All the Tomorrows

by Nillu Nasser

  It bewildered him to think how often he had spent his nights under the same stretch of sky as both Jaya and Soraya without knowing how close they happened to be. Soraya’s Juhu bungalow was located just east of St. Joseph’s Church. Its courtyard was one of a handful of places where Akash and Tariq felt safe to sleep at night. It struck Akash as surreal to return to this grand house. He had lived long and shabbily enough to know that pain formed a part of life. Still, it thrilled him to have a second chance. This time he was determined to make the right choices.

  Akash waited at the window. He may have whiled away the past twenty years, but now he found an urgency to put things right and counted each minute that passed, felt every wasteful second. At last, Soraya approached through the gardens of the house, just as he himself had hours before. He noted her beauty this time with detached appreciation. Her elegant procession on tiny heels, the swishing of her sari.

  Yards away, she buckled and glanced around furtively. Then she vomited into the earth and wiped her mouth with the train of her sari.

  Akash looked on, dismayed, worried but reluctant to embarrass her by intruding on this private moment. In the end, he stayed behind the net curtains while she passed by, unwilling to catch her unawares. A few minutes later her heels sounded in the hallway outside his room. Akash swivelled towards the door. There stood Soraya, pale in the evening light.

  “Sorry to have kept you, Akash,” she said, coming to embrace him. “I wasn’t sure you’d be back after what I told you.”

  “A promise is a promise.”

  Teeth the colour of moonstones contrasted with blood red lipstick.

  “I saw you out there, Soraya. Are you unwell?”

  “It’s nothing to call the doctor about.” Bitterness tinged her voice. “First, tell me, did you find her? Did you find your wife?”

  He wasn’t sure what the right answer was and so he opted for honesty. “Yes, I found her.” Exhilaration swept through him.

  “And what do you intend to do?”

  The open-ended question threw him.

  “You have a home here if you want it, Akash, for as long as I am alive.”

  Warning bells sounded in Akash’s head. What did she mean, for as long as I am alive? Besides, he had no desire to leave Tariq. How could he attempt a reconciliation with Jaya when he lived under the same roof as his former lover? No, he could not accept Soraya’s generous offer. There was too much at stake.

  He said simply, “I should leave.”

  “No, your place is here,” responded Soraya, sitting on the bed.

  With me. She left the words unsaid, but they still found him.

  Once he would have given anything to hear her say your place is here with me, but she never had, and now the time had passed. Besides, he found happiness underneath an open sky, he was accustomed to it. The bungalow didn’t feel like home. This was her world, not his. A man had his pride.

  “I am so grateful to have found you, Soraya, I really am, but my place is not here. It never was.”

  She turned her eyes on him, and he found a humility in them he had never seen before. It pained him to see her pride shrivelled, the characteristic that defined her more than anything.

  “I won’t keep you here against your will, Akash. But if you could spare me just a few weeks—what are a few more weeks in the grand scheme of things?—I would be eternally grateful.”

  His feet were poised to leave. Already the Red Room felt like a prison, but he had loved this woman once. What could he say in the face of her plea? “Of course. But I don’t understand.”

  Relief flooded her face. “You will.”

  Akash stayed, though the urgency to restore his relationship with Jaya and find out the secrets of their years apart permeated every fibre of his being. Over the next few days, he and Soraya adopted a routine. He followed her lead when meals were served to him in his bedroom, away from the family. Sometimes, he accompanied her on strolls around the garden. The white expanse of the house and its pillared entrance loomed beside them as they wove their way through the landscaping, stooping at intervals to marvel at tiny blossoms the colour of candy sugar.

  He still didn’t understand her need to keep him here. Soraya told him of the springtime tulips she had planted, which would soon be on their way. Her eyes betrayed a sadness he didn’t question, and he dispelled the notion that she had a rivalry with Jaya. His instinct told him it was something more. Still, he had promised Soraya two weeks, and come what may, he’d take his leave then. Wait for me just a bit longer, Jaya, and I will give you my all.

