I slump against the white cemented wall and scatter to the floor of the local hospital. I’m too numb to comprehend the stream of chatter that resonates. Too blind to notice anything other than the last visual of him flickering with every blink. I’m too frozen to remember I need to breathe.
Every second of the last thirty minutes replays itself like an incessant rigmarole. The moment the car crashed into him. The moment my heart plummeted to a stop. The instant a crowd soon gathered around, calling for an ambulance at the earliest. Where words singled out to one thought–a desperate plea–to save him. To save Uday.
“Excuse me?” A nurse breaks my reverie and I stumble to my feet. “Are you related to the patient?”
Patient. The word in itself makes breathing a difficult task. Blinking past tears, I nod. “I’m his–” I fumble to find the right words, “--I know him.” Taking another breath, I whisper in fear. “How is he?”
“His condition is serious, a rather grave accident. The doctors are inside, preparing for his surgery.” A tumultuous wave of anxiety plunges to the pit of my stomach as her words register. My fingers tremble as I prepare for her next words, too broken to trust myself with a response of my own. “We need you to complete a few formalities. His personal information, any existing ailments, payment procedures.” She lists with nonchalance, pushing a few forms in my hands before walking away.
I stutter in my breath, staring at the papers in hand with hesitation. My eyes glisten with a fresh new set of tears as I lament myself with a forceful shake of head. My lower lip finds itself under the torment of my teeth and I clutch the forms. I don’t know who his emergency contact is. I don’t know if he has been diagnosed with any medical illness in the past. I don’t even know if his last address is his current one. And yet I let him threaten his life.
He wouldn’t be in his current state if I hadn’t left things undone between us. He wouldn’t be lying unconscious had I not crushed every dying hope of his. He wouldn’t be succumbing to his end had I never entered his life to begin with. Now that I’ve pushed him to his doom, the least I can do is bring his loved ones to him. The least I can do is surround him with those who care for him. I’m not one of them. But another woman is. His father is. His son is.
With that, I hustle to my feet and barge through the main double doors to the nearest telephone booth.
There’s someone I need to ring.
—-------
“Hello?” A voice croaks from the other end.
“Afia?” I grasp onto the receiver. A shuffle of footsteps resonate from the other end before she clears her throat. “Vashma?”
“It’s two in the morning. Is everything alright?” Before I can formulate my jumbled emotions into words, she excitedly jumps. “Please tell me you finally fulfilled your eternity-long desire to get a feel of alcohol. Don’t worry dear sister, I’ll come pick you up wherever you are.”
“Afia, listen to me,” I press, more feeble than I had expected myself to be. “I…I’m at a hospital.”
“What?!” A momentary silence follows. “Are you okay? What happened?”
My throat starts to constrict imminently. “U-Uday has met with an a-accident.” Her wordless response is all my tears need to unleash again. “I saw him a-at the bar and we started talking. It soon digressed to a huge f-fight and he stormed out only to get hit by a car, Afia,” I stammer, every word tiding with a new wave of dread. “The nurse says his condition is serious and she’s handed me a pile of forms asking for details I don’t know the answers to. I don’t know what to do, Afia. He’s unconscious in some stretcher as doctors operate on him only because of my stupidity. I don’t know how to fix this, Afia, please help me.” Every hidden emotion jumbles out in a rambling mess as I struggle to breathe.
“Vashma, calm down,” she tries to pacify but I notice the underlying urgency in her tone. “I’ll be there as soon as I can. We’ll sort this out.”
I endure a silent nod, something she probably can’t spot over a phone call. “I’ll need you to do one thing for me.”
I know what she wants me to do before she instructs me. A bated breath lodges deep in my throat as she says. “You need to call his father.”
The next thirty minutes pass by in a blur. I rang his father’s number that Afia had relayed to me while she seeked for a cab to the hospital at this odd hour of the night. If it were on any other occasion, my conversation with Mr. Brijmohan Sahani would have been a lot more awkward than it was today. It didn’t ease the lingering tension even the slightest, but I made sure to keep my issues with him aside. Uday has always been a priority for me.
By the sight of Mr. Sahani’s agitated gait, Uday seems to be a priority for him too.
I approach him from the bench against the opposite wall as he lingers about the operation theater. “He’ll be okay. He has to be.”
He stiffens, surreptitiously wiping away a tear past his beige colored kurta. It doesn't, however, hide the redness in his eyes that capture his fears. Brijmohan Sahani has already seen too many people leave him behind. His wife, his family, the country he once called his own. He’d rarely ever let his emotions surface, just like Uday, but I know how afraid he is of the thought of his son leaving him behind too.
“He would’ve been, had you never come in his life.” He sternly quips, turning to face me.
A gasp emanates from his lips, but it's so brisk before he turns back to a cold hard stare I begin to wonder whether I had seen it at all. The lines on his face have embedded deeper into his skin, making him look a lot older than when I saw him last. It may have been only six months, but he looks at least ten years older. Perhaps he wouldn’t have, had circumstances been in his favor.
“The doctors are treating him, I’m sure they’ll fix–”
“I told you to stay away from him. To stay out of his life. What part of my order did you not understand?!” He hisses frostily, maintaining the expected decorum of a hospital.
