Faith
It was raining.
That was the first thing that caught Saumya’s attention.
It was raining.
Rain was weird. Sometimes, sometimes Saumya believed that rain came for her at the most importunate times. That it solely came for her when she was already feeling down and defeated. That it was rain that was responsible for the worst of times of her life.
She knew she was wrong.
She could even be called childish.
But whenever it rained, Saumya always knew something bad was going to happen. Or maybe it was the other way around. As soon as something bad happened, rain followed.
It wasn’t always like this.
Saumya wasn’t always terrified of rain.
Saumya used to love rain.
But then, one day, one day rain washed away all the evidence of all the bad things that happened and she began hating it. She began hating the rain that used to bring her joy. She began hating rain that brought music. She began hating rain that brought laughter.
Saumya began hating the rain she loved.
It was supposed to rain that day. She knew. Her father had warned her to carry an umbrella for school that day. Her mother had insisted that she come home by rickshaw and not on the bicycle lest she be caught in the rain and catch a cold. Her aunt had promised Pakodas with the Chai in the evening.
Her uncle had promised that they would go to the park to listen to the song earth sang when it was showered by the rain.
The day she began hating the rain she loved, it was supposed to rain.
Unlike that day, when Saumya had poured out her heart over to him, the day she had found the courage to let rain shower upon herself again, she had known it would rain. She was stupid then, to assume that nothing bad would happen because it would not rain upon her, because she would stay inside her home.
She had left because she did not want rain to wash away evidence off of another little girl. She had left because even if it may rain upon her, no other girl would ever fall victim to the harsh rain that had destroyed her life. She had left the inside of her own hell, so that no other little girl could ever enter her own hell.
The day she began loving the rain she hated, it wasn’t supposed to rain.
There was no prediction of rain. No weather forecast warning people of rain. No one to ask her to carry an umbrella, no one to ask her to travel by rickshaw and no one to make Pakodas and Chai. It wasn’t supposed to rain.
Saumya stupidly assumed that nothing bad would happen.
It did happen. He ended up shouting at her father. He ended up thrashing some low life thugs in a hospital. He ended up fighting her, not talking to her, not even looking at her.
The day had just begun. It was a couple hours past midnight. So much had happened already.
The one thing that kept circling her mind was her brother’s question.
“Kya Papa ke mana kar dene par tum Jeet se dur reh paaogi?”
It was an insane question, an insane assumption on her brother’s part, it was unimaginable, a world in which Saumya would depend upon him this much that she would even defy her own father.
Her father was her idol. Someone she looked up to. Someone who has always stood by her. Someone who has always took care of her. Someone who has always loved her.
Her father was her faith.
She never has questioned him.
The amount of faith Saumya places in her father was not a small thing. His decisions, his reasons and his actions, all came from a place of care and love. For her.
She knew that. She had faith in that.
When he had challenged her father’s decisions, his reasons and his actions, Saumya had felt like he was challenging her faith. She felt betrayed, he understood her, to her core, sometimes in a way she never seemed to understand herself. His challenge to her father was like a personal attack that was meant to hurt her more than her father.
It felt like it was meant to make her challenge her faith.
Faith wasn’t meant to be challenged.
Rain wasn’t supposed to fall.
It was.
It was raining and she was crying to herself in a corner of the terrace that has always felt like hers. Even after he began living there.
She took a deep breath.
She hadn’t seen him since she had told him off for challenging her father.
She didn’t want to, but she was worried, oh so worried for him.
It was her worry for him that made her look for his social media profile, hoping from any update from over there so that she could breathe again. It was the confetti and the balloons that greeted her when she clicked on his profile that clenched a fist around her heart.
“Wish Jeet a Happy Birthday!” the glowing screen asked of her, and she felt devastated.
It wasn’t supposed to rain.
Nothing bad was supposed to happen.
Nothing bad was supposed to happen with him.
Nothing bad should’ve happened to him on his birthday.
She had ruined his birthday.
A silent sob shook her body as she began towards the door, once again, in the dead of the night, this time not for her father, but for him. She had to fix this. They shouldn’t be fighting on what was supposed to be a good day.
A sunny, happy and delightful day for the person who had entered her life and changed it for the better.
It wasn’t supposed to be such rainy, gloomy and an unhappy day for the person who had made her a version of herself she strived to be every single day.
