by Manju Kapur
A pause.
‘How’s your work going? How is Neeraj?’ asked Astha to cover up the anxiety of the silence.
Everything was fine, Pipee assured her, as she got up to leave.
After these visits, Astha felt depressed and gloomy – why can’t we be like we were during the trip – what’s the point – I wish I were dead – while her family put her listlessness down to her fragile state of health.
*
Meanwhile tension in the house gathered. The workers of the factory went on strike, despite ClearVision offering fifty thousand rupees to the strike leaders, couched as temporary relief measures. It was clear that the rival union meant business, and soon another six TV factories in the area saw labour unrest.
These factory owners were not united. Meetings ended acrimoniously. They could not decide on an incentive package, though all of them felt that the demands of the union were unreasonable.
Every day that passed meant greater losses for the company, as well as an erosion of their market share. It was more than the owner could bear.
‘Half pay‚’ Hemant fumed, ‘we still have to pay them half their wages. Where do they think I am going to get this money if there is no production? The company will be ruined. Bloody fuckers.’
He spent his days running around looking for a solution, meeting lawyers, representing his case before the Labour Commissioner of Noida, trying to get the strike declared illegal. Meanwhile they were losing their share of the market at a time when there were over four hundred TV manufacturers in India.
*
Two months later the Labour Commissioner declared the strike to be a lock out. No work, no pay.
Triumph reigned in the Vadera household, it was seen as the silver lining in the dark cloud that had lain across their home.
The next day the manager’s car was damaged, and every window of the factory broken. The number of guards were increased, but a few days later a fire broke out on the premises. It was detected before great damage could be done, but Hemant could not risk further vandalism and was forced to hire a private security agency, with instructions for twenty-four-hour surveillance. More money spent without any sales to cover the costs.
Despite being declared illegal, the strike continued. Too many workers, owners, factories were affected for there to be any immediate resolution.
*
Hemant developed chest pain. The doctors diagnosed hypertension, told him change your food habits, quit smoking, cut down drinking, exercise every day, and avoid anxiety. The early forties was a vulnerable time for men with stress.
Hemant was seeing the work of the past eleven years go down the drain, and he wasn’t able to respond to this advice.
His parents went into damage control.
It was decided that as soon as school shut for summer, he, his wife and children would go on a holiday, and spend a relaxed time with Hemant’s sister Seema in the US. When Hemant came back, they would work on the lifestyle-food habits-exercise thing. Meanwhile Papaji would manage things in the factory.
*
Astha told Pipee of these plans while they were having lunch at a restaurant in Connaught Place.
‘How long will you be away?’
‘I don’t know yet.’
‘I suppose you have to go?’ asked Pipee a little hesitantly.
Astha remained silent. If only she didn’t have to put her husband’s health over the companionship of her lover. But not going was like getting divorced, a public statement of difference and separation.
‘Look, it’s not working out‚’ said Pipee suddenly.
‘What is not working out?’ asked Astha desperately.
‘One should never have affairs with married people, they are the worst.’
Astha looked at the face she had kissed lovingly and in such detail at least a thousand times, and said resentfully, ‘Why did you, then? You want to spoil what we have.’
‘I had thought that with a woman it would be different—’
‘So did I. With a woman—’
A silence fell, in which the air-conditioners fought audibly against the April heat. The glass on the windows let in blue-tinted light. At certain places the glaze had peeled and spots of glare came through. Astha dabbed at the breadcrumbs left on the table from their soup rolls. Pipee looked moody. ‘You can tell me all about your nice little domestic holiday when you come back‚’ she remarked coldly.
Astha stared at Pipee anxiously, ‘You know how it is. The workers are on strike, he has got high blood pressure‚’ then she stopped, hearing the words of a devoted wife in her ears.
Pipee concentrated on her empty glass. ‘No. I don’t know how it is.’
‘You are independent‚’ said Astha bitterly, ‘so you can talk like this.’
