I don’t know why I am so stubborn in defending my life.
‘Diksha, don’t you long for anything more? Are you really happy? Don’t you want to go out with your girlfriends, do things for yourself, have some fun?’ Her tone changes into concern as she searches my face for answers.
I cannot bear her eyes boring into mine. Of course, I long to go out. I truly do not want to spend every single weekend visiting Sandeep’s mother who lives less than two kilometres away. But it has become such a routine now that I cannot even think of spending weekends any other way.
When I had first suggested going out somewhere nice in the early years of marriage, Sandeep had glared at me like I had said I wanted to separate him from his mother. He had reminded me of the time his mother had selflessly helped look after Abhay when he was born. Sandeep never ceased to remind me that my parents hadn’t done much by way of being there for us. I had tried telling him that it was only because my mother had fallen seriously ill at the time of Abhay’s birth. She had to have a hysterectomy. She had been operated upon and the surgeon had discovered a lump that needed to be removed. There were other complications as well. Then she had been on bed-rest for nearly six whole months. Else, she would have definitely helped. But when I had explained all that to Sandeep, he had just said, ‘Bah. What counts is who did the job ultimately.’
How can I tell Vibha all this? How can I admit to her that, yes,I feel trapped with Sandeep. That I long for a better life. The truth of Vibha’s words hammers into my brain, hitting me right where it hurts. But I still do not want her to see my pain. After all, she is leading the life she wants. She has a job she enjoys, has good help at home, is independent and smart, everything I am not. So I turn away and busy myself doing the dishes.
We sit in silence, both of us very well aware that the words she uttered are true. I am not entirely happy in my marriage. But I have made peace with my situation and I do not know how to change it. Sandeep is not a bad guy, after all.
These days, however, it feels as though I have to constantly remind myself that. Fifteen years of marriage and motherhood have changed me as a person. I go quiet as I contemplate.
The awkward silence between us now embarrasses Vibha.
‘Hey, Diksha. I think I said too much. I know no marriage is perfect. Mine certainly isn’t. Mohan constantly complains that I do not have time for him or Monu. Look, I am really sorry to have poked my nose into your affairs. I should first set my marriage right. I haven’t done any of the things that Mohan wants us to do together as a family. It is always work and more work for me. Then I come here and see such a contrast in your life and I just couldn’t help telling you what I felt. I should have kept quiet. I am sorry.’ She is now contrite at having spoken her mind.
‘No, Vibha, it is fine. You are lucky to lead the life you want. And I know it is only concern for me that made you say those things. And hey, you’re my sis. How can you not be honest with me? I am glad you spoke out. I have been in denial about it,’ I finally admit.
And I mean it.
After Vibha leaves, I find myself increasingly thinking about her words. The emptiness of my life has begun to gnaw at me, eating me up from inside. Of course, Vibha is right. I have, over the years, slowly but surely turned into a maidservant and cook. Sandeep and Abhay do take me for granted.
But the fact is, that a part of me feels useful too, doing all this. It gives me a sense of purpose, a sense of ‘doing something’, as though justifying my existence.
But, for the first time in my life, I have begun thinking about where my life is going. Perhaps the fact that I will turn thirty-five in a few months adds to my increasingly contemplative state. I guess most people take stock of where they are going when they get older, don’t they?
It is only two weeks later though that I finally call up Vibha.
‘Hey Vibs, you got some time to talk?’ I ask.
She is a busy person, in a demanding job. As a mid-management level employee in a pharmaceutical company, she has to travel a lot. That is why I never call her during the day. If I have to speak to her, I call on weekends or at night. Vibha is the closest thing I have to a sister and I feel fortunate to have this bond with her. We have spent many summer vacations together in our maternal grandparents’ village in Kerala. Our mothers would bundle us off to the ancestral house and, for two whole months, we would laze around, pick raw mangoes from the tree and eat them with salt and chilli powder, play games, go swimming in the river nearby, play pranks on each other, fight, make up and forge bonds and create memories that we now cherish in our adult years.
