by Savi Sharma
‘She’s a tough one,’ Kabir noted.
‘Just like her daddy,’ I responded and he shook his head.
‘She’s strong like her mommy,’ he responded. ‘You are my rock, Nisha.’
I wanted to comment but my mind was diverted towards Jianna when she took off running once more. What a determined little girl she was.
A small snowball of an idea started to form in my head. I started to take a breath to talk it over with Kabir, but as the sketch of this idea started to grow and take shape in my mind, I decided to keep it to myself for a while longer. The sun’s rays were waning a little and Kabir joined me after I settled Jianna on a swing and started pushing her, her screams of delight drawing grins from adults around us.
By the time we packed up and headed home, Jianna’s eyes were starting to droop. It was nap time. I could also tell Kabir was fighting the fatigue he so often felt in the evenings. I was sure he would be exhausted by the time we returned to our apartment on this day, one of the first times he had ventured outside.
It was hard to keep my enthusiasm down while my idea kept expanding to different possibilities, but I tempered my energy to match Kabir and Jianna’s.
Kabir’s sense of relief was palpable when we entered our cosy little apartment once more. I started to fuss with getting the baby ready for her nap and said nonchalantly over my shoulder, ‘You look tired too, Kabir. Why don’t you go and rest for some time? I have a couple of things I want to do to tidy up the living room and I don’t want to keep you up.’
He groaned appreciatively and trudged into our airy bedroom. Five minutes later, I crept in with a dozing Jianna resting on my shoulder. He, too, was out, sleeping the peaceful slumber of a man who had been out in the fresh air for the better part of a day. I settled Jianna in her cot and left the two to their naps.
I closed the bedroom door quietly, pushing the door gently so the latch would catch without a sound. Tiptoeing into the living room, I logged on to our laptop, my path clearly laid out by now.
First, I double-checked my savings account to make sure I had enough to plan my surprise. Then, I looked up a phone number and picked up my phone.
‘Pari?’ I confirmed when the phone connected. ‘It’s Nisha!’
‘Nisha?’ I heard in response, surprise colouring her happy voice. ‘It’s been too long! How are you, my friend?
I settled back and filled my childhood friend in over the last few months, patiently answering her questions as they were posted.
‘And how is the little one?’
‘Jianna is wonderful. I honestly can’t imagine life without her. What a gift she is.’
‘She sounds terrific—and growing well?’
‘Very much so. She’s very healthy and such a happy little girl. At first, when Kabir came home from the hospital, she seemed a little scared of all the bandages. But she soon got used to them. You know how quickly kids bounce back.’
‘If only we could all bounce back that quickly.’
‘I know,’ I mused. And with that, it was time to tell her about my idea; a plan that hinged on what I knew to be her unerring sense of hospitality.
‘I love the idea,’ she purred. ‘Of course, you are all welcome here! You didn’t even need to ask, silly.’
I grinned. ‘I know I didn’t,’ I said. ‘You have always been a great friend. I look forward to seeing you!’
‘Let me know when the plans are confirmed, and I’ll see you soon.’
We hung up and for the first time in too long, I felt the warm taste of hope on my tongue once more.
Hearing Jianna on the baby monitor—she was rolling over—I glanced at the time quickly. Oh dear, I had been talking to Pari a lot longer than I expected. Hopefully, Kabir would sleep just a little longer too. . .
A half-hour later, I printed the tickets I had purchased and tucked them under the laptop for now.
I sent separate texts to Meera and Vivaan, asking them to come over for dinner. ‘I have something important to talk to you about,’ I explained in each message.
‘Who are you texting?’ Kabir said behind me, startling me so badly, I nearly dropped my phone. Face flushing wildly, I managed to stammer, ‘I-I thought I’d. . . invite. . . Meera and Vivaan over for dinner.’ I was awful at hiding surprises, and the half-truth of the invitation made me feel desperately guilty. ‘Is Jianna still sleeping?’ I asked. Of course, she was—she was exhausted—but I wanted to distract him while I gathered my thoughts.
‘She rolled over once but she’s still out,’ he said absently, more curious about my reaction. He cocked an eyebrow at me but didn’t comment on my obvious discomfort. ‘What are we having?’
