Tea for Two and a Piece of Cake

by Preeti Shenoy

They talk about Parinita, how she has become even stricter than before. Akash says he is preparing hard for the CAT exam en route to an MBA. He says his goal is to get into one of the IIMs, the most coveted management institutes in the country, and that that the job at Point to Point is only temporary. Chetana talks about the latest parade of men in her arranged-marriage chapter. She says that she has met about four IIT graduates so far, and each one turned out to be crazier than the last. She says most of them are selfish pricks and have no idea of how to talk to a woman. She talks about how most are so scared that they are not ‘cool enough’ and she talks about how unfit they all are, and how they have no sense of what to wear, and how they have this superior attitude and think they are smarter than most people around.

  Akash cleverly refuses to comment but he winks at me and says ‘Yeah, non-IIT guys are cooler any day’ and then he asks Samir about his education and says sheepishly, ‘I hope you are not from IIT.’

  Samir politely says that he has gone to Wharton, before which he went to Hughes Hall, Cambridge. Samir’s educational qualifications are as blue-blooded as they can get. Akash does not know what to say, but he is clearly in awe of Samir now.

  ‘It must be really expensive to study in those places, right?’ asks Chetana.

  I feel a little embarrassed. Samir comes from money. For their family, it wouldn’t really be as ‘expensive’ as Chetana puts it. I wonder what made Chetana make a comment like that. It’s not as though her folks aren’t wealthy. But I suppose, if Samir is royalty here, she is perhaps not even a minor nobleman.

  What are you and Akash then, Nisha? Commoners?

  I hate myself even as I think that thought. Since when did I start classifying friends according to the wealth of their families? I quickly squash the thought and change the topic as it starts making me feel increasingly uncomfortable.

  ‘Hey, what is Deepti up to nowadays?’ I ask, deliberately changing the topic.

  Chetana talks about Deepti and Prashant. She talks about how they are the only ones at Point to Point who will stick around till the end. She says she is also planning to leave the agency soon.

  Samir does not talk much at all. I badly want to show him off. I want my friends to think of him as charming, clever, and down-to-earth, the qualities I most admire in him. I badly want him to impress my friends. But he has withdrawn into polite silence and answers mostly in monosyllables, even when they try to draw him into our conversations. Akash, Chetana, and I carry on the cheerful banter, but I am beginning to feel very uncomfortable at how Samir is interacting with them. They, of course, have no clue of the slightly substandard treatment that Samir is meting out to them, and they presume he is taciturn and reserved.

  No sooner than they leave, Samir says ‘phew’ as he exhales sharply.

  I am too angry with him to speak. But I cannot keep quiet and I blurt out.

  ‘Look Samir, if you did not want my friends to come, you should have said so in the first place. You were so withdrawn all through the meal, making me feel like you were condescending towards them.’

  ‘Did you ask if I wanted to socialize with them?’

  ‘Come on! What is to ask? I did mention it to you on the phone when you were in a meeting.’

  ‘You know how I am when I am working. Nothing you said really registered.’

  I am upset and I keep quiet.

  ‘See, it was different when you were working there. You have moved on in life, Nisha. You are now Mrs Samir Sharma. I cannot really relate to all the talk about your internal Point to Point politics, nor does it interest me in the least. I do find both of them a little immature, and come on—we are at a different level from where they are.’

  ‘Samir,’ I say, slowly emphasizing each word, ‘they are my friends. And they are the only ones I have.’

  ‘Look Nisha, I have had a hard day at work. The last thing I want to do when I come home is entertain people. Heck, why am I even having this conversation with you?’

  I had marched out angrily and shut the bedroom door and then made that entry in my journal. That had been our first fight.

  And the first time we had make-up sex too. I realized what it meant only when I experienced it.

  Soon after, I was pregnant with our first child. I was thrilled, ecstatic, and overjoyed to discover it.

  Samir had not wanted a baby.