  They swapped stories, hot stepping around uncomfortable topics. Soraya spoke of her son and her business, and the friendships that had paid the price for her success. She confessed she’d stumbled into the restaurant business. By the time her passions crystallised, the restaurant had surpassed her initial expectations and it seemed ill-fated to pursue a career as a fashion designer, particularly with a young son to provide for.

  For his part, Akash confided in Soraya the reason he limped. Cornered and beaten by a group of drunk men on the eve of his fortieth birthday, his shin bone had broken. With only slight attention from a back-street doctor, it hadn’t healed correctly. He saw that day as a gift: he understood, finally, that drink diluted men’s morals and stole their best selves. In the worst of men, it extinguished their humanity.

  Fearful of upsetting Arjun, he did not stray from his room often, better to avoid the prying eyes of Soraya’s brooding son. The Red Room frightened him. It became his prison rather than a sanctuary. On the streets of Bombay, Akash had spent endless nights picturing himself sinking into a mattress, having a bed to call his own, a door to close and someone to hold. His blessings had multiplied a thousand-fold over the course of a few days. Though his fortune had changed, he slept poorly. His surroundings oppressed him.

  The Tuesday of the first week, he slipped out to see Tariq.

  “I brought you something.” He handed Tariq some bread and paneer packaged in silver tin foil Soraya’s maid had found for him. “Have you had any trouble?”

  “No, it’s all fine, big brother. Always quiet without you, though.” He punched Akash’s shoulder lightly.

  Tariq munched while Akash filled him in on his pact with Ruhi and Soraya’s strange request.

  “What I don’t understand,” said Tariq, “is why Soraya insists on you staying with her for two weeks without telling you why. Does she want a chance to lure you away from Jaya again? Is her ego behind this?”

  Akash shook his head. “I don’t think so. She seems uneasy, always on the cusp of some revelation that she draws back from. I promised her two weeks, but it seems like an eternity. I feel trapped. The bed is too fine.”

  Tariq laughed, spitting out tiny fragments of cheese in his mirth. “You’re complaining about a good bed, you lucky sod? You’re in a palace and you long for a stable. Not many men are so discerning!” He guffawed.

  Akash threw a spoon at him. The murky utensil missed its mark and bounced at Tariq’s feet. A hearty laugh met Akash’s chagrin. Playful moments like these eased his loneliness and brought their bond into sharp focus.

  His sleep at Soraya’s house was never peaceful. The bed’s mountainous cushions loomed large even when they had been tossed aside. Nightmares haunted him, and he drifted into a dreamless slumber only once he slept on the floor. He missed the blanket of sky above him in spring, and the clarity the wind brought him in autumn. He pined for the city landmarks, which had come to be his living room. He craved the moist feel of the air and the silence in the dead of the night that was interrupted only by the footfalls of roaming dogs. At Soraya’s house the continuous hum of the air-conditioning irked him, as did the golden ornaments and the freshly pressed clothes the maid brought him each morning. He missed the simplicity of owning two pairs of worn clothes, which he himself washed by hand. More than anything, he missed his nightly ablutions in the holy river, the time of day he guarded jealously, when he stood under moonlight to o
ffer prayers of repentance to his wife; the rituals he had lived by as a homeless man, when he fought to purify his soul and peel away his layers of shame.

  Despite Soraya’s kindness and his concern about the secret she harboured, Akash’s resentment prickled. Soraya once more stood between him and Jaya, and he was left in no man’s land, his longing for Jaya a pitiful mix of love and anguish. But not for long.

  “I must go. Will you do me a favour?”

  “Anything,” said Tariq.

  “I need you to deliver this to Tara Theatre for me. Just leave it on the front desk.” He fished a letter out of his pocket and smoothed it out. Spelled out in careful script on the envelope was one word: Jaya. He could not presume she still used his surname. For once he was grateful his handwriting had deteriorated over the years through lack of practice. Jaya would not recognise the script as his. It had been painstaking work to thread the sentences together to reflect what he wanted to say without giving away his identity. He handed Tariq the letter with infinite care. “I’ll be back soon.”

