Nimita's Place

by Akshita Nanda

  Even the 7-Eleven cashier was crying as he took my money.

  So much sadness in the air that I can’t sit still.

  Dadi would cry at night sometimes. On the days I slept with her, she was fine as long as her arm was curled around my shoulders. But during the summer nights, I would eventually move away. Then I would wake up in the middle of the night because she would be making funny noises in her sleep. She would sound like the puppies on the road that I was never allowed to bring home. She would shake and shake and only stop when I put my arm around her body.

  Dadi used to be so big when I was small, but when I came to Singapore in 2011, my feet stretched far beyond hers, on the bed.

  “All these people, crying for one man,” I say.

  The scene on TV switches from the mourners watching the funeral hearse travel down the road, to a big hall with lots of familiar faces inside. Is that Narendra Modi?

  Thunder crashes and the rain falls like someone has overturned a bucket of water. We get up and close all the windows in the living room and in our bedrooms.

  We return to the sofa.

  Chia Ying puts her hand on mine and squeezes it. Gently. So gently that I start crying.

  “Tell me,” she says. “Tell me what happened?”

  What happened?

  What would happen?

  I thought I was pregnant that day and I couldn’t think about the consequences, I couldn’t. I went back to the lab and told Dr Savarkar I was feeling ill. My face was proof enough. She went out of her office and called Vicky in. “Take her home,” said our supervisor, who had never once said or done anything to make me think she knew we were more than students linked by her lab.

  Vicky nodded. “Give me two minutes,” he said. I sat at my workbench until he finished. I actually wanted to go back to my room in the hostel, which was closer, but was too tired to say so.

  At home, I got into bed and pulled the covers up to my neck. When I woke, Vicky had made rice and dal khichdi. I felt a little better after eating, took two tablets of paracetamol and went back to sleep.

  In the morning, Vicky had made me sweet tea and dry toast. Again, the food helped.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  He went to the lab, reminding me to eat the leftover khichdi.

  After he left, I lay in our bed and looked at the room. The peacock-blue curtains we had bought to match the one coloured wall, the photos we had taken at the Karla Caves, which had been framed and hung on the walls. I fell asleep again, waking only to eat, and then again when Vicky came home and made dal. He didn’t even burn it.

  Over dinner I felt a growing sense of peace. Look at this. Look at us. This needn’t be impossible. We can do this, surely. Surely we can.

  “How are you feeling?” Vicky asked.

  “Good,” I said. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

  He smiled so wide it was like a Colgate toothpaste ad.

  “Vicky,” I said.

  “What?”

  “You will have to do more of this in the next nine months.”

  I have never seen blood drain so fast from a face.

  “Oh my God. Oh my God.”

  I pinched his hand. “Vicky.”

  “Oh my God. Oh my God. Are you sure?”

  “Relax. Breathe. No, I’m not sure. Only my period is seven days late.”

  “Seven days? That’s—you’re never late. Oh my God. Oh my God. What shall we do?”

  “Would you like to come to Mumbai to meet my family?”

  “Oh my God. Oh my—what?”

  “Come to Mumbai. Meet my family.”

  He blinked. “Yes. Yes!” He got up and hugged me. “Yes. Yes!”

  Possession is such a part of love. For that weekend, Vicky and I possessed a secret nobody else in the world did, one that would bind us together forever, or so I thought.

  He was so sweet, so attentive that all my doubts regarding him began to dissipate. He served me tea and toast in the morning, slept with his hand curled around my stomach at night. I had to push him away because the room was too hot, but as soon as he thought I was asleep, the hand came back.

  “We should buy the train tickets soon,” I told him on Monday.

  “I’ll do that. I can do that online,” he said.

  On Wednesday I asked about the train tickets.

  “I completely forgot. I’ll do that online today.” He spent a long time on the computer and I was half-asleep when he came to bed.

  “How much were the tickets?” I asked.

  “The site was down. I’ll do it tomorrow,” he said.

