33. Beacon of Light
"Something's brewing in that little mind of yours and it's potent enough to overcome the soporific mix we feed you. Care to put me in the loop?" Maan remarked feigning surprise one afternoon, when he came upon his wife engrossed in a task other than the one she was usually in---her post lunch siesta.
"It's nothing. Nothing that would be of any interest to you," Geet retorted sharply, snapping shut her notebook and shoving it deep inside the folds of her blanket.
"Hmm...that makes me even more curious," he said casually sauntering over to the window, from where he pretended to regard the buildings across the street, before turning back to her with a sly smile in his eyes, one designed specifically to unnerve her.
But she hung tough, gripping the book even harder. It'd certainly not do for him or anyone else for that matter to become privy to her incoherent ramblings which were bound to lay her wide open to ridicule. These were her very own, brand new, untried thoughts and feelings and she chose to guard them with ferocity.
It had been only a few days since she'd been involved in her new hobby. The journal, a gift from one of her therapists, had come with specific instructions: "Write in it every day, anything, as long as it is positive."
In other words, it was a prescription for pragmatism, or to put it plainly---"Drink your poison and stop complaining!"
It had irked her immensely to the point of indignation. She had scoffed at the idea, finding nothing to be even slightly perky about. Until lately.
"Your lips are cracked, they are dry as a bone. Where's your nurse? Let me get her." Maan, who'd been examining her face closely, frowned with concern.
"No, please...don't. She's busy." She reached for his hand. "Besides, it's just a minor thing. See, I can fix it," she said gaily, swirling a moist tongue over her lips.
He burst into a loud guffaw. "Gosh! You are one smart vixen. Nonetheless an adorable one." He stared at her, looking as if he wanted to say more. She waited eagerly, but his pesky little pager ruined the moment.
"Seems like we're running late for your therapy session. Shall we go?" he muttered rather brusquely.
She sighed, nodding a grudging assent while trying to swallow her disappointment. He helped her transfer to the wheelchair, taking care her bony behind was cushioned well. Work! Work! Work! That happens to be his only mantra and getting me well his sole mission! She silently fumed.
A gentle smooch landed on her forehead making her smile and instantly easing her tensions. It was just a benign token of appeasement. But for her, it was a moment of bliss, to be treasured and locked away in the empty spaces of her heart and permanently etched onto the leaves of her memory book. Pity, how starved of love she felt.
"Anything wrong?" he asked.
"No, nothing," Geet said, turning a bright face to him. Yet she had to suffer his keen scrutiny a bit longer. Fortunately, he didn't touch on it again.
The shaky foundations of their relationship had found firmer ground. They had successfully waded past the preliminary hang-ups and progressed to the next phase---the more than just friends phase---or so she hoped. That brought with it a different kind of intimacy---the reading of minds kind; the instinctively knowing without breaking the silence kind.
There was something about him that instilled a confidence in her, like in the way he spoke while looking in her eyes. It was a calming, reassuring connection that made her feel safe. So much so that sometimes she panicked when he wasn't around.
After the unfortunate incident with his mother, Maan proceeded to impose strict restrictions on all visitations, except a few. No one could meet her without his prior approval. And he insisted they did so in his presence, so he could send them packing at the slightest hint of trouble or irritation.
It was a bewildering throng that flitted in and out of her room, overwhelming her with flowers and gifts. She was surprised she knew so many people and that so many people knew her. And if what they said was really true, she gave them credit for controlling their reactions when they saw her. But it wasn't difficult to sense that they weren't pleasantly surprised. They introduced themselves as friends and acquaintances, a few coworkers even---yet none of their faces triggered even the vaguest recollection which plunged her into deep discontent.
They told her that she was a photojournalist of some stature. They've got to be fibbing, she thought looking to Maan for confirmation. But he didn't validate her suspicions, which perturbed her even more because he was the only one she trusted.
None of her visitors stayed long, except Anna, Maan's stunning blonde secretary, who devoted an entire lunch hour toward giving Geet a luxurious makeover, then actually broke down and sobbed over her hand. But even she didn't make any useful revelations, merely provided noncommittal responses to all of Geet's questions.
This piqued Geet's curiosity. Was Maan trying to protect her by keeping her in the dark?
"With time, darling. You'll know with time," was his resolute, almost stubborn reply.
Nor was he open about what had transpired between him and his mother that was grave enough to stop her from coming by to visit Geet again. She could only hope it wasn't something irreparable. Maan's intensity sometimes frightened her.
Yet, despite it all, Geet looked forward to seeing him every day. This guy, with his heady mix of stern and charm, cared for her. This extraordinarily handsome guy, who claimed to be her husband and showed her stuff to prove it---videos and pictures of a beautiful girl who shared the shape of her face and the color of her eyes. And even though she didn't doubt him anymore, she didn't tell him so. His enthusiasm was infinitely endearing.
Though he did still perplex her at times, like the day when he dumped a camera in her lap and demanded that she take pictures of him, as he required them for some odd chore. And when she did, manipulating the complex controls without hesitation, he whooped as though she had won the Olympics! Maybe there was some truth in the photojournalism rumor after all.
Yet he was the only one who, when she wailed in frustration and despair, spoke to her with extraordinary patience and deposited chaste kisses on her head.
He oversaw every step of her care, insisting on changing most of her dressings himself, his touch ever so soft and gentle.
He took her on rides around the hospital campus and sometimes snuck her out for treats to the neighborhood patisserie, all the while treating her like a princess and discounting all the strange looks they attracted.
He coaxed her and egged her on during her therapy sessions, but at the first sign of discomfort he was at her side, tending to her as if she were a fragile infant who was just learning to walk.
He would bring her books to read, talk to her or simply sit by quietly, watching her while she slept. She knew because often when she woke, she'd find him dozing with his head resting on the side of her bed. She wondered how he found the time to spend with her, as he was without question a very busy man, a much sought after neurosurgeon she'd heard someone say.
One day, she overheard the nurses talking outside her room. "The only reason why Mrs. Khurana is alive today is because of her husband and the courage he showed in undertaking such a difficult procedure."
Geet was stumped and overcome with awe. How could she even begin to repay such an enormous debt to Maan? The least she could do was gather up the tenuous strings of her sorry life and buck up and assist him in his goal, even though every step took a mountain of effort.
But eventually her hard work paid off. Finally, the day had arrived to escape the bland confines of her hospital room.
But she wasn't going to Rehab as her therapists had recommended. Maan had persuaded them otherwise in his usual forceful manner. He was taking her home with him.
And she couldn't wait.
tbc
PS: Maaneet moments anybodyđ
Anupamaa
Jhanak
155