by Manju Kapur
He had felt her distance, he wanted her back. There seemed to be no way out, unless she decided to leave the marriage there and then. Slowly she moved towards him. With sleeping children in the room they would of course have sex in the bathroom. He spread a towel on the mat and waited for her to undress.
On and on marched the holiday, relentless, inexorable, eating up money, energy, rolls of film, pushing them to cheap eating places, and suitcases that grew heavier by the day.
‘Shopping on the way back, shopping on the way back‚’ Hemant kept saying but it didn’t quite work like that. There were so many souvenirs, the Disney World ones alone filled half a suitcase. Besides there were the presents Seema and Suresh were sending back for the rest of the family, and clothes for everybody, so much cheaper in the States than anywhere else.
*
London. They were met at the airport by Hemant’s cousin.
Astha had always liked this cousin. He had gone abroad to do well, since he couldn’t do well in India, and ended up owning a shop in the suburbs of London. Just what this meant was only now becoming clear as they drove, drove and drove, and finally stopped in front of a house, which was a double storied, very narrow building, identical to the entire row on the street. Naked houses on a treeless street.
‘Welcome to my humble abode‚’ said Jagdish, edging the car near the curb, and jumping out to take their suitcases. ‘I’ll see where Liz is‚’ he panted, lugging them inside.
Liz, the unenthusiastic wife. ‘Hello, would you like a cup of tea?’ she asked, and they could feel the indifference, and they could understand why Jagdish was being so effusive.
‘Their house is so small, Mama‚’ whispered Anuradha, awed by such discomfort in the West.
‘They don’t have much money‚’ whispered Astha back.
The bags, the guests, and the host struggled up the narrow stairs, what a nice house you have Jagdish, well, it’s all right, and they went down to have the tea that Liz had prepared.
*
One week in London, of learning how to take the Tube, of don’t worry, Jagdish, we will take care of ourselves, no, no, please do not bother, Liz, we will manage, and Jagdish’s reply, well, if that’s all right then.
Every morning Astha got up and made sandwiches so they could save money on eating. They bought the ingredients and the drinks at the corner store, because Liz clearly did not understand the imperatives of Indian hospitality, and they didn’t want to burden Jagdish’s marriage further. They gritted their teeth and managed to not all bathe every morning, the house only had one complete bathroom.
There was some disagreement as to how they would spend this precious week. Astha wanted to see all the art treasures London had to offer, she was willing to go on her own while her family did whatever they wanted. But Hemant would not hear of this – we are here to be together – and as a compromise they spent a morning at the Tate, a morning at the British Museum, and then covered the famous sights of London in a couple of day tours. Many photographs were taken as proof of the good time they were having.
All this over, they devoted themselves to shopping. There had to be much looking, exclaiming, comparing, soul searching, and converting of currencies before they could buy.
‘I must say London is a very expensive place‚’ said Hemant, as they emerged from Marks and Spencer, arms laden, a light rain falling, a cold wind blowing.
‘I wish we didn’t feel the need to buy everything we see‚’ moaned Astha, exhaustion reducing her to the desire to lie in front of the department store door, and be trampled to death by all the Indians rushing in and out, buying, buying.
Anuradha and Himanshu looked at her reproachfully. They could hardly contain themselves in this material paradise. Floors and floors of merchandise with Hemant the indulgent father. The trouble, thought Astha, was that she too could hardly contain herself when she saw the kitchenware, gadgets, art supplies, bed linen, children’s toys, clothes, underwear, stationery. Was there anything that did not move her with the urge to possess? No, such shopping was not morally good, she felt her sense of perspective and focus vanish amidst its successful assault on her greed. It was just as well these trips were rare.
*
On the evening of their fifth night. ‘There seems to be trouble in India‚’ said Jagdish, a held back pleasure edging the notes of concern. He was entitled to a revenge so small, that he was in the safe place, the sane country, something in return for his unsatisfactory house, job, career, marriage and neighbourhood.
