Nupur Chaturvedi

The car stopped softly in front of the gate. Siestas are sacred in this part of the city. He opened the door of the car, picked up his leather bag from the back seat and fished out the key to the door. It’s not just her; the entire city covets this time of the day as three hours of undisturbed meditation on the essential questions that surround our lives. Hers involved the future of their marriage. He knew this was the worst time to confront her. The questions would be fresh in her mind and so would the historical events to support her line of questioning. He was hoping to sneak into the house and prepare himself, before she emerged from the room that had been her brooding den since that eventful evening when he first raised his voice at her. It wasn’t the volume that had mattered, just the fact that his tone matched his volume and his words—and they all told her that her position as the adored, innocent beauty was on very shaky grounds. It wasn’t as if he’d said anything particularly harsh to her—just begged to differ from her, with conviction on an issue that she’d always assumed was hers to rule on. He could see he had stunned her with his sudden taking of a stand, but now that he had, he couldn’t go back to being the adoring, puppy lover she had got used to. And so her mind began a series of furious meditations, the conclusions of which he always got to hear as soon as he reached home. They started with a vehement “I want a divorce!” But when he quietly handed her the papers the next day, they’d started getting tempered down from “It’s just that I’ve never heard you speak that way to me,” to yesterday’s “why don’t you take a break for a few days and we’ll go out somewhere.” He wondered what was in store for him today. For the most part, they only spoke to each other functionally and seemed to have settled down to an unspoken truce. All that was going to change now.

He turned the key in the door and gave the door a gentle nudge and was about to put his first tiptoeing foot in when his cellphone rang. The ring echoed in the silent, sleepy house—it was loud enough to raise the dead. That was the end of any possible respite.

Her door opened and she came out wearing a salwar suit that looked crushed from frequent tosses and turns on the bed. It was the one he’d given her on her last birthday, which was years ago, as far as he was concerned. But she looked very pretty. That part was hard to deny—there was never any doubt in his mind that in marrying her, the part of his body that he’d obeyed was neither his heart, nor his mind. But he had to forget that now.

“Hi!”

“Hi! You’re home early today.” It wasn’t a question. She’d either been expecting him, or it didn’t matter. He wasn’t sure anymore.

“Yeah. I’ve a plane to catch.” His stomach lurched as he said that, sure of which way the discussion was going to go now.

Silence. She looked at him in a way that made him look away. She looked different, like someone who had just made a monumental decision in her mind. There was also a silence in her eyes—usually they had a way of saying to him what she wanted him to hear. It was what had first hooked him to her.

“Why don’t breathe easy and tell me what you have to tell me.” His universe shifted a little. His life flashed in front of his eyes. His stomach was an ocean now and breakers hit his insides. Then all settled down. The twister had passed. It had taken away something from him that he couldn’t hope to ever get back.

“I thought about what you said yesterday. They are sending me to Germany for a project for a couple of months. I’ve to go today.” The moment had passed. “I’m hoping you will come along. It’s no holiday, but at least a change of scene.”