What Do You See When You Look in the Mirror?

by Nikita Singh

  After she was gone, his father had finally allowed himself to break.

  For the seven months of his mother’s final fight, no matter how much of a toll it had taken on their mental and physical health, they had been able to keep going – because they had had something to focus on. Once that was gone, once the funeral was over and everyone had returned to their lives, that’s when the loss settled in. That’s when they looked ahead at the rest of their lives, at how empty it was going to be without her.

  At first, Aakash and his father were gentle with each other. They spoke quietly at the dinner table, they took turns looking at each other and they didn’t talk about her. They didn’t ask each other how they were doing, and they didn’t share their own sadness, not in words. Slowly, they turned on the TV at dinner time, the hum of reality TV, singing and dancing shows, drowning out the need for conversation.

  Their first argument was when his father found out that Aakash hadn’t applied to colleges in the city, and instead, planned to stay on in their small-town home. His father had seemed more sad than angry at his son’s decision. He could see why Aakash had decided to stay, in their small town, where opportunities for him were quite limited, and that guilt ate away at him. He wanted the best for Aakash. He couldn’t bear to see his son curb his dreams this way; not for him.

  Aakash refused to listen to anything his father had to say. He knew that despite what he was acknowledging, his father needed him there, and he needed his father. They had lost their glue, and, if Aakash didn’t actively make decisions to stay together, he feared that they might drift apart. He had to find a way to stay together, to not lose his father too.

  There was love between them, of course there was. The father–son bond was powerful. However, neither of them was outspoken or very good with words. It was after his mother was gone that Aakash realized her significant role in bringing light and laughter to their family. Without her, everything lost its shine, became dreary.

  So, Aakash had stayed. In the end, he was sure his father had secretly been relieved, even happy with his decision. Aakash had gone to college in their town. He had met Mansi. They had become close friends during the four years of college, but never dated. Mansi had big dreams for her life, and Aakash didn’t want to get in her way. They spent all their time together, studying, laughing, listening to music, just being there for each other.

  When they graduated four years later, Mansi had a job waiting for her in the city. Aakash took a job in his town. Each doing what they needed to do. It broke their hearts. They parted with promises of keeping in touch.

  It was only after one year of distance that they came closer in a different, deeper way than the four years of seeing each other every day. So, Aakash found a job in her city and asked her to marry him. She was his future. He couldn’t let her slip away.

  They got married in their town. If his father felt any sadness at all about Aakash’s impending departure, he didn’t show it. Not once. That stung Aakash. How could his father not care? For the first time in his life, he wouldn’t live under the same roof as his father. And after facing a loss of this magnitude, after grieving together for so long, didn’t his departure affect his father at all? It hurt even more because Aakash was breaking inside. His decision made him extremely vulnerable.

  After staying home with his father for five years after his mother’s death, Aakash finally left. It was at the airport that he felt his father’s body tremble when they hugged goodbye. Aakash held him tighter. Every fibre in his body wanted to stay. The thought of his father waking up to an empty house, making breakfast alone, watching TV alone … broke Aakash’s heart. It took every ounce of strength he had to let go. He couldn’t have done it without Mansi by his side.

  ‘Do you promise you’ll visit us in a month? For Holi?’ she asked his father.

  ‘I promise,’ he said, his smile releasing the tears that had built up in his eyes. He treated Mansi like the daughter he’d never had. And, due to that closeness, he could speak to her freely, without embarrassment, in a way he could never speak to Aakash. They were both too awkward.

  ‘Okay, good,’ she chirped. Her tone was light, but Aakash knew her well enough to sense the emotions she was hiding. ‘And the month after that, we’ll come home for your birthday.’

  For two years, they had done exactly that, visiting each other often, sharing their lives through phone calls. That no longer felt enough.

  ‘I don’t think he will,’ Mansi said now.

