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Word Count : 2600

Audio Theme - Umutsuz Ask  | Yali Capkini |

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04 | You Are My Constant.

"ma-ma-ma-ma-ma-ma... mamma!" The toddler blabbered continuously while clapping his hands.

"Bolo, mamma is here." Saying so, she put a morsel of chapati with dal  in his mouth.

"You don't like peas?" She saw him separating the peas from the matar tofu gravy with the spoon from her peripheral vision.

"No." He smiled sheepishly.

"Give me your plate," she said.

"Huh?" Confusion spread across his face in a second.

"Give me your plate, Mr. Dogra."

"Alright." He forwarded his plate towards her.

She gently lifted Anirudh from her lap and made him sit on the table, just next to her plate, which was still untouched.

He saw her separating all the tofu pieces from her matar tofu bowl and transferring them to his bowl, then she transferred all the peas he had separated earlier into her own bowl. Now, her bowl contained only peas and gravy, while his bowl had tofu and gravy.

She then forwarded it back to him, a weird combination of confusion and amusement visible on his facial features.

"You don't like peas; I don't like tofu, so this seemed more reasonable." She shrugged her shoulders.

"You dislike tofu? then, why did you even cook it?" He counter-questioned.

"The way you stared at the tofu packet in the fridge as if it were your long-lost sibling forced me to cook it for dinner. Moreover, Amma described your love for chicken, mutton, prawns, and tofu quite vividly the other evening when we had met for dinner."

He chuckled, nodding his head.

A second later, an unconvinced expression marred his face again.

"But you can't just have peas and gravy, na?"

"Dogra Sahib, I absolutely love peas. Plus, the daal, pulao, and chapatis are more than enough for me."

"Pakka?" He was still doubtful.

"Pakka." She smiled. "Have your food, please." She said this while putting another morsel of softened chapati soaked in daal into Anirudh's mouth.

He nodded.

"Mamma!"

She affectionately peered at him and then tipped her chin up.

"Ta.. tasthy!!" The toddler's pinkish-white cheeks, which had puffed up with food, were soon smothered with kisses from his mother while he clapped his chubby little hands, his body vibrating vigorously with his own laughter. The round bush of soft black curls around his head jiggled with his body movements.

"Mera chota sa Laddu." And then a chorus of giggles and laughs endearingly engulfed the walls of the dining room—a harmonious blend of babyish giggles, sonorously deep chortles, and tender feminine chuckles.

(Translation: My tiny little Ladoo!)

[Laddoo is a spherical-shaped Indian sweet.]

***

She let her hair loose off the bun and wrapped her maroon pashmina around her arms, shoulders, and torso. She then tucked a few disturbing strands of hair behind her left ear and adjusted her specs with the tip of her finger.

It was past eleven now, and Mahadevan had tucked Anirudh to bed long ago, and being conscious of his habits, she knew he would be in the study completing his office work.

As for her, she had brought her own files, stationery, and laptop outside to the terrace to wrap up all the pending paperwork. Office was getting hectic these days, and added to her already overflowing pile of tasks were the field visits.

But it was all worth it.

For the position she held was a prerequisite for the battle that was to begin after a few months.

Uncannily, another issue had fogged up her mind.

Her school batchmate and friend Tarini Shukhla Sinha and Tarini's husband Ajay Sinha, who also happened to be their senior, had rang her up in the afternoon, and very casually both of them had informed her about their decision to end their marriage.

To say the least, she was taken aback.

Tarini and Ajay had a love marriage—childhood sweethearts, to be exact. They had basically left their families and every other amenity behind to get married to each other since both their families, except Ajay's mother, were hostile to the idea of them being together.

Ajay's mother, Namrata Sinha, liked Tarini from the beginning, but his father, Vishwamitra Sinha, a staunch and conservative but influential politician from Uttar Pradesh, strongly opposed their union. And owing to the insults and threats that Vishwamitra and his younger brother Maheshwar Sinha had so graciously spouted at the Shukhlas, Tarini's parents had completely withdrawn whatever little support they had initially extended towards the couple.

It was tough for both of them initially, but surviving through it all, they somehow got married. Tarini now worked as an assistant professor of physics at a government-aided national university, while Ajay was employed as a business development executive at an MNC. Both had a handsome amount of money transferred to their accounts at the start of every month as their salaries, so there were no financial constraints at all.