  Tariq swatted him, tenderness beneath bravado. “I know you will. I’ll take care of this for you. Be well, brother.”

  Chapter 22

  Arjun had shown little interest in the colour scheme of the nursery, so it remained for his mother and wife to put their mark on the child’s room. Soraya insisted on swirls of yellow paint: a clear favourite in her mind as it did not set gender bias at an early age. Muna had convinced her mother-in-law to include a border of tiny pink blooms in the scheme.

  It flattered Muna to be sought out by the older woman. With her own parents long deceased and a sister who lived overseas, she longed for the love of family. She moved in with Soraya and Arjun the day of her marriage and soon discovered her mother-in-law was forthright and intelligent, but not maternal.

  Soraya was not a typical grandmother, or at least not the type of grandmother Muna had grown to expect from the experiences of her friends. At forty-five, Soraya was too young and too successful to be selfless. Though there were nights when the baby did not settle, and her cries echoed across the house, not once did Soraya offer to soothe her or give Muna’s frayed nerves a respite. She preferred to watch from afar, a proud grandmother, who bought Leela pretty dresses and left chaste kisses on her forehead.

  Not that Muna minded. Before Leela’s birth she sensed she had been a poor companion, unable to compete with the memory-laden conversation that dominated the dinner table in her marital home and centred around Soraya’s shared experiences with her son. Discussions about the restaurant business floated over Muna’s head, and she took a back seat while her husband and his mother delved into the intricacies of resources, clientele and marketing. Cooking had no place in Muna’s repertoire—her recipes had no place in the kitchens of one of Bombay’s top restaurants—so she could not even impress with that most feminine of skills.

  With Leela’s arrival, the three had become a four, and balance was restored. By surviving a traumatic birth and fully claiming a role for herself, she earned a newfound respect. Motherhood came naturally to her, when she suspected it had not to Soraya. Occasionally, her mother-in-law revealed something about her own life and Muna learned to wait patiently for these moments. After all, her husband shared many characteristics with his mother; the apple did not fall far from the tree.

  They stood at the chest of drawers in the far corner of the nursery, Muna changing the baby’s nappy and Soraya wrinkling her nose in distaste.

  “I almost forgot how bad it smells when they do that. I admire you, Muna. You’re more patient than me,” said Soraya. “I was relieved when Arjun was out of the baby years.”

  Leela gurgled and stretched to touch the flowers adorning the wallpaper.

  “Really? I don’t mind the nappy changing. Leela smells of milk and is always warm and pleased to see me. I think I’ll miss this bit.”

  “You’re lucky to have disposables,” said Soraya. Her smile did not stretch to her eyes.

  “Arjun will come around, you know,” said Muna.

  “I know my son. It will take time. I’m not sure how much time I have.”

  Alarmed, Muna glanced at her mother-in-law. Leela whimpered, chubby fists grasping at her mother. “Is something wrong?”

  “No, of course not.” She held Muna’s gaze, and sheer willpower sparked in the depths of her irises. “It’s nothing to worry Arjun with.”

  Muna moved towards her mother-in-law, concern spooling across her face. “Tell me what’s wrong, Maa.”

  “There’s nothing to tell. As you get older you realise it doesn’t make sense to wait to undo the mistakes of the past.”

  Leela fussed. Muna used deft movements to replace the soiled nappy with a fresh one. Then she grabbed a small sheet from a nearby chair and swaddled the child. She cupped Leela’s head and carefully placed the child in the nook of her arm before turning to Soraya. “What can I do to help?” she said.

  “I don’t want to bother Arjun with my petty health troubles. What you can do is encourage him not to see Akash as a monster. Will you help me, Muna?”

  It niggled Muna that her mother-in-law, capable, proud as she was, had asked for help. She pushed aside the seeds of disquiet. “Of course. If you think this is the best way.”

  “It is.”

  “You don’t think it would be better for them to get to know each other at their own pace? I know Arjun isn’t comfortable with him being here.” Muna kissed Leela’s head, placed her in her cot and drew the curtains shut, motioning for her mother-in-law to follow her out of the room. They hovered in the hallway.

