Tea for Two and a Piece of Cake

by Shenoy, Preeti

  ‘Don’t talk like that, Nisha. The least we can do is be civil and talk properly to each other like mature adults,’ he says, and I know he is fuming.

  In a way I am enjoying his anger. I am enjoying seeing him getting all worked up like this. I don’t know if I am nurturing a tiny little hope somewhere that we can indeed get back together.

  ‘Look, Samir,’ I say, ‘I wasn’t good enough for you and you left. Now what I do with my life is my business. I don’t think you have any right to tell me how I should lead it. You lost that right the day you decided to leave me. I have finally found my calling, and too bad if you think catering is a demeaning job. I do not want your money, your house—nothing.’

  He is silent for a long time. Finally he asks, ‘What is with Akash? You seeing him?’ I can sense the anticipation in his voice. Maybe it’s jealousy? I sort of feel good about this, thinking he still cares for me a little bit. His voice has softened and he almost sounds like a little boy asking if he can be taken to the zoo. ‘Maybe. Maybe not. What is it to you, Samir? How can you even ask? You are the one in love with Maya and you are asking me about Akash?’ I say.

  Samir does not know how to respond to that. So he changes tracks quickly.

  ‘Touché. By the way, you seem to have lost a great deal of weight. It suits you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ is all I can muster.

  Then he asks how the kids are doing. Now that’s a rarity. I don’t know what to answer. I don’t know why he is asking. He was always the outsider, the uninvolved parent. He was never there for any of the parent–teacher meetings, school plays, sports days, nothing. Never once did he take Tanya out all by himself. Tanya of course has grown up believing that this is how fathers are. I want to explain all this to him. But I have no energy. The hurt is too much and there are so many layers of pain, gathered along over the years, piled up one over the other. To peel them all slowly and to rectify what went wrong seems like an impossible task. Also, I am not the same person anymore.

  So I tell him that it has been a really long day and I have to hang up.

  His phone call has really disturbed me. I wish I had not seen him today. It would have made things so much easier.

  But his presence at the party, and now this phone call, has stirred in me a storm of emotions, and I do not even have Akash to hide behind.

  When Akash returns to Mumbai, the first thing he does after the landing is call me. Tanya is already in school and I am feeding Rohit his afternoon meal when the phone starts ringing.

  ‘Nisha, I am calling from the airport. You’re at home?’ he asks.

  His voice tells me that something is amiss.

  ‘Yes, Akash. What happened? Is everything okay?’ I ask.

  ‘Well, yes and no. I will come there and explain,’ he says.

  I wonder what has happened. I wonder why Akash sounds so tense. Why has he said yes and no when I asked if all was well? I guess it must be a work-related thing. Maybe the trip did not go well and his boss (whom he never really liked in the first place) must have then said something upsetting.

  It takes Akash almost two hours to reach my place from the airport.

  When I greet him at the door, I look at his face and instantly know all’s not well with him.

  ‘What happened, Akash? Tell me, please,’ I say.

  ‘Nisha, they have decided to transfer me to the Pondicherry branch and I have to report there within the next fifteen days. I am being promoted to the post of factory manager. It is an excellent move for my career.’

  My heart sinks. Akash is moving out of Mumbai within the next fifteen days. Just when I thought we were headed for something more meaningful in our relationship comes this bolt from the blue.

  I feel like screaming at the unfairness of it all. It is like the universe is conspiring to make my life miserable on purpose. Akash has become such an integral part of my life that I cannot imagine staying here alone without his comforting presence.

  ‘Akash, that is really fantastic. Hearty congrats,’ I say, trying to conceal my sadness at his sudden decision to leave.

  He keeps quiet.

  ‘Akash, I’m really happy for you, but I also can’t deny that I am also somewhat upset. What will I do without you, Akash? How will I manage?’ I say.

  He has no answer.

  Neither do I.

  To Live is to Die

  Akash feels both miserable and elated about this. He truly does not know what to do.