“The part where you kept your interests over your son’s.” I burst out. “You failed to understand Uday. You don’t want to understand what he needs right now.”
“He certainly doesn’t need you. A conniving, selfish cheat of a woman, who has done nothing but play with his emotions.”
Every word pierces deeper into my already broken heart, bleeding it a little more. Keeping the tears at bay, I force a breath in my slowly constricting lungs. “To be truthful, he doesn’t need a man like you either, Mr. Sahani. He needs a father who’ll stand by him, who’ll comfort him when he’s desolate, who’ll pacify him when he’s angry. Not one who constantly reprimands every action of his. Who questions every choice. Who demeans every decision.”
“I haven’t brought him here, have I? You did. You and your ill fate have put my son’s life in danger. If only you had stayed away from him–”
“I would have, had you been there with him when he needed you!” I lash out, his accusations having knocked off the last brink of my patience. I was very well aware of how much I was at fault. I know how happy he could have been if I had just kept myself as a nonchalant neighbor in his life. But that can’t deny the mistakes Uday’s father made.
“He wanted me as his confidante because he had no one else. You’ve always been distant with him. After the death of his mother, all he hoped for was a little warmth, a little comfort. But you never gave him that. You only imposed yourself on him as a burden.” My rant ends with short exhales of breath.
His face morphs into a pensive mess I cannot navigate my way through. A large part of me jumps in victory at finally being able to stand my ground. For being able to sound as tenacious as I once felt years ago. Almost fearless. However, a part of me also instantly regrets offending him. The last thing Uday would want was an unshakeable tension around him. I’m about to curse myself with every word I know when Mr Sahani draws an observation that teeters me off the edge.
“You really care for him, don’t you?”
I stumble on my words, for this was not something I expected. “I–I..”
“All these years I assumed you were the reason he couldn’t focus on his life aspirations. That you were why he failed in everything he tried to do,” he confesses, leaving me spellbound. “All these years I considered you nothing but an outcast, a distraction.”
His eyes soften, tainting with wistful regret. But his words still hold the truth.
“I have been one. I’m the reason he’s given up on so many things, even life itself.” I struggle to speak, the guilt of my actions wearing my courage down.
“And yet you give him purpose.”
His words appall me once more. “What?” I croak out.
“Call it cruel fate or your impeccable timing, but you’ve always reappeared in his life when he needed you. When he lost hope for everything around him, including himself.” Brijmohan Sahani finds a seat on the nearest bench and his shoulders hunch till they begin to caress the underside of his jaws.
“I..I don’t understand.” I continue to stay on my feet, keeping one eye at the operation theater room.
“You’ve always challenged him when you both were children. I’d rarely ever comment on it, but you provoked Uday in a way that strengthened him in front of his fears. You’d show him newer perspectives, invite him to feelings he perhaps had rendered useless. Because of me, I believe,” his shoulders slant in disappointment.
“I never imagined you’d perceive so much. That you’d consider my presence in his life as anything more than a nuisance.”
“I was looking out for him, I’ve always tried to. I’ve pushed him to the feeling of disappointment before life could. And I despised you because you challenged that very norm too. You pulled him into a world of optimism where everything was possible.”
Brijmohan Sahani seems to be full of contradictions. I can only balk. “You were defeating him before he could experience the feeling of victory.”
“Because I knew how traitorous life could be. How expectations and dreams become pointless in front of responsibilities.” His voice carries the burden of failure I can surprisingly relate with.
It’s a fact I’ve associated myself with in the better part of my life. Dreams drive you to your potential, but only when an aspiration seems attainable. Amidst innumerable responsibilities and incessant taunts thrown your way, both the aspiration and determination cease.
“His dreams were everything to him, Mr. Sahani. Hockey was, and still is, the reason he lives.” I say this with unwavering conviction.
Of all the truths I’ve lied about, this is one I voice with certainty every single time. In all the ups and downs life has rewarded us with, his love for hockey has remained a constant. An anchor to his confusion.
“His dreams did not just encompass his love for the sport. They included a certain someone he admired.” His words have the effect of creating havoc once more.
I’m tilted off my balance as I pry my eyes away from him, trying to deviate it anywhere else, even if it meant observing the specks of dirt on the very mundane tiles of the floor. Conversing with him on matters like these feel nothing short of awkward. Sharing details of my life with a man whom I had barely exchanged words with in the past feels unsettling.
“You may have hurt him, but you were the only person who still challenged him in these years,” he continues, breaking through my haze-addled brain.“You were the only person Uday willingly seeked despite knowing you’d stomp over his heart every single time. There’s something about you that he wasn’t ready to let go.” There’s a glint of bitterness I find in his voice, but it is overpowered by positive disbelief.
There are too many emotions swirling in me for coherent thoughts to take place. I gather the emotion that has been my defense mechanism these past years. “We’ve had a lot of vengeance between us.” I ridicule our broken relationship.
He shakes his head in solemn denial. “You were his determination. Perhaps, you still are.”
“We’ve exchanged all but spiteful words to each other. There’s no way I still hold that position in his life.” I deign myself.
“Maybe. But maybe life brought you two to each other repeatedly for a reason.” His persistent attempts begin to irritate. Brijmohan Sahani, the man who claimed to despise me until a few minutes ago, was trying to bridge the gap between two individuals he probably never wanted to reconcile.I can’t decipher his ulterior motive behind this and it bothers me.