As she crossed the threshold of her home a thunder cracked in the night sky, the sound followed soon, shaking her, making her flinch and unable to take any step further. She looked up, the rain was still relentless, and she did not know where she could find him.
She took a deep breath, unable to see anything in the rain yet still looking for any traces she could use to find him. He hadn’t left too long ago, she had seen from the terrace in the direction he had left in, and walked in that direction, the torch on her phone her guiding light.
She didn’t have to walk for too long to find him.
He was just outside their neighbourhood.
Like he too wasn’t sure where he was supposed to go if not here.
She didn’t take it for granted. She knew he had places he could go to. Places he could not call home, but place he could find a temporary abode in. Places that were much better than the company she could provide him. Places that did not have people that hated him and shouted at him and asked him to be grateful or to apologise to people he did not want to do those things for.
Places that where not anywhere near her.
He placed her before she could speak.
Like always.
He looked away from her, still angry, still disappointed at her.
Well, she was angry at him too. She was disappointed by him too.
She would have to let go of those things, even if it was just for today, because it was his birthday today.
She could go back to being angry tomorrow.
Just for today, just for today, she would not be angry, she would not expect apology, she would not try to stay away from him. Just for today, she promised herself.
We’ll see, whispered her traitorous heart.
She moved towards him, glad that he didn’t move away.
“Sir,” she took a step closer to him, her voice trying and failing to be heard over the rain, yet he looked at her, a whisper enough for him to listen to his Junior, “aapke jeevan ki iss nayi baras gaath par aapko hardik shubkaamnayein.”
“Hein?” he asked, incredulity ridiculously handsome on his face, before he raised his eyebrows and shook his head, looking away from her, he said, “Dekho Junior, pehle hi tumne mere dimaag ka dahi banake rakha hua hai. Ab ye nayi baklol baatein naa karo mujhse.”
She looked at him like he was stupid for not understanding her and he looked at her like she was stupid for expecting him to understand Shuddh Hindi at two in the morning.
She looked at him, taking a deep breath, and said again, “Happy Birthday Sir.”
His gaze found her in shock of her wish, making her wish that she hadn’t said anything. He was so surprised that no words came out of his mouth as he moved to speak. He looked away, and looked at her again, the sound of rain hiding whatever sound he made as he shook. She looked at him worried, scared, that she, Saumya, was capable of rendering him, Jeet Sir, speechless.
She waited, and she waited, but he didn’t say anything.
The final time he looked away from her, she scoffed, murmuring under her breath as the sound of rain washed away her words before they could reach him, “Iske liye bhi Thank You nahi bolenge ab.”
They were drenched in rain, from head to toe. She was five minutes away from shivering in her own skin. She wanted to be angry, at his non-response, she wanted to thrash him, for not even looking at her after she wished him, but she wasn’t.
He had slowly become so important to her.
She never wanted to hurt him.
His scoff brought back her attention to him.
He looked at her and leaned down, unshed tears unhidden despite the rain, “Maine kabhi socha nahi tha Junior, ke iss saal mujhe koi Birthday wish bhi Karega.”
He looked away, sniffing, the rain doing its job of washing away any evidence of his crying perfectly as he continued, “But kismat toh dekho. Pehle Bapuji aur ab tum bhi Junior.”
He looked at her, “Itne logon ne toh mujhe last year bhi wish nahi kiya tha.”
The way he said Bapuji, like it was a curse word and not a word that should be used to call a person who was your father, who you were supposed to love, and who was supposed to love you, made Saumya realise that something was very wrong.
That this rain had followed a particularly bad day for him too.
Nothing good ever came when he and his father talked.
She moved in front of him, forcing him to look at her, forcing him to face her, forcing herself, to understand, what he wasn’t saying. It worked, it worked for one moment exactly, for a moment he looked at her, for a moment he let her look at him, and then, then they faced away from one another once again.
Her heart hurt as she heard his sigh, loud enough to silence the rain.
He looked the opposite of his name today.
Defeated.
“Aapne kaha tha---”, she began, unsure where she was heading with this, but not wanting to see him hurt anymore, “ke apne andar ke acid ko bahar nikalo, toh mein yahi hun.”
He turned a little, looking at her, and she me this gaze, “Mein yahi hun, nikaal dijiye apna acid.”