They were both so in love, with immense mutual understanding between them. She had seen them triumph through every struggle of their lives together. Three months ago, when she was on an official visit to Odisha, her home cadre, she met them while they were on a pilgrimage to Puri Jagannath temple, and at that time they were planning for a baby, praying for the same to the almighty.

Then, what perhaps could have gone wrong?

Their recently developed hostility towards each other was visible throughout the video call.

She, for a matter of fact, knew that neither Ajay nor Tarini were physically or emotionally abusive, alcoholics, or had any major or minor behavioural issues.

These days, young couples had a weird way of describing the reason behind their separations or divorces, ending it with just a single sentence. It didn't work out.

Was it so easy to leave someone you love, or perhaps loved?

Was it so easy to just unlove someone you had previously loved with every fibre of your existence?

She didn't know the practical workings of the so-called emotion of romantic love, but whatever little theoretical knowledge she had from the romantic novels that Tarini had gifted her during their teenage years, she knew it was a deep level of emotional connection, respect, and trust. It was a euphoric feeling, like the fluttering of butterflies in one's stomach, like the bursting of glittery sparklers on the new year's eve. It was mystical and otherworldly, and just the mere thought of your beloved leaving you will make you feel on edge—at least that's what those novels so vividly described in their overly flowery language.

It could all be some nonsensical baloney, for all she cared.

But then, again, wasn't marriage supposed to be a bond of seven births?

Then, how come it was so easy for people to break it within a single birth?

Moreover, was it so easy to move on?

At times, a random thought would slip into her mind: Mahadevan and she were married now. Undoubtedly, it was her first, but for him, it was his second marriage. She wondered how much Shivalika and Mahadevan must have loved each other because they were about to divorce each other and what type of relationship they must have had. For all she knew, the reason behind their incomplete divorce procedure could just be a simple misunderstanding. Perhaps he still loved her.

Not that she had any issue with it. Shivalika was his first wife, his first love, and the biological mother of his child, and she had every right to be loved by him. And she most definitely regarded a person who stays true to his vows, his spouse, despite the circumstances or situations, and Mahadevan was one such person. She had never read a single piece of news article elaborating on flings or casual relationships associated with him before or after his marriage to Shivalika or infidelity during the course of their marriage.

The same couldn't be said about Shivalika, though; the jewellery heiress had an interesting media image. Paparazzi fluttered around her like butterflies. But she knew better than to trust those random pieces of news headlines because, for all she knew, they could be false as well.

"A penny for your thoughts, Collector Sahiba?"

Startled, she looked up to find the person of her thoughts standing next to the swing, holding a tray with two coffee mugs.

A pair of black trousers, a navy blue pull-over to counter the chilly December winds of Delhi, and a classic white polo underneath, its collar peeking out from the V-neck of the pull-over.

"Um, nothing, just office work." What would have she said anyway? That she was thinking about the relationship between him and his dead first wife.

It sounded odd to even think about it.

"Okay, if you say so." He shrugged and then moved on to keep the tray on the centre table in front of the swing. He then adjusted his specs with the tip of his left-hand index finger.

"The tea you make is absolutely delicious, Inu, but today I wanted you to taste my coffee."

Lately, he has started addressing her as Inu.

Weird, but cute.

"Okay," she replied.

"So, coffee with Dev then? Minus the Karan?" He chuckled at his own joke.

"Hm." She nodded.

He settled down on the left side of the swing, maintaining a considerable amount of distance between them.

She took a sip of the coffee while he looked at her, trying to decode her facial expressions.

"It's good." She said with a smile looking at him.

"Pass or fail?" He asked enthusiastically.

"Distinction."

He nodded back victoriously.

"About your work, the fix you were in the previous day—" She paused, taking a deep breath, "Laid the trap?"

"Check." He shot back with a smirk.

"Lured the sheep?"

"Check."

"What about the big bad wolf?" She inquired again, gazing at the distance in darkness, a smug smile tugging at her lips.

"Checkmate! tastefully slaughtered in fact." He shot back simpering, "Out of our way and under criminal investigation. The construction of the hospital building has already started since the day before yesterday. All our employees and the military authorities are ecstatic."

"That explains your beaming face, relaxed toes, and easy tone." She smiled at him, taking a sip of the coffee and shutting down her laptop with her right hand.

"Yes." He answered, pausing a bit before turning to look at her.