My mind went blank and then launched into a frenzied inventory of supplies in my kitchen. ‘Um. . . I know it’s kind of last minute, so something pretty quick, I’m thinking.’
Kabir grinned, settling a hip against the counter in the kitchen. ‘Hm. You invite them over for dinner, but don’t have dinner planned. You’re stammering like a five-year-old getting caught stealing an extra biscuit. . . and. . . Nisha? You’re blushing. What are you up to?’
I took a deep breath, and then let it out, weighing the prickly discomfort of further denial, or launching the plan prematurely. Then, I squared my shoulders proudly. ‘Maybe I have a surprise,’ I said. ‘I’ll tell you when we’re all together, okay?’
His chocolate brown eyes searched mine, but I could tell he was also weighing teasing me further or letting me off the hook. He smiled again, and I knew he was letting me escape . . . for now.
‘Do you want me to order something?’ he suggested, glancing at the clock.
‘No,’ I decided. ‘I can pull something together. We’ve had so many restaurant meals; I’m missing my kitchen. Why don’t you go sit down?’
He nodded and turned to leave. ‘Okay. Maybe I’ll just go online and check—’
‘No!’ I said quickly, thinking of the tickets stashed under the laptop. Startled, he turned around again. I cleared my throat and held up a hand to ward off any more questions. ‘It’s part of the surprise. I just need you not to be on the computer right now.’
‘You certainly are being mysterious today,’ he said. ‘May I go read a book, or is that off limits too?’
I giggled a little. ‘No, that’s okay,’ I said, ushering him out of the kitchen.
When he was gone, I threw myself into making a nice dinner to complement the surprise I was planning to unveil to my friends. And when they came, it was indeed a nice, almost celebratory meal. We enjoyed each other’s company immensely and, for a few wonderful minutes, it was like we had all been relieved of the collective burdens we all felt. The air felt lighter, positively charged.
Jianna, well rested, was playing happily after the meal. The atmosphere was perfect. No stress, nothing negative to weigh us down.
It was during those peaceful, stress-free moments at the dinner table, that I knew for sure that my plans were inspired.
As if he was reading my mind, Kabir spoke up. ‘So, Nisha, what is this big secret you’ve been keeping all day?’
All eyes turned to me and I knew it was time for the big announcement. ‘This evening, we were at the park,’ I began. ‘Jianna hurt her knee, but after a few tears, she got up again. After that little break, she was fine again.’
This was where things could fall apart, so I was hoping that I explained myself carefully. ‘I think,’ I said, taking a breath. ‘No. I know that we all need a similar respite. Every one of us has been treaded on by fate lately. And it’s been getting us down, weighing on our souls, and stealing our sleep at night.’
I looked at the other adults at the table. ‘I agree,’ Meera said. ‘But what are you suggesting? You do seem like you have a plan.’
I laughed. ‘You’ve always had the gift of insight,’ I said teasingly. I stood up and hurried into the living room, where I had the tickets hidden. Coming in, I held them up proudly. ‘We’re going to take a small vacation, just for
a few days.’
Vivaan pursed his lips, considering. ‘I don’t know, Nisha. I don’t see how we can—’
Excited, I interrupted him. ‘We can, and we will. I’ve already bought the airline tickets for all of us!’
‘What?!’ Meera cried, her eyes round with shock. ‘Nisha! It’s a nice idea. . . but it’s too much. We. . . Vivaan and I. . . we can’t accept something like this. Kabir, did you know about this?’
I wasn’t sure how Kabir was reacting to the idea; his face was unreadable. Was he angry at my impulsive nature? But then he spoke, slowly, as if he were digesting the words to make sure they were appropriate before they left his mouth.
‘Meera,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to pretend I’m not as surprised as both of you. This is all Nisha’s doing. But it’s not too much, my friends. Was it too much that you both helped Nisha all those weeks since my accident? Nisha wants to return the favour, and I think it’s a fantastic, inspired idea.’
‘I wish I could agree,’ Meera said. ‘It’s just bad timing. I need to focus on working.’