“I’d rather it didn’t.” It’s a blatant lie, one my heart instantly jumps in revolt with.
“If that’s the case, then why are you here, at nearly three in the morning, waiting for him to regain consciousness, Vashma? He won’t know it was you who brought him here. You won’t have to cross paths with him again. You can easily walk away right now.” Every word is a valid possibility yet a harsh lie. Every question reflects the ongoing battle between my heart and mind. It’s response is one I’m unable to conjure. Instead, it sears through my skin and leaks through my eyes.
“Walking away from him has never been easy.”
“Why?” The single question leaves my heart in knots.
“Because Uday always leaves behind a ray of hope. Of another possible reunion, another series of conversations, another dream of sharing a future together.” Words emerge in a string of haphazard thoughts. “It ends in regrets, it always does. But the possibility of knowing we may bump into each other again makes me..”
He completes my train of thoughts. “Makes you want to hope again.”
Tears emerge harder this time as I bring myself to face the possibility. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to. I can’t bring myself to think what I’ll do if Uday doesn’t…” My breath staggers to a stop.
“He will. He’ll be okay. He has to be.” Mr Sahani reassures me with a subtle nod of head.
Hope ignites within me for a full ten seconds, and the chance of seeing him soars freely in my heart. It would not have slowed had we not spotted a nurse approaching us.
I tersely straighten. Beside me, Uday’s father slowly composes himself. “How is he?” I desperately ask.
“The doctors are doing the best they can. Unfortunately, the situation is too doubtful to comment on at this moment.”
And just as quickly it picks up, the pace of my heart drops.
—-------
My head is caged in between my hands, my fingers clutching strands of loose hair as I remain slouched against the cemented wall, when my best friend calls out to me. Before I can register her voice over the incessant berates I thrash myself with, she engulfs me in a hug that not even my stride of tears can escape from. I take in the warmth she exuberates, clutching onto her arms as I allow myself to completely shatter.
She mutters wisps of consolation with every sob I weep. “I don’t know what to do. The doctors say his condition is still critical…I wish I could do something, Afia. I wish I could…”
“It’s okay. Nothing will happen to him, Vashma.” She caresses my hair in motherly affection.
I vigorously shake my head in scorn. “You don’t know that. Even the doctors don’t know that.”
“If uncertainty is all we have, we cannot let our hope die. We have to pray for the best, Vashma. That’s all we have.”
I wordlessly nod, ready to fall into the puddle of misery again, when another voice croaks through. “Ammi?”
I blink past my tears to see my daughter walk through the corridor, clad in pajamas and sleepy-eyed, as she approaches me. “Inu…” I all but whisper in agony.
Her eyes soften and she’s about to fling herself at me when she tersely stiffens. Her orbs widen as she rummages every inch of me from top to bottom. Her step falters. Her lips part in worry and she unconsciously shakes her head, trembling as she does.
“Khaala, I’ll just be back. I need to use the washroom.” She coldly informs, swerves away and dashes down the corridor.
My shoulders deflate and confusion flurries over me. I’m unable to fathom what may have spurred a reaction so odd out of my daughter until I bend my head and follow her line of vision, only to gasp in shock. Amidst worrying about Uday’s current state, I had completely forgotten to observe my own. My clothes are tattered in blood, the palms of my hands sharing a lighter yet similar reflection. I reek of alcohol as well; a matter I’m certain I have no justification to give to my daughter. What was I thinking, drawing my sorrows in something as vile as whiskey, when I had a child to get home to? When I had a mother I needed to emulate. I already dread the thought of what my face might look like but nevertheless run a hand past whatever is left of my lone braid. No wonder Mr. Sahani had stiffened at my presence. No wonder my daughter fled the second she saw me.
“She’s scared of me. I’ve frightened my own daughter.” I ruefully accuse myself.
“That’s not true,” Afia immediately negates. “She just needs a moment to adjust to this version of you.”
My brows crinkle in question to which she elaborates. “The version where you aren’t her mother. But merely a woman lost in love with someone she fears for.”
Her words stirr an swarm of defiance in my mind. Using the back of one hand to wipe away tears, I usher back. “That’s untrue. I just don’t want him to get hurt.”
She passes one long look in my direction, unraveling every bit of my lie with scrutiny. “Is that why you decided to spend your birthday in an establishment as indecent as a bar?”
“You think I deliberately wanted to hurt him?” An appalled shriek erupts through my lips.
“No, I know that you know you’ll end up hurting him and yet you take every chance to cross paths with him.”
For a second I forget to breathe. The truth behind her words, unknown to me, suddenly feel familiar. “I never intended to hurt him…”
“I’m not accusing you of this, Vashma. Neither am I alleging you to have orchestrated years worth of encounters, because I know you haven’t. But you cannot deny you haven’t hoped every single day to run into him again. To see him, to perhaps talk to him.”
I bring my knees closer to my chest, ready to submerge myself in shame. “I shouldn’t have,”
“Fate may have seldom been on your side, but your hope has always shone strong, Vashma.”
I clutch my head in agony again, all the while stirring it back and forth in reprimand. “It’s pointless. Every hope of mine is pointless if it doesn’t guarantee his life.”