  We talk about it every single day. In fact, it is all we talk about. Finally, we accept that there is nothing much we can do about the situation and wait till the date arrives. Two weeks fly. I have four party orders that weekend and two more the next weekend, which is when Akash is leaving for Pondicherry.

  He has never been there before, and neither have I. We search the internet for all the information about Pondicherry. The town does not have an airport, so Akash will have to first take a flight to Chennai, from where the town is a three-hour drive by road. The East Coast Road that links the two places together has been voted as one of the most picturesque roads in Asia.

  ‘Wow, Akash, look at these! The sea looks amazing’ I exclaim, and then we read about Auroville and the Promenade at Pondicherry, the Ashram which Aurobindo had established. We read about how traces of the town’s colonial past are still visible on its streets. After all, Pondicherry was a French colony for more than one hundred and fifty years. We look at the photos and agree that the place does look appealing, even though it is probably awfully hot.

  And when it is time for Akash to leave, I am still cooking for the party orders as he hugs me and tells me he will call every single day. He kisses Tanya and Rohit. Mrs B too has come to bid him a farewell and he gives her a tight hug as well.

  Then he leaves for the airport and I am glad that I have something to do which will take my mind off his departure.

  Akash calls as soon as his flight lands in Chennai asking where I am. I tell him that I have delivered the party orders and am in the cab on my way home. He tells me that he misses me and asks me to call him as soon as I reach home. I tell him that I will call once I put Tanya and Rohit to bed.

  But with Akash gone, it is just not the same. I have to take a hired cab to the places where food has to be delivered. When I come back, I have to carry Tanya and Rohit, one by one, all by myself into my apartment. To say that I am missing Akash would be like saying that someone misses a limb when it is amputated. I feel so incomplete without him. His absence is a huge void. I tell him all this on the phone and he says, ‘Oh Nisha, I feel the same way. I miss you like crazy, you have no idea.’

  The Magic Saucepan continues to get orders and I continue accepting them. But Akash’s absence from it is a real dampener. I miss his coming over on weekends. So do Tanya and Mrs B. Rohit is too small to understand any of this and he, I guess, is the only one who does not miss Akash.

  Akash texts at least fifteen times during the day and I wait for his texts. We speak every single night for at least an hour after I have put the children to bed. His sudden absence, and the fact that we cannot see each other immediately, has added to our intense longing for each other. In such conversations, we talk about everything under the sun. I tell him what Rohit did and what happened at Tanya’s school. I tell him Rohit has started walking and can mumble a few words now. I also update him on how well the catering service is doing by word of mouth.

  Akash tells me about his new job and how he really likes it and what a big challenge it is for him. He is staying at the company guest house for the moment but will move out once he finds a house. He tells me how different the houses in Pondicherry really are. He says they are nothing like he has ever seen before. They are quaint-looking and so very French. He says that Pondicherry is sharply divided into two areas—the white town area which is the nicer part of the town close to the promenade. He describes it and it sounds great. He says the rest of the town is just like any other small south Indian town. He also describes how ev
erything is so very cheap in Pondicherry compared to Mumbai. There is really no comparison. They are two different worlds. After living in Mumbai for so long, Akash finds everything in Pondicherry, especially the food, very inexpensive.

  ‘If I work here for three years, I can easily save up enough money to buy a house here, Nisha.’

  ‘It is already four months now, Akash. Four months since we last saw each other! How much longer will I have to wait to see you? All we do is talk on the phone.’

  ‘When I talk to you, four hours seem like a mere four minutes. Don’t you think?’ says Akash.

  ‘Yes, truly. It is crazy how we can talk for hours like this,’ I respond.

  It is over one such phone call that Akash proposes to me.

  ‘Nisha, you know how much I am in love with you, don’t you? Will you marry me?’ he asks simply.

  Even though I expected this to happen at some point in my life, the suddenness of it all takes me by total surprise. Of course, I do love him, but after my previous fiasco with Samir, the thought of marriage makes me sick. For me, Akash is my pillar of strength, someone who will be there for me at all times.