  ‘He has never said yes! I’ve asked him to move here with us so many times! He just won’t do it. Won’t leave that house …’ Aakash’s fingers were cold. Every time they’d said goodbye in the past two years, it had gotten harder. How manymore of these visits did they have left? ‘He’s not doing well, especially since Goyal Uncle died. He has no one to talk to, and he’s retired. There’s nothing left for him in that town. But he won’t budge. You don’t know how stubborn he is …’

  His voice trailed off. There he was, his father, standing outside Gate 4, next to his suitcase. He was wearing the backpack Aakash had bought him, and the size of it made him look frailer. Aakash’s jaw hardened. ‘There’s no way I’m letting him say no this time. He needs us; he needs his family.’

  ‘Exactly, we’ll convince him. Don’t worry,’ Mansi said. ‘And now that I have a secret weapon …’

  Aakash glanced at her and followed her gaze to her very large bump. He couldn’t help but smile. ‘You’re going to use your pregnancy to emotionally blackmail him?’

  ‘Of course! For now. And, after the delivery, the cuteness of our baby, his grandchild, will do the rest. Done deal!’ Mansi looked pleased with herself.

  Aakash felt lighter, more confident about the outcome of their proposal. He parked the car and turned to kiss Mansi’s forehead. ‘Be right back,’ he murmured. He rubbed her belly before rushing out.

  Aakash took confident strides towards his father. He waved, feeling a thrill rush through him. His father waved back, raising himself on the tips of his toes to make himself bigger, more visible. Just looking at his father’s demeanour, the emotion on his face – expectant, wistful, tender – Aakash felt as though the battle had been won. The man looked like a grandfather, and he needed to be with his grandchild.

  Hi, everyone! Inspired by all the different, heart-warming stories we’ve been seeing circulate the online space, I decided to document a day in my life, my experience sharing a space with my partner, Adil. I’m excited to share the story with you. Hope it resonates with you. Let me know what you think in the comments down below. Happy reading!

  Self-care Day

  This had been a great idea, to take a self-care day to reset and recalibrate. Leena had been confined with Adil for over a month, sheltering from a global pandemic, and, by this point, they were at each other’s throats. They had begun bickering about irrelevant things and, lately, they had been finding themselves midway through arguments, unable to remember what they were even fighting about.

  Their small, one-bedroom flat in Mulund West, in suburban Mumbai, made it nearly impossible for them to have any personal space. But after watching her favourite YouTuber’s latest video about self-care, Leena had decided that the only way to get things back on track in their relationship was to take time away from each other. Adil had looked hurt when she’d suggested it the previous night, but she had insisted, and he had agreed in the end. The first step was successfully accomplished: schedule your self-care time, and guard it with passion.

  While Adil valiantly gave up the desk by the window in the living room for her and hunched over his laptop perched on a breakfast tray in the window-less bedroom, Leena focused on hitting everything on her list. So far, her day had been perfect. She’d used the extra time to do her hair in the morning, decluttered her desk, and been more mindful and present all day, as prescribed. She had even gone up to the terrace for a walk during her lunch break, using her scarf as a mask, just in case she passed someone on the staircas
e.

  Once her last virtual meeting for the day had ended, Leena unrolled her yoga mat, ready for a thirty-minute practice, followed by a cold shower.

  She’d barely started her warm-ups when Adil poked his head out of their bedroom. ‘Can I come out, or will I be disturbing you?’ he asked.

  ‘I finished work, so you won’t be disturbing me,’ Leena said, keeping her tone neutral. It was important to put up a wall and discourage conversation, so she could really be alone with her self.

  ‘Can I use the kitchen?’

  Leena broke character. ‘Yes! Come on, Adil, don’t act like I’m some kind of evil dictator and you need to ask permission to eat!’

  ‘Just asking …’ Adil said, not looking at her as he walked to the kitchen, muttering under his breath. ‘I can’t keep up with all the new rules you make …’

  Leena ignored that. He was usually the sensible one in the couple and she the volatile troublemaker, so this behaviour was unlike him. But she put Adil out of her thoughts, plugged in her headphones and followed along with the yoga video. As her shoulders stretched and relaxed, she reclaimed her zen.