“It won’t be,” she brings one hand to ease the tension down my back, her own gait tense from worry. “He’ll survive this, he has survived worse.” When my eyes glisten at the accusation of emotional torment I’ve caused him, she somewhat recedes.
Pulling out a strip of tablets from her satchel, she extends it in my direction. “Until then, why don’t you take a pill for your headache and tell me what exactly transpired between you two.”
“How do you know about this?” My brows furrow in confusion as I down a tablet with water.
“I’ve been acquainted with alcohol and its aftereffects longer than you, darling.” She softly answers. “Now tell me what happened. How did a visit to a bar to celebrate your birthday lead you here, completely disheveled, in a hospital corridor?”
I take a timorous breath, the memories of tonight scathing through every wound that had somehow healed.
“What was to happen, Afia? We met and hell broke loose all over again.”
—-------
“I have always stood by your side, but for the love of God, you have got to stop doing this.” Afia berates–and for good reason–as she begins to frolick to and fro. I bite my lip in misery but my eyes follow her continuous movement in front of me. “I don’t know what to do.”
“You ask him to let you go but you’re unable to do the same, Vashma.” She exasperates and I cower. “Do you realize how long you’ve been following each other in circles? Do you understand why fate brings you both at crossroads time and time again?”
“I did not intend on seeing him there, Afia. I thought I’d go to an isolated establishment, far from where reputed socialites reside, only to ensure I don’t cross his path.”
“Well then maybe, his senses are heightened when they concern you.” She flails her arms. “It could be intuition, it could be fate. It cannot possibly be sheer coincidence.”
“How am I to be blamed for his sense of intuition then?” I remark with agitation.
I may have done innumerable wrongs by him, but the occurrence of meeting each other at irregular intervals surely cannot be entirely faulted on myself. If I were the one controlling fate, I would’ve never parted with him. I would’ve made sure of that.
“No, you aren’t blamed for that.” She agrees. “You’re to be blamed for persistently crushing his hopes, Vashma!”
It’s one thing being a recipient of this accusation from Uday himself. But a totally different surge of pain knowing my best friend supports this notion. The feeling of being crushed is imminent at this moment, not only because I am disappointed in her words, but because I finally realize the truth behind it too.
Every time I’ve seen him, conversed with him, I’ve inevitably given him hope. Every time he has walked in wearing his heart on his sleeve, in constant agony and prayers for redemption. For one more chance. And every single time, I’ve brutally quashed his hopes with words and actions of my own. I’ve repeatedly murdered a future we could have with an ultimatum of my own that only I haven’t been able to follow. Because each time we part, I long to see him again. Every time we turn back to our paths, my heart yearns to cross his again. It’s a vicious cycle I’ve weaved the both of us in; one that demands innumerable chances and gives pain in return.
My shoulders sag and I fall back in mumbles. “I have. I know I have. It’s why I deserve to stay far away from his life.”
She doesn’t sympathize right now. Instead, she interrogates me with questions I should have expected. “Then why did you indulge in a conversation with him? Why didn’t you leave the minute you saw him at the bar? If you really wanted to stay as far from him as possible you could have–”
“I could have left. I could’ve never gone there to begin with. I could’ve distanced myself to another city before giving myself and him the chance to run into each other again. But I can’t, alright! I’m incapable of doing that,” I vent out, my voice shriveling to a whisper. “He–he had been devastated after his wife’s death. I needed to know that he was okay. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for him.”
Her pacing ceases to a stop as she remembers. “You went to his house that day. Why didn’t you console him there itself?”
She’s posed this question a few times over the past months, for she, like my daughter, had expected our distances to reduce a little. She too had hoped we’d reconcile.
I gulp. “His father didn’t allow me.” It was an oversimplification of the truth.
“You’ve never been one to seek permission.”
“I was scared,” a silent tear trickles down my cheek, leaving my heart unguarded. “I was scared of what I’d say to him. Scared I’d fall apart seeing him this broken and lost. Scared he’d again wish for something I’m not capable of giving.”
She crouches to my level and rests one hand on my knee in a placating manner. Her head then tilts to one side and her gaze softens. “That’s where you’re wrong, Vashma. You are capable of giving him that comfort, that joy, that sense of belonging.” Every word carries undertones of anguish. In the better part of these years, she’s been the friend to Uday I could never be. She’s felt the burden he has always been forced to carry. And Afia is nothing, if not empathetic and perceptive.
Which is why she draws the following observation, “His happiness starts and ends with you.”
I break into hysteria. “I’ve given him nothing but pain, Afia!” I mirthlessly deprecate myself.
“And yet he finds his way back to you. Have you ever wondered why?”
My blood runs cold and I unfavorably stiffen. “I can’t. I cannot allow myself to think that anymore. I once did and he committed his love for someone else. He loves the woman he married. He still loves his wife.”
“You well know he married Aradhana on your insistence.” She points out.
The memory plays itself on repeat; it’s one I utterly regret. I should’ve never lashed out at him, should’ve never counted his failures and told him to move on from his pathetic old life. But Uday had managed to surprise me when I least expected it. The man who was synonymous to the very definition of stubborn had suddenly conceded to a wish of mine I least wanted. How could I have been so oblivious? How could he have been so foolish?!