‘And somebody is holding your hands, preventing you from being the same?’
‘You need money‚’ flashed Astha, ‘or do you think I should be independent on his money? Stand in the streets with a begging bowl? Live in an ashram like my mother? What about my children?’
‘Your children, your children, don’t hide behind them. Live with me. Bring them.’
That old thing.
‘But no – you don’t even try – Ant why don’t you even try?’ Pipee swallowed once or twice. ‘Have an exhibition, do something on your own, or are you waiting for Hemant to give you permission?’
‘You are not being fair.’
‘Yes. Well.’
*
The anticipated vacation split Astha more decisively than anything else since she had got to know Pipee. There was her lover and her lover’s feelings. But there was also the visas for the USA and the UK, the foreign exchange, the getting ready, choosing suitable clothes and shoes, the packing and shopping for presents.
With their holiday abroad Hemant and Astha joined the have-gone-abroad club, whose denizens created envy and ill-concealed curiosity about how much money they were going to spend, where had they got it from, even with the factory in trouble they can afford to go, they must have stashed it away all these years.
Many people took their proposed trip badly. The most immediate was Sangeeta who was there as usual for the summer holidays. She insisted on being part of the discussion and planning that revolved around itineraries, addresses of friends of friends, cheap fares, cheap central hotels, foreign exchange. Astha had to brace herself against the flow of her resentment and curiosity.
‘One day I too will go abroad. Seema is always inviting me‚’ she said.
It has nothing to do with me, thought Astha, if she is angling for a trip let her angle directly. Sangeeta sighed, announced Poison was her favourite perfume and disappeared upstairs for the day.
*
Anuradha said now her friends would not be able to act so superior, she too could tell stories of abroad, and Himanshu said now he could have the latest in Nintendo and Sega, and could they please go to Hamleys.
‘Hamleys? What is Hamleys?’ asked Astha.
‘A shop in London‚’ said Himanshu. ‘Everybody goes there.’
‘He is so retarded‚’ said Anuradha.
Astha hoped the trip wasn’t feeding into her children’s materialist desires.
Astha’s mother was delighted. She wrote from her ashram: God bless you my little one and your family. Poor Hemant needs a break from all his troubles. You do not give him enough attention. Remember men have to bear the burdens of the outside world, home is their refuge.
*
Pipee retreated further into herself, getting ready for her summer, Shahjehanpur, Shiksha Kendra and Ayodhya, we’ll compare notes when I get back, bye, no need to drop me to the station, have a nice time, call me on your return.
Astha felt Pipee’s abandonment, but maybe she thinks I have left her, she brooded in the middle of the night, when the electricity went, and the couple lay sweating.
‘I will be glad to leave this fucking country‚’ muttered Hemant.
‘So will I‚’ muttere
d his wife.
Delhi, the trap in summer, with power cuts, water shortages, heat waves, dusty winds, and pollution emanating from all its pores. Not the garden city of their youths, but fourth, third, creeping up to second, now coughing and wheezing its way to first, yes, almost the first most polluted city in the world.
A trip abroad would be nice, no matter whom one loved and whom one left behind.
*
Finally the family took off on their cheap flight to Miami, Florida, with a stopover at London on the way back.
Hour after hour into the dark night they flew. Four abreast, in the central section of the plane: father, mother, daughter, son going to holiday on Western shores.
‘Are you all right?’ Hemant would ask from time to time. Astha nodded, her eyes closed. She wondered at the great silence concerning the discomfort of planes, the torture one had to undergo to get to the lands of milk and honey. Her knees were hurting in the small cramped space, her shoulders and back were aching, a headache was coming on, would she make it to the bathroom to throw up if she had to. Excuse me, I am sick, I have to throw up, madam use the bag in the pocket in front of your seat, ah, there it is, sorry, not at all.