Astha and Hemant looked at each other. At home trouble was part of the atmosphere, outside it assumed more sinister proportions.
‘What’s happened?’ asked Hemant
‘On the BBC. They are going to build the temple‚’ continued Jagdish.
Hemant relaxed. Oh, the temple. ‘These politicians keep stirring things up‚’ he replied, uninterested.
While the family ate, Astha hung around the TV waiting for the news.
There it was. A brief visual of the Babri Masjid at night, floodlights beaming, sounds of bhajans in the background, thousands of kar sevaks surrounded by security forces, clearing the ground, laying the foundation for the temple, working, working, round the clock.
Things are tense in this ancient temple town, said the commentator, where a mosque stands on the site that Hindus claim to be the birthplace of the Lord Ram. While six thousand pilgrims work day and night, an estimated fifty thousand more have assembled here. The kar sevaks swear that this time they will rather die than stop. There have been protest marches by groups concerned with saving the Babri Masjid but so far the laying of the temple’s foundation continues at a lower spot on the hill. The Prime Minister has called Hindu holy leaders to Delhi to discuss the issue.
How awful, thought Astha, what was going to happen? She wanted to go home. Her political self, her intelligent self functioned best there, here she felt isolated, saturated with things rather than thoughts.
What was Pipee doing? Each day she had been aware of her absence, yet she had enjoyed being with her family, enjoyed the comparative ease between Hemant and herself.
She dreaded what Pipee would say when she sensed this. As she tried to defend herself, I am married, she felt the betrayal Pip would feel, but by now betrayal was a second skin.
Astha had often imagined the breaking of her relationship with Pipee. What she hadn’t realised was how slow the process would be, and in what infinitesimal stages.
There were differences, she thought miserably, but they hadn’t seemed so important. This was no longer the case. After she came back they were clearly not in harmony.
*
‘You won’t like abroad‚’ remarked Astha to Pipee. ‘It is awful.’
‘Who would have thought it?’ said Pipee dryly.
‘You know what I mean‚’ said Astha impatiently.
‘No, I don’t. How could I? And anything is better than the things I saw.’
‘What did you see?’
‘For ten days total frenzy, policemen jeered at, control rooms smashed, loudspeakers blaring out prayers and bhajans – in such an atmosphere – pandemonium at the building site, and kar sewaks all over.’
‘You mean you went to Ayodhya?’
‘Yes.’
‘But why? You didn’t tell me.’
‘Where were you to tell?’
‘It might have been dangerous, Pip.’
‘Oh Ant, one can’t always be safe. It was no more dangerous for me than for all those other poor women there. Besides I wanted to go. I am thinking of a conference on how families are affected in communal riots.’
More PhD stuff, thought Astha. ‘Well, how was it?’ she asked.
‘They are going to build the temple in the masjid area. That kind of energy, so deliberately stoked doesn’t go away. It’s only a matter of time.’
There was a silence. Pipee leaned back in her chair, and stared at the clouds that were running against the sky of her Vasant Kunj flat.
Astha looked at her, she seemed so distant. She had felt closer thousands of miles away, thinking of her, writing to her.
Then Pipee said, ‘Enough about Ayodhya. How was Disney?’
‘Fine.’
‘And you and Hemant?’ she asked. ‘How was that?’
Astha kept her face still. ‘Also fine‚’ she said.
Pipee looked at her sharply, ‘You have had sex with him‚’ she stated flatly.
Hemant’s face rose before Astha’s eyes, the moments in the bathroom, the appeal he would never verbalise, her own realisation that somewhere he still had the power to affect her. She felt her face going red.
‘You’ve never really liked it any other way, have you?’ persisted Pipee, her voice dry and hard.
‘That’s not true‚’ pleaded Astha.
‘Yes it is. What you really want is your husband’s cock.’
Astha winced and tried to retaliate. ‘It’s not that. You resent that I am not leaving him. You want a full-time partner. I understand that.’