  That perhaps was the first wedge, the first crack which appeared in our relationship. But the joy of pregnancy, the joy of a new journey, the excitement of such a big event, overrode everything else.

  I was going to become a mother and that was all that mattered to me.

  Nisha’s journals

  2001

  December 25th

  Discovered that I am expecting. (OH MY GOD, I am going to be a mother!) The due date of the baby (My baby! My very own baby!) is August 5, 2002. I am truly overjoyed. I still do not know how I could have completely forgotten to take the pill. Was it because of a subconscious desire in me to become a mother? I don’t know. All I know is that I am ecstatically happy. I have never known such joy in my life!

  But Samir can be so unreasonable at times. I was really upset when he suggested I have an abortion. I know he is not fond of children. I know he did not want to become a father so soon. But heck, it has happened now. I do think destiny has given us a gift, and we should joyfully accept.

  I have assured Samir that I will do every single thing on my own when the baby comes. I will wake up in the night, I will care for him/her. I will be there 24x7 and truly will not bother him.

  I am very excited about my pregnancy. And I miss my mother like crazy. I did feel a little bad that I have absolutely nobody of my own to share this joy with other than Samir, and he is being such a wet blanket about this whole thing.

  I am happy Chetana and Akash share my joy.

  Chetana is getting married in June, which means I will be seven months pregnant then! She made me promise that I will attend the wedding.

  Akash is happy for me, but I found it a bit strange when he asked if I am absolutely sure that this is what I want.

  Of course this is what I want. I am going to be a MOTHER. I am going to shower my baby with all my love. I am going to give my baby everything that I never had as a child. I will be the BEST mother in the world. Akash laughed when I told him all this. I was beyond ecstatic to care.

  But what does he know?

  I am overjoyed. And I thank you God/Universe or whoever it is who controls our destines. Thank you!

  The next entry in the journal is on June 13, 2002 (the day of Chetana’s marriage).

  Attended Chetana’s wedding today. Samir was too busy with work. He was travelling and could not come. Akash was there, though.

  Chetana looked radiant as a bride. I could see the glow on her face. I am glad she eventually found her Mr Right (and for the record, a non-IITian). She still hasn’t got over the IIT bashing that she used to do, and she even joked about it today, just before going into the mandap, and we laughed about it as she made me agree that non-IIT guys are way cooler. She is her usual crazy self and not at all the demure bride I expected her to be!

  I am glad my pregnancy is really easy. I have not experienced any of the horrors of pregnancy that Chetana keeps talking about. I like the way Akash treated me today. He was fussing over me, getting me a chair to sit on, asking if he can get me nimbu paani, and constantly enquiring if I was okay. It made me smile to see how much he cared.

  I am so lucky to have such good friends in Chetana and Akash.

  Chetana is going for her honeymoon to Koh Samui. I am really happy for her.

  Akash says he is very well prepared for the CAT exam this year and the moment he gets in, he will quit working at Point to Point.

  I saw Prashant too at the wedding. He came over and said a polite hello and congratulated me on my pregnancy. I just smiled. There is such a lot of difference between him and me now. I can’t even imagine how I could have ever been excited to go out on a dat
e with him! I have grown so much in this one year. All I can do is wish him well.

  I am tired now. Today has been a really hectic day and I must rest.

  I am content and happy though, and I think I just felt my baby kick!

  I sigh as I remember that time vividly. Journals really have a way of reviving long-forgotten memories. I even remember the clothes Akash had worn that day. I had complimented him, telling him that he looked really good in Indian attire, and I found it amusing to see him blushing. I smile as I recollect that incident. I then make myself a cup of tea and settle down in my father’s easy chair, the one he used to always read newspapers in and I continue reading the next entry my journal.

  Sacred Heart Hospital, Mumbai

  2002

  August 7th

  I am still in a lot of pain and still in a daze after the delivery. All that makes it worthwhile is my darling daughter’s face as she sleeps. She was born yesterday evening, and I haven’t slept a wink after she was born. I am exhausted, but am not able to sleep at all! She took a full six and a half hours to come out! Thank Lord it was a normal delivery. The gynaecologist had said that if she did not come out by 6.40 p.m., they would have to do a C-section emergency operation. That petrified me. After going through all this, I really did not want a C-section.

