Saroj remembered the time when Vasu called from India and with no tears told Saroj that Shekhar was dead. The cancer had eaten away his body, and thankfully it all ended before the pain became intolerable and he a parody of what he used to be.
“You should come here right away,” Saroj instructed her mother then. “No point living in India anymore. He's gone and you should come and live here with us.”
“But that's not my home, Saroj. I don't live here because of Shekhar, I live here because this is my home,” Vasu had explained patiently.
Saroj wondered then if she'd be half as sane if Avi died before she did. Would she able to even talk coherently? Saroj knew how Vasu felt about that man. There was no doubt in Saroj's mind that all the love Vasu had inside her, she gave to that man, every last iota of it. There was nothing left for anyone else. Oh, she loved Devi and Shobha, but that was a different, once-a-year kind of love. And that was how often they met, and rarely for more than six to eight weeks at a time.
Saroj had felt admiration and resentment for Vasu then. How could that woman still stay strong after Shekhar? Did nothing crush her? she'd thought.
Now she wished she'd been kinder, more tolerant. Vasu could die and then what? Then, nothing, she admonished herself. How did it matter now that Vasu left Saroj's father? How did it matter that Vasu fell in love with a married man? How did it matter that ever since then Saroj never topped her mother's priority list? If she died now, all that would be the past and Saroj would be left with a bitterness and no mother.
Avi put his arm around Saroj as she leaned her head back and closed her eyes. A guilt-ridden Devi was pacing the floor while Shobha stood by a window staring down at the parking lot below.
“Devi, can't you sit down? You are giving me a headache, walking up and down like that,” Saroj said.
“I did this to her.” Devi repeated what she'd been saying on and off all day. “I told her … damn it, I was hard on her and then she goes and has a stroke. I did this to her.”
“No, you didn't,” Saroj said even as she was tempted to blame someone, anyone, so that the accused could make it right and Vasu would somehow live. But she was being reasonable and knew that no one was to blame. As Vasu had said so many times, she was old and old people died.
“I was harsh,” Devi said and sat down next to Saroj. “I didn't mean to be, Mama.”
“I know, beta,” Saroj said and took Devi's hand in hers. “Mummy has been sick for a long time now. And since he died, she hasn't been all there.”
And that was a fact. Vasu had lost a lot of her vitality after Shekhar passed away. She outwardly remained the same but Saroj could now look back and see that small things had changed. There was less laughter, less happiness in Vasu, something that hadn't happened when her husband committed suicide. Saroj couldn't hold that against Vasu now as she would've just a while ago, before Devi, before she realized how ephemeral everything in life, including life itself, was.
“I told her she was selfish,” Devi confessed. “Well, not in those words but words to that effect. I told her that she loved Shekhar Uncle more than anyone else and that was wrong. I told her she only thought of herself and no one else.”
“She's not lying there because you said those things to her,” Avi said firmly. “Saroj has said those same things to her several times but she never had a stroke before. She had a stroke because she is sick, has been for a while.”
Shobha walked toward her family and sat down beside Avi. “How long do we have to wait here until they find out what the fuck happened?”
“Shobha, language,” Saroj muttered.
“She had a stroke,” Devi said, “and it's my fault.”
“So what's next on the agenda? You're going to try the bathtub stunt again because you're feeling guilty?” Shobha demanded.
Saroj gasped, Avi groaned, and Devi stuck her tongue out at Shobha. “Fuck you.”
“Wonderful, I have two daughters who need their mouths rinsed all the time,” Saroj complained.
“She started it,” Devi said childishly.
“She started it,” Shobha mimicked. “Lord, Devi, grow up. We don't say who started it, we try to be smart enough to—”
“Shh,” Saroj said. “Your grandmother could die in there.”
“That old bird? Nah, she won't,” Shobha said and rested her forehead against her father's shoulder. “Are you sure?” Devi asked.
“Positive,” Shobha said, “So don't go find a bathtub, okay?” “Very funny,” Devi retorted.
