Of course, Rajiv didn’t know anything about him. No one did. Sometimes Rajiv came in when she was talking to him and looked at her strangely. Once or twice he had even asked her if she was talking to herself. It amused her to think how close he was all the time, yet no one knew it...
A sudden pang of her hunger seized her irresistibly. She put her magazine down and collected her plate and glasses. In the kitchen, she ate about six or seven biscuits and started washing up, meanwhile wondering again about the dinner menu. She hoped Rajiv would bring someone over for dinner. That would mean that Rajiv would stay at home. Otherwise, he generally went out after having tea, and returned only after ten or ten-thirty. He met his friends and acquaintances regularly, and attended their dinners and parties by himself. Well, he had to, being in sales.
And she really couldn’t go out all that much. Somu had to be looked after. She didn’t like to go out, either, and besides her conversation in social gatherings suffered some kind of paralysis. She couldn’t help saying something utterly foolish, or unbecoming. She blushed even now to think of her incoherent, uncontrolled, incontextual speech, words slurring over sometimes, her hysterical giggling.
And her husband was a popular and very influential person in this small town. Everyone paid attention to what she said, out of politeness. She felt sure that they must be laughing at her behind her back. She couldn’t bear it when people politely took leave after she had abruptly barged into the conversation with some meaningless remark. She felt like grabbing their arms and saying, “Please, I was only trying to be friendly. Stay and talk to me.” But she would just bite her lips and something even more stupid, or would take a plate of snacks into the corner and hog them. All the time conscious of Rajiv’s accusing eyes. All the time wishing he would not keep bringing people to introduce her to them. “My wife,” he would say. His wife (for that matter, Somu also was his son).
More often than not, Rajiv would not speak to her on their way back, and she kept magnifying her guilt constantly. At home, a hurried goodnight, and he went off to bed. She sat and brooded over her guilt, her faulty conversation, her incompatibility with her husband’s suave charm. She almost wept with frustration, wishing Rajiv would come up and comfort her. At such moments, he couldn’t do anything much.
As she made herself a quick snack before going to bed, she’d resolve not to let it happen again, and felt much better immediately. Later, she always thought it must be the snacks that put her in a better mood, because the resolve did not last for long.
Till one day, she had said to Rajiv that she wouldn’t like to go out to the Singh’s party. Rajiv said okay, and left. Since then, she had never gone out with him. It was an implicit agreement that she would like to stay at home. Of course, she could go out if she wanted to. But she preferred to stay back and read, or look after Somu. Though this too was not entirely true - she never read anything except magazines. Library books went back unread, long overdue. And Somu liked to be alone. At his age, he could utilize his time more meaningfully with his friends and comics. She felt happy in his happiness - his cricket matches, his books, his friends. Rajiv was proud that his son was growing up like a man. Not being a man herself, she nodded and washed Somu’s clothes, arranged his room, cooked for him, threw parties for his friends and was concerned about his hurts and bruises. She met him only for the mealtimes, though. He spent most of his time either outside, playing with his friends, or in his room. He, after all, also needs to have his privacy, Rajiv said.
Being alone was good for her too. She was most comfortable when she was with him, caring for him, being cared for by him. She even cooked things he would like. Sometimes, he made her cook what she liked, and forced her to eat. She would snuggle against his chest and listen to his talk, replying intelligently and coherently. They would go out for a walk, and she would feel the wind in her hair, caressing and loving.
She became conscious of the hands washing the plates. Chapped skin and broken nails. Her hair were uncut and straggly. Her heels, she remembered, were awfully chapped. She should give some more time to herself. Except that she already had all her time to herself, she thought. She angrily banged down a plate, and it broke into five irregular pieces. She looked at them, angry and close to tears for no reasons at all. bending down with an effort, she picked up the pieces. Then she discovered that she had cut herself. She washed the cut under the tap, wincing at the touch of water, still angry about something she didn’t remember.
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