‘You would. It is what you have, after all.’
Astha was silent for a moment. If her husband represented more than just a cock, so much the worse, but how was she to explain to Pipee? It was better not to advance into these murky waters. She went on, ‘It has nothing to do with us.’
‘You went away with your family, that was bad enough, and I didn’t say anything, because it’s no use, and then you do this, why have me?’
Everything Pipee said was a distortion. Words were raising their ugly heads, and Astha could do nothing. No matter how hard she tried, she was not going to succeed.
Pipee kept that transgression in her heart and used it as a foundation for the separation she saw ahead. A good memory is always useful when something needs to be destroyed.
*
Pipee and Astha continued to see each other, but there was now a carefulness between them. For Astha everything became dull, the grass looked ordinary, the sky looked bleak, the paint on her canvas colourless.
A thousand times she said to herself, confront her, tell her you want it like it was, or not at all, but she was too afraid. Pipee might say not at all, then what would happen to her, worse than this, much worse.
Things would become all right on their own. Love would triumph, even in circumstances like these. Love had to, that was its nature.
But Pipee behaved as though love had had its day. Even moments of affection contained references to endings. Pipee to Astha, tucking her hair behind her ears.
‘I’m so grateful to you, Ant, never forget that, no matter what happens. From you I got the energy to go on.’
‘To do what? Leave me?’
‘You really want to go into who left whom?’
Astha couldn’t say she did. ‘You see?’ said Pipee. ‘We both gave each other something. Let us leave it at that.’
Ashta couldn’t say anything. Words made what was between them so small.
‘And of course whatever happens, we will always be friends‚’ went on Pipee.
‘Yes, always‚’ replied Astha gratefully, too inexperienced to know that that is what breaking up people say to each other to make it more bearable.
Meanwhile the strike was resolved after six months. There was a tremendous backlog to be made up, and a market share to be recaptured. Hemant made an effort to resume his previous pace of work, when the chest pains started again. The doctors were very severe, he was not paying enough attention to his health. Collapse was imminent if he continued smoking, drinking, not exercising, eating red meat and heavy food. Furthermore he had to try and control his levels of stress, a very modest working day was all his body could tolerate. Angina had to be taken as a warning, a serious warning.
The whole family was alarmed. His father insisted another manager be hired, money wasn’t everything. As for Astha, a brief survey of the literature on heart disease established that permanent changes were required in their living habits. Diet – exercise, diet – exercise, there was no getting away from these pillars of health and longevity. It was up to her, Hemant was not going to change on his own.
Every morning she made sure they went for a walk. All those years ago, exercising and resentful with her parents, she was now doing the same with her husband, with feelings so much more complicated with the years that had passed. Was this where her life had led her, this the space she had travelled between those walks and these? Striding briskly to still the thoughts in her head, speaking to mask the feelings in her heart. She looked at Hemant, swinging his arms, concentrating on getting his heart rate up. Perhaps he was disappointed too, perhaps he had looked for something different in marriage. They didn’t talk about such things, she would never know.
She changed her family’s way of eating. She bought books on low cholesterol diets, she studied recipes demanding no fat and little salt. When the children complained they were compensated privately during lunch and tea.
Hemant was bad tempered about having to give up his favourite foods, but he had no choice. And if he had to eat porridge for breakfast instead of his usual green chilli-onion-tomato omelette, he could not complain, his wife was eating the hated porridge too.
Astha spent a lot of time thinking about herself. Was she a traditional wife as Pipee had alleged? She flinched at the idea, but she was certainly doing what devoted wives did, putting a great deal of effort into protecting their husband’s insides. When she saw him tired, afraid, depressed at having to change, unprepared mentally for the betrayal of his body, she felt sorry for him, and wanted to help him live. She told herself it was for the children, but sometimes she wondered bleakly at the nature of the bond between them.
Hemant was touched by her efforts. Occasionally he would enquire, ‘Well wife, how are you?’ in a proprietary kind of way.
