Every Time It Rains

by Nikita Singh

  Her phone buzzed and she picked it up.

  Maahi: You’re fine tho, right?

  Laila’s eyes suddenly filled up with tears. What was wrong with her? From the outside, it would appear that her life was perfect. All the pieces came together to create a beautiful Lego house. She had a wonderful friend in Maahi, she loved their bake shops and was thrilled with their success, she truly enjoyed spending her days running C+C and nights baking. She didn’t have a boss and was very happy with her employees, her mother was no longer sick, she loved living in Delhi. On paper, her life had never been better.

  But there was still something amiss. Something that was missing, which had been missing for so long that she hadn’t even realized the void it left behind. But the void was very real. She carried it with herself every day—a blank space that weighed heavy in her heart and kept growing heavier and heavier.

  Laila wiped her cheek with the back of her hand and sniffed. She texted Maahi back.

  Laila: Yep. Have fun!

  2

  SHINY

  By the time Laila was finished baking and cleaning up that night, it was late. She had been extra meticulous, measuring every ingredient deliberately, taking her time getting everything exactly right. She liked having every minute detail under control, and achieving the exact results that she wanted. She found it relaxing.

  She drove back home, Bollywood remixes playing softly in the background on the radio. She left the car outside on the street, not wanting to make noise and wake up her mother and the neighbours by parking inside. After gathering her belongings, she walked to the gate and opened it, willing it not to screech. She had been putting off oiling the hinges for a long time. The only times she remembered, she would either be going out or coming back, generally tired, and it would slip her mind as soon as the gate closed behind her.

  Even before she turned the key, she heard movements inside. ‘Maa?’ Laila called softly, pushing the door shut with her foot. She walked through the living room and to the dining area, where her mother was sitting at the dining table, her laptop in front of her, surrounded by notebooks and pens. Laila raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re still up? It’s midnight!’

  ‘I could say the same to you.’ Maa looked at Laila from above her glasses, resting low on her nose.

  ‘Fair enough. I got delayed at Two and then figured I would wait a little longer to let the worst of the traffic clear out.’ She slumped in the chair next to Maa’s. ‘What are you up to?’

  ‘Not nagging, but just reminding you that we live in Delhi and it isn’t safe alone outside this late at night—’

  ‘Maa, no—’

  ‘Just stating facts.’ Maa pursed her lips.

  Laila sat up. ‘Okay, yes. From news, statistics and personal experience, I know it’s not very safe, but what can I do? What can anyone do? We must try and exist in our situations and make them work for us. I’m doing the best I can, taking every precaution I can to be safe, but that’s not fair! I shouldn’t have to. If I don’t, and something happens to me, it still shouldn’t be my fault. The person who does something wrong should be the only one responsible.’

  ‘I agree. But it’s not about placing blame. It’s about your safety and security and if, God forbid, something happens, I don’t need someone to blame. I need it … to not happen. We can’t turn back time and undo things; what’s done is done. So we take precautions. Prevention is better than cure. Especially when there is no cure.’

  ‘Why? By taking these precautions—making sure my car’s tank is full, or I don’t stop anywhere on the way, being alert, keeping my phone charged, carrying pepper spray and all sorts of apps and what not—aren’t I just playing a part in enabling these potential rapists and assaulters? In a way, isn’t that what I’m—’

  ‘Laila. Is there an alternative you can suggest? We can’t hunt down every person who could potentially pose a threat and what—kill them?’ Mom snorted. ‘All we can do is make sure we’re not at the wrong place at the wrong time. And if we are, we’re prepared to put up a fight—’

  ‘Why is there a wrong place? Or a wrong time? We’re living right in the middle of the capital of the country—’

  ‘I don’t want to argue with you about this right now!’

  ‘You brought it up!’ Laila cried, her face hot.

  ‘I only said that it’s not safe. I want you to be careful—that’s all.’

  ‘And you think I don’t know this?’

  ‘Of course you do, but I am your mother. That’s all.’ Maa raised her hand. ‘We’re not discussing this anymore.’

