don’t care to. You just want the awkwardness to be over. Well, so do I. But I also want a partner that understands me. That loves me, broken pieces and all. Someone I don’t have to hide my pain from because he would never want me to.”
Kavita pauses, shaken, realizing the words that came from her mouth, first came from Hawthorn’s.
Nirav looks at her as if she is deranged.
She rises to her feet and gazes at him with sad eyes. “If I forgive you now, Nirav, nothing will ever change between us. And if we have a future together, I need for things to change.”
“Don’t leave like this.”
“The truth is,” she says. “You left me first.”
He steels his eyes. “No, Kavita. Sunil was the one who left you.”
His words rake through what little remorse she has left for him. She can’t bear to look at his face. She stares at the floor, dispassionate, and says, “You’re wrong, Nirav. Sunil left me with you. And you left me all alone.”
She walks past him, grabs her things, and leaves.
38.
KAVITA STANDS SHOULDER to shoulder with Hawthorn behind a chest-high stone wall. They are surrounded by throngs of tourists, drawn to the rust-coloured spectacle of the Golden Gate Bridge. They decided to make a stop on their way back from Muir Woods after scattering Sequoia’s ashes.
The wind gusts fiercely. Kavita wishes she had worn something warmer than her jean jacket. Still, she can’t deny the beauty of the place. The waters of San Francisco Bay seem to reflect the bright blue of the sky above.
“It’s a lovely spot,” she tells Hawthorn. “I’m glad we decided to take in the view.”
He squints at the iconic bridge. “It’s impressive. But now that we’re here, I can’t help but think about all the jumpers. Ironic, isn’t it? Considering what we just did for Sequoia.”
“I’ve been thinking the same thing.”
“Weird, isn’t it? The world marches on, back and forth across this bridge, ignorant of the despair right under their feet. See where my parents are standing?” He signals with his chin. Their matching orange windbreakers make them easy to spot in the crowd, as they take in the sights, hand in hand.
“I see them,” she says.
“Someone might’ve jumped from that very spot. Someone’s daughter. Someone’s sister.” He wriggles his shoulders. “I just got chills.”
A shiver runs up her neck. “Me too.” She rolls her shoulders back against the ghostly sensation. “Do you think your parents are all right? Today couldn’t have been easy for them.”
“I think they’re okay. Or at least they will be. I think today brought us some closure. We’ve been reluctant to scatter Sequoia’s ashes for so long. But back in the woods, I can’t explain why, somehow it just felt right.” They had hiked along one of the less popular trails for about an hour and stopped at a thick stand of redwoods that blocked the view to the ocean. “I wasn’t necessarily expecting that. It’s hard to let go of someone when you have so little of them left to hold on to. But she wanted to see the redwoods. And now she’s a part of them. She belongs there, in that beautiful place. We found her the perfect spot.”
“She’ll be able to see all the way to the ocean, just like you wanted her to.”
He gazes at the bay with a faraway look in his eyes.
“Are you okay?” she asks, nudging him with her shoulder.
“I will be,” he replies. “Having you here makes things easier. Thanks again for coming.”
“Well, it’s like I told you before. I’m happy to be able to help you for a change. You’ve done so much for me this year. Sometimes I feel like I’ll never be able to pay you back.”
“I didn’t do anything, other than listen to you, and maybe give you the odd book to read.”
“Which meant everything to me.”
“Well, it’s like I’ve been trying to tell you. Everything is what you deserve.”
His gaze shifts from the blue waters of the bay and locks onto her face. Despite all the active air around her, she can’t seem to pull in just one breath.
“Kavita?” he asks. “You look like you’re about to hurl. Do I need to get out of the way?”
She pauses. Looks at him. Can’t tell if he’s joking or not. All of a sudden, her nerves spurt into laughter. “Only you could diffuse a tense moment like that.” Smiling, she shakes her head. Only him.
“Just tell me,” he says, straight-faced. “I can take it.”
She can almost hear her heart thudding in her ears. Where to begin? “I want you to know how much you mean to me,” she says, slowly. “I never expected to make another best friend after Sunil passed away, but that’s what you’ve become to me. I don’t want to lose you.”
“Then you won’t.”
“I’m flattered that you asked me to join you in Costa Rica. And if I’m honest, part of me wants to go with you and see what happens. There’s a part of me that wants to run and not stop, ever. But that isn’t the right reason, is it?”
He considers. “If you come with me, I want it to be because there’s nowhere else is the world you’d rather be. Not because you’re hiding.”
“The truth is,” she continues. “I’m still in transition. When Sunil died, part of me died with him. I feel like I’m just getting to know myself again. Some parts of me are the same. But some parts of me are totally different. It’s all so new. Does that make sense?”
“I get it,” he nods. “It was the same for me. Two years later and I’m still working out who I am without my twin to bounce off of. Every time someone dies, we lose a bit of our identity.”
