Khushi was gradually getting used to life as a married woman.
Well, it was not as if she had not been prepared.
Over-prepared, in fact, would have been the apt word to use. Like so many other Indian girls, her childhood had been replete with the typical "when you get married" axioms. Sometimes, the oft-repeated words came accompanied by misty-eyed faraway looks, when her Bauji and Amma would be inevitably reminded that girls are "paraaya dhan" - the property, so to speak, of another house. Most of the time, however, it was while she was being scolded by her Bua for her clumsiness, her childishness or her persistent inability to match up to how perfectly marriageable her Payal Jiji was, that the reminder of her impending nuptials would pop up - like a cautionary tale.
In fact, she had even been prepared for the family she would be married into, before she had even met her would-be husband properly. Even before Payal had been married to her college sweetheart, Akash, winks and nudges were being exchanged between the members of the two families, as an oh-so-Bollywood suggestion came to the fore: how lovely would it be if we got Payal's sister, Khushi, married to Akash's cousin, Arnav?
So, undoubtedly, Khushi had been properly trained, groomed, advised, cautioned, teased... and in almost every possible manner, prepared to be the wife of Arnav Singh Raizada and the daughter-in-law of the illustrious Raizada family.
Even so, she was shaking as she sat on the wedding bed, waiting for Arnav, trying to settle her nerves and steady herself by breathing in the fragrance of the tuberoses that hung around the bed. She realized that she had been told so much about Arnav, by his family and by Arnav himself during their conversations - his likes and dislikes, the milestones of his life - but she still had no idea what to expect. They had spoken as budding friends, not as prospective spouses, not even as people who were dating.
It had been a relief to find that the perennially confident Arnav Singh Raizada had seemed almost as awkward as she did when he entered the room in his wedding sherwani. He had admitted to being a man of few words and an incorrigibly detached and pragmatic person, but had assured her that he would always stand by her and accept her for who she is. "Please don't feel obliged to do anything for me," he had said, his tone matter-of-factly, and yet gentle, "I know you feel like you have many responsibilities and duties, but when we are alone, you can do what you want and express yourself freely to me if you feel like it." In that moment, she had felt so overwhelmed, that all she could muster was a barely whispered "thanks."
For the first time in her life, that night, Khushi had shared her bed with a complete stranger, but she had felt strangely at ease, because the man who slept a chaste half metre away, snoring slightly, was a good man.
In the beginning, Khushi still trod on eggshells around Arnav, but as he had promised, even though he was as emotionally distant as ever, he did give her the complete freedom to be her uninhibited self. She could crack the jokes that nobody else found funny, she could laugh loudly instead of pretending to be demure and coy, she could fight with him over the television remote and not worry at all about having to please him all the time just because he was her husband. Spending time with him soon became her favourite part of the day. He did not speak much, but she felt she could understand him anyway, and he listened to her without being patronizing, although even she knew she spoke like a crazy person when she got carried away at times.
The only way in which he perhaps curbed her natural tendencies, was in his insistence on keeping the room tidy, because while she was a whirlwind keeping her things here and there without a care in the world, he was an obsessive neat freak. In his defence, though, he was the one who did all the tidying. The first time she saw him fold her clothes, she nearly had an attack, but Arnav brushed away her protests, leaving Khushi to chuckle to herself as she imagined the expression on her Bua's face if only she knew.
Meanwhile, beyond the four walls of their bedroom, she was ever so often compared to Payal, and affectionately chastised for her incessant mistakes, as one would a well-meaning, but hopelessly awkward child. Her in-laws were good people, and really did try to make her feel welcome in their own way. She had no complaints against them, but she knew it would take some time before she felt that she really belonged. Perhaps it was because she was only trying to be the perfect Raizada bahu, and pretending that she enjoyed it.
She was getting better with time though.
Two months into the marriage, she had begun to feel less pressurized by all the expectations held of her, and was beginning to suspect that married life was not so bad after all. In fact, as she began to grow more and more comfortable around Arnav, it became increasingly obvious to her that Arnav's presence in her life was something that felt right, preordained almost. It was as though, all these years, without her realizing it, there had been something missing in her life... a void that was starting to be filled by Arnav's silent but steadfast companionship. Gradually, she was beginning to realize that this was something she wanted, rather than something she had been told she should aspire towards.
That was before she was rudely shocked out of her bubble, and made to realize that she had perhaps rejoiced too soon. She could not have picked up on the warning signs even if she had wanted to.
Sure, Arnav had seemed tense over the past few days. He was unusually quiet, even at night. She knew from the absence of the light snoring that she had quickly grown accustomed to, that he was not sleeping at night. On one night, she had even woken up to find him seated at the edge of the recliner, holding his head in his hands.
But when he had responded to her questions with a slight smile and a dismissive "don't worry," Khushi had assumed that there were problems at work that had him worried. He was known to be an accomplished businessman - surely, it was nothing he could not handle.
And then, one morning, Arnav broke it to her.
"Khushi, I need to tell you something," he called out to her as she was drying her hair with a towel.