  “What were you doing on the computer for so long?”

  “Talking to Didi,” he said. “On Skype.”

  Thursday morning I reminded him about the tickets, Thursday evening he sat at the computer again, but on Friday morning he still hadn’t bought them. He told me this while making the breakfast tea.

  “What’s the problem?” I asked.

  “Relax, I’ll do it. Stop being pushy,” he said from the kitchen.

  “Pushy? Vicky, I want to get on a train tomorrow morning.”

  “So we’ll take a bus. Just chill.”

  “Vicky.” I knew this pattern. “Is something wrong? Don’t you want to go to Mumbai?”

  Silence from the kitchen. Then: “Your parents hate me.”

  “My parents haven’t even met you.”

  “Yes. And why is that? Why haven’t you taken me to Mumbai before?”

  I couldn’t answer. He came out of the kitchen.

  “In fact, I should be asking, why are you taking me now? What’s the reason?”

  “Vicky, you’re being ridiculous.”

  “Am I? Am I?” He came towards me and his face was a stranger’s. “It’s funny that you’re taking me now that you think you’re pregnant. Is the child even mine?”

  Who to blame for what happened next? Vicky was walking towards me saying things that made my eyes glaze over with red. As he came closer to me, I pushed him away. Not out of fear, but out of anger. It was a push, not a slap, not a punch, but a definite reflex: don’t touch me. Don’t you dare touch me.

  He came towards me again and I pushed him again.

  First he pushed me back. Then his fist hit me in the stomach.

  When you are hit in the stomach, all the air is pushed out of your body. You can’t breathe, you can’t believe the pain, you can’t understand what is happening to you.

  You lose your balance.

  I fell.

  I still remember the look on Vicky’s face as he watched me fall. Tears, anger and—relief, almost. Why are you relieved? I couldn’t say the words, but I wanted to know. Why are you looking so relieved?

  Then my arm bent beneath me and the world turned white with pain.

  I take my left hand out from under Chia Ying’s and use it to massage my right. It is dark in the living room, but there is light from the TV.

  I should turn the lights on. Emitted light from devices has been proven to have negative effects on neurochemistry. It increases the risk of insomnia, it can lead to depression and anxiety.

  First, I have to get rid of the pain in my wrist.

  My right wrist is hurting a lot. It has been killing me since last Saturday. Maybe it’s the thunderstorm.

  As a scientist, I must also consider the possibility of psychosomatic reaction, the body responding to the memory of trauma. It’s been eight or nine years since the fracture. Everything healed cleanly. My fine motor skills have been restored. Why should my wrist still feel pain then?

  It’s an animal tissue characteristic, to contain memories. Plants are smarter. When offending or foreign substances are introduced, the plant produces galls or tumours to sequester the material, keep it separate from the main body. Animal tissue can’t do that without creating a cancer that will end up killing the body.

  I wish I were a plant. I wish I could sequester and then excise memories that are, frankly, absolutely useless, do nothing but cause pain and
destroy my peace of mind. They keep bobbing up like that unsinkable Ganpati idol’s head, and when I shove them down into the muck, they remain buried but not destroyed, always waiting to pop back up at the worst possible time.

  I learnt one thing from the accident that fractured the bones in my wrist and bruised the nerves so badly that I needed surgery. I learnt that there are events so big, so large, that your brain can’t take it all in. That your brain will spend years processing these events. Like puzzles that are so big that even each individual piece is too large to view one at a time.

  I remember falling. I remember the smile on Vicky’s face. But I don’t remember what it sounded like, the breaking of bone, or even exactly how I fell. Sometimes I dream about it at night and wake up crying. Sometimes the pain hits me when a person pushes past me in a crowded food court. But at that moment, the world was just one big hum of white. When my ears cleared, my arm was under me, the wrist a bangle of fire.

  Vicky was next to me, trying to help me up.

  “Don’t touch me,” I said or maybe I screamed.

