Chapter 3

“Chachu, wake up” Pihu whispered, “It’s morning!”

Shubham turned in bed to find his niece standing over him. 

“Are those for us?” she asked, pointing to a colourful bag at the top in his open suitcase.

He smiled and nodded. He had slept badly again, the usual with an added dash of jetlag.

“Pihu” his sister-in-law’s stern voice called from the door to his room.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes.

Priya Bhabhi apologised from the door, “She said she’ll just check if you’re up, I had told her not to wake you.”

“It’s ok” he said, “I’m up.”

Looking unconvinced, she offered to have coffee sent up and attempted to lure Pihu out with breakfast. But the little girl had hit the goodie bag jackpot.

She emptied the contents on the floor and began examining each item, creating two piles- cool stuff for her and boring, baby stuff for her brother.

Shubham waved away Priya Bhabhi’s apologetic look and promised to send her to get ready for school in ten minutes sharp. The little girl nodded at the offer, without looking up. 

“Oh, before I forget!” Shubham said, unearthing the duty-free chocolate he had bought from his suitcase. “Could you please have these placed in the fridge, Bhabhi?”

Priya thanked him and took the bag. 

“There are four separate bags” Shubham explained, “One is for here, one for the office, one for my friends and…one for your house.”

He said it in the nonchalant way he had practised on the flight, but his words came out quicker than anticipated. Priya Bhabhi’s eyebrows rose. 

He had practised telling her not to mix up the bags, the last one contained chocolates he had specifically chosen but he realised now that there was no way he could say it without making her suspicious. The fate of the Lindt dark chocolate now lay in Priya Bhabhi’s hands, and he prayed they would reach the person they were intended for.  

Turning back to Pihu, he instructed her to get started on one of the smaller Lego sets he had bought for her while he washed up.

In the bathroom, Shubham was taken aback by the man in the mirror. There was a light in his eyes that Shubham hadn’t seen in a long time. 

He credited Ram bhai, Priya Bhabhi and the kids for it, meeting them had soothed his battered soul.

But you have to be careful, he said to his reflection. If anyone became suspicious, he would have to revert to Shubham 1.0. 

Emerging from the bathroom, he sat on the floor next to Pihu and worried about whether he would even be able to pull it off. 

He had moved far in distance and time from that version of himself. 

At breakfast, he wished his little nephew a happy birthday and handed over the gifts Pihu had allotted to her brother from the goodie bag. 

“Tell Shubham Chachu how old you are today?” Ram bhai said, holding his son while Bhabhi helped the staff set up the table. 

Overcome by sudden shyness, Pratham buried his face in his father’s shoulder. 

Jostling him, Ram bhai tried again, “How old is big boy Pratham today?” 

Peeking at him with a shy smile, the little munchkin held up two fingers. 

Shubham’s laughed. 

To everyone’s surprise, his mother had decided to join them at the table instead of having her breakfast sent up to her room. 

The previous night, she had been overjoyed to receive him. Ram bhai had mentioned that she had emerged from her room for the occasion for the first time in a long time, preferring to keep to herself ordinarily. 

His hands trembling, Shubham had bestowed a perfunctory hug upon her.

Presently, she took a seat across from Ram bhai and began to butter her toast sedately. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought her the picture of congeniality. 

“We’re heading there after lunch,” Ram bhai said, “Could you bring Mom and come a little later?”

Shubham, who hadn’t been paying attention, blinked at the question.

“For the party Shubu,” Ram bhai said, a tad impatiently. 

Priya Bhabhi, seated directly opposite, passed him pooris and said, “Pratham’s birthday party is at my mother’s place today evening.”

Thanking her, he lowered his eyes but could feel the intensity of his mother’s gaze upon him. 

“I… I have to meet Sid and the gang” Shubham said, addressing his plate. “So, I can’t bring Mom, I’ll come directly from wherever we are meeting up.”

A frisson of irritation passed his brother’s features. But before he could speak, Priya Bhabhi cut in, “That’s not a problem, we’ll send the driver to pick up Mom.”

Ram bhai stood and put on his coat, “Fine, but don’t be late.”

Priya Bhabhi saw Ram bhai and Pihu to the door and returned to pick up Pratham from his highchair. 

“Eat appy” Pratham announced, proudly.

“That’s right handsome” she said, “Pratham is a good boy!”

She took him upstairs to prep him for the nanny, who was due to arrive, and get dressed for work herself. 

“As you can see, times have changed” his mother declared, putting down her cutlery as soon as Priya Bhabhi was out of earshot. 

"Why is the party over there and not here?" Shubham asked her. 

With an exaggerated shrug, she got to her feet. "You'll find that my interest in such matters has dwindled these days" 

Shubham bit his tongue to keep from asking what then held her interest these days. 

She excused herself, citing a salon visit prior to the party. Nandini Kapoor was always well turned out, but Shubham could now see the tell-tale signs of ageing, despite her attempts to cover them up. 

Shubham lingered over breakfast, pondering his predicament. When he conceded to the trip home, he had known that meeting her would be inevitable. But now that it was as imminent as that evening, he felt conflicted. Part of him rejoiced, and part of him rebelled. 

He didn't notice that Priya Bhabhi had returned until she waved her hand in front of his face with a smile. 

“I’ve instructed Tarun to make lunch for Nandini Ma and you,” she said, her eyebrows now furrowed. “But if you want something else…if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. This is your house…”

Shubham couldn’t bring himself to reply. His sister-in-law was a kind woman, his past relationship with her was a source of great shame to him. But like all his secrets, even that would go to the grave with him. 

She looked on the verge of saying more but shook her head and said goodbye with a wan smile.

Shubham yawned, overcome by a sudden wave of exhaustion. He walked to the adjoining family room and stretched on the couch languidly. His eyelids grew heavy. 