Before she had even turned to see the sombre expression on his face, she could sense from the heaviness in his voice that there was something serious that he needed to talk to her about. She folded her towel (clearly, some of his habits were beginning to rub off on her), and walked over to him, her steps burdened with an inexplicable sense of dread.
She quietly sat next to him on the recliner, and waited. It was highly unusual for her to not fill the uncomfortable silence with questions, but in that moment, she somehow felt like the knot that seemed to obstruct his throat, preventing him from speaking, was lodged in hers as well.
He held her hand before he spoke, but her mind was too preoccupied to grasp that this was the first time he had intentionally touched her without any photographers around prompting them to pose like a couple.
"I... I am going to adopt a four year old girl," he said, hoarsely, his words slow and measured, "And... I don't want to lie about it and say that she's some orphan I just picked up from somewhere. I know this will come as a shock... But I have no choice. Her mother was raising her all by herself these past four years, but she has passed away now. The girl, her daughter, has nobody else to turn to. Besides us. She's the daughter of this house, Khushi. She belongs here, with us... as my daughter."
The silence that followed his words was deafening. Or perhaps the deafening sound was that of Khushi's hollow world crashing around her.
Arnav had a child? But how could it be? He had told her that he had never been in a serious relationship before. So was it the result of some fling?
She felt disgusted, sickened. She had always admired and respected Arnav, for being an upright man with staunch principles, someone who always did the right thing. And here he was, telling her that he had impregnated someone out of wedlock, and that it was only four years later, after the death of the mother, when he had no other choice, that it occurred to him that the child belonged in his family.
Khushi just did not know what to think, what to say. Was there anything at all that she could say? Was she even expected to say anything at all?
There was no question that he had asked her. The decision had been taken. He was simply informing her that he was bringing his child home. Her opinion did not matter. For the first time since she had known him, he had managed to make her feel like she was a mere prop, a placeholder. She was just the person whom he had happened to marry, the wife towards whom he felt duty-bound to inform that he had begotten a child out of wedlock. Come to think of it, she was not even a placeholder. Probably just an inconvenience who now stood between Arnav and his child. Did he expect her to move out of the way? Or did he need a nanny?
Khushi's mind had spun into overdrive, and her own thoughts were spinning so dizzyingly fast that she could not keep track anymore. This was ridiculous. It had to be a lie, a sick prank of some sort.
She turned to look at Arnav searching for something to belie his words, but his eyes, strangely enough, in light of the betrayal he had just dealt her, were, as always, sincere and brimming with honesty.
Wait, betrayal? How was it a betrayal? The child had been conceived before their marriage. And anyway, Arnav did not owe her anything. Theirs was an arranged marriage, and they had merely found a way to co-exist peacefully, as glorified acquaintances. There was no love, there were no promises. There was just social convention, a few rituals, and the wishes of their two families, that had bound them together. How did it matter that he had loved another woman and that she had borne him a child? How did it matter that he had never considered it important to tell her about it? There was no reason for her to be so upset, especially when she had barely known Arnav long enough for there to have been any sort of meaningful relationship between them.
Yet, for no reason that she could fathom, tears obscured her vision and dropped from her eyes into her lap, onto her hand that was still held by his.
Deep in her heart, she did know the reason. She knew that she felt hurt because she had begun to grow fond of Arnav. Growing up, she had often thought wistfully of falling in love, but the unceremonious manner in which the arranged marriage had been thrust upon her, without her opinion being sought, had caused her to shelve away those flights of fancy. But as she began to know and grow with Arnav, she subconsciously began to weave dreams of the day when their relationship would evolve into something more than just two individuals sharing time and space.
The fact that he had hidden away such an important part of his life from her, had rendered all her hopes into naive delusions. It was the truth, now naked before her, that burnt through her eyes and dropped down as tears. He did not feel the same about her.
"Who is the mother?" Khushi asked finally, her heart pounding in anticipation. She did not know why those were the first questions that came out of her mouth. It hardly mattered at this point. But maybe, just maybe, if she tried to understand his point of view, it would be easier to forgive him one day.
"I don't want to talk about it."
Another nail in the coffin.
"I am your wife and I have every right to know," she persisted feebly anyway, "Who is the mother? Is she an ex-girlfriend of yours? Sheetal? Lavanya? Or is it someone you haven't told me about? And why didn't you marry her when she was pregnant with your child? And why is it only now that you are thinking of adopting the child? Have you been in contact with her all this time? Why did you hide all this from me?"
"Just let it be, Khushi! The girl is coming here, and I just wanted you to know that. Period."
It was the first time he had raised his voice at her. And for some reason, it felt way worse than when others would scold her. She felt belittled in a way that nobody had ever made her feel. This was the first time she had asserted herself as his wife, and he had simply shut her down. She had, in her gullibility, assumed (or perhaps hoped) that he at least considered her as a friend, but she had been mistaken after all.
She wrested her hand away from his before getting up, unsteady on her feet, and walking away resolutely. Enough now. She could not give another person the power to make her feel so small and insignificant.
Kabhi Neem Neem Kabhi Shahad Shahad
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