  But I needed his help to get up. Imagine this. I needed his help to get up, to sit up, to get me a glass of water while the world whirled and I tried to stay upright.

  Imagine needing his help after the things he had said, after the accident which was also his fault.

  I could have spat in his face or slapped his cheek but I was too scared. I needed his hands to make me a sling out of a chunni. I needed him to go next door and find out if Dr Joshi was still at home.

  Thank God she was, she hadn’t yet left for her clinic. She took one look at me, said “Inlaks Hospital”, and drove us both there in her car. Since she works in the hospital’s gynaecology department three days a week, she got me to the head of the accident and emergency line. “Get X-rays done and refer her to Dr Pendharkar,” she told the nurse.

  “Anything else, doctor?” Vicky asked, the picture of concern. Was it this man, who had just this morning refused to meet my family, had accused me of…

  Who was this man and what was I doing with him?

  I fumbled for my phone. Hard to open a handbag with one hand.

  “Let me do that,” Vicky said, but when he reached out with his hand I said again, “Don’t touch me.”

  Perhaps I screamed.

  The nurse stopped. So did the technician who had come to take me to the X-ray room. Dr Joshi, who had just left the room, came back in.

  “Nimita,” Vicky said, voice calm and reasonable.

  “Don’t touch me,” I said and started crying. I hated myself for it but I couldn’t stop crying.

  Dr Joshi came to me and put her hand on my right shoulder. “You wait outside,” she told Vicky. “I’ll do that,” she told me. She opened my purse and took out my phone. “What number should I dial?”

  “Doctor, she’s in shock,” Vicky said.

  “Wait outside,” Dr Joshi said and stood there, arms folded, until Vicky left.

  “Who do you want to talk to?” Dr Joshi asked me.

  “Please call my Dadi,” I said, speaking very slowly because my throat was full of snot. “Her number is under ‘Dadi’. D-a-d-i.”

  Dr Joshi, God bless her, dialled Dadi’s number and when she answered, held the phone to my ear so I could speak. “Dadi, I’ve broken my arm. I’m at Inlaks Hospital in Pune.”

  Dadi’s voice changed. “What happened?” she asked.

  “I fell. It really hurts. Please come.”

  Dr Joshi took the phone from me. “Hello? Yes, this is Dr Joshi. I’m Nimita’s neighbour. She’ll be fine, it’s just shock. We’re doing X-rays now but I think some family members should be here. Yes, Inlaks Budhrani Hospital. Yes, that’s the one. No, no need for her to be warded I think but we’ll know more after the X-rays. I’ve referred her to Dr Pendharkar. Listen, take my mobile number,” she slowly gave the number, which ended in four fives, “and when you reach, call me. Did you get that? Okay, I’m giving her the phone again.”

  She held the phone to my ear. Dadi spoke. “Beta, don’t worry about a thing. I’m getting into a taxi now and I’ll be there in three hours, maximum four. You just sit quietly and don’t worry about anything, okay? I’m coming.”

  “Thank you,” I said and cried some more.

  Dr Joshi sat with me for the next twenty minutes, twenty minutes she should have been at her clinic, seeing patients. “Do you want to make a police report?” she asked me.

  When she said that, I felt like dying. I shook my head. I hated myself so much.

  She asked again and I didn’t answer.

  The painkillers kicked in and then I said: “I need my clothes. All my stuff.”

  She put her hand on my shoulder again. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle him.”

  Somehow she did. Somehow, by the time I was finished with the X-ray, by the time the ward boy in charge of me had me in a wheelchair, got me a vada pav and made me eat it, Dr Joshi had returned with a bag. “The rest of your things will be packed and sent wherever you want. He promised. Don’t worry.”

  “Thank you,” I said, wishing I had better words. “Thank you.”

  She pressed my right hand. “It’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

  My phone rang. “Must be your grandmother,” Dr Joshi said.

  It wasn’t. It was Aditi Malhotra.