Of course, there were memories- of Papa, playing cricket with the three of them as children; Shivi refusing to give up the bat despite being bowled out multiple times, Shivi running down the stairs at the mention of cupcakes, the dark day when Ram bhai had to do Papa’s last rites, Shivi in her bridal lehenga, Pihu coming home for the first time. The images flashed through his mind like the reels of a movie.

And then, not unexpectedly, it came to a halt at the familiar sight of an unknown little girl standing in the corner. 

Even asleep, Shubham’s heart ached at the sight of her. Like her mother she was chubby, and her nose crinkled when she laughed.

Not far behind, her mother appeared, in silhouette, and picked her up in a twirl of laughter. 

She laughed often but smiled rarely- a reticent, half smile that always caused his heart to flutter. 

How many years had passed since he had seen that smile, how many years since he had seen her. 

In his dream, a dark shadow fell and he couldn’t see anymore. Blind, he stumbled around, his eyes searching for her and his thoughts rarely straying far from her. 

But these figments of his imagination, the mother and daughter- carved from his desperation, they were always, always just out of his reach. 

Could a person cry in their dreams? 

Shubham knew that when he woke, it would be with a soul-crushing longing. Even that, he had become used to. 

What he didn’t know was that when he startled awake on this occasion, his left shoulder throbbing, his head would come in contact with whoever had been leaning over his sleeping form. 

“Oww” the figure yelled.

His eyes swam as she came into focus. 

Sandy. 

She stood in her usual work attire, a simple cotton salwar kurta in pale pink with a long-line jacket made of textured fabric in a deep burgundy. A section of her long hair was pinned up and the rest fell in a cascade to her shoulders. 

Her eyes scrunched up; she massaged her forehead with a bemused grin. 

Perhaps he had died in his sleep and gone to heaven. His eyes were wet, he pretended to rub his own forehead, ever so grateful for the excuse. 

“Sorry,” she said, laughter spilling into her words. “I’m so sorry…it’s just, you were mumbling in your sleep and…”

She paused to take in air. 

Shubham covered his mouth to hide the grin spreading across his face. 

Eight hundred and twenty long days had passed since he had seen her last. How had he survived?

His arms ached with the need to pull her to himself, to hold her close and tell her just how God damn much he had missed her. 

But this was no heaven, the pain in his shoulder reminded him. Indeed, he had opened his eyes to his own personal hell.

Bring his hand down, he balled his left fist so tight that his nails dug into the flesh of his palm. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, in what he hoped was a curt voice. 

The laughter drained from her face and something dark flashed in her eyes. 

“Priya di asked me to pick up Pratham for the party,” she said, stepping away. “I’m sorry I startled you.”

Shubham stood. 

“I’m uh…I’m just waiting for Vinny Aunty to bring him down and then we’ll be on our way” she said, in a conciliatory tone. 

When he didn’t say anything, she asked softly, “How’re you, Shubham sir?”

Unable to feel his hand anymore, Shubham snapped, “What are we, friends now?”

She took several steps backwards, confusion flickering in her eyes.

The last time he had seen her, through the glass window of his hospital room, the same confusion had pervaded her eyes. She had been agitated as Ram bhai had tried to coax her into a plastic chair and Priya Bhabhi offered her water from a paper cup. 

Vinny Aunty, it turned out, was Pratham’s nanny. The stout, friendly woman broke the tension in the room by arriving with the birthday boy and a baby bag almost the size of him. 

Pratham squealed with excitement and jumped into his maasi’s arms. 

“Happy birthday Pratham baba” she cooed, kissing his ruddy cheek. She put him down on the couch reluctantly as Vinny Aunty began to show her the contents of the baby bag- clothes for the party, a spare set, diapers, burp cloths, formula and so on.

Shubham tried to leave as the two women chatted but Pratham, bored of them now, said “Chachoo, bye-bye” while contradictorily attempting to climb onto him.

As he picked up the little man, he became aware that Sandy was observing them out of the corner of her eye. Did she not believe him capable of holding a baby?

 “You’re going bye-bye?” Shubham asked, pretending not to notice her. Pratham grinned sloppily and pointed to the door. 

“Right then,” Vinny Aunty said, turning to the baby. “Have fun at the party young man. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Are you sure you can’t come to the party, Aunty?” Sandy asked, her eyebrows furrowed.

“Sorry, my dear,” the older woman said, “I cannot leave my poor old mother alone, we don’t have a caretaker in the evening. But you have fun and do save me a piece of birthday cake!”

Sandy promised fervently. 

Turning to him, she held out her hands but Pratham, despite his earlier insistence on going bye-bye, had now decided that he did not want to leave the comfort of his Chachoo’s arms. 

He began to wail when Shubham handed him over to his maasi against his wishes. 

Her arms brushing past him, she held Pratham, levelled her face to his and admonished him, “Gaddar kahike!”

Shubham's breath left him in a whoosh, and he had to turn his unexpected chuckle into a cough. 

Sandy picked up the bag and made her way out without saying goodbye. Pratham had stopped crying even before they stepped out of the door, the little turncoat. Instead, he was listening ardently to his maasi. 

Sandy didn’t look back. Rooted to the spot, he watched them leave. 

Why was she always walking away from him? Why could he never call out to her- stay, don’t go. Please don’t leave me. 

All at once, Shubham's vision blurred, and he struggled to breathe. 

“Arey beta, what happened to your hand?”

Vinny Aunty, standing next to him, held up his palm in shock. There was a bright red streak across it.  

“Wait here” she instructed, “I’ll ask Tarun to bring the first-aid box.” 

The blood he had drawn had been painless. Instead, all his pain was the singular metal cage crushing his heart.