Just then, Jianna brought Vivaan a toy and he scooped her up in his lap.
‘You’re doing too much,’ Kabir said. ‘Every single one of us would benefit from a change of scenery.’
‘I’m just not sure,’ she said. ‘It feels like I’m running away. It’s easy to run away sometimes, but that makes it so much more difficult to return to what you fled.’
‘No,’ I said firmly, ‘it might lend a fresh perspective for you. I think it will help your writing.’
‘What if this is a mistake?’
‘You can make mistakes, but you must take ownership of them,’ I said, meaning a lot more than just a trip. But the words needed to be said. ‘Don’t blame them on destiny, or the past. Mistakes are yours, but none of us is immune to them. Take the power from them and make it your own.’
She pursed lips and nodded slowly. ‘This might work.’ Then she nodded more enthusiastically. ‘I think you’re right.’
Vivaan shook his head. ‘It’s just not the best time for me to leave.’
‘Vivaan,’ Meera said, reaching out for his hand. ‘Please. I think this could be very good for all of us, but especially for you and me. It would be so good for us to step away from the things getting us down here. We need to go somewhere and start to laugh again. Please.’
He kept shaking his head and I could see the depression weighing him down. Sensing his anxiety, Jianna slid off his lap and came over to me, holding up her arms to be picked up. I picked her up and hugged her, watching Vivaan carefully. I knew his feelings well, back before I met Kabir. They were dark and tormented, every breath burning with a sense of hopelessness.
‘Vivaan,’ I said, using my firmest mother tone. ‘You need this.’
He turned his eyes to me, surprised.
‘And,’ Meera continued, ‘maybe it will help my writing.’
He heaved a sigh. ‘I guess you’re right,’ Vivaan said and looked at Meera. ‘I know you know I’ve been very depressed. And I almost let it get the best of me, just the other day.’
‘What?’ Meera whispered. Kabir and I exchanged a glance as Vivaan pulled together his own thoughts.
‘I ended up at Rajgad Fort,’ he said. ‘On the path to Chor Darwaja.’
‘Oh no,’ his girlfriend gasped, and my heart ached to watch her fear in knowing that he deliberately chose the same path that nearly destroyed her life. ‘You weren’t. . . going to. . .’
Vivaan shook his head. ‘I was in a bad place, emotionally,’ he admitted. ‘But then, standing on those steps, so close to the clouds, I knew I needed to fight the course fate had decided to set me on. However, I had no idea where to go from there.
‘We don’t determine how we die,’ he said, ‘but we can dictate how we live. So,’ he said, turning his beaming grin on me, ‘where is this vacation?’
The tension that unexpectedly flooded the room suddenly pulled back, like a retreating ocean wave. I grinned back, excited again. ‘Goa!’ I said happily.
‘Oh wow,’ Meera said, her face flushing with eagerness. ‘I haven’t been to Goa in years!’ She looked over at Vivaan. ‘I’m sure we can splurge for a couple days in a hotel?’
‘Oh no,’ I broke in. ‘It won’t be necessary. I took Musafir’s concept and went with it.’
‘Meaning what?’ Vivaan asked, eyebrows lifted.
‘Why stay in a hotel when we could go local? I reached out to a friend of mine who has a villa in Goa, only a few blocks from the beach. She said she has plenty of room for us to stay.’
‘Everybody?’ Meera gasped.
I nodded happily. ‘Everybody. And she is thrilled at the idea of hosting us.’
‘Nisha,’ Vivaan said, ‘you are an amazing friend. And friends push you to be truer to yourself than you ever could imagine without them.’
‘Some things you have to accomplish by yourself; others you can’t do without help,’ I responded. ‘You have to balance the two.’
Kabir reached over and hugged me, wincing only a little as his skin pulled tight in the sudden movement. ‘I think it’s the perfect idea,’ he said enthusiastically. ‘We can use this time to draw a line in the sand, so to speak. We will leave the past behind us, but take the time while we are there to plan for the future.’
