Fine grains of sand blew past, the air scorched my cheeks dry. Speeding wheels flew a cloud of dirt. Siddhartha’s hands skillfully manoeuvred the road as small pebbles grounded to dust. He coughed a few times, blinked and cleared his nose while the gravelly path wound in curves like a coiled snake. It ran for miles up and down, up and down—a miniature rollercoaster. And we followed the trail.

A few yellowed leaves invaded our privacy, settled on the inch of space between me and the gear. Siddhartha sneezed and coughed again—twice in a row, fanned his fingers to ward off the dirt, or a bit of the heat or both.

My lips pursed into a condescending sneer.

Poor people’s road and my hubby are a match made in heaven.

He picked up the leaves and threw them out, one crumbled to powder. It hadn’t rained in a weak probably and the weather sweltered in temperatures above thirty-eight. I had covered my head with a cotton scarf, my ponytail standing out like a deer’s horn.

“I need to switch the air conditioner on. Close the windows, Sreya. Please! This heat will kill me otherwise.”

Typical rich kid syndrome.

Son grows up with a stack of notes under the bed and bloody momma pampers him to death!

My ears heard and the mind agreed but the lids refused to open.

A little teasing is good. It adds to the chemistry.

“Sreya! Are you listening? Please, it’s too hot in here.”

Fluttering my lashes, I yawned and stretched. It wasn’t quite hard to feign sleep. Rolling my eyes I obliged, now that he almost pleaded. I often enjoy the content imploration gives. The emotional appeal, the want, the fervour—there is joy in feeling needed, beseeched.

I smiled.

We zoomed past the train station, the railway platform stood with austere patience as usual. It never smiled, never breathed, never frowned; there was a complete absence of life and light. A rusty tin plate hung from a metal pole, its condition as dishevelled as the deteriorating health of an octogenarian. Fading black paint curved into letters—Swarupnagar it read in Bengali. To whom it declared its name nobody knew, none cared. Our house was half an hour walk from here, by car, it could take fifteen minutes at the most.

Seven days in the city and my change of taste was evident. No wonder I always wanted to get out of this dungeon, it suffocated me. I thirsted after the charms that lay beyond. The ones I grew up listening about, the pictures I saw, the paper cuttings I had, the stories I read.

I sighed.

My wish got fulfilled but not in a way I envisioned.

Are dreams meant to be broken?

                                **********

Jadidang Hridayang Tabo

Todidong Hridoyong Mamo

“As long as I reside in your heart, so long you’ll reside in mine.”

This mantra wove two souls into one a week before, it was to remain so till death did us apart. I didn’t know who was to die or when, me before him or him before me, but one thing was certain—I could very well be dead, at least a part of me had.

But, death means resurrection. And resurrection gives you hope, a meaning, an opportunity. Another chance to live, not just survive.

“They are here! They are here! Blow the conch!”

Ma rushed down the steps, her cheeks ballooned as she blew air into the hole of the shell, Baba threw his arms in the air. A huge grin brightened his face.

A smile of satisfaction or success?

“How are you, son? Is everything fine at home?”

Siddhartha beamed in appreciation and affirmation, bent and touched his feet. Ma engulfed him in an instant embrace, the one replete with the passion of a possessive mother—something only I was accustomed to. I hated sharing, might be due to the fact I had very little to call mine. And people were snatching away whatever remained of it.

I stood at the porch bemused. The trolley rattled in protest, trailing me as it hit the minute bumps of damaged red-oxide flooring. Nayna's mother plastered a broad smile fixed on her face, the one akin to a Cheshire cat. Our pugnacious neighbour, Smriti aunty surrounded Siddhartha like a bee hovering over a flower. Speaking in animated gestures, she sang my praise.

The old, fat cow sure had some tricks up her sleeve, she was a whore with balls for nothing!

Swarupnagar had changed.

“Hello, brother!” Dada shook hands with my husband. “Good to have you with us..hope my sister has been treating you well.”

“You know, she tends to be a bit”, he winked at me, “umm..what should I say, hyper!”

Giving Siddhartha a bear hug that spelt discomfort to the very bones, he came and patted my head.

“Seven days only and I thought you were gone for a year!”

Fucking pretentious bastard.

I wanted to kill that snitch but went and wiped those disappearing tears from his dry eyes. “I missed you too, Dada!”

Snuggling into his chest, I whimpered through clenched teeth, “don’t you dare impinge my life!”

He eyed me—a cold spine-chilling gaze like that of a ferocious snake. “We'll see to that..”