  ‘Fine.’ Laila gritted her teeth. Her heart was beating fast in her chest, all her agitation from the day coming back. It seemed as though she had strong feelings about everything today, and once again, she found herself seeing problems in the root of the matter. Where is the cure? Everyone seemed to be worried about eliminating the symptoms. Taking precautions doesn’t cure the actual disease. The disease still exists, hidden, out of sight. Disease-free and shiny from the outside, but inside, it’s all still there. Laila shook her head to clear it of the depressing thoughts that she’d had all day.

  ‘Have you eaten?’ Maa asked.

  Laila looked up. ‘Kind of.’ It was as if her stomach woke up at the mention of food, so she walked to the fridge and pulled it open. Leaning down, she inspected the various neatly arranged vessels and boxes inside. They were a family of obsessive-compulsive people. Not a thing out of place—ever. She grabbed the round, steel container with leftover plain white rice and walked back to the dining table.

  ‘There’s sabzi in the fridge. And daal too.’

  ‘I’m good,’ Laila said, pulling a fork out from the stand on the table.

  Maa shook her head and smiled, but didn’t say anything.

  Laila ate the cold rice out of the box. She had been a very health conscious teenager, but somewhere along the line, she’d realized that her body didn’t retain weight, no matter what or how much she ate. At twenty-seven, she was still as slender as she’d been a decade ago. Subconsciously, she’d begun doing the opposite of what dieticians suggest—ate carbs late at night, had no portion control, had a random meal schedule, an unbalanced diet. She loved food and ate everything. Laila thought about how Maahi was constantly worried about gaining back the weight that she had lost in the past couple of years—mostly because of working hard for C+C, which required a lot of staying on your feet, but honestly, Laila wouldn’t mind a few extra kilos on herself.

  ‘So listen,’ Maa said, breaking Laila’s train of thought. ‘Remember Girish Uncle? My friend from Patna?’

  ‘Yeah…?’ Laila had been born in Patna, where she had lived with her parents for the first few years of her life, before their divorce. That’s when her mother decided to move to Delhi with Laila. Laila had been to Patna with Maa several times over the years to visit her maternal grandparents during summer vacations. Maa occasionally talked about her friends from college, people she hadn’t seen for three decades now, old friends who’d resurfaced on Facebook.

  ‘His wife is the principal at Notre Dame Academy in Patna. She called me earlier today … about a vacancy.’ Maa observed Laila and spoke quickly, ‘It’s a temporary position. Their science teacher was diagnosed with breast cancer. It’s in the early stages and they’re positive that she will be back soon. But in the interim, they asked me if I’d like to take her place.’

  Laila swallowed hard. This had come out of nowhere and she didn’t know how to react. ‘What did you say?’ she asked evenly.

  ‘I told her I would think about it.’

  ‘How long do you have to decide?’

  ‘A week perhaps. They need to bring someone in soon. The new academic year has already started and the students are losing time. I have to let them know one way or the other soon.’ Maa’s voice became quieter towards the end.

  Laila could tell that Maa was treading lightly, as if apprehensive about Laila’s reaction. Maa had been a teacher at the school
Laila went to in Delhi for twenty-two years, up until a couple of years ago when she got sick and was unable to continue working. She had developed cardiac arrhythmia, which seemed to worsen with stress and overwork. Her temporary leave of absence had slowly converted into a long one before she eventually resigned.

  ‘You’re thinking about taking it?’ Laila asked.

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘I didn’t know you wanted to go back to work.’

  ‘I’m not that old!’ Maa laughed, clearly trying to lighten the mood. ‘I still have several good years of work left to do. Most teachers don’t retire till they’re sixty, or even sixty-five.’

  ‘Gives you fifteen solid years,’ Laila said. She wasn’t proud of herself for being unhappy about the news and it didn’t go unnoticed.

  ‘You don’t seem very excited at the prospect.’

  ‘It’s not that. I just didn’t know you were thinking about going back to work and now this—so suddenly. Just one week’s notice!’