  However, that didn’t last long. Soon the aroma of spices wafted from the kitchen, and her stomach grumbled. What was Adil cooking? Was he making enough for both? Stop. She pushed the thought of food away and sank deeper into her utkatasana. That’s it. That felt good. She just needed to focus. However, as she took a deep breath, the unmistakable smell of MTR’s pav bhaji masala filled her nostrils.

  ‘Ugh, forget it,’ she muttered. Leena stood up, rolled her mat and marched to the bathroom. Better. The torturous smell of bhaji couldn’t reach here. And once again she felt calmer as she turned on the shower and the cold water prickled her back. The smell of her soap overpowered every other thought, but not the grumbling of her stomach. He was doing this on purpose; he knew full well that she had a weakness for pav bhaji.

  She took her time in the shower, refusing to give in to Adil’s twisted trap. However, despite all her efforts, minutes later, she found herself watching Adil eat at the counter, as her hair dripped water on the tiled kitchen floor. Leena scanned the kitchen, her heart sinking.

  ‘You really didn’t make me any?’ Her voice broke.

  Adil took a moment to finish chewing. He looked up at her just as, to her embarrassment, tears had started to fill her eyes. He nodded towards the living room.

  Leena walked over to find her dinner waiting for her at her desk, where she’d had her lunch, alone, away from her loving husband, who was always considerate and generous, and put up with her quirks and erratic nature. As much as she’d needed her self-care time, suddenly she felt a terrible longing for Adil.

  She picked up her plate, walked back to the kitchen, and pulled up a stool next to him at the counter. He looked at her, but didn’t speak. As they ate quietly, Leena let the pav bhaji blissfully overwhelm all her senses while she thought of ways to get back on his good side.

  So … that didn’t go exactly as planned. But you know what? I don’t regret trying, and I also don’t regret what the experience taught me. Do I have a tendency to overthink? Yes. Do I create bigger problems out of small problems? Maybe.

  The truth is that we feel this need to fix every problem we have. Anytime anything makes us unhappy, we try to change it. When we fail at making ourselves feel better, we feel even worse. Why do we take on this responsibility of feeling happy when we’re feeling sad? Sometimes, we just have to live with how we feel.

  I read somewhere that all feelings are for feeling. That includes the bad and sad ones too. The pursuit of being happy all the time is a futile endeavour. Life is full of ups and downs. So, the next time I feel low, I’ll let myself feel that way for a little while. And the next time I feel high, I’ll cherish that moment and fly as high as I can.

  A N Y T H I N G

  Your chin rested on the fist of your right hand as you leaned on the high table of the coffee shop, only half-sitting on the wooden stool, your feet flat on the floor. Your eyes met mine just as I entered and I immediately tried to convert my snicker at your moustache into a friendly smile. Your beard, just like your moustache, was sparse and light. You’ve always had trouble growing facial hair, haven’t you? Your thick and dark hair, perched chaotically on your head, more than compensates for it. You don’t need a beard or a moustache, but I didn’t tell you that the first time we met. You got up, exposed your even, white teeth and gave me a big squeeze, like you were greeting an old friend, which immediately put me at ease. You engaged me in conversation almost instantly, surprising me with your openness and the sparkle in your eyes. You were a contrast to everyone else I knew in that unfamiliar city, where I had grown accustomed to tight lips and unfeeling eyes. Your coffee, topped with cream and sugar, placed next to mine, dark and bitter. You sat across from me, your eyes alive and merry, my chin rested on the fist of my right hand as I leaned on the high table of the coffee shop.