The rest were enjoying themselves. Himanshu was absorbed in the child kit the airline had given him, Anuradha had her headset glued to her ears, and fiddled with the dials constantly. Hemant was nursing his drink, chewing with relish on the peanuts that came with it, tinkling the ice and the alcohol in his glass, twitching his toes in the airline socks, his shoes neatly stowed away under the seat in front of him.
He shouldn’t be drinking, thought his wife, but she was in too much pain to comment or persuade.
*
They stayed for three weeks in Florida. Hemant talked incessantly of his life as a student, and how he had slummed it, how he had worked to earn a little extra money, how he had slept two hours a night, how the great American tradition encouraged self-reliance from babyhood, how you had to sink or swim, how the whole society was geared towards meritocracy, not towards blackmailing people by going on strike. Loafers wanting something for nothing were not tolerated here.
Seema and Suresh sympathised completely, never mind, you have family, family still means something, and they talked of here and there, there and here, till Astha felt her ears would fall off.
Three weeks crammed in their guest room, three weeks of Anuradha feeling jealous of everything that Sushma (the daughter) had to show her.
‘School in the USA is like no school at all‚’ she announced to her mother. ‘They get hardly any homework, they choose what they want to study. Her maths, I can do it with my eyes shut.’
‘I am sorry, darling‚’ said Astha looking at her daughter’s angry face.
‘Why should you be sorry?’ said Anuradha turning upon her mother, the easiest person in the world for her to turn upon.
‘The system here is not so demanding, that’s all I meant.’
‘She thinks she is so clever, but she is not, Mama, I know much more than she does. Her handwriting and spelling are so bad, you wouldn’t believe, but she doesn’t care, and neither do her teachers. She says in the computer everything comes out OK, so what is the point? Imagine!’
‘You are better off beti, you can write, you can spell, you can do maths, when you come here for higher studies you will be at an advantage.’
Anuradha looked mollified. ‘I’ll show her‚’ she muttered.
‘Quite‚’ said Astha, ‘and while you are about it, do remember that we are guests in their house, and that she is your cousin.’
‘She has an American accent.’
‘That is not something she can help, she only knows this country, poor thing.’
Mother and daughter smiled slightly at one another. Nothing is so much a bond as criticising relatives.
*
The marriage of Seema and Suresh was a source of great amazement to the brother and sister-in-law. Seema and Suresh constantly deferred to each other. Suresh cleared up after meals, ran the dishwasher, did the grocery shopping, mowed the lawn on weekends, and went to the park with his son to kick a few balls in the evening, almost as a duty.
‘What has happened to Suresh‚’ wondered Hemant. ‘He was never like this at home.’
‘This is not home‚’ replied Astha.
‘Poor chap‚’ went on Hemant. ‘You should have seen him when he was just married. Boozing and smoking with the rest of us. Now he doesn’t even touch a cigarette.’ Hemant fumbled for his own packet and lit one, to further express his disgust.
‘Perhaps it would be better if you took a leaf out of his book‚’ said Astha. ‘Suresh looks just fine to me, at least he is not a source of worry to his family.’
‘He is ashamed to look me in the eye‚’ declared Hemant, surrounding those very eyes with smoke.
*
The high point of their US holiday was a trip to Disney World.
‘It’s built on 27,000 acres. Acres of fun‚’ said Suresh, while Seema sketched the delights of the fairy tale park, water park, animal park, future park, past park, sports park. She spoke with all the pride of ownership.
They planned to drive to Orlando and spend three days there. The hotels were expensive, but to absorb such wonders money was necessary.
Hemant offered to participate in the driving, but Suresh did some more back slapping, this was America, not your India, where a visitor could drive without an International Driving Licence or indeed without any kind of licence at all, just a bribe.
*
Disney World, Orlando, Florida, USA.
Is such a thing possible in your India? There was no end to this question, as Hemant was forced time and again, to say no, such a thing was not possible in their India.