“And I’m still figuring out who I am without Sunil. I’m still figuring out what I want.”
She pauses. “For a long time after Sunil died, I thought I should be dead too. He was dead, and it was my fault, so I should be dead too. I thought that’s what I deserved. But then I met you, and you helped me realize I have a life that’s all my own. And it’s a life worth living, even if it feels like I’m starting over sometimes. I finally believe it. That I deserve to live. And it’s okay. I’m not doing anything wrong.”
“Can’t living your new life include me?”
“It always will,” she tells him, earnestly, holding his gaze. His eyes are dark and soft and open. Those wells of empathy that made all the difference to her. “When every other person failed me, you were there, letting me know that I wasn’t alone. I’ll never forget that. I know I’ve never told you, Hawk, but you saved my life. And I’ll never be able to thank you enough.”
He smiles at her with gentleness. “No, Kavita,” he says. “You saved yourself. You’re doing it right now. Knowing you’re okay is all the thanks I’ll ever need.”
The fierceness of the wind pushes them together. She wraps her arms around him and buries her face in the cool bend of his neck. He holds her close, and squeezes, and squeezes. As the wind rages through her hair, he whispers into it, “You’re my
best friend, too.”
39.
NO ONE SPEAKS on the way to the marina, not even to request the radio for distraction. As Kavita drives, her father sits behind her, staring out the window passively. Beside her sits her mother, clutching the brass urn of Sunil’s ashes as though it is treasure that she isn’t quite ready to part with yet. When she first asked them, Kavita wasn’t sure if her parents would agree to come home for the one year anniversary of Sunil’s passing. She wasn’t even sure if having them in the same room was a good idea. But now that they are here, she is grateful for their temporary armistice, and especially, for not having to face the day alone. As she pulls into the parking lot, her insides start to harden, as if steeling themselves against whatever might be coming next. She parks, shuts off the ignition, and looks around for Nirav’s new car, which is lime green, apparently. A few moments later, she finds a car matching that description to her left.
“I think Nirav’s here,” she says in a neutral voice. Neither of her parents responds. She presumes they are still sore about the London incident. Shortly after coming back from San Francisco, she finally told them the truth. They deserved to know what had happened, even if that knowledge hurt them, which of course it did, particularly the question of why their son was treated with less respect than they have shown Nirav over the years, a question for which Kavita had no answer, a question that had no answer good enough, regardless.
“Well,” Kavita says. “We should go meet him.”
Her mother holds the urn tighter. “Maybe this is a bad idea.”
Kavita places a hand on her knee. “I know it’s going to be hard. But in the end, I think it’ll be good for us. Remember my friend, Hawk? Well, he said that scattering his sister’s ashes brought them some closure. I think we could use that.”
Neither of her parents agrees or disagrees. She opens her car door with a creak. “Come on,” she tells them, gently. “We’ll get through this together.”
They approach the lighthouse in a silent procession. In the distance, she sees Nirav standing by the lighthouse. He is dressed in a pair of tan linen pants and a loose-fitting navy shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. With his hands in his pockets, he stares across the river. No sailboats to count today. Not enough of a breeze.
Although they have started talking on the phone again, it feels strange to see him, which she hasn’t since she returned from California eight weeks ago. When she moved out, she picked up her things while he was at work, but thanks to their lenient concierge, didn’t have far to carry them, as she was permitted to stay in one of the guest rooms in their building, the same room her father had stayed in, while she figured out her next step. For now, she is renting a one-bedroom apartment in a building close to the river. What she likes most about her new place are its north-facing windows and eleventh-floor balcony. When she’s out there, it is a comfort to gaze at the gentle slope of the Eardley Escarpment, sleeping Vishnu covered in mosses. Although she can’t see them, she knows the hawks are there too, soaring above the landscape and any earthy pain, like Sunil’s spirit.
“Nirav,” she calls out. Startled, he looks over his shoulder, smiles guardedly, and approaches them. Kavita can sense the hesitation weighing down his steps. “Mum,” he nods in greeting. “Dad.”
After a few mute seconds, her mother reaches out a cheek for him to peck. His worried expression breaks into relief. He kisses her, enthusiastically, on both cheeks, then does the same to Kavita’s father, as if frightened of losing the moment and momentum alike. But when he reaches Kavita, Nirav falters.
“How are you?” he asks.
“Okay.”
“It’s lovely to see you.” He smiles. “So lovely.”
She returns his smile, silently admitting that it is good to see him too, she needs his support, today of all days, despite the separate spheres they have occupied of late.
With greetings aside, the weight of their purpose for gathering settles upon them. As she listens to the intermittent call of the gulls, Kavita gazes at the lighthouse. When crisis befell them last year, this was the place they came to escape their troubles. A place that seemed to beckon them with its memories of happier times, like a torch through the darkness, offering a promise of how things could be for them again. This place, now the last place they spent together as a family.