“She was the closest person he had to a confidante after you left.” Afia continues, leaving a distaste in my mouth. I’d forever be grateful for Aradhana for giving him a new ray of hope after how I had irrevocably hurt him. The distaste lingers because I could’ve salvaged our relationship. I could’ve shed my fears and let him heal me. I could’ve taken the leap of faith he always welcomed me with.
Perhaps I would have, had I not been compromised.
“How are you so sure?” The words escape before I can stop them.
She covers my hands with one of her own. “Because unlike you, I’ve remained in contact with him.” Her remark isn’t a jibe, for the same hand lifts to caress my face. “And for a person in love with his wife, Uday would not have waited all his life for someone else for one chance.”
A dam of tears break the internal barricade I had held up high to fall down my cheeks. “I’m not worth that chance, Afia.” I shake my head vehemently. “A woman like me, robbed off her virtue so brutally by her husband, then thrown away and admonished from society as a ‘divorcee’, cannot be anywhere close to someone as good-hearted, deserving and well reputed as him.”
At this, she doesn’t have words to revolt with. She’s well aware of my plight, being a woman of a similar destiny. Her profession and my circumstances, both stop us from going after what we really want. Uday may claim he longs for a future together, but I know how soon that mirage will shatter. No man wants a wife who has been tarnished already. It took me months, perhaps years to muster the courage to face myself in the mirror again. It would be wrong of me to expect the same from him, knowing it would take a lot longer. It would be wrong of me to ask him to compromise. It would be wrong of me to bind myself to him, knowing how many obstacles I’d throw his way with the religion I’ve been born with.
Afia doesn’t object to my claims, but she desperately resolutes. “For once, leave everything behind and listen to what your heart longs for. It might be worth it.” She heaves a deep sigh as she rises to her feet again, probably in pursuit of Inayat. “Otherwise I’d be saddened to support the very claim Uday made.”
My eyes lift to meet hers. “That you just aren’t the woman he fell in love with. That you have become a lost cause.”
They drop back to the floor and I surrender with a tremble. Forgoing the need to wipe my tears, I pull my lower lip in between my teeth and lift my hands together. I don’t know whether the chance is worth it. I cannot differentiate right from wrong at this point. All I know is everything I’ve lived for, every moment I’ve spent struggling, would prove to be redundant if he doesn’t survive. And so I stay bunched up against the wall, my tears slowly drying, my headache a forgotten thought. And I pray. I pray with whatever I have left.
—-------
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
I peruse myself with instructions I had once read about to calm anxious nerves. My footsteps do not cease, marching across the same ten tiles that I believe have already captured the footprints of my slightly worn out sandals. A nurse or janitor across the corridor is probably cursing me for dirtying the floor all the more than it already is.
It’s the last thought I allow my brain to grace me with.
Every few seconds I’d peer through the round window of Ward Number 48, in anticipated breaths of finding some movement to the man that lay unconscious inside, in vain. Every time this feeling of disappointment would surface, I’d scold myself for wanting more. At least the doctors operated on him to the best of their abilities. At least he wasn’t latched onto a breathing tube anymore, now that his pulse rate had somewhat stabilized. At least there was a good chance he was no longer in danger.
Once I tear my gaze away from his sleeping form, I latch it to the corridor as far as my vision can capture, in hopes that my daughter will mark her presence again. She’s been sitting in the waiting room on the far end of the corridor with Afia for a while now while Mr. Sahani and I take turns patrolling the ward room. If he were awake right now, Uday would be amused to find all the people he’d tried to bring together in a room were finally working in harmony.
Seemingly so in harmony, at least.
It breaks my heart to see Inayat so distraught and silent. Having her as my pillar of strength has accustomed me to her constant chatter. I’m used to sharing everything with her, having her reciprocate the gesture every single time. So something pierces through my heart knowing it’s been three hours since she barged through the hospital doors with Afia and she still hasn’t exchanged a single word with me.
It’s my fault she doesn’t want to associate with me. Who would want to speak to a mother who reeks of alcohol stench, tainted in someone else’s blood, her persona disheveled and clumsy, far from the responsible mother she should be? Any child would be ashamed to call a woman of this sort her mother. I’ve unknowingly drawn an irreparable line between my daughter and I that I fear will ever be bridged. I had sworn to never create tensions with my daughter the way my relationship was with my mother but I fear I’ve done just that.
Between Uday and Inayat, it’s perhaps safe to say I’m barely hanging by a thread.
I cast another look through the ward room, only to sigh in return. He’ll wake up, I reassure myself. He’ll be out of danger. He’ll be fit and fine as new. I don’t realize how long I’ve been staring at him with bated breaths. I may have immersed myself in thoughts of the past too deep, for I barely register her presence with what she says.
“Ammi?” I jump in place, startled at finding her here. Despite the pajamas she’s donned, her hair is now tied neatly in a ponytail. Her eyes carry the beginnings of comfort as she extends a glass of tea in my direction. My heart melts at the gesture and my eyes glisten with tears. In this precarious state of mine, almost everything elicits tears within me.