She had seen it in movies, heard about it on all those stupid talk shows Saroj watched, and the feeling was eerily similar. There was a light at the end of the tunnel, even though Vasu knew that it was the CT scan at work, it comforted her to know that death was close and it brought light with it. There was no coherence to her thoughts, she knew that as well. People and emotions were hopping around in her brain. Thoughts came and left unbidden.
She'd seen Shekhar and then she saw Ramakant. She hoped she wouldn't meet Ramakant on the other side. He would be gravely unhappy that she did everything she could to poison their daughter's mind against him, and he would be smug that she hadn't succeeded.
Then Anu, Shekhar's wife, came strolling in, wearing a white sari, saying that she had the right to wear it, not Vasu. Vasu retorted by saying that she didn't want to wear a white sari and the color really didn't suit Anu, either.
When Anu left, Geeta came, her closest friend, and she smiled. “It'll be okay,” she said, and then there was darkness.
The CT scan was probably over and they were taking her elsewhere, away from the light. Her mind revolted against being drawn away from the light and just as that happened there were bright lights within her, she could feel her heart slow, pace itself to the world she was entering.
She wished Saroj would come by and talk to her before she had to leave because she knew her time was here. She had to go. She could feel it all the way inside her where the small sparks of light were playing, trying to stimulate her heart, which was slowing down making her free, unfettered.
She wanted to say she was sorry to Saroj for not loving her enough.
The sparks started to die away and Vasu felt her heart stop and then everything turned white and she slipped into oblivion.
devi's recipe
regret
The day G'ma died
Regret is the heaviest thing to carry; it is heavier than guilt, than memories, than life itself. Regret is this heavy thing that I carry inside of me.
I wish I was kinder. I wish I didn't tell her the truth. I wish I didn't rush to defend myself. I wish I admitted my love was less strong than hers. I wish she lived. I wish she didn't die because of what I said because regret is this heavy thing that I carry inside of me.
Death is final. Beyond it, nothing lies. No dreams, no future, no tomorrow. Death is ultimate and with death comes regret. The regret that life didn't turn out the way we wanted. That death came too early. Death is inevitable. Death lives in all our tomorrows. And along with death lives regret, this heavy thing that I carry inside of me.
Saying good-bye is never easy to someone who is already gone. How do I say good-bye to the dead? How will she know that I let her go? But I don't want to say good-bye, I want to get her back. Why say good-bye when I can't mean it? Why carry that regret as well, because regret is this heavy thing that I carry inside of me.
Some love deeply, some love forever. My love for her is beyond tomorrow, beyond today, and beyond forever. I will always remember her, always mark the day she came and the day she left. She will forever be inside of me, along with regret, which will not be as heavy because she will be there as well, easing this heavy load inside of me.
Thicker Than Blood
LETTER FROM GIRISH TO DEVI
Dear Devi,
A long time ago I asked Avi how he stays so calm, no matter what happens around him. He told me he wrote letters. Letters he never sends to the recipient. Just vent it all out, he said, t
ell the truth because there are no consequences.
I usually don't write letters, so this one is very difficult to write and because it is so difficult to write, I might just have to send it to you. I mean, I put all this effort into this, I've got to let you have a look at it, right? I can see you reading this line now and thinking, He's still joking, the world has gone upside down and he's still joking.
I thought I'd tell Avi when I called him from here that the woman I cheated on Shobha with was you. Then he said that he wanted to break my kneecaps and I chickened out. If you tell him could you give me a head start? I like my kneecaps.
Yeah, I can see you now, nodding and sighing, thinking that I'm still joking.
I met an old friend here, a professor of mine. I told her about you, Shobha, the whole mess. She's not a therapist but I'm thinking of asking
about her hours. According to her I'm an asshole (she's not really a therapist because they are not supposed to call their patients names) and that I should go on my knees and beg forgiveness from you, Shobha, Avi, Vasu, and last but not the least Saroj, who will probably take her rolling pin and give me two (or maybe more) good ones.