Vibha had got married long after I had. She had a child much later than I did and went promptly back to work soon as the baby turned three months old. Of course, her in-laws moved in with her and the arrangement suited everyone. I sometimes envy her lifestyle, her career and how she has everything together.
In comparison, I feel as though I am wasting my life. Her words have added to my increasing sense of despondency and today is one of those days when I just have to speak to her, to sort out the chugging train of thoughts in my head that refuses to slow down.
‘Of course, Diksha, give me ten minutes. I am reading to Monu. I will tuck her in bed and call you.’
I am clearing the kitchen when she calls back. Abhay has been tucked in bed a long time back and Sandeep has plonked himself in front of the television, his usual unvarying routine on almost all days.
‘What happened, Dikku, all well?’ she uses my childhood name, a name which takes us back to our roots, our connection, our families, our village and forms a large part of my association with her, reminding me yet again how much a part of my life she really is. I know I can tell her anything. She is the closest I will ever come to having a sister. I know I can never discuss things like this with my brother.
‘Hello, Diksha? All well? Can you hear me?’ she asks again.
I take a while to answer. I really do not know how to say it, or what purpose this discussion will serve. All I know is that things seem unbearable and I need to speak to her.
‘Vibha, I have been thinking. You were right that day when you said my life is empty,’ I reply.
‘Hey, come on, Diksha. That’s really not what I meant,’ she corrects me.
I pause again. I am unable to articulate what I feel.
‘I know what you meant. See, the fact is that there is indeed a growing discontent in me. I know I am only fooling myself by pretending to be extremely happy cooking and caring for Sandeep and Abhay, but there has to be more to life than that. I feel worthless, Vibha. I really do,’ I finally say, the words tumbling out. The bitterness in my voice and the things I have just expressed take me by surprise, as though it is not me, but a stranger, talking.
‘Hey Diksha, things are not so bad. You do look after the house and keep it well. Why, your house is ten times more efficiently managed than mine. You know how much my mother-in-law helps me,’ Vibha tries to placate me.
But I am in no mood to be consoled.
‘She only helps you look after Monu while you are at work. Isn’t it you who decides everything in the house including whom to hire as house-help? Isn’t it you and Mohan who have done up the house so well? Isn’t it you who has decided that Monu is better off in a playschool than being at home with your mother-in-law? Come on, Vibs, you run the show there. Don’t give me crap and try to make me feel better.’
Vibha knows all that I have said is true.
‘Look, Diksha, you are right, I admit. But hey, why are you suddenly comparing your life to mine? Look, I truly am sorry for all those remarks I made. I spoke because I care for you. I felt you were slaving and slogging and not getting what you deserve. But that does not mean your life is empty or that you are worthless.’
‘Vibs, I know that. But you know what? This is something I have been feeling for years. It is just that I had not admitted it even to myself. When you came that day and talked so honestly, it truly hit me like a ton of bricks.
I have been thinking about it, Vibha. Look, I took two weeks to call you. I have been fighting this in my head. I did not want to burden you, but today it was unbearable and I just had to call you.’
‘Hey, Diksha, you are never a burden. We’re sisters, remember? I am always here for you. You can call me anytime, night or day. And incidentally, I have a trip to Bangalore by the end of the month. Let’s do one thing, let’s talk about this then. I promise we will find a solution. You just hang in there and stop feeling bad. I am coming soon and we will sort this out.’
‘Okay, thanks,’ I say.
‘Come on. What are you saying “thanks” for? Since when did our relationship become so formal? Now cheer up, I am coming soon.’
Once she hangs up, I go to the garden and sit for a long time on the swing with the grass beneath my feet. One of the things I love about this house is the garden which I have lovingly nurtured. In a city where space is devoured hungrily by multistoryed building that rise everyday, this little sanctuary of calm, still standing proud, surrounded by high-rises, gives me so much happiness. The house belongs to Sandeep’s paternal grandfather and it is an old construction. Sandeep has got many offers for it from builders who want to tear it down and build flats. They have even offered us four flats in the same building. Artillery Road is, after all, prime location in Bangalore and the property is easily worth a few hundred crores. But Sandeep has not succumbed.