I accept the glass in my hand and sit on the nearest bench. Dubiously, I usher her to join me. To my joy, she does, as she settles herself properly next to me. She may only be approaching the age of eight, she surely is taller than what I was at her age. Her stature is much like her father’s; tall and sturdy. And yet the petite waist and the walk in her gait often reminds me of myself.
“Are you okay, Ammi?” She asks within the next few seconds. I briefly nod, keeping my eyes trained on the glass of tea swirling in my hands. I cannot find the words to say to her, nor the courage to meet her eye.
“How…how is…Uday?” Inayat hesitates. When I look at her, she has a hopeful shine on her face. “The doctors have done their part. The next few hours will determine his health, although they claim he’s out of danger.”
She only nods in return, parting her lips to say something but closing her mouth shut the next second. Before my daughter can formulate her thoughts into words, I flurry in. “Inu, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you had to see me this way. I’ve been a morbid mess these past few hours and I shouldn’t have been. You shouldn’t have seen me this way.”
She closes the distance between us and engulfs me in a hug. Through the muffles, I hear the words she speaks. “No Ammi, I’m sorry. I saw you and I just…I got startled. I shouldn’t have left you though. That’s not what teammates do to each other. I’ve let you down.”
“No, Inu. You’re my biggest strength, you can never let me down.”
“I’ve always been curious about how you used to be before you became my mother. Perhaps I just hadn’t expected it to be this sudden, this soon.” She dryly chuckles to herself.
Setting the glass to one side, I clutch both ends of the bench, head hanging in embarrassment.
“Trust me, this is not how I was.”
What she says next draws my gaze back to her. “But it is a glimpse into what you were like. You still care for him like you used to when you were younger. Unconditionally.”
My heart thumps loudly in my chest, rendering every other rational thought to a faint echo. Before I fall back into the emotional mess that I am, I somehow recover with an excuse. “You’re excellent at weaving stories with your imagination, Inayat. You’re making a big deal of something that doesn’t even exist.”
“I’m not that great of a writer, Ammi. Also, he wouldn’t have had the same look had things been nonexistent between you two.” I gasp, taking in a rush of a breath. “I was there, with him on that balcony, when you couldn’t, Ammi.” Her eyes begin to pool with emotion.
It’s suddenly stifling in the room because I find it hard to breathe. And yet the question escapes from the foggy claustrophobic mirage my mind plays with. “What did he say?”
A distant smile braces my daughter’s lips. “He was beyond sad when I found him. With his head hung, his eyes red with unshed tears, his lips trembling with words he couldn’t form.”
Every word pricks through my skin, tormenting me to my very core. No sooner do tears dampen my right cheek. “And yet he remembered who I was when he saw me. I still don’t know how–my memory is quite blurry when it comes to him–but he said he’d seen me when I was little.”
I nodded in affirmation. He had only seen her on two accounts–at Afia’s doorstep and his own wedding–so the connection that they now share always surprises me. The fact that he had opened up to Inayat leaves me bewildered. Uday, who was always too reserved to say much, had had a heart-to-heart with her?
“I didn’t know what exactly to say other than apologizing for his loss, so that’s what I did. And then the silence got too unbearable and I started rambling. Questions about his son–Kabir, right?” She pauses for my validation and I silently do. “Stories about our life here in Poona, my school. I believe there was a point where I complained to him about Vani!” She exclaims, flailing her arms in the air. “Can you believe it, Ammi? Out of all the people, I told him about that snob!”
A light chuckle makes its way amidst the heavy cloud of tears. “Exactly! He chuckled too. And then Uday said I reminded him of someone when she was young.”
The corners of my eyes clear and the curve of my smile diminishes. She takes a deep breath and meets my eye. “That someone was you, Ammi. He said I reminded him of you.” Inayat whispers with such gentle admiration.
Often she’s asked about her appearance and its lack of resemblance to mine. It’s difficult answering questions to a seven-year-old about her tyrant of a father who abandoned her, whom her facial features resemble so much. I wish to safeguard those treacherous memories away from her for as long as possible, but it becomes perplexing when she’s this overly perceptive.
“I’ve always wanted to look like you, Ammi. And for the first time, someone said I do!” She erupts with glee. “Because he’s the only one I know who knows you from childhood. He knows the parts of your life I could never even imagine.”
“I did tell you a few stories,” I weakly defend.
“And so did he,” a smirk plays across her lips. “A few more than you would’ve liked, actually.”
And right there, for a flicker of a second, I want to brawl with him for spilling embarrassing stories of me. For a bitter moment, I want to resent him for still being as annoying as ever. I want him to run after me, in hopes of placating me with sweet words of appreciation and Badaam Halwa.
My eyes leak with yearning again.
“His expression was just that.” Inayat points out with excitement. “As if he were in a daze, living a happy dream.” My throat chokes. “His voice was distant too, but the way he vividly narrated every story was as if he was thoroughly living through each of them.” I fervently blink back tears, all in vain. “He really cares for you too, Ammi. He told me how much he admires you for choosing to live independently.”
I hastily wipe away tears when I look away. But I’m compelled to turn back when she takes my hand in hers. “I don’t know my Abu. To me, he doesn’t exist. I trust you that you’ll tell me about him when the time is fitting. Similarly, I want you to trust me when I say this; I’ve never seen you speak about Abu the way you speak of Uday. The way you can go on and on about him.”