  ‘Laila! I’m not giving you notice—’ Maa started, but Laila didn’t let her finish.

  ‘Certainly sounds like it. You have to decide within a week and then you’ll what—move to Patna?’

  ‘Not unless you don’t want me to. And I’m not moving—it’s only a temp position. And I think it can be good for me. It’s only for a few months and it’s in Patna, so Nana and Nani will be happy. I’ll get to spend longer than a couple of weeks at a stretch with them, which I haven’t done in ages. It’ll be good for them.’

  ‘Sounds like it’ll be good for everyone except me.’ Laila hated that she was saying these things. She had no idea where all the bitterness was coming from, but she couldn’t help it.

  Maa smiled. ‘It could be good for you too—living alone for a while. Everyone needs that from time to time. You didn’t move away for college or work—’

  ‘And you resent that? The fact that I went to college here in Delhi?’

  ‘Of course not! On the contrary, I appreciate it. You think I don’t know that it was partly because you didn’t want to leave me by myself. I’m only saying that you’ve always lived with me, growing up, through college and then again after Abhi—’

  ‘MAA!’

  ‘Laila…’

  ‘NO!’ Laila said forcefully. ‘NO!’ She repeated, breathing heavily. She pushed her chair back and got up with a jerk. ‘Do whatever you want to do but don’t … Just don’t.’

  Maa watched Laila, her expression fearful. ‘I didn’t—’

  ‘Please, Maa,’ Laila begged, suddenly tired to the bone. ‘Not this. Not right now. I can’t right now.’ She closed the lid on the container of rice and shoved it back in the fridge. Tossing her fork in the sink, she picked up her bag and stomped to her room. Once inside, she closed the door and leaned against it, taking deliberate, deep breaths. She tried to contain the tears, but they flowed freely down her cheeks. It was as if the pressure had been mounting all day, one after the other, before finally, it was too much. She couldn’t take it anymore.

  Laila felt weak. Her knees barely supported her weight. She stumbled to her bed and lay down quietly on her side. She bit down on her lower lip, her jaw tight, her eyes staring fixedly at the wooden bedpost. Every time a sob escaped, she clamped down hard on her lip.

  It came in waves. It had been years, but still, every now and then, she found herself caught in one of the waves. It built up, became thicker, multi-layered and gained momentum before washing over her and pulling her back with it. If she was lucky, she would be left lying at the shore, coughing, sputtering, gasping for breath. When she wasn’t, she would come very, very close to drowning.

  She fought it actively, constantly. There were times when she could almost forget all about it and be somewhat normal. But just when she’d successfully fool herself into believing that it was finally behind her, another wave would hit, bringing her crashing down. She hated feeling weak. After all this time, she hated that she still let herself be affected by something that should’ve been long forgotten by now. It was a part of her past that she shouldn’t allow to play a part in her present.

  Laila wanted to be delusional. She wished she were one of those people who could deny their realities and keep living a normal life. Why couldn’t she forget all about it? Why did she have to be transported to that night seven years ago every time she let her guard slip slightly? Why was she reminded so cruelly of that night every single night?

  She had given herself time. Weeks to recover. Months to grieve. Years to find closure. Yet, she certainly hadn’t recovered or found closure. And in moments like this, she came to the realization that she was still grieving. Perhaps she would grieve for the rest of her life.

  Laila barely got any sleep that night. Instead of tossing and turning, trying to put up a fight, she lay quietly in one place, allowing the wave to consume her and eventually pull back. By the time there was light outside, her half-shut eyes were dry and dark. She sat up, causing her head to swim for a brief moment. She allowed it. When she felt slightly better, she got up and pulled open her cupboard. Assembling her outfit for the day, Laila padded barefoot across the cool marble floor to the bathroom.

  When she emerged, an hour later, her hair was freshly washed and blow-dried, her make-up perfectly covering every sign of distress, her eyebrows expertly arched, her bruised lips hidden underneath lipstick. She was all bright and shiny from the outside. She wore grey ripped jeans with a plain black tee and black sneakers. She moved swiftly around her room and gathered everything she needed for the day and began shoving them into her bag. When she was done, she made her bed, put everything she had moved back in its place and left the room.

