She was familiar with the heat; the kind that sung with a frenzy, just under her skin. She didn't remember the last time, she'd felt so. For all those years the desert heat had made her insensate to fully reckon the maddening hum with which passion could swish in her blood stream.
Sitting by the edge of the bed, she fell back onto the soft plush, distressed by the untoward sensations, sparking inside her. It frustrated her more that she couldn't entirely blame her situation on the weird tasting milk, his aunt had brought in, when it had been long since she had been touched by a man.
He watched her from the sliver of the opening between their bedroom door; her form collapsing sharply onto the bed, that belied her vulnerability more so than annoyance; her loosely spread hair showing for the dark gloom she was under,
The door fell open and he walked in towards her. Not having expected his arrival, she hurried to sit up, leaning against the poster of the bed and adjusted her clothing.
He looked at her, reflecting the same awkwardness with which she fumbled turning the tip of her saree around one finger.
Sighing, he came close, and tugged her by her wrist, to rise. "Alright, they have crossed a line now," he said pulling on her arm. "They have no business dictating your sex life."
"Abhi, please!" She resisted and walked away from from him, towards the window corner that faced the back of the house.
"How could you want to let this go?" He stood shaking his head with visible exasperation and closed the distance between them to face her.
"Well," she paused for effect, "now that you have pointed out it's only my sex life that's to be discussed, I suppose its my discretion if it's to be discussed at all."
"I didnt mean it like that." He winced at her veiled blow, one he concurred was much needed, given his slip.
She looked up at him, as he stepped closer; his eyes, now reflecting for the concern that brewed in him.
In light of his sincerity, her tone softened. "Either way, it will not change how I'm feeling now." She looked out the window, towards the faint light within the thicket of the woods in their backyard.
His gaze was trained at her. "How are you doing? He asked, thursting his hands into his pockets.
"I don't want to talk about it." She said without looking at him. It wasn't that she felt embarrassed or apologetic about how she felt in the moment, but that she could feel at all, troubled her.
He breathed out loud to break the clouding silence that served to exacerbate the awkwardness gripping them both.
"Why don't we go for a walk?" He prompted. In that instant, he'd never been more clear that he wouldn't touch her even if it would serve her. In his mind, he didn't believe he could make it only about her. He couldn't bear to want and not find the wanting in her.
"No you won't need a shawl, where we are going," he said leading her out the backdoor. Though she'd explored other parts of the old bungalow, the dark forest slopes didn't draw her to them. She was used to ruble and nothingness, not this canopy of green teeming with life.
He walked ahead, carefully side stepping every stone and bark on the ground, as if he intutively knew she would only go where he placed his foot. Once they were fairly inside the forest path, wisps of clouds streamed past them. "Wait," she stopped, as the outlines of a structure emerged in a distance. "Is that the chettinad house we visited this morning?" she asked, and touched his arm with surprise.
"Guilty as charged," he said, grasping her hand. "I suppose I could have just told you I wanted to spend time with you," he said smiling. She stood on higher ground on the sloping path and yet, his towering height, left them facing each other. She spotted the hint of mischief in his eyes.
"Come," he said, pulling gently on her arm, and led her onto a path away from the chettinad house.
Even as they took a few steps, the bushes gave way to a sight of yellow buzzing lights, flitting around. She pulled her hand out of his hold and continued to walk towards the far field of golden twinkling lights that went on and off at random. "It's beautiful. I have never seen as many fireflies all at once," she exclaimed, looking back at him, as he smiled and moved towards a makeshift rock fire pit nearby.
"Now isn't this something commonplace for a nature photographer like you?" He asked, throwing in the firewood from a hidden plastic bag."I supposed you would have seen sights like these time and again, given all the night camping you must have done while shooting landscapes."
Turning away from the field of fireflies, she titled her head perplexed at his mention. "You actually still think I'm a nature photographer like everyone else at home?"
He placed a lighted sheet of paper atop a heap of dry sticks and looked up at her. "Are you not?" He didn't sound shocked with her revelation, albeit, he couldn't hide his curiosity either.
Her eyes scrunched with confusion. "You comment on my blog." She clarified. "You know I'm always out of the country, so I don't write anyone directly, but I make sure the blog writers mail you a response, if I ever found a question or comment from you. I thought you always knew."
He got to his feet and approached her. "I write my comments at a bunch of blogs, but they are..." his voice sunk into a slow drawl, as his mind went through the list of blogs he frequented, which weren't many, given how little time he had to indulge in such leisures.