Yes, Swarupnagar has definitely changed.

But, so have I.

                            ***********

Ma's robust collection of fibre bangles jingled as her firm hands blended the wheat flour with cold milk and mashed ripe bananas one after the other. De-clotting the mixture, she added a ladleful of sugar into it, combining them all with unrivalled expertise. Khoya ground to powder gave the concoction a fine texture and a few pieces of cashews casually thrown in added to the crunch. Topping it off with freshly grated coconut, she poured it into a brass bowl and offered it at the lotus feet of Lord Vishnu. Platefuls of assorted sweets, fruits and whole coconuts circled a symmetrical rangoli.

It was the eighth day, the one that officiated an end to the wedding festivity. A small Pooja was arranged the next morning. The priest would untie the knot that had tethered us together in holy matrimony. He went on uttering one jawbreaker after another, the Sanskrit words lip-synced by people created an olfactory ruckus. Hysterical pronunciations in a wide range of permutations and combinations followed suit, each having its form.

Hours of torture continued. Pestering aunties gossiped, uncles aimed for the sweets. Their children remained occupied in their flamboyant worlds. Everyone waited for the poor old priest to bid goodbye.

What a tragedy!

Siddhartha sat mute and stoic—as inarticulate as a block of granite. He was either tongue-tied or taciturn—God knew which was the case. Throughout, he broke bones of his finger joints, often his hands travelled towards the back of his neck and scratched a particular corner just beneath the earlobes. I guessed it was a persistent habit that refused to die while transitioning into adulthood. Occasionally, he passed swift grins to some unknown guest—a judgemental aunty or a tomb-faced uncle, even better their secretly horny teenage daughter.

Smooth move.

“Siddhartha baba, are you having trouble sitting on the ground?” Ma asked, her tone echoing the texture of melted butter.

He flashed a heart-warming smile and her bountiful elation toppled over the Himalayan range. “No, I’m absolutely fine.”

I observed through a side glance the way he checked messages on his mobile, how his long fingers where a single gold ring given from our family glittered, tapped on the empty screen searching for…I didn’t know what. The Pooja ended in a series of ululations, blowing of conch shells and pleasant tintinnabulation. Two hours of tedious torment concluded when the people left for good and the house settled into a peaceful slumber.

I needed myself, too many people were noise. I slipped out when none observed. The sun raged atop my head, a small shadow accompanied me to my favourite spot— the foothills where a road in the hue of fiery vermillion diverged—two sections going in two directions—one known, another unknown. Gravels and pebbles lined up the first, the other was soft soil, carried imprints of a million footsteps; it opened into a distant forest with a hoard of greens.

The jungle was once my abode, our abode..the road I took four years ago made all the difference.

The past week went in a daze; seven days sew blurred images—a whirlwind of emotions and actions. Unknown faces painted the Basu house as much as I painted myself.

Women—an interesting lot, are never real. Hiding behind a veil, we conceal our true features. Dump our feelings under filters and endless social conditions until they burn, until the sparks fuel to flames and flare into a wildfire.

Can we ever be ourselves? Certainly not.

Neither could I, most probably never would be. We are raised that way, like livestock—reared, fed and then slaughtered.

A baby goat bleated its way tottering behind its older brothers and sisters, a small bell graced his little white neck.

Born to be sacrificed.

I wondered whether it would see the light of the day next year or would its skin be hung straight from a hook like they were done in Iqbal chacha’s local meat shop.

“Look who’s here! Oh my God!” a squawk startled me, I turned and saw the approaching figure of a young woman. Her unkempt hair and dark, bronzed skin spoke of countless hours spent under the sun. An ear-splitting smile appeared on my face.

“Chandni! How come?” I squealed in an odd combination of delight and amazement and ran upto her. “Long time no see, where’s your son?”

For a second, those ill thoughts shrouding my mind disappeared, I allowed the chance. If living in an altered reality was unavoidable and a must, it better be accepted and practised well.

She threw herself into my arms and did a happy dance—her exuberance contagious. It filled my broken heart with an ounce of optimism.

“So sorry I couldn’t attend your marriage”, she panted. “Please don’t mind—”

“Hush! You had just recovered from a bout of severe pneumonia”, I assured. “If I were your husband, I would do the same.”

“That’s why you’re different and I adore you.” She pinched my cheeks. “By the way, I met Nayna too. Also, I heard..”

The very name triggered a string of emotions. I had strived to bury those ten feet under, but the feelings rose from the dead. The brain discarded any mention of the person, yet the heart remembered.