  My stitches still hurt. There are a total of eight stitches from the delivery. They had to cut a little down there to give the baby enough headspace to come out.

  I am still in a daze. But I am gradually learning how to carry her and how to let her suckle. It is getting her to burp that I find a tad bit difficult, but I am sure with time, I will get the hang of it too. I love the little crib I have got for her. I love her room, I love how she smells, I just love every single thing about her. She is my angel, my joy!

  It does feel a bit bad that Samir has not even carried her and was not even present for the delivery. He came only this morning, and did not even bother kissing me like he always does after returning from a business trip. I badly wanted him to hold me and tell me how happy he is for the both of us. But he did nothing of that sort. He just gave Tanya a cursory glance (yeah, I have already decided the name and Samir says he is fine with whatever name I choose,) and then said he had to make an important call to the UK to check on his mother, as she was not well and had to be taken to the hospital.

  2002

  August 13th

  Samir’s mother passed away last night. Samir wants me to go with him to London for the funeral. How can I?

  I can barely manage to sit up straight. My stitches still hurt. Tanya is awake every two hours. I have to keep cleaning her, keep feeding her.

  He says we will fly business class. As if that can take care of the pain! Why, even the paediatrician strictly advised me against travelling with a baby who is not even ten days old. Why is it only Samir who fails to understand?

  I close my journal with a sigh. Chetana had come to visit me the day Samir had left for UK.

  In those pregnancy-induced, hormone-crazy days, I used to be quite emotional. I was overwhelmed seeing Chetana and had cried a bucketful in front of her.

  She had some news for me as well. She was pregnant too!

  ‘Hey, how was the delivery? Is it bad?’ she asked apprehensively.

  ‘Well, it’s like shitting a watermelon,’ I had laughed.

  ‘Yuck, gross! Don’t you have any other way to describe it?’

  ‘You wanted to know! I didn’t volunteer,’ I had smiled.

  Then Chetana wanted a blow-by-blow account of everything that happened when I was in the delivery room. She kept asking questions and listening intently to whatever I had to say. Just two years ago, it was she who had been instructing me on what to wear and how to land a date. And here I was, lecturing her about motherhood and pregnancy. How things change.

  Chetana had found it very appalling that Samir had not been present for the delivery, and that he had left me all alone with a baby.

  ‘Come on, Chetana, His mother has died,’ I said, defending him.

  ‘Yeah, I agree, but it was unfair of him to expect you to go along. Those who have died have gone. Here is a small life totally dependent on you. And what about YOU, Nisha? What about your pain? Your stitches?’

  I had argued with her and staunchly defended Samir. I had told her that just because Samir was different from her husband in certain aspects, it did not mean that he loved me any less. It was just that he was uncomfortable around babies and children.

  Chetana had left it at that, but I could see that she was not convinced.

  Akash had come two days later. I was moved to see how he held Tanya. He was so careful with her, tenderly lifting her, and planting a kiss on her cheek. He then cradled her in his arm and stroked her head.

  He looked at me with his eyes shining and an expression of reverence and awe on his face and whispered, ‘God, she is so tiny and so perfect.’

  Seeing Akash hold her so tenderly was a totally emotional moment for me. Samir had not even held her. And here was Akash showering so much love. Again, I promptly burst into tears at this tender display of affection and hastily wiped my eyes.

  Akash was too engrossed in Tanya and too absorbed to notice.

  I stood there transfixed, looking at the two of them, lost in their own world. Akash was cooing to Tanya and Tanya was being so soothed by his voice.

  An unwanted thought crawled into my mind like a stealthy urchin sneaking off with a loaf from a baker’s cart. A thought which said, ‘If only Akash was the father of the baby; they are so perfect together.’