I sit in the silence of the night, listening to crickets, watching a toad hop away and, as I swing, I think about the fifteen years of my marriage. I think about how things have changed. I think about how I have gone along and been a ‘good girl’ all this while, doing exactly what my parents wanted me to do. I have dutifully married a ‘suitable boy’, dutifully produced a child and have busied myself raising him. He is nine now. I am quite proud of him, yet why is there this growing sense of discontent in me?
Then it strikes me that it is because, in all these years, I have completely lost track of what I want. I have played the role of wife and mother to perfection. So much so that I have forgotten what I want as an individual. My identity is truly Sandeep’s wife or Abhay’s mother.
It is as though I have been living in a dream all these years and, like Rip Van Winkle, have suddenly woken up. What is it that I want? (Apart from raising my child well and keeping house). I know I want something more from my life. I want to do something about it. But what? I really don’t know.
It is a frightening feeling. I sit in the darkness and stare at the starless sky. The darkness stares back at me. I have no idea what I want anymore. What have I done with my life? Where am I headed? I feel miserable and sorry as I sit there and take stock of my life.
I have everything, yet I have nothing.
And I have no idea what I am going to do.
Three
THE TELEPHONE RINGS AND I AM HAPPY AT THE distraction. I have been studying really hard and need a break. Mother is watering the plants in the garden and Rohan has shut himself up in his room.
‘Hellooooo,’ I say as I rush and answer it.
‘So. I knew it all along. You did take my bag on purpose, didn’t you? You little witch!’ says the voice at the other end.
It takes me a few seconds to register that it is Ankit and a few more to understand what he has just said. I stand there with the receiver in my hand, my jaw almost dropping to the floor. I am gobsmacked, outraged and embarrassed, all at the same time.
‘Hello, it is Diksha, isn’t it?’ He sounds a little unsure now.
‘Ankit, yes. It is me.’ I finally reply.
‘Oh, thank God. I thought I had shot off my mouth to someone else. And you know what, I really like you too. But I never spoke up. Heck, I did not even admit it to myself. But boy, am I glad you did,’ he says, a visible relief in his voice now.
I squirm further in embarrassment. A part of me goes, ‘Oh-my-God, Oh-my-God, Ankit likes me!’
I do not know what to do. I know the right thing would be to tell him that it was Tanu who wrote the note, not me. But fact is, that he has just admitted he likes me, not Tanu. I am too happy to think. My heart sings a million symphonies all at once. I smile a huge smile.
And finally, I say, ‘Yes, I am glad too.’
‘Meet me tomorrow for coffee? After school?’ he asks.
I quickly calculate the time it will take me to cycle back home, change and then go to dance class. I know I will have less than ten minutes with Ankit. My mother is really strict about my dance class.
‘I do so want to. But I have a dance class tomorrow.’
‘What time does it get over? And where do you go for dance?’
Ankit lives in the same residential area and I am certain that he knows all the lanes well, just like any other teen living in Besant Nagar, is one of the nicer localities of Chennai, close to the beach.
‘Five thirty. I go to Natya Kesari.’
‘So I will meet you outside dance class then at five thirty.’
‘No way, Ankit! My other friends will be with me. Mrs Subhalakshmi herself may call up my mother and tell her that she spotted me speaking to a guy outside dance class.’
‘Hmmmm. Okay, meet me at Infinity?’ he asks.
Infinity is one of the many coffee shops that dot the beach. It always has a lot of young people hanging out.
‘Okay. Will meet you there tomorrow around five fifteen,’ I say and, as I hang up, I realise I have bagged myself a date with none other than Ankit Uttam, one of the coolest dudes in school.
Ladies and Gentlemen, I, Diksha Balaram, will be going on a date with Ankit Uttam, a senior, that too one of the smartest guys in school. I want to stand on rooftops and announce this. I am elated, excited and so darn happy.