These two organs indeed share a unique equation, often they choose to not go together. And at that very moment, they were waging a dangerous war, with me caught right in between the conflicting sides.

“..sir has come back”, Chandni finished. Only the last words entered my ears, the middle vapoured in translation.

I halted, stilled to a statue. For a fraction of a second time rolled back.

I ran my way to the top, he followed close behind. My chappal straps glued together protested by coming undone, I cared less..the burst of newfound energy catapulted my enthusiasm. With sandals hanging from my hands, I hiked further. The mill had stood a test of time, with hands outstretched it resembled a scarecrow in close proximity. A bout of giggles ruptured the deafening silence of a parched May afternoon, drooping plants stood silent, engrossed in their own drama. The ascetic weather cast an angry omen..but, we were wild, young and in love. He caught me from behind..I struggled to break free, we hurled our conjoined selves to the ground. A few bats scampered away, the darkness subdued from a flicker of his flashlight. A faint glow coming from a broken window showed his full lips, luscious and oh so juicy! I attacked him with the gusto of a starved tigress, he tugged at my salwar sleeves..his hungry gaze and expert hands came together and my kurta was flung into the dirt. Lips on lips, hands on his back, fingers invading my privates..

“Hey! What will you do now, Sonu? Are you listening?” I jerked back to consciousness. Her voice rumbled in a low whisper with a sinister undertone—of urgency and concern.

His taste had lingered, two years could do nothing to subdue the faint smell of cigarette that overwhelmed my senses each time he popped up. Siddhartha might bite and tear but he lived on.

Chandni shook me further. “Sonu, what will you do now? Does your husband know?”

My eyes opened, wider into a partial 'O'. “What?”

She fidgeted, looked on either side and whispered with furrowed eyebrows, “Its best to not meet Nayna..she doesn’t have any good intention anyway. She has become too proud for that—” then she erupted into laughter: booming, wild and free, cracking like magma when it oozes out of a funnel-shaped mountain.

“Did you see your face, Sonu?” she chortled and bent down with her hands on her stomach. “I knew something fishy was there.” Her eyes glittered with inquisitiveness, same as those of my prying monster-in-law.

“Nothing”, I cut her off.

 Shrugging my shoulders I took a casual approach. It would lighten the mood. “What will happen? Did you think I was scared?”

Her puzzled look boosted my confidence, I ruptured into a guffaw.

You’re too raw at these mind games, Chandni.

And I have been playing it for a long time.

“Nothing was there, yaar! It was just a crush and that’s it”, I squeezed her hands.

“Are you sure?” she tried to hold her footing, faking apprehension with a thick voice. But, it was clear—she was losing.

Breaking into an impromptu cackle, I clapped in a pretentious display of amusement. “Look at your face!”

Suppressing another bout of laughter, I wiped a drop of non-existent tear.  “What do you think will happen even if people know? I’m married for heaven's sake!”

Make-believe—that’s the world I created for these people, to an extent mine too.

With time, I mastered the art and now fabrication came without an intentional effort. Otherwise, living life in Swarupnagar would be synonymous with being another used and discarded soap from the same old factory. Females here have a unidirectional lifestyle, manufactured in mass. Only a selective few like me understood the trouble of keeping things private for two whole years, that also when three pairs of eyes were constantly watching over you.

“Chandni, come to our house..we are yet to have lunch”, I pulled at her hand. “You will return by evening.”

I intended to appear normal but ease and normalcy was a distant idea. My gut shrivelled with a stubborn clench, obstinate anxiety crawled at the back of my spine. Yet, my face projected a jovial image, eyes twinkling in forged fervour.

Walking back to my home, I only prayed for the worst to not happen.

                             *********

It was an early April evening, a Norwester had just lowered the temperature by a notch. Rain in Swarupnagar is as unpredictable as a drunkard’s memory.

I sat on the porch, mosquitoes raiding every unclad body part, my mind a jumbled piece of the puzzle.

“What is my little ladybug doing?”

I sensed a familiar touch on my head—of something forgotten. Memories obliterated from pale pages of childhood recollections. There was hardly any stock of Baba's sweet words in my vault of remembrance. The few which remained were too scarce to start with and in the next sixteen or seventeen odd years eroded to almost none.

A curve on my lips appeared, it didn’t stretch much. “Nothing..just the usual.”

“You may think I was always controlling, I regulated your lives. Maybe it’s true, I won’t deny. But, believe me it was done with pure, honest intention.” He put his palm on mine, eyes on the horizon.

Why the shamming?

Is this web of lies necessary?