  “Akash is here because Arjun needs to know his father and because I need him. Maybe it would help for me to tell you more of my story. Walk with me, Muna, while Leela is sleeping. I could do with some air and Geeta will call us if the baby wakes.”

  Muna nodded and Soraya stopped to ask the maid to listen out for the baby. The two women walked down the winding staircase, leaving the cool air-conditioned house for the sticky heat outside. A light breeze played with the hem of their salwar kameez as they meandered through the landscaped gardens towards the vibrant blue swimming pool. Soraya sat on deck chair and Muna followed suit, kicking off her sandals and pulling her legs up onto the freshly-washed cushion.

  Soraya’s face clouded with thought. “My father sent me away to an aunt when he discovered I was pregnant. He was angry at first, my mother too. She came from a more traditional family, you see, and it wasn’t the future she envisaged for me. But when you have only two daughters, you fight harder for them than if there is a son to take all the glory. And my father...Indira Gandhi had swept into government again on a wave of popularity...it gave him hope. She was strong and determined and unafraid, and he wanted that for me.”

  “I can see that. A woman in the top job. India dominated South Asia under Indiraji. It’s impressive,” said Muna.

  “Oh, she had a dark side, Muna, but don’t we all? The tragic glamour of that family means their flaws come under less scrutiny. But, who said women have to be good? Who said we have to be full of light and laughter? We are only human.”

  “The pregnancy was why you didn’t complete your degree?”

  “I was doing Business. I was good at it, but I had no choice but to leave. I left university. A few months later we moved to Juhu. My father persuaded my mother to give my dowry to me to invest in a business. There would be no marriage for someone who had given birth to another man’s child,” she laughed drily. “Papa believed in my business acumen even though he was furious.”

  Muna dropped her voice to a whisper. “Did you not think about...getting rid of the baby?”

  “Abortion? How many children are killed today in unsafe back street procedures because they are the wrong gender? No, it’s not for me. I was stubborn. I had made the choice. I decided to live with it. Besides, I was 23. I had not been raped. My health was not in danger. The child was not malformed. I grew with Arjun. I wasn’t a bad mother.”

&nbs
p; Muna remained quiet. Arjun’s recollections of his childhood told the story of a mother who was generous with her time but unyielding with her discipline. Soraya had taken pride in imparting knowledge to her son, but he feared her fury at mistakes and misadventures. She had laughed easily though he seldom experienced her hand on his brow during illness or the warmth of her embrace. Muna imagined the struggle of a young unmarried mother attempting to be both father and mother to her newborn child and her sympathy for her mother-in-law flared.

  “I can’t imagine how difficult it must have been for you.”

  “My parents had money. I’ve never wanted for anything. I had the help of a maid. My sister resented having to give up our home, and how suddenly we internalised. The parties stopped. We focused on Arjun. My mother resented it too, I think. I could feel it in her silences. But Arjun soon won them over. They were doting grandparents. I wish you could have met them,” said Soraya. “And then the restaurant bloomed, and within a few years I had a staff of ten.”

  “You were successful, despite the setbacks,” said Muna.

  Soraya looked up sharply. “I never viewed Arjun as a setback.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean that. I meant leaving university.”

  Soraya waved away the apology. “Yes, I was successful. I realised that though it was hard work, I had more freedom being self-employed. I could work flexibly. I didn’t need to worry about bosses second-guessing my commitment or firing me just because I was pregnant. Five years later I was able to buy a second site. All that time Arjun was growing, and I saw how, even though he was young, I depended on him and I didn’t need a man.”

  “You didn’t miss Akash Saheb? Or resent him for leaving you in your situation?”

  “He wasn’t mine to start with. What right did I have to be angry? I took him from another woman. Initially, I didn’t know he was married. When I found out, it didn’t cause me any sleepless nights. I know now how foolish that was. Our deceptions, they never quite stay hidden.” She shrugged. “We were just weak. And though I tried to find him, to tell him about Arjun, soon it didn’t hurt to think of him or what could have been. My life was moving forward.”