  ‘Akash, you want to get married to me?’ I ask.

  ‘Actually, it is Angelina Jolie I wanted to get married to, but Brad wouldn’t agree,’ he says in a mocking tone and I chuckle.

  ‘Listen, Nisha, I have given some really serious thought to this. My parents are already hinting that they want to see me settled. But I simply cannot go and meet girls and do all that ‘arranged marriage’ business, when I have pledged my heart to you. It would be unfair to both my folks as well as the girl.’

  ‘Look Akash, I am not even divorced yet. And I do not plan to have any more children. You will, at some point in time, want your own biological kids, won’t you? Why are you throwing away your life for some married woman with two kids? And do you think your parents will ever accept this? You are what, six years younger than me?

  ‘Five years and eight months, and it truly does not matter. Be honest, have you ever felt the age difference between us?’

  ‘Not even once.’

  ‘Then? That argument does not hold water. And as regards biological kids, I am fine with not having any of my own. I don’t think a guy has to go around sowing his sperms to prove his manhood. You do not become a father by fucking someone and making her pregnant. You become a father by nurturing your child, by being there for them when they need you, by being a role model, by sticking around when the going is tough. Can you deny that I have not done all that for Tanya and Rohit l? I have loved them as much as I would if they were biologically mine.’

  I cannot refute that. He has done much more than their biological father has ever done for them. I cannot refute that at all. Akash has been there for me as well as for my children, day in and day out.

  ‘That was then, Akash. But things can change. You can meet someone younger, better than me, and then what? You will regret being stuck with me and my two kids.’

  ‘Nisha, you keep forgetting that I have met plenty of younger women than you and have been in four relationships so far. And mind you, FOUR, not one. I think by now I do know what I want. I am not a kid anymore,’ he says and gives a dry laugh.

  ‘Look Akash, I really am not ready for marriage or any of that stuff. I don’t think I ever will be. I have had a chance at marriage. I have my two angels out of it. That is enough for me. Now all I want is to raise them well and stand on my own two feet. Let us just be the best of friends.’

  ‘Yeah, so who says you cannot do all that if you get married to me? I am never ever going to stop you from doing anything you want and we can still be the best of friends,’ he argues.

  ‘And what about your parents, Akash? You are an only child. Do you realize what a big slap on their faces it will be when you announce you want to get married to me, an older woman who is also a mother of two?’

  ‘That is where you are wrong! You know something, my mother had a second marriage. She became a widow within a year of her first marriage and then my father married her. Quite radical for their times, weren’t they? Please understand that my parents will really be okay with whatever I choose, Nisha. And here I am giving them two readymade grandchildren too! They should be happy!’ he says earnestly.

  ‘Akash, let’s just leave it for now, okay? Let’s not discuss this,’ I say and he agrees to drop it for the time being. But he warns me that he is going to bring this up again and again till I relent. I tell him that if he does any of that, I will stop taking his calls. He laughs, saying I will never be able to do that.

  And he is right.

  Around eleven on Tuesday morning, after I have bathed Rohit, I see a missed call from an unknown number. I am curious to know who could be calling me at this hour. And so I call back on the number after putting Rohit to sleep. ‘Hello, I have a missed call from this number and was wondering who this is,’ I say.

  By the voice I can tell that it is an elderly lady on the other end.

  ‘Hello, is that Nisha? Sorry to bother you, my dear,’ she says. She introduces herself as Mrs B’s sister, saying she is calling from Coorg. She says Mrs B talks about me all the time. She says that she has been trying Mrs B’s number since last evening but to no response. This is adding to her worries.

  I tell her that Mrs B has probably not heard the phone ring as she hasn’t switched on her hearing aid, assuring her that I would go and check.

  I ring Mrs B’s bell about four times. She does not answer. I am beginning to get a little worried now and so I go and fetch the key and let myself in.