  I pretend to be asleep as I hear you moving around the hospital room; the scent of your aftershave strong in my nostrils. I can smell it, even over the violent stench of sterility surrounding us, a stench I have come to associate with home. I haven’t been home in days, ever since I puked blood. I know it ends here. I also know that I’m being too pessimistic – I know because you keep reminding me about it. I never, however, point out how excessively optimistic you are being, and how much that infuriates me. I want to shake it out of you, pull you into the deep ditch of despair with me. I feel a tingle of cool air, making me shiver as the door opens. I have half a mind to tolerate the cold, but before I can decide, you’ve already readjusted the blankets over me. I am cocooned inside a clean gown, lying on clean sheets and covered in layers of clean blankets. I have never felt this dirty, my rotten insides decaying further inside me. I hear you talking to the nurse, shrugging away the admiration she showers on you for being a good boyfriend. I hear your quiet laughter ringing in my ears, slipping down my throat like raw egg yolk. I gulp, but fail to eliminate the taste of metal from my tongue. I know it ends here.

  You said you know that they were in a good place, Benjamin and Elaine. You read Benjamin’s enigmatic expression, which Elaine adopts too, at the very end of the film as only a brief moment of panic. You were certain that it was going to pass, and they were going to find their happily ever after. You see, I don’t believe in those. You stuffed your mouth with popcorn, as you happily talked about how they were meant to be, and how glad it made you feel that after their long and hard struggle, they eloped to be together. You didn’t recognize their expressions at all, did you? You weren’t familiar with the silent terror they felt in their bones, leaving them numb yet tortured. You couldn’t see that it wasn’t a beginning, but an end. You said it was your favourite film when I told you it was mine. You insisted that we watch it together. You sat under the feeble light of the glass lantern hanging from the ceiling, your eyebrows casting a shadow above your cheek. You leaned in towards me for a kiss, but I got up, pretending to not have noticed that gesture, asking you if you’d like some more wine. You offered to pour us both some more and pulled me back down on the couch. You shuffled around the kitchen, cheerfully talking about your theories on the ending of The Graduate, while I thought about how you said it was your favourite film when I told you it was mine.

  I wipe my palms on the starchy hospital gown and feel more sweat appear rapidly. I am hot, and I am cold. I kick the sheets away and pull the ends of my fuzzy red cardigan closer to my chest. I feel the bed compress as you sit down next to me and snake your arm around my waist. I know you’re being affectionate, like you always are, but I can’t help myself from cringing away. I am not surprised that it doesn’t dishearten you, and your hold only gets tighter. I concentrate on my breathing, counting deliberately as I suck in the dry air, hold it for just a beat and then release it. I barely register the words you whisper to me, only the reassuring tone in which you talk. I check the clock on the wall directly in front of me, counting down the
minutes till when the doctor will be here with the test results. I suck in a long, uneven breath, the look on the nurse’s face when she informed us that the results were here but the doctor will tell us more, branded in my brain. I, despite myself, feel your faith seep into my skin. I see it happen. I begin to hope, even as my heart beats louder than ever. I wipe my palms on the gown and reach for your hand.

  You insisted that I come to the coffee shop after work that night, two summers later, which didn’t make sense to me. You refused to see reason when I explained to you that I was tired and in need of a cold beer, not coffee. You didn’t laugh at the messy bun that I had rolled my hair into, sitting atop my head. You had shaved off your moustache, which I noticed instantly, which you noticed me noticing, which brought a smile to our lips. You had somehow convinced the barista to keep the shop open for us. You had her bring our order, the same one we had had the first time we met, to the same table we had first sat at. You half-sat on a wooden stool with your feet flat on the floor, while my chin rested on the fist of my right hand as I leaned on the high table of the coffee shop. You took a sip from your cup and reached for my hand, and suddenly everyone important to us appeared from behind the counter and pillars, under the tables, everywhere. You held on to my hand as you dropped down on one knee, mistaking my shock for surprise. You spoke about the first time we met, and all the times after that, as familiar faces stared back at me, lips stretched into wide smiles, eyes glazed with tears.