There were a few blogs from his fellow IAS batch mates and others hardly deviated from politics, of which he couldn't remember anything that had Kushi's name on it. Unless, the names on the blog were written under a pen name, he reminded himself. Kushi Surabhi Gupta. He smiled, shaking his head, hie eyes incredulous at the realization that dawned on him."You are Surabhi Gupta," he paused and raised his hands, animatedly, "the Surabhi Gupta from New York Times." His mind wavered on the countless articles that had moved him enough to participate. However, the moment humbled him realizing he now stood before NYT's war correspondent and documentarian, who had risked more than he ever had in all his life, to expose the evils of human conflict.
She refused to acknowledge his enthusiasm and moved to lean against a tree trunk, taking in the view of the fireflies again. "The Surabhi Gupta. She scoffed. "Like that ever meant anything. Or could save even one life."
If anyone could understand the gap between dreams and execution, to bring about change, within the social or political structures, it would be him. Her disappointment was one he had battled long. He took out his phone and looked up her name in YouTube. The first video had a few million likes, as opposed to the others that did not garner enough attention from the viewers. As he read the title of the first video, a strange fear took shape in him: "NYT crew: Surabhi Gupta and David Jennings, bombed during Aleppo documentary.
She was unaffected as he began playing the video, but soon found him standing next to her, by the same tree she took refuge from. He watched it wordless, as it began with Kushi report into the camera, wearing a medical mask. "We are being told that thousands are fleeing Aleppo and yet, you can see that there are still those who are choosing to stay back, without even the hope of escape." She began interviewing an old man who came into the frame, but only a few seconds after, a loud sound disrupted the filming and the camera fell to the ground, continuing to record scenes of rubble pouring in the distance, along with screams of others caught in the area.
He saw that the video was about a year old and it didn't take him long to chart the course of her life starting from the day of the bombing. It even explained why she'd accepted to marry him and now stood on the Nilagiri slopes, instead of being elsewhere.
"You should know," she began tentatively and turned around. Her eyes showed an apology. "Dave was going to propose wedding on that trip, but the bombing changed everything."
With that admission, her body went limp and she braced herself against the tree. She did not plan the confession and yet, it felt like the right moment to share the intimate detail of her life, given that she was filling in the missing pieces about her.
"I'm sorry for your loss." He was prompt with his acknowledgement and reached out to assuringly touch her arm.
"Thank you." She said, avoiding to show any surprise that he wasn't affected in the least. "I'm not sure if I should have disclosed that I had been in love with another man in another life."
"Another life or not, it's your life." Noticing her discomfort, he smiled softly to make it easy on her. "It's only your right to decide if you want to share at all.
He sat down by the nearby log, to stay close to the fire he'd built and she followed suit. Her original issue with another kind of heat that had started their dialogue no longer appeared to be problem. His intention to distract her, by bringing her to show the fireflies and the strange flow of the conversation had worked. "It's only your right to decide if you want to share at all." His words echoed in her mind and it warmed her with a quiet strength, she appreciated much.
"When you asked if I could move to Ooty, far away from everything that reminded me of loss and death, it was enticing. And true to your word, this place can indeed make you forget the outside world. She said breaking the silence and gestured towards the little golden lights that continued to bustle around.
"You can forget for sure, but have you let go too?" He paused to choose his words. "I mean leave your purpose behind? It appears the documentary wasn't released."
"There is much to be done, towards completion. But it doesn't matter, Abhi." The same disappointment resounded in her voice. "I cannot save anyone because I write an article or publish my film out there.
His response appeared to give away the answer to comprehending the general sense of indifference in her, which was in stark contrast to the chirpy girl he'd known before. "We are cogs in the system, Surabhi," he said sincerely hoping to alleviate some of lack of enthusiasm. "If we don't make peace with it, we'll be thrown out. And I don't mean to lecture you this late, but to make any lasting changes, we've to be part of it. Something that's really helped me in such situations, is to remind myself that I have to merely act to do my part alone, without expecting outcomes. Sometimes, its not for us to determine how or what the end will be."
She nodded. "The last thing I expected tonight is for you to quote the Gita to me," she said trying to sound incredulous, to make light of the situation.
"Me neither," he said giving in to laugh along with her.
Her smile stopped abruptly, as another thought occurred to her. "But being part of the system..." she said and contemplated to measure her next set of words carefully. "Following my purpose, means we won't be standing next to each other, Abhi."
He wasn't caught off-guard with her inquiry. "I'll never be the one to keep you from your purpose," he said and slowed down to complete his response, "if that even means letting you go." He sounded earnest and his resoluteness pleasantly surprised her.
"You'll only have to say the word, Surabhi," he said, getting up and extended his arm to take her hand. "Its getting late. Ready to call it a night?"
As they made their way back to their room, they both understood the quiet camaraderie they had developed over the night. As sleep descended on her, she found herself, wondering if it could be as easy to know him at all, "Although, when I think back, I suppose shouldn't expect any less from you, Abhi," she thought to herself and found the peace she'd wanted for long since the day she'd agreed to marry him.
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