And I'm to blame. I was the married one, the one with the marital vows. But what is a man supposed to do when he falls in love with his wife's sister? Isn't there some bad Hindi movie with this theme? And what happens in the end ofthat movie? The unmarried sister sacrifices all and leaves the man to his wife? None ofthat worked here. Shobha and I couldn't stay together as we couldn't continue the farce, not after finding out all that we did. So your sacrifice and mine got us nowhere because at the end of the bloody day, I'm here in Oxford wondering what the hell happened.
I wish we could start again, from the beginning, the very beginning, before I married Shobha. I wish you and I could meet again, on a date, as two strangers, but then I'm probably not your type. I have seen the men you've dated, all of them look like jocks and here I am, a skinny Indian professor with glasses and a wife. I wonder what you saw in me. I know what I saw in you, the whole damn world. I saw my world and then you turned and looked at me, how was I supposed to resist that?
I didn't pay much attention to you for a long time. You were just Shobha's sister whom she bitched and moaned about. Personally, I think she was jealous that you got to have great sex with different men while she was stuck with her sexless wonder: me.
But Shobha is a rock. She was the rock in my life for the years we were married. I was convinced that no matter how bad things were, our marriage wouldn't end. I thought that if we could still stay under the same roof and stand each other day after day, it would be enough. And she put up with everything I threw her way. But it wasn't enough.
And I agree with Shobha that if we'd had a child, things would've worked out. Well, that pain runs deep, as does the pain of losing our baby. Now I wonder how I could've done what I did to Shobha. How could I have betrayed her trust, your trust, everyone's trust? And then I console myself thinking that I didn't do it alone, that you were a willing accomplice. It is a small comfort, actually, it's no comfort at all.
I feel like a walking mass of pain, unable to understand my actions, yet feeling little remorse, which makes me feel guiltier. This is a vicious cycle I can't break free of.
But I wanted you to know that whatever it was that happened between us was, is, important and treasured. And that I know there's nothing we can do about it. I can't come back to what was and you can't leave what is.
So, good-bye and I wish you a long and happy life with a wonderful man and a houseful of children. (I know you're thinking that I'm just being polite and I don't mean any of this, and I don't. I wish we could make it and no matter how generous I try to be, I can't.)
Girish
Devi never really overcame the guilt, Shobha never got over not saying good-bye, and Saroj was ridden with regret that Vasu left before she could tell her she loved her and that she was sorry that she couldn't be the daughter Vasu wanted.
Vasu had never been too sentimental about death and didn't have any elaborate desires, just some simple ones. She told this to Avi after Shekhar's funeral. She'd been frustrated by how much religion was involved with his death when during his life he'd been less religious than her. At least Vasu believed in God, even if it wasn't a specific God. Shekhar had never even pretended to have anything to do with the great unknown. She felt after his death his family made a farce out of his life.
“They had so many pujas and nonsense, fifth-day ceremony and eleventh-day ceremony, it was just too much,” Vasu complained vehemently. And Anu … they broke her bangles and cut some of her hair off. Barbaric!”
“At least they didn't shave her hair off,” Avi reminded her consolingly.
“She wouldn't permit that,” Vasu said confidently. “She is religious but not a fanatic. When I die, Avi, I don't want all this religious nonsense. No ceremony, no puja, no nothing. I don't want anyone to come and look at my dead body. What's to see?”
“People like to pay their respects to the dead,” Avi said.
Vasu made a clicking sound. “More nonsense. If you have to give someone respect, give it to them when they are alive, they will value it, why bother after they are dead.”
Avi was amused at how passionate she seemed about the matter. Vasu frowned at him when she saw the silent laughter in his face. At my age this is relevant, Avinash. And I want it to be simple. I will die in India so they will keep the body waiting until you get there, so get there fast because—”
“Why are you sure you will die in India? You spend a lot of time here, you could die here. What do I do then?” Avi asked then, interrupting her.