So organised, such crowds, such a money-making machine, such technological marvels, such fantasy, such going through tunnels, haunted houses and castles, such an onslaught of souvenirs, such marvelling, such eating of hamburgers, hot dogs, Kentucky Fried Chicken, tacos, and thick milkshakes. Around they wandered with those milkshakes which never seemed to end, sipping the cold sweet stuff through giant straws. Was there anything in this country that wasn’t big?
Anuradha and Himanshu loved it, Hemant loved it, Suresh, Seema plus two kids, their millionth visit with Indian tourist and wonder seeker in tow, they loved it all over again. Even Astha managed to be caught up in what she saw and experienced. They were all children together, all Mickey Mousers in a Disney World.
Besides families everywhere there were couples embracing, couples walking with their hands in each others pockets, kissing, eating, conversing, laughing.
Suresh and Seema became even more of a couple here. They walked holding hands. For our benefit, or because they are on vacation, or because they have lived in America so long, or because they love each other so much? It was the last possibility that Astha could bear the least. Anything but that Hemant’s sister should live in bliss while she lived in misery.
‘I thought Disney World was for children‚’ she remarked to Seema.
Seema and Suresh both grinned at her.
‘Arre, people come to enjoy‚’ said Suresh.
‘Relax, have fun, spend quality time together‚’ clarified Seema for Astha’s greater understanding.
*
‘Well, wife‚’ said Hemant, the second night in the hotel, at his most affectionate, swept by emotion at having seen Disney World, and recorded it on a thousand pictures taken for the benefit of back home, ‘it’s been quite an experience, no?’
‘Yes, it has.’
It was late, the children had fallen asleep, exhausted by so much pleasure and walking around. Hemant sat next to Astha, and put his arm around her.
‘How’s your head?’ he enquired tenderly.
‘OK.’
They sat on in silence. After a while Astha dislodged herself. ‘I have to pee‚’ she said.
‘OK‚’ said Hemant, getting up as well.
‘What are y
ou doing?’
‘Coming with you.’
‘Don’t be silly.’
‘What’s so silly about it?’
It was easier to let him come, and Astha sat on the toilet seat, feeling a bit strange. It had been a long time since they had shared any intimacy.
‘Go away‚’ she said at last, ‘I can’t pee.’
He ran the tap.
‘Now?’
A small trickle. Hemant tore a piece of toilet paper and advanced his hand towards her legs. The trickle stopped. Her legs tightened. ‘Please leave the bathroom‚’ she stammered.
‘Why? I’m your husband.’
‘So what?’
‘So everything.’
‘You think marriage is just sex.’
‘Of course I don’t. What do you want that I don’t give you?’
‘Interest. Togetherness. Respect.’
‘Baby, I respect you‚’ said Hemant soothingly, ‘you are my wife. As for togetherness, that’s just what I want.’
‘Why all of a sudden?’
‘We are on holiday. This is what people do on holiday.’
‘I don’t want to. I am out of practice.’
‘Well, let’s get into practice‚’ said Hemant stretching out his hand again towards her legs.
‘I am not able to switch on and off like you‚’ said Astha.
‘It is not as though you were the most willing creature. Each time I try and come near you, you say you have a headache. A man is tired, he can’t be doing the chasing all the time.’
‘Is that what you call it, chasing? Not having sex on demand? There has to be something more between us. I have to feel it is me you want.’
Hemant looked baffled. ‘Of course it’s you I want. You are my wife‚’ he repeated.
‘That’s the problem. Anybody could be your wife.’
‘What rubbish. I picked you, didn’t I?’
‘Picking is not the same as knowing.’
‘Why do you always make things so complicated? You are my wife, that is enough for me, I would have thought it is enough for you. Or is it someone else?’
‘Are you referring to my life or yours?’ asked Astha flushing slightly.
‘Come on darling‚’ replied Hemant, ignoring her barb, ‘we are on holiday. I want this to bring us closer, as a family, as a couple.’