She nearly broke another plate as the bell rang. Blindly, she rushed into the bedroom and switched on the light. Hastily she ran a brush through her hair and tied it back. One look at her gown told her it wouldn’t do. She quickly changed into a sari, rubbed some cream into her face and looked the mirror, and smiled. It must be 4.30 and this must be Prashant. She went towards the door, calling out “coming,” straightening up a couple of cushions and magazines.
It was only then she realized that the bell had been ringing at intervals of 3-4 seconds ever since she had first heard it. It couldn’t be Prashant. She opened the door, still hopeful. Somu stood there, squinting against the sun.
“Mama, why did you take so long opening the door?” he asked with an edge in his voice. She kept looking at him, slightly puzzled.
“I am hungry,” said Somu, and strode in. By the time she closed the door and went in, he was already eating the tikkis on the table, and simultaneously rummaging through the fridge.
“Mama, we won the match,” Somu said breathlessly between mouthfuls... If Somu is just back from the school, it must be around 3 O’clock, she found herself wondering, and jerked herself back guiltily to what he was saying. She put on an expression of interest and sat down to listen. Rajiv was firm that they should pay attention to whatever Somu said.
“I am going to play in the evening with Sami and Babbu. Babbu’s brother has bought a banjo. he can play it too. He’ll teach me to play. These tikkis are good. Are there some more? - And I don’t want milk today. Please. And today they caned a boy in the assembly, Mama!”
They started their regular bickering ritual about why he should have milk and how much, and yes, he could have bournvita in it, but not coffee, definitely not. Most definitely? Yes. And why didn’t he have some bread and jam - okay, he would. Yes, she’ll make potatoes for dinner and no, not noodles. Will he tidy his room up - tomorrow - no, on Sunday. Okay. Could he have a new bat - for TT. Well yes, of course, they would have to ask his father, but he had to grow up as a man, so he would most probably get it. But what about his homework? There wasn’t much, he’d do it in the night. Could he have some tea?...
She bustled about, full of energy, enthused by the prospect of serving tea to this demi-god, whom she had borne ten years ago, and who her husband adored. She talked to him animatedly. The Parent’s Day was coming, and he was in the third row from the front in the drill. She had to come and see him. he was also taking part in all the races. She should look nice, he told her, on Parent’s day. She would, she assured him. Somu was excited about life. Talking to him fulfilled a void in her, which otherwise stretched baselessly and darkly.
In no time at all, he had finished his tea, impatiently argued against a change of clothes, grabbed his bat, and disappeared with a hasty “bye”. She felt stunned by this storm in her placid life. Dazedly she closed the door and started cleaning up. A change in the dinner menu was indicated. Should she make noodles, after all? Rajiv also liked them. She didn’t, but she could make a couple of phulkas for herself, perhaps. There were last night’s leftovers, too. She could have them. Rajiv didn’t like the idea of leftovers. As she put the empty teacup under the tap, she winced again - that reminded her of the washing still to be done.
He was there, helping her wash up and stack the plates and things. Their arms touched when they worked, and a feeling of togetherness enveloped them. Words were not needed. She looked up at him, now and then, thinking how much she would like to have his child. His son would be exactly like him, handsome and tall. They would name him Siddhartha. She had a love for classical Hindu names. He wouldn’t mind her naming their child.
She felt faint with love and leaned against him. She had several times imagined herself having this child of her dreams; she would plan it as a surprise for him. She would plan it. he would be away for a long time, and when he returned, the child would be two years old. She would watch them together and see him with her son. Hers because he hadn’t known about him all along. A stolen baby... stolen form the man she loved...
She found herself wandering through the house with a plate of sandwiches, thinking what time it was. She was hungry already - it should be around 6 O’clock. Rajiv would be back soon.
Perhaps someone may visit them. Visitors were becoming fewer and fewer, except for Rajiv’s friends who dropped in for drinks and for playing cards. There were a number of visits she hadn’t returned. In fact. most of the women she knew were wives of Rajiv’s friends, and when she stopped going to parties, the friendship also came to an end. They were so uninteresting - such floppy talk, repeating the same topics - shopping, homes, children, movies, jewelry... There was so much to do at home, rather than to listen to their unstimulating conversation. She felt guilty, all the same, of not visiting them.
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