“I will die there because I live there,” Vasu said in exasperation, “and so you'd better show up quickly otherwise they will let my body disintegrate and the idea of all those bacteria and maggots … I don't think you will want to deal with that.”
“Yes, ma'am,” Avi said as if Vasu were an army general.
“And I want to be cremated, simply, no priest and no nonsense. Just burn the body, no matter where I die, here or in India, and take the ashes and drop them in the ocean by Vaisakh,” Vasu instructed him. And no one gets to view the body. That is just perverse.”
“Aye, aye, ma'am.” Avi laughed softly.
Then, he couldn't have imagined that she would die; it had seemed such a remote possibility. This woman who was fit, healthy, and competent wouldn't die, couldn't die. It was unfathomable. But she was dead, gone. There was a hole in everyone's lives, a hole as big as Vasu.
Saroj looked at the brass urn perched on the dining table with incredulous eyes. That was Vasu? It seemed bizarre that a walking, talking, criticizing Vasu was now in a silent brass urn.
“Mama, what are you doing up so early?” Devi asked as she came into the dining area. The clock on the microwave said the time was four forty-two AM.
“Can't sleep,” Saroj said, not looking away from the urn. “She is in there. She is dead and I can't understand that.”
“Oh, Mama.” Devi leaned down and gave Saroj a hug.
“I hated her,” Saroj said harshly, a sob tied in with the anger. “I hated her so much. And now I realize that I never hated her. I always loved her.”
“She knew,” Devi said, pulling a chair close to Saroj.
“Do you think you hate me?” Saroj asked, and Devi stopped in midair as she was sitting down. Her bottom fell on the chair suddenly as she snapped out of her surprise.
“What?”
“Do you also think you hate me? The way I thought I hated Mummy?”
Devi blinked and then shook her head. “No, I don't hate you. I think you're a pain in the ass at times, but I don't hate you.”
“I wanted my relationship with my daughters to be different. Closer, you know, like they have in movies and …” Saroj sniffled and wiped her tears with the back of her hands.
“Mama, when times are tough, both your daughters are in your house. How can you say we don't have a close relati
onship? We're both here. We never doubted that we can come here whenever we want to and especially whenever we need to,” Devi said.
Saroj sucked in a deep breath and then shook her head. “I don't remember, you know, never can, all that she said about my father.”
“That's okay,” Devi said. “She shouldn't have pushed you to remember. But she hated him and she wanted you to hate him.”
“And that just made me think he was better than he was.” Saroj snickered. “Poor Mummy never could convince me he was a bad husband and a bad father.”
“It doesn't matter, Mama,” Devi said. “She said she loved you, she told me that before the heart attack.”
“She did?” Saroj was surprised. Vasu was not one to talk openly about her feelings.
“Yes,” Devi said.
Saroj smiled unevenly as her face convulsed and then she broke into fresh tears. Devi held her, tears falling from her eyes as well as she rubbed her face against Saroj's hair.
Saroj pulled away slowly and wiped Devi's tears with both her hands. “When I saw you in that bathtub, my heart stopped beating.
I was so scared that I had lost you. And then you wouldn't talk and I thought I had lost you anyway.”
Devi shook her head and wiped the tears rolling down her cheeks. She'd been crying on and off for the past week since Vasu died of the heart attack she'd had in the guest room. They'd hoped that she would come out of it but even as the doctors performed tests on Vasu to see what her condition was, she'd had another heart attack and then passed away.
“I was scared,” Devi told her. “Really scared, Mama.”
“What for?”
“I didn't know what to do. I lost my baby and my job and my life was going nowhere. I was scared and the baby… I thought that since God took so much away from me he'd let me keep the baby, but then the baby died and I just…” Devi shrugged and let her words trail away. “And after that there didn't seem much point in living. But you saved me, Mama. Thank you.”
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