I momentarily relent from my rational thoughts and spill the deepest secrets I’ve harbored within.
“I’m never in control of myself when I’m around him. Or his thoughts. Or the emotions he evokes.” A tear drips past my eye and I blink. “One day he was my best friend, my closest confidante. And the next day he grew more distant than I could have ever imagined. Circumstances drifted us apart first. Then came our actions, our choices. Well, mostly mine.” I sardonically chortle.
“Regardless of all the pain he has endured in life, he deserves true happiness. The best life possible. All I’ve always hoped for is his well being.” My whole body sags with a sigh as I shift my gaze to nowhere in particular. “We may become the most bitter enemies and yet I’d hope for his well being because that’s how close we once were to one another.”
A warm hand soon envelopes mine as she speaks with a sense of maturity that makes me wonder. “He will survive. He has to, when he has the support of a best friend like you, Ammi.”
“I really hope so.” My voice cracks and tone wavers.
She links her fingers through mine. “Me too. And whatever happens, we’ll face it together. Like a team.”
I would’ve crumbled to ashes had I not been blessed with a pillar of strength like Inayat. For the first time, I smile with confidence. “Yes, we will. Like a team.”
—-------
“Excuse me, Miss?” Someone nudges me on my shoulder and I flinch.
It takes a few moments for my vision to adjust to the glaring sunlight radiating through the windows. I’m about to straighten my posture, when I find myself restricted. On my shoulder is Inayat’s head, deep in sleep. Settling her across the bench, I slowly get up and turn my direction to the nurse.
“Is he okay?” My voice is slightly hoarse from the remnant signs of sleep I have on me. She nods, returning a sense of calm I didn’t realize how much I needed. “He regained consciousness about a half hour ago. His father is still sleeping, and you’ve been here for the better part of the night, so I thought I’d inform you first.”
“Can I see him?” My tone tingles with hope.
When she smiles in affirmation, I shuffle to my feet and rush past the ward room door to him. I’ve spent the last few hours replaying various scenarios in my head of how I’d see him, of what I’d say to him when I get the chance, and yet nothing could have prepared me for the sight before me.
In a blue gown, with transparent wires still attached to parts of his arm to monitor him, he still held the power to leave me at a loss for words. His hair tousled, strands pointing in every direction. The long hours of surgery and the events of the night before had him sporting a stubble; just how I liked. He had been gazing through the windows at the sunrise when I barged through the door. And the second I did, his eyes flew to fixate on mine.
My heart skipped a beat. And I lost myself in him again.
Only he had the power to render me senseless. Only he had a hold over my heart; turning it erratic with just one look. His eyes are warm in an instant, reaching out for my proximity. Just this once, I let my heart precede my mind and take steps towards him. My dupatta loosens from one end, and a short strand of hair stumbles from my tightly knit bun, but I don’t have the time to fix it.
The softness of his gaze is enough to steal every remaining breath from my being and I surrender to it. His stare follows every step of mine, and he barely blinks until I sit on the metallic tool placed for visitors. Neither do I deviate my eyes from his; afraid our connection will break and this will turn out to be nothing but a dream.
“Vashma…” One word spurs a maelstrom of emotions within me. I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear his voice until he said my name. The warmth in his voice radiates through my skin, his morning raspy undertones sizzling down the back of my spine in excitement. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth to stop the tears from falling but they inevitably pool. I gasp in a breath and utter with quivering lips, “You scared me, Uday.”
His eyes soften and he visibly slackens as he murmurs in return. “Are you okay?”
I unknowingly scoff, bewildered at his question. “You’re the one lying in a hospital bed and you’re asking me?”
A smile breaks through his lips. “Well, you did want to return home safe and in your senses. I believe I ruined that for you.”
A light chuckle emanates and I playfully deny. “Only slightly.”
His hand rises from its stagnant position and finds its way to mine. His warm fingers interweave through my stone-cold ones and I sigh in relief, bereft of any inhibition. Uday is safe. He’s here, completely out of danger. What more could I ever want?
“We could have this, Vashma. This ease, this comfort.” I hear the plea in his voice that chokes me on my own words. The proposal is so tempting, the possibility so beautiful, it takes every ounce of determination to decline. Or rather deflect.
“How about we talk about this later, when you’re well and on your feet again.” I brokenly whisper, repeatedly blinking to keep the tears at bay. I don’t want this moment to end. I don’t want to walk away from him, not just yet. And the proposal he presents is nothing but an ultimatum I don’t want to face. I want to bask in our last few moments of bliss before I let go. Before I’m able to do so.
“Say the word and I’ll fix everything.” His persistence is natural.
Color me surprised at my own resistance. “That means there are problems. Issues that are probably beyond our control, Uday. It’ll take us our lifetime trying to find happiness amidst these quick fixes.”
“And without it, are we utterly content?” He challenges, slowly crippling every one of my walls of defense. “Are you really that afraid of the possibility of us or do you really want nothing to do with me, Vashma?”
“I can’t burden you with my problems, Uday! I come with baggage heavier than yours. I’m an outcast you wouldn’t want to be with. You don’t deserve that,” my voice shrivels to ashes by the time I finish.
I’m barely managing to fit in a world where I don’t seemingly belong. How could I subject him to scrutiny by associating myself with him? A woman with questionable character does not belong with someone as well-reputed as him.