Finally, when my excitement subsides a little, I realise that I have to break the news to Tanu. I have no idea how she will react. Things have happened so fast that I can barely believe it myself. Now I begin to feel guilty over my lie. Well, not really a lie, but a concealment of the fact that it was Tanu who wrote the note and not me. But the fact is, he likes me, and has asked me out, not Tanu. At the very least, I have saved her the embarrassment of being rejected by Ankit.
Yet, I dread telling her, but I know I must.
So I tell my mother that I am going over to Tanu’s house to study. I hoist my bag over my shoulders and cycle as fast as I can. I am breathless when I arrive.
Tanu looks at me and knows instantly that something is up, in a way that only the closest of friends can know. She steers me into her room and shouts out to her mother that we are going to study, and asks not to be disturbed.
And by the time she has shut the door, I feel myself wanting to escape and not having to face her. How in the world do I tell her that her little trick bagged me a date?
‘So, what’s up? What are you trying to hide?’ her eyes search my face and I feel she is looking into my very soul.
I am unable to meet her gaze. I turn away and sit on the bed and idly stare at my toes.
‘Tanu, I don’t know how to put this to you,’ I start hesitatingly.
‘What? You are getting me worried. Whatever it is, say it fast. Don’t make me tense,’ she says.
That makes me even more nervous.
I clear my throat and say, ‘Ankit has asked me out for coffee.’
Tanu gives me a look that says, ‘You’re pulling a fast one on me, right? It’s only a joke, huh?’
I am unable to say anything.
‘Look, I am sorry,’ I say. ‘He thought it was me who wrote that note. I did not get a chance to explain to him that you wrote it.’
And then I repeat the whole conversation I had with Ankit and tell Tanu in detail what has happened. I can see how hurt and disappointed she is.
She doesn’t say anything.
‘Look, Tanu, I am awfully sorry. I will tell him that I can’t meet him,’ I finally say as I put my arms around her. I don’t know how else to make her feel better. I am not able to bear that forlorn look
on her face.
‘Don’t be silly, Diksha. He has asked you out. He clearly likes you. Forget explaining anything. Just go ahead and enjoy yourself. I will be fine,’ she says.
I love her for saying that. I know she is miserable, yet she wants me to have a good time. While one part of me desperately wants to go on a date with Ankit, the other part wants to stay back and be with Tanu. Tanu senses my hesitation.
‘Hey, listen, that note I wrote in his book… it was just a joke. I didn’t even really mean it. I truly don’t care. I just wrote it for fun,’ she says.
And we both pretend that the statement she uttered is true. It is the easiest and kindest way to deal with it.
Then we try talking about the things we usually talk about, but there is an awkward feeling now. A sense of discomfort hangs over our heads like a grey cloud which can pour rain any time. This wasn’t the case earlier. The easy camaraderie that existed between us is gone and seems to be replaced by a forced jovial banter. After about ten minutes, I am not able to take this charade anymore and I tell Tanu that I have to leave. She too seems relieved.
As she sees me to the door, her mother asks why I am leaving so early.
‘Just remembered that I have to be home early today, Aunty. We have some relatives coming over,’ I quickly lie. Her mother seems satisfied with my explanation and goes back into the house.
As I leave, I am acutely aware of the wedge that has been driven between Tanu and me. I ask once more, ‘Are you sure, Tanu. I truly do not mind not going on this date.’
‘I told you it’s okay,’ she says with steel in her voice and it feels as though something between us has changed irrevocably that summer afternoon.
I cycle back slowly, reflecting on the fickle friendships of adolescence. Tanu and I have shared so many secrets, have had such good times together and truly forged a strong friendship—or so I had thought until now. And all it has taken is just one date-request from a boy—we have not even gone on a date yet—to have caused this gap.
The more I think about it, the more awful I feel. I really like Tanu. I remember all the times that she has taken down class-notes for me, all the times that we have giggled together, studied together and discussed boys, movies and books. I think of the countless afternoons we have spent in each other’s houses, trying on new clothes, applying nail polish and having a whale of a time, without a care in the world. I am overcome with a feeling that is hard to describe—all I know is that something doesn’t feel right and it is because of Ankit.
The Secret wish List Page 2