  I had no idea then how this little seed of a thought, which had sprouted like a puny weed, would come back years later, like a thick forest of tall trees, to surround me with shadows of a life-altering choice I would have to make. I had gazed at the both of them for a long time that day, too afraid to move, in case I disturbed the serenity.

  It was only after he left that I realized that for the first time in many years, I had experienced something so strange, an emotion I had never felt before. It was hard to put a name to feeling, but it was so blissful, so calming, and so soothing, that I found myself craving for it again.

  I Can’t Make You Love Me

  Present day

  Mumbai

  The enormity of the situation that I am currently in does not strike me till Tanya announces that she wants to go to Naturals Parlour for some ice cream. She has just come from school, and baby Rohit and I have greeted her as usual at the gate of our apartment complex where her school bus drops her off.

  ‘Mama, can we go for ice creams? Please, please, please?’ she pleads as soon as she sees me.

  Rohit gurgles happily on seeing her and makes a lunge towards her.

  ‘Please, Mama, can I carry him?’ she asks, the earlier request of ice cream now forgotten. Without even waiting for my reply, she hands over her school bag to me and stretches her arms towards him. This excites him even further, and he almost leaps out of my arms towards her. He is getting heavier and heavier by the day, and after carrying him for just ten minutes, my arms start hurting. He cannot walk yet, but he crawls really fast, and this is an awkward stage, because I cannot place him anywhere while I wait for Tanya’s bus to arrive. He has to be in my arms all the time, as he has learnt how to stand up in his pram, and he yells if I try to strap him down.

  ‘Tanya, he is heavy now. You will not be able to carry him,’ I try to reason, but my little girl has a mind of her own and she has already decided what she wants. She usually gets it.

  ‘Come on, Mama, I can carry him. I am nearly eight,’ she proudly says as she carries him. I watch like a hawk, in case he gets too heavy for her and they trip over, but she manages perfectly.

  My heart fills with maternal pride as I watch them both. Two perfect children. My two angels. How I adore them.

  She manages to carry him till the elevator when he lunges towards the buttons.

  ‘No, no, Rohit. You’re a baby. Tanya will do it for you,’
she says, taking charge breezily, with a confident assurance of innocence which only a child can have.

  Then she remembers the ice creams again.

  ‘Mama, can we go for ice creams now? I badly, badly want one today, mama,’ she says again, her eyes shining. She has her father’s looks and his charms. Her shoulder-length straight hair, which she inherited from her dad, make her look like a doll, and it is hard to refuse when she pleads like that with her expressive eyes.

  ‘Okay, go change first, and let me get Rohit ready too, after which we will all go together,’ I say.

  ‘Yay, Mama! You are the best Mama in the whole world.’ She gleams, running off happily to her room to change.

  But I wasn’t good enough for your dad, my baby.

  I bite back my tears which seem to be coming without any warning, flowing at the slightest nudge, just like a leaky tap that has been fixed temporarily with a sticky tape.

  Naturals ice cream parlour is just a short walk from our apartment.

  At Naturals, my pain comes back threefold. I see two families there. One is a husband, a wife, and a toddler who is around two. The lady is obviously pregnant. The other is a family with two children, who are around twelve and fourteen. The husband tastes his ice cream, and the joy on his face is hard to miss, as he offers the cone to his wife and says, ‘Try this, this is really nice.’ She takes a lick of his cone, hands it back, and smiles as she says, ‘Try mine now, it is really nice too.’

  That simple gesture feels like someone is grinding the shards of glass left in my heart with a heavy army boot, grinding them in really hard. I wince and bite my lip.

  I watch them, thinking how Samir and I would have been somewhat like this couple in a few years, only if he had stayed. That had always been my dream, to have a happy family, a complete family, something that I had never had as a child. Was that too much to ask?

  Tanya is oblivious to my inner turmoil, as she happily slurps the choco-walnut ice cream cone, her favourite flavour.

  ‘Mama, when will Daddy come back from Germany?’ she asks as she takes another lick.