Kavita peers at her mother. “Are you ready?” she asks.
Her mother looks at her father, who gives a solemn nod. Then, veiling her eyes, passes the urn to Kavita. The metal feels cold against her palms. She hugs the urn to her chest and leads them to the water’s edge.
Although this river isn’t the Ganges, somehow it feels just as holy. Kavita can sense a hum rising off the rocks and the water; the very air seems to vibrate. Her skin is alive. Her heart is beating slow.
Cool water licks her sandaled feet. Its touch is fresh and purifying, as if it holds the memory of spring showers, the victorious end of winter.
“We should’ve rented a boat,” she says. “I didn’t think of it before. If we scatter Sunil’s ashes here, they’ll just collect along the shoreline.”
Kavita recalls her recent trip to Muir Woods, and how Hawthorn found the perfect place to scatter Sequoia’s ashes. She imagines the wind moving gently through the canopy with a silvery ruffle, lets her mind’s eye travel along miles and miles of sky-blue ocean. That is what she wants for Sunil. Freedom. Transformation. She wants him to dissolve into these waters, and course as freely as only rivers can, only to rise as a cloud, reaching higher than any hawk could possibly soar.
She takes a step forward. The coolness of the river swallows her ankles. She looks back at her family. She won’t go any farther if they think her idea is silly.
Nirav slips off his shoes and enters the water. Her father follows. And finally, her mother. Her parents link arms. The magic of the river has touched them already. What she has just witnessed is a miracle.
They wade out into the river as naturally as bathers at Ganga ghats, to where the water is thigh-deep. They organize themselves into a shape that mimics a horseshoe. She feels the river ease against the backs of her legs, sensing the encouragement of its forward motion. Let go, the river is telling her. I am here to catch him. I will carry him, always. We are water.
A puff of fine grey dust, like incense ash, releases into the air as Kavita lifts away the lid. Then, she closes her eyes, and recalls one of the Gita passages Hawthorne marked for her, those simple words that gave her perspective, an understanding of samsara, the cosmic wheel of life, when all she could see at the time was death. It cannot be cut or burned, she recites silently. It cannot be wet or withered. It is enduring, all-pervasive. Fixed, immovable, and timeless…. She opens her eyes to the light. Indestructible.
With a gentle shake, she tips the ashes. A powdery cloud forms on the surface of the water, then slowly starts to drift away from them. Little by little, the ashes disappear. As she watches her brother’s remains dissolve below the surface of the dark water, Kavita does what the river whispered.
She lets go. Of all the little anchors that at one time seemed forever hooked to her soul, surrendering them to the swift current, as if tossing stones, an arc of pain that shoots through the air away from her, and sinks out of sight.
What remains is all that is most precious to her.
All the love that will keep her buoyant.
40.
KAVITA SITS AT THE welcome table by the entrance of the church basement. It is her first night running the table alone since she started volunteering with the bereavement group a few months ago. They expect a big turnout tonight. The last meeting before Christmas is always crowded.
Her notes are tucked inside her purse. It took her about a week to compose all the things she wanted to say about her experiences as a suicide survivor. It took another week to practise the words out loud. As she did, in front of her dresser mirror, she sc
arcely trusted that the healthy person being reflected back to her was her own image, just as she scarcely recognized the sound of her own voice.
Her thoughts rewind to where she had been at this time last year. As she gazes around the room, at the regulars preparing snacks in the kitchen and gossiping, the newcomers sitting off on their own averting their eyes, and all versions of mourners in between, she smiles, grateful she chose to breathe in life again that night.
She can’t help but chuckle at the kitschy plastic Christmas tree twinkling beside the snacks, its wire branches heavy with red and gold bobbles, multicoloured lights, and fistfuls of chrome-shine tinsel. Some of the mourners have filled out snowflake cards to their departed and tucked them into the bare patches of the tree. Kavita hasn’t written a message to Sunil yet, but might before the night is done. In the background, she catches notes of her favourite holiday song, waits for the most touching lyric, then sings along with Bing Crosby: I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams.
Along with the cheer this time of year can bring, she can’t deny the absences also brought into keen focus. Of course, there is Sunil, whose absence is always so present, but especially now when thoughts turn to family togetherness. And her parents’, who aren’t coming home for the holidays. And also someone she misses keenly whenever she finds herself in the church basement: her friend of friend’s, Hawthorn.
She reaches into her purse and pulls out his most recent postcard. The image is an enviable panoramic of a secluded beach with turquoise waters and a solitary highlighter-yellow surfboard planted in the sand. She can expect an update every couple of weeks or so, the postcards like snapshots of his latest excursions—ziplining through the canopy, bungee jumping over a river gorge, surfing on beaches that appear too pristine to be real.
Her only regret about tonight is that Hawthorn will miss her talk. He asked her to record it and send it to him as a Christmas present, but she has always hated the sound of her voice on tape.
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