I nodded, thrilled that everyone was so supportive of my plan. How amazing that just this morning, we were all struggling to put one foot in front of the other, plodding through our concerns, both for ourselves and each other. Now, there was a sense of anticipation flavouring our lives once again. We would take up arms against fate; we would fight it with everything we had. And when the battle was over, we would be stronger.
22
MEERA
Pari was a delightful host, welcoming us to her multi-level villa, with its smart lines and sharp angles. Kabir and Nisha took the smallest bedroom on the second floor since it was the only one without balcony, and the young parents were concerned about Jianna’s curious nature.
Vivaan and I were settled on the third floor, with access to a beautiful open terrace as large as the bedrooms at one end and a smaller terrace at the back of the villa.
The moment we settled in, I could see the peace enveloping my travelling companions. I could see Vivaan looking at the surrounding area through a tour director’s eyes, sizing up the possibilities in bringing guests to this region, and felt a surge of relief. Even though we had no idea how to regenerate Musafir after such a blow, I could see the pain abating.
I only hoped that it would help me with my writing. The torment of not writing was growing into this horrible monster. It followed me around wherever I went, whispering, ‘Failure.’ Before I left, I wrote all day and managed to produce three hundred words. Less than an article in a newspaper and that took ten hours.
And I still had no idea how it was going to impact things, even when I did finish the book. Looking at the way that publishers continued to shy away from me, I might as well set things on fire.
No , I told myself firmly, you don’t mean that. You love writing. It will love you again .
Kabir seemed to be moving with even less pain than I observed back in Pune. The salty, moist air must have been agreeing with his scars and new skin, settling a concern that Nisha had voiced to me as we were travelling to the airport that morning.
‘What if this is a mistake?’ she whispered under her breath as the two men heaved the luggage out of the cab. ‘I know the sun can be hard on his burns . . . maybe we should have gone to the mountains instead?’
‘Nisha,’ I whispered back. ‘Don’t question yourself now. Your idea is magnificent. Look at them,’ I said, nodding at the two men who were chatting happily. ‘They both look like they are breathing without their burdens for the first time in too long.’
And indeed they were. The energy bounced between Kabir and Vivaan as they teased each other lightly, their eyes sparkling under the bright sun.
That relaxed nature
stayed with us throughout our arrival and the first day in Goa. ‘Go, write,’ Vivaan said, waving me back towards my journal. ‘I know you want to!’
And I did. My heart yearned for the familiar sweeping of my hand across the paper, creating images and bringing emotions to life; it was an extraordinary feeling to develop these dimensions on a flat piece of paper. I nodded to Vivaan in agreement. I pictured myself curling up comfortably on one of the chairs on the large terrace.
I chewed my lip in frustration after the others left for a trek to the beach. I wanted to write, I knew the storyline that I had carefully plotted. But like a framed house with no material to finish it, my ideas were empty, echoing in my mind.
No , I told myself. I’m going to get some good writing done today. The fresh sea breeze will help. Determined, I jogged up to the third floor and retrieved my journal, striding out to the terrace, challenging everything that was stopping my inspiration to defy me. Plopping myself into a chair, I turned my face to the sun, breathing in the warm, salty wind coming off the sea.
And stared at the blank page.
I got up, wandering to the edge of the terrace and leaned my hips against the strong concrete wall, looking at the street below. Maybe something down there would tease an idea out of my mind. But not now. Sometimes, words play games with you, revealing lies instead of the truth.
Frustrated, I went to my chair and threw myself down.
Knees up with my journal propped against them, I tried again. All attempts to write just felt flat, unnatural. What was happening to me? I had never felt writer’s block before—I thought I was one of those people who could just wade through dry, uninspired times—but hours passed and the pages in front of me remained flat, unfeeling. The words were foreign, strangers to me . . . how did they even come through my pen?
‘Ugh,’ I growled in frustration and decided to pad downstairs to pour a cool drink. Bless Pari, she had the kitchen well stocked and insisted that we make ourselves comfortable. ‘I’ll show you where everything is once,’ she said. ‘After that, if you remain hungry or thirsty, that is your responsibility. I’m actually a horrible hostess. I am not going to scurry after you to offer a cappuccino or freshly-baked scones. No, if you want something, I require you to help yourself!’