‘Fine, fine‚’ Astha replied in a monotone. Hemant was not adept at noticing discrepancies between the apparent and the stated, and this quality was conspicuous now.
*
The monsoon came and went. The muggy days marched into October to become more human.
‘I’m going to get an air-conditioner‚’ said Pipee. ‘That is if my scores are so lousy I get no aid, and am forced to remain in this dump.’
Astha turned absolutely still. ‘The PhD?’ she asked.
‘I give my GRE next month.’
Oh Pip, you didn’t tell me and not telling used to be felt a deception between us, but I see no more, mourned Astha silently, as Pipee continued, ‘I need a change.’
Astha made a heroic effort. ‘Yes. I’m sure you do. In an academic environment you are bound to flourish. They’ll love the work you do.’
Pipee looked at her and smiled, ‘I’ll miss you, Ant.’
Astha didn’t believe her. Pipee went on talking, and Astha heard all the things she wasn’t saying, her loneliness, her desire for steady companionship, the need for commitment.
They smiled at each other. Astha said she understood. They drank tea, they exchanged a goodbye kiss, they did all this before Astha ran to her car, buried her face in the steering wheel, and took a good, long look at the void she had desperately tried to plug through loving Pipee.
What would it be like to be painfully separate having known togetherness?
How would she live? But she had to, she had that rock of stability women had, her husband and her children.
Drearily she turned the ignition and let out the clutch. The car rattled and jerked. She had to start it three times in the two metres she backed it. The clutch seemed to be slipping, the car’s servicing was long overdue. This knowledge had hovered on the edges of her mind for a long time, but the imperatives of her life had not allowed her to pay attention. No longer. Her life was made up of these things.
*
At home she threw herself into a frenzy of house cleaning. Every nook and cranny, every book, every mote of dust, layer of dirt, every inch of carpet, every remote cupboard high and low she attacked.
‘Mama’s gone mad�
��’ Anuradha informed her father conversationally, ‘all she does is clean. And she makes me polish and clean too.’
‘You will thank me for it later, when you have your own home‚’ snapped Astha. Everybody looked surprised.
‘Do you have a headache?’ asked Hemant.
‘No.’
‘What is it then?’
‘Nothing. Nothing.’ And without her wanting or willing, the tears started pouring down her face.
Anuradha’s face contorted. ‘Why are you crying, Mama?’
‘No reason, sweetie‚’ gulped Astha.
‘Shall I get you your medicine?’
Astha continued to sob, while Hemant said, ‘Do, Anu, there’s a good girl‚’ and as the daughter ran off, he turned to his wife and said, ‘Don’t cry. You are upsetting the children. They will think something is really wrong with you.’
‘Let them‚’ wailed Astha. ‘Let them know mothers also can feel.’
‘Az? Are you all right? Stop cleaning, if it upsets you.’
‘You always say how dirty the house is.’
She sounded unreasonable to her own ears. Hemant sat quietly by. Anuradha ran back with the pills and a glass of water, dragging a worried Himanshu with her.
‘She says you are crying‚’ he accused.
‘It’s all right, baby‚’ said the mother, swallowing the pills, though she had no headache. ‘It’s nothing really.’ Himanshu stared at her, his face opaque. ‘It’s nothing, baby‚’ repeated Astha. The boy turned and walked away while Anuradha looked at him with contempt.
‘He’s so thick‚’ she said. ‘He never understands anything.’
*
Into Astha’s mind came a memory, dredged from her subconscious. Her mother coming from the bedroom, the bedroom that had been locked, unusually, for a whole hour.
‘Why are you crying, Mama?’
‘It’s nothing.’
‘How can you be crying for nothing?’ persisted Astha.
‘I am not crying. What gave you that idea, beta?’
Oh well, if she wasn’t crying, then those couldn’t be tears, nor could those be signs of grief around her eyes and mouth. They could go on being happy, everything in its place.