  Maa wasn’t in the dining room or the kitchen. Laila set down her bag on the table and went outside to bring in the newspaper. She poured herself some cereal and opened up the politics section. A few minutes later, perhaps alerted by her movements, Maa appeared in the dining room. Laila felt a pang of guilt when she looked up. Unlike Laila, her mother’s face was clearly anguished.

  ‘Good morning,’ Maa said softly.

  ‘Morning.’ Laila cleared her throat. It felt raw.

  They sat quietly, sharing sections of the newspaper between them. After a little while, unable to handle the silence any longer, Laila got up and brought her bowl to the sink. ‘You want some orange juice?’ she asked. ‘I’m squeezing some.’

  ‘Okay,’ Maa said briefly. The dryness in her voice pulled at Laila’s heart. It was all her fault. She had been selfish and she had overreacted. She’d known it while she was doing it, unable to control herself. In the light of the day, she felt even more ashamed of her behaviour.

  Laila brought two short glasses of orange juice back to the table and sat back down. ‘You should go,’ she said quietly, pushing one glass towards her mother.

  Maa looked up.

  ‘You should absolutely go. There’s no question about it,’ Laila said, shaking her head. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I won’t go if you don’t want me to.’

  ‘Maa, you should go. It’s only temporary. It’ll be great for you, spending time with Nana and Nani in Patna for a while. You probably need a little change anyway, and if you’re not ready to go back to work here full-time, this is the perfect alternative.’

  ‘I thought so too.’ Maa studied Laila closely. ‘But I don’t mind staying back at all, if you need me here—’

  Laila reached for Maa’s hand and held it lightly. ‘Go. I’m fine.’ She paused, unable to look into her mother’s eyes. ‘And I really am sorry about last night. I was … in a strange mood and I took it out on you.’

  Maa squeezed her hand and nodded. They spent the next few minutes in a more comfortable and yet emotionally charged silence, hiding behind their newspapers till they were okay to speak again. Laila’s throat felt tight. She forced big gulps of juice down it and got up. She brought both their empty glasses to the sink and took longer rinsing them to avoid looking at Maa.

  ‘You should
let the principal know today,’ she said.

  ‘I will.’

  ‘I’ll look at flights once I reach work and call you. If you were to join next Monday, perhaps it’d be best if you left early this weekend—you’ll get some time to settle down before you start. And wait for me to get back home tonight so I can pack for you. I know you’ve been feeling better, but you don’t need to strain yourself unnecessarily … especially when I’m here. Save your energy to teach teenagers science.’ Laila forced a chuckle. ‘I’m sure they’ve become more rebellious since you were last a school teacher. You’ll need all of your energy. And oh, do make a list of things you need to take from here and if you need to buy anything. I can come shopping with you. We should get something for Nana and Nani too. Maahi was telling me about these beautiful saris she saw in Chandni Chowk last week. We should go there sometime—maybe tomorrow?’

  Laila stopped speaking and turned off the faucet. She continued to keep her back turned. There was a pause.

  ‘It’s only a two-hour flight away,’ Maa said.

  Laila nodded.

  ‘You can visit anytime you want.’

  Laila nodded again.

  ‘I’m sure Nana and Nani would love that.’

  Laila walked back to the dining table to get her bag. She stretched her lips in the semblance of a smile and said, ‘See you tonight,’ before walking away.

  3

  CHANGE

  They say change is constant. They go as far as saying that it is good and necessary even. It doesn’t change the fact that change is also scary. Laila tapped her fingernails on the steering wheel repeatedly. Her back was taut with tension. Behind her sunglasses, her eyes were unfocused. She needed another minute before she could go out in the world. Till then, she preferred to remain hidden in the parking lot.

  Her phone rang. She collected it from the dashboard and muted the call without checking who it was from. Just one more minute.