  As soon as I open the door, I see Mrs B on the floor with a shattered mug of tea next to her. The tea has spilled and seeped into the Persian carpet, staining it. I rush towards her and shake her arm vigorously. But the moment I touch her, I know she is dead. I recognize the stiffness of a dead body, having gone through the same thing once with my father.

  My heart starts beating really fast and I begin to sweat. I gather composure and make a call to the ambulance first and then to Mrs B’s sister.

  Then I call Akash.

  He calms me down by saying he will be on the next flight to Mumbai. I tell him it is okay and that Mrs B’s sister and family are arriving shortly. Her nephew has already arrived and has taken charge. There is really nothing much for me to do.

  Mrs B’s death has really shaken me. Tanya comes home from school to see a crowd of relatives and friends next door. The nephew tells me that the body is in the hospital right now and will be taken to the Dakhma or the Tower of Silence the next day, as soon as Mrs B’s sister and her family arrives.

  This is the first time Tanya is seeing death up close. She is very upset to know that we will not see Mrs B anymore. I hug her and comfort her. She asks me a lot of questions about death and I answer her in a way I know best.

  That night, after I put the kids to bed, I sit on the balcony and weep. I weep for Mrs B who had become almost a family member for me in a lonely city. I weep for the frailty of human life. I weep for things that have to come to an end. I weep for relationships that cease to be. I weep for things over which I have no control and can do nothing about. I weep and weep. Loud sobs at first which slowly turn into silent ones. I have never wept this much, even when my father died, and I think that the tears I am shedding now are partly for him, the unshed tears that I had kept inside myself for so long, when he had died. And now suddenly, it feels like a dam has burst open.

  I hear my phone ringing and it is Akash. I ignore the call and continue to sit on the balcony and weep. He calls about six times and finally gives up.

  Most times when I am feeling sad, I console myself after a while by thinking about my two beautiful children.

  But tonight, the tears just don’t stop, and I let them flow.

  Thorn Within

  Mrs B’s death has left a gaping hole in my already broken heart. It is an emptiness which I never thought I could feel. Sadness has become a constant companion now. It fol
lows me around like a faithful shadow. Sometimes it is barely noticeable, while at other times, it assumes mammoth proportions to almost engulf me. But undeniably, it is always there.

  In some brief moments when I am with my children, reading them a story or playing board games with them, or when I talk to Akash, it vanishes for a while. But later, it always comes back.

  Every single day, when I walk to the bus stop to drop Tanya, I see Mrs B’s closed door, and the stab of pain never lessens. Many a time, Rohit points towards her door, indicating he wants to go in there. Tanya and I manage to distract him.

  With Mrs B gone, my main support system in childcare is gone and business takes a real hit. Some of the clients do not mind getting the food picked up from my place. But the ‘pesky puskis’ insist I be there till food is served and do not understand when I say that I can no longer come to deliver the food and be on site.

  ‘Can’t you send someone? Any reliable person from your staff?’ they ask.

  I don’t have the heart to tell them that the staff, partner, and managing director, are all me.

  I feel very alone without Akash and Mrs B.

  I could still cope with Akash’s absence because whenever it became too much to bear, I would ring Mrs B’s doorbell, who would in turn always welcome me with open arms. The world indeed looked better after a chat with her over a cup of simmering hot tea. Now her door is permanently shut, and I feel like a part of me has died with her.

  Tanya’s birthday is coming up in three weeks. Her school is closed for the half-yearly December break.

  ‘Mama, my school is always closed for my birthday. Not fair, Mama! Other kids get to celebrate their birthdays in school with their friends!’ she says.

  ‘But you can call your friends home and we can have a birthday party like we always do. Mama will bake a really nice cake for you and we will go shopping for a new dress for you to wear, okay?’ I console her, but even to my own ears it does not sound too exciting.

  ‘Oh Mama, I don’t want a party this year. I will be eight years old, Mama. I am a big girl. Parties are for babies like Rohit.’