Money unmasks people, it impacts how things revolve around you. To your sudden surprise, from you being tossed into every situation, you find yourself sitting on the pivot, as the centre of attraction.

“Getting you married was necessary, you know it better than me. I have no regret as a parent.”

What was that? Did he just..

A spark ran through my body, I stood up.

A blast of hot air blew a mound of dry leaves, rolling with it loose dirt. I clasped my hands over my mouth. The sky parted in a thunderous applause, an ominous silence ensued. I dreaded his next question, whatever it was.

“How has Siddhartha been? Is he treating you fine?”

Knew it!

I had no idea how to answer, what to say when you’re ignorant!

I was as confused as the person he was referring to. Throughout the week I kept on asking myself— “what the hell is happening?”

Mosquitoes hymned in unison, some got killed from erratic slaps. I dwelt on the question, pondering hard but words wouldn’t form.

Am I treating him well? Or is he?

The answer came out negative in both cases. We were an emotionally disconnected couple faking our way to the hearts of near and dear ones. I wondered about his reason, mine was…

 “Its as fine as it was supposed to, the way you wanted it to be.”

Notes in the purse can change iron rules into rubber bands—my father was a shining example. But, I wouldn’t give him the privilege, I was far too clever for that.

By nine in the night, Ma arranged brass plates on the dinner table, a massive oak one from great grandfather's, circa 1920. These heirlooms were all that remained in the house, worthy of tales to be narrated and listened to. A touch of history coated the walls, inside lives of three people concocted daily stories.

A ladle of dal was poured over Siddhartha's heap of rice, some potato crisps and a stout brinjal fry accompanied it. “Shall I give one more?” ma asked, her tone as gentle as the sweet summer air. Bowls of fish and mutton adorned the sides.

A cry crept its way up to my voice box, curries and rice left untouched. A fishy aroma bombarded my senses while others lapped up the dishes with mirth and glee; an urge to vomit arose. Dada eyed from the corner, his teeth degraded from a regular intake of pan masala. Dotted with brown pits, it peeked from beneath the gradual smirk appearing on his face. I gagged at the sight. Siddhartha was looking nowhere but the food, he mixed the dal with rice and poured some of the jack fruit curry into it.

What a horrible way to eat!

Arching his fingers, he tucked big chunks and munched on the grains with gaze still focussed on the plate. What little business was rampaging that round head of his, I wondered; as if finishing the chore and rushing back into his cocoon was the sole priority. He hadn’t spoken a word, the finite times he had were all replies and every time someone pressed on staying a day more, he stressed on leaving the day next. I stood a silent witness to the whole camaraderie, neither speaking for or against. I never existed, never would, and now I didn’t any more intend to.

The family dinner was as peaceful as the tranquillity dead winter night. I heaved a sigh of relief after the ordeal passed. Siddhartha headed straight to God knew where. I stayed back.

Dada picked his teeth with a spare stick, scooped out a seed of mustard and spit it out. “Looks like you’re quite content with your man”, he taunted. “Who knew you could settle this easily after what—” he trailed.

I swallowed.

My hands balled into fists and a surging temper seized control of my sanity. “None of your business!” I gritted my teeth.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk…threatened, are you?” he raised his crooked eyebrows and studied my face, scrutinising every expression. An evil grin raided his lips, I knew what was coming. “I heard he’s back!”

“So?”

“So..” this time he scooped out a mashed grain of rice, examined closely and put it back into his mouth. “I wonder what will transpire when they both come to know about it.”

I stopped beating around the bush. “What do you want?”

“Ah! That’s like my sweet, intelligent sister!” he pouted and dumped a sachet of pan masala into his mouth. The smell was, as always, nauseating. “Ten thousand bucks.”

I jumped with a start. “What do you—”

Bloody Asshole.

“What do you mean? Get lost, you bastard!”

Given the kind of mole, I knew he would be persistent.

But, I have to deny him the pleasure.

Fear crept and moistened my hands; it nibbled at first, pricked the second until ominous thoughts of Dada's potential savagery frightened me. His unscrupulous ways and profound immorality manifested through every twinkle in his evil orbs, a diabolical cunningness shrouded his rotund face. Sweeping a furtive glance, he scampered away.

A sigh escaped, I wasn’t aware I could be holding my breath. For years girls in Swarupnagar had been trained to believe in karma, I didn’t know how much I did, but right at that moment my past folly was looming large against the lighter horizon and each thought about the impending doom snowballed my fear into a full-blown panic until cold perspiration dripped down my neck.

Holy shit!