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I sat quiet for some time, staring at the blank wall. No answers came. “This must be for good”, I thought. Then there was a knock on the door. “Varun’s called thrice, haven’t you called him back?” mom asked through the door. “I will Ma,” I promised.
Hours must have passed when I peeled myself off the floor and made the discreditable call. By the time I had finished speaking, Varun was breathing heavily. He must be angered I thought. Then I heard a click and the line was cut. I felt a little relieved. This was in all honesty, the least of my troubles. I had to face my family. I had to tell them what I was going to do. The little one inside me wasn’t old enough to kick, but I could feel the presence of God. It was true, it was breathing deep inside of me, and I didn’t want it to end.
Dad came in a few minutes later. His eyes seemed furious but his body seemed broken. He clenched his fist and stared hard at me. “Talk”, he commanded. “It’s true”, I said. Something hard hit my face and off I fell on the bed. It was just a slap I realised a few faded minutes later. My jaw was hurting.
Ma stood near the door, almost as if frozen. This was the first time she didn’t stop dad from taking out his rage at me. I was worried about this. I didn’t want to hurt my mother. She was a good woman, a good mother. “Why the hell did you have to fall so low?” screamed my father. “What are we going to do with this whore now Savita?” he yelled.
The hell had broken loose. My parents had encountered their biggest fear. “This is what you get when you send your daughters off to work in big cities Savita.” he yelled again. Varanasi, my supposed hometown is a small religious city in Uttar Pradesh, where orthodox Hindus spend a blissful life and dread the thought of modernisation creeping into their children’s lives. Out of the three daughters my parents had borne, I was only the second, and so my ‘mis’conduct in the dictionary of the religious saints was accountable for disregard of the whole of my family, especially my little sister who was only finishing class X now.
But I knew I had to forget about all this. There was more to do than worry about shallow societal beliefs. Mostly, I felt bad for Varun. He seemed to be a decent guy. I truly had no right to hurt him. My marriage with him was fixed through our parents, and a pressurised ‘yes’ from me after a skype chat with him. Varun was settled in the US, and my parents thought this was the best way to get rid of their modern daughter without hurting her sentiments.
Chandra sir was my immediate boss at the advertising firm I worked in. Gurgaon, where I lived and worked was far away from home and it seemed that the freedom gave me both wings and creativity I didn’t know I had. I worked hard, at odd hours, and even on holidays, becoming quite the favourite of my divorcee boss. He wasn’t particularly handsome, but his encouragement and occasional coffee treats to appreciate my work drew me closer to him. I didn’t have many friends, as I hardly spent any time with anyone outside of office. Chandra sir was the closest person I had in my life.
By the time I became the Art Director, four years had passed and Chandra sir became more than just a boss. There was a sexual inclination we both knew, and with time, in spite of having sworn on mom for saving my virginity, I gave in. People in office thought my promotions were just because we slept together. But, how could that be?
Until six months ago, everything was fine. Then my parents convinced me for marriage with Varun. Thank God, they couldn’t find a suitable wedding date, for that would have been disastrous. The sudden engagement sent me into a kind of depression and Chandra sir became the ever-present shoulder. He told me how life brings us surprise packages of happiness; and how this could be mine. I always listened to him, I always nodded. But I knew somewhere, it really wasn’t true.
When the test came out positive, it was the first time I saw perspiration on his beautiful balding head. “We can’t have it right?” he asked, shivering as if he had committed a crime. “You know there are treatments for such things”, he said with worry written all over his face. I had never told him I loved him. I never thought I would. Now, I started thinking maybe it was good I didn’t. He didn’t understand that I wasn’t diseased, and didn’t need treatment. He didn’t understand love. Then, it hit me hard. He did not, understand me. He understood only my superficial needs.
Resignation was easy. Chandra sir was there to take care of it. I had to work harder to drag myself back; to the home I didn’t belong.
“Savita, we must have that thing aborted today, you listen?” he was yelling when I stepped inside their room. My mother was sobbing quietly, nodding mechanically as if her sinner daughter was a result of her own misdeeds.
“I’ll be leaving tomorrow”, I pronounced meekly.
“Oh, so now you plan to run away and marry that 50 year old lover of yours?” he barked.
“Chandra sir is no longer there in my life. I’ve left that job. I plan to move to Mumbai. There are a few freelance assignments I have, I’ll be able to live off them,” I said in a soft breath, hoping to avoid a beating that I knew would be gruesome for the child.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Is it not enough that you have brought his shame upon us? You still want to burden us with your tension? Why couldn’t you just marry Varun and let us live in peace you bloody whore. Who would marry a 28 year old characterless woman like you?” he roared.
I don’t know when tears came flowing down, but I realised that this was not the time to break down.
“Savita take her to Delhi now and get that thing aborted,” he commanded. My mother – my poor mother could only nod.
“No not today,” I held up my breath to orate.
“We’ll go tomorrow afternoon,” I said and left the room.
I heard some loud crying and breaking of things. My poor mother would suffer I knew, for no fault of hers. May be, someday, I could get her out of this; if she’d let me.
The house was very quiet when I stepped out the next morning. The terrible outrage of last night must have exhausted them I thought. I knew life from now on was going to be more difficult. I had to find a place to live in a new city, work through my pregnancy and deliver a child with no one by my side. Worst, I had to raise my illegitimate child alone in a country like India. But I knew I had to be strong. This was not the time to break down.
About Me: A journalist for the last eight years, my interest in writing began when I was a child. Stories in particular, whether short or novels have been my love for a very long time. Telling stories is one of the biggest passions I have; however, I have not been able to devote enough time to fiction writing yet. I get inspired by real life incidents and have a soft spot for realistic endings, which many people perceive to be unhappy at times. I strongly believe that since life doesn’t throw roses all the time, our stories should be able to create a true picture rather than just the one that the heart desires. My current wish is to write and tell stories, unknown to the world, excavated from my own experiences and imagination.