“And who do I deserve?” He frostily retaliates.
“A well-mannered, educated and beautiful woman,” I assert. Perhaps I had imagined this conversation to unfurl multiple times. For now that he has asked, I don’t hesitate to answer. “One who lights up your world with a mere smile. One who understands you, cares for you, adores you. Someone who is both graceful and tenacious.” I don’t realize when tears bubble in my eyes until I see him reflecting a similar reaction.
He swallows with difficulty and and wistfully speaks. “Certainly not one who speaks out of turn.”
“Definitely not.”
“And not one who annoys me beyond measure.”
A wisp of a giggle crosses my lips. “Absolutely.”
He latches his gaze to mine. “Surely not one who’s too rebellious and stands her ground; regardless of how controversial they may be, without hesitation.”
I look away and allow for tears to fall. I don’t know whether to curse myself for being this way or damn him for remembering every characteristic with detail.
I concede with regret. “Those are the perfect qualities of an imperfect wife.”
“So you’ll never remarry?”
A mirthless chuckle erupts from my chest. “I’m a single mother belonging to a questionable–not to forget unsettling–community. More opinionated than one would like, and perhaps a little too stoic to fall in love again. I think it’s safe to say I’m saving all men by not marrying again.”
He tilts his head and matches every self-deprecating comment of mine with his own. “I’m a widower with a young son, who often considers alcohol as a coping mechanism. Quite reckless, a little impulsive. The only thing I’m proficient at is playing hockey. It’s safe to say women wouldn’t want me.”
It doesn’t take me a heartbeat to defend him. “A woman would be a fool to not want you.”
A smirk crosses his glistening eyes. “Only the stubborn ones.”
“Did you just call me a fool?”
“Are you admitting to wanting me?” He catches me tongue-tied with nowhere to go.
I bite the insides of my cheek in embarrassment. Of course I’d want him; a man I’ve known and adored since the day I’ve learnt the meaning of the emotion. Of course, I want to spend the rest of my life with the man that I’ve shared everything with–from the darkest secrets to the sweetest dreams. Of course, I’m letting all that go for his sake, for his share of unconditional happiness.
I am a fool. A rather helpless one.
“Hey, listen to me,” His voice breezes through my reverie, locking my gaze back with his. Uday curves his fingers around my hand. “If there’s any chance, even for a flicker of a second, where you believe that this push and pull between us is worthy of something, don’t let go. Choose this. Choose us, Vashma.”
It hurts to hear the desperation in his tone. What have I done to him; to have him begging for something I cannot give? It isn’t fair to him. Letting my selfish needs overpower his happiness is not fair. I must leave. I really should.
So I take a deep breath. And coldly begin, “what we have between us is an illusion built on denial and impractical dreams, Uday. Don’t hang onto them.”
“Then why are you?”
“I’m not.” I decide with finalty. “Everything I’ve selfishly held onto, I’m letting go.”
He considers the lack of conviction in my eyes that betrays my tone. I silently gulp, half expecting him to agree and half hoping he’ll stop me. I’m a walking contradiction, unable to decide between my heart and mind.
“Perhaps you can start by letting go of my hand, Vashma.” I don’t miss the hint of cynicism when I find myself still clinging onto his hand. Tersely leaving it astray, I rise to my feet and falter my steps, “I’m sorry.”
“For this moment, or the last seventeen years?” His question makes my breath hitch and tears begin to gather. I no longer have the courage to meet his eye only to part ways again. The more I try to prolong our end, the more it starts to prick. The more it hurts, the better I realize how fatal I could be to him if I gave him hope again. Afia was right, I am to be blamed for constantly crushing his hopes.
Not anymore.
“For every moment of the last seventeen years when I’ve given you pain.”
He shudders in a breath. “That’s a lot you’re asking for.”
“That's why I’m letting go.” I choke on my words and turn on my heel.
Every step taken in the opposite direction feels like a step closer to my own personal hell; one I’ve succumbed to. Every statement I once abided by, every rebellious streak of mine, every dream that involved his hand in mine is slowly fading away and it is all my doing. The only certainty to my dubious steps is the thought of his happiness. The only relief to the wreck I am slowly becoming is the idea that Uday would finally get what he deserves. A life free from pain and misery. A life away from the darkness I exude. A life without me in it.
“Grant me a last wish, will you?” His words halt me in my tracks.
Dabbing my cheeks to ensure he doesn’t notice my frail heart, I turn to face him. “Yes?”
“Don’t ever cross paths with me again, Vashma. Or else you’ll just end up giving me the one thing you’re seeking forgiveness for.”
A lone tear trickles down her stone-cold face, the rest caged in his eyes rimmed in red. I can only nod without crumbling to pieces. All I can do is follow through with his last wish. So I wordlessly promise him and turn towards the door. Twisting the rusted doorknob, I let out a staggered sigh. It takes me every cell of my being to not spare him a last glance. I know I’ll fall deeper for him if I do. But more than that, I fear I’ll bring him down with me too.
So I take the final step and let the resounding echo of the door etch into my heart. My knees wobble. My lips quiver. Tears threaten to spill. And I have no one else to blame but myself.
This is it. This is how we were destined to end.
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