  I got the ward boy to push me out into a quiet corner so I could return Aditi’s call.

  “Nimita, what happened?” were her first words. “Are you all right? Vicky called me and told me you had an accident.”

  “I fell and broke my wrist,” I said. “Thanks to your brother.”

  “Nimita, what?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it. There’s no point talking about it. I just want to let you know that it’s over and I think that maybe you should come and get Vicky. I am walking out of the hospital and I will never see him again.”

  I heard her inhale down the phone line. “Please, what has happened?”

  “It was a mistake. A huge mistake. It’s a good thing we found out now.”

  “I don’t understand. Vicky told me you were—”

  “I’m not.”

  Silence down the line.

  “It was a mistake, okay? My fault. Make Vicky send all my clothes to the hostel.”

  The ward boy was coming to get me. “I have to go see the doctor now. When I hang up, I am going to delete this number from my phone. I’m going to delete Vicky’s number from my phone. If he or you make any attempt to contact me, I will make a police report. Do you understand what I’m saying, Aditi?” I was so cold my teeth were chattering. But I spoke clearly enough. I know I did.

  Eventually she replied. “Yes.”

  “Good.” I nodded at the ward boy. “Listen, Aditi. Your brother needs help and I’m not the person who can help him. I’m done with him. I never want to—Sorry. I’m going to hang up now. Send my clothes to the hostel.”

  I pressed the red button, cutting off her voice. As the ward boy wheeled me towards the queue in front of Dr Pendharkar’s office, I found Aditi’s number, blocked and deleted it and then did the same for Vicky’s. It would take a while for me to forget his number, but I would manage.

  “A clean break,” Dr Pendharkar said. “The ulnar is lovely, it will heal first. But the wrist bones will need microsurgery to fix.”

  “Okay. How long will they take to heal? I’m a master’s student, I have a thesis to submit.”

  “An injury like this will take up to six months to heal. If everything goes well.”

  I was about to ask what he meant, when the door opened and Dadi came in. “Excuse me,” she said to Dr Pendharkar then came towards me and hugged me carefully. She smelled of Pond’s talcum powder and her usual lavender scent and her bangles cut into my cheek. I didn’t care.

  “My baccha. It’s all going to be fine, I’m here now.”

  She sat down, arm carefully around my waist. “Sorry, doctor, you were saying?”

  There were two optio
ns. First, my arm and wrist had to be in a cast. Dr Pendharkar could operate on me next week or he could recommend a specialist in Mumbai. “He’s just as good as I am, maybe better.”

  “I’ll take her home then, if you have no objection,” Dadi said. I nodded. Home sounded perfect. A home that was just mine and Dadi’s and Dad’s and Mummy’s and okay Romy-Bhaiya’s and Divanka-Bhabhi’s, but had no residue of any other person to rub salt into the wound in my heart.

  Outside Dr Pendharkar’s office, Dadi sent the ward boy to get my prescription, called Dr Joshi on her phone and thanked her, then took my phone and spoke to Dr Savarkar, explaining that I had had an accident and wouldn’t be able to continue my work for at least six months. “Here, speak to her,” she said, holding the phone to my ear.

  “I can manage now, Dadi, thanks.” I took the phone. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Nimita?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Take care of yourself and don’t worry about a thing, okay?”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  I heard her sigh. “I just got a call from Hong Kong.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I started to shiver. Hospital corridors are very cold.

  “Nimita, you just concentrate on getting well and then come back to the lab. We’ll need you. The algae project is going to be transferred to Hong Kong University. I think that’s best for all concerned.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” I said, beginning to cry again.

  She ended the call and Dadi took the phone. “What happened, beta?”

  “She said get well and come back to the lab.”

  “Is that any reason to cry, silly beta?” She hugged me carefully, stroked my hair.

  “Six months, Dadi. Six months. And that too if the hand heals. Dr Pendharkar said, if the surgery goes well—”

  “Of course it will go well. Everything will be fine, beta, why shouldn’t it?”