For a change, today she wore a long Indian-style white skirt that covered up even her toes instead of those cigarette pants, a short baby pink kurta, and her regular maroon pashmina shawl. Her hair was open.

It made her look delicately beautiful.

"My friends and their spouses wanted to meet you." He said

"When?" she asked.

"Tomorrow evening, will that be fine with you?" He asked.

She took a good thirty seconds to think. "I don't think I have any commitments tomorrow, so yeah, fine for me."

"The Leela Palace, New Delhi. Tomorrow at 7 p.m.?"

"Done." She shot back and signed with a thumbs up.

They sat in a comfortable silence for the next ten minutes, casually sipping on their coffees.

"Inu?"

"Yes?" She tucked her hair behind her ear and looked at him.

"At which university did you complete your higher education?" He asked.

"National Forensic Science College, Thiruvanathapuram, why?"

"Just asking." He paused for a second. "Wait a minute, you were into criminal studies and stuff?" He looked at her, astonished.

"Yes, I was."

"Unbelievable." He said

She chuckled, "Why?"

"From that field to administration, don't you think it's a complete one-hundred-eighty degree turn in terms of career?" He asked her curiously.

She sighed. "Valid point." Pausing a bit, she continued again, "By the time I was in the last year of my bachelor's degree, I already knew that criminology was something I was fond of as a subject to study, but administration, societal issues, arts, history, and politics were my calling and my passion. Moreover, most criminal science graduates don't get any jobs anyway, and on top of that, I liked the idea of working for people, which thus germinated the objective of joining the civil service. After that, there was no looking back; I started preparing for UPSC from the first semester of my masters degree itself."

"Oh." He nodded. "So, your major was criminology?"

"Criminal psychology, to be specific." She replied, and he hummed.

A minute passed by, and he suddenly heard her calling him, "Sir?"

"Go ahead," he replied.

"Actually, I did have something going on in my mind when you asked me about the same some time back." She hesitantly said.

"Okay...?" He stretched the okay, indirectly asking her to continue.

"Two of my close friends who are married to each other have decided to get a divorce." She paused and bit her lower lip. "They were childhood sweethearts. Basically, their families were against them being together, but they left everything behind to marry each other. They have gone through many struggles together, but now they want to divorce each other." She completed her explanation.

"So?"

"I am worried for them. They were so in love with each other and now they are all set to get a divorce?"

He sighed.

"Sometimes, there are things between a couple that are only known to them. Friends and family can only play the role of Cupid and relieve the situation to some extent, but they can't undo the past blunders created by each partner. If both of your friends have taken this decision to get separated, believe me, they must have thought over it for a considerably long period of time." He replied thoughtfully.

She hummed, "Nothing is constant in this world, na?---neither relationships nor love?" She asked, gazing at the moon.

"Don't take it in a negative light, Inu." Removing his socks-clad feet from the rubber slippers he had worn, he brought them on the swing and sat cross-legged. "Think about it. A crofter sows hundreds of seeds in his fields per year, but while growing up, some of the saplings are infested by insects, some perish due to the loose hold of their roots on the soil beneath, and some just don't get enough nutrients from the soil required for their sustenance and eventually reach their ultimate demise. Now tell me, If the situations were to be a little contrasting, a little different, they would have grown up to be healthy crops, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"But they didn't—why?" He rubbed both his palms to generate heat and then continued. "Because they are simply not meant to live, and at the very end, only some of them grow up to be healthy crops, and later, they are harvested. Relationships and marriages are exactly like that; not all of them are meant to be, no matter how hard you try or how painstaking your efforts are." He interlocked his fingers and said, "Sometimes, two people are just not meant to be."

She sighed.

Averting his eyes from the moon, he looked at her. "But that doesn't mean that every marriage and relationship in this world has the same fate. Sometimes, two people are each other's destiny; no negative element, no argument, no misinterpretation, no distance—absolutely nothing can stop them from being with each other and belonging to each other."

He then looked directly into her pitch-black eyes and said, "And who said that nothing is constant in this world? I absolutely oppose it." He countered her previous statement with an amusingly tranquil smile.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because you are my constant, collector sahiba." He paused, rubbing the ring finger of her left hand with his right-hand thumb, and then continued, "And I am yours—for forever."

She turned to look at him; black eyes battled against brown ones, displaying each other's reflections and, maybe, a promise—she didn't know, but a promise that felt warm.

It felt like home.

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