He snorted, “Tum nahi samjhogi Junior.”
She argued, “Toh aap samjhayiye naa Sir.”
He shouted, “Arrey nahi samjhana hai mujhe. Kyun samjhaao tumhe? Kyun apna bhoj tumpe daalun? Tumhari life mein kya kam pareshani hai joh meri pareshaaniyan samajhna chahti ho?”
She did not back off, she did not flinch, she did not cower, not in front of him, never in front of him, not anymore, she held her place, she met his gaze and she answered, “Kyunki aap zaroori hai mere liye. Aap ke saath kuch hota hai toh fikr hoti hai mujhe aap ki. Aap kuch kehte hain toh mein sunti hun aap ki.”
He laughed, “Meri? Meri fikr? Meri baatein? Tab kaha thi meri fikr jab tumhara baap mujhe sunaaye jaa raha tha, jab woh mujhe galat bol raha tha? Jab koi meri baat nahi sun raha tha?”
Saumya cried, “Wahi thi mein. Khadi thi mein. Aap ki galat baat ko galat bolte waqt aap hi ke pass ruki thi mein. Papa ke mana karne ke bawajood aap ke saamne khadi thi. Aap se ladh rahi thi. Aap se request kar rahi thi. Aap ko aur kuch galat bol ne se rok rahi thi. Ek baar sochiye, kya aapko sach mein lagta hai ki jiss tarah se aap ne mere Papa se baat ki, kya woh sahi tha?”
He raised his hand, his finger pointing at their home behind them when he explained, “Kya meine joh kuch bhi kaha woh galat tha? Kya tumhe sach mein lagta hai ki unka tumhari shaadi karwane ka decision sahi tha? Kya tum abhi shaadi karna bhi chahti ho?”
The thing was, that somewhere inside her, she knew he wasn’t wrong. He had said what she sometimes ended up thinking. She felt that in wanting her to leave the shadow of her past, her father was pushing her to a future she still remained uncertain of.
But the reason she had wanted him to apologise was because her father was hurt because of him. A simple apology could fix everything. She said sorry so easily that it had lost its meaning, that its meaning was no longer her regret, but her need to appease. She also realised that he never said sorry because he never regretted anything he did and he would never easily say it just to appease to someone.
She took a deep breath. This was going nowhere. She knew he wouldn’t apologise for what he didn’t regret. She knew she wasn’t going to stop asking just to appease her father. She had done it since she was a child. She would do it until her father was old.
But he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t and she needed to realise that she had no right to ask him for it.
And that was what she said, “Mein kya chahti hun, mujhe kya chahiye, iss cheez ne kabhi aap ke liye matter bhi kiya hai Sir? Mera kya haq hai, aap se kuch maangne ka, aap se baat karne ka, aap ki baat sunne ka. Aap ne do baar utsah kya dediya, mein toh aap ke utsah pe nirbhar hogayi. Aap ne do baatein kya maan li, meri toh umeed hi ho gayi, ki aap meri sab baatein maanenge. Meine aap se apne do dukh kya baat liye, mujhe lagne laga ke aap bhi apna dukh mere saath baat lenge.”
Few tears slid from her eyes as she tried to wipe her face. This was the whole point. They had their roles in this relationship. She was supposed to be the one to depend on him. She was supposed to be the one who would end up needing his help. He was supposed to be needed, and she was supposed to be needing him.
It couldn’t be opposite.
He would never listen to her. He would never need her motivation. He would never need her.
Except he had.
He had listened to her when she had asked him not to fight. He had needed her motivation when he had been fighting against the world alone, without anyone by his side.
He had needed her when he was alone and defeated and hurt and stubborn.
He had never wanted her.
She wanted him.
She wanted him to want her.
He would never.
He wouldn’t let himself.
His whole shtick of being alone, of being by himself without anyone’s help relied on his ability to not want for things for himself. Once he lets himself want for her, he wouldn’t be able to be alone, he wouldn’t be able to be self-reliant. He wouldn’t be able to be by himself.
She understood him.
She wanted him to understand that she understood him too.
He looked struck by what she had said. His eyes widened at her words, his stubborn gaze relenting under her crying one. He took a deep breath, and began, “Bapuji…”
He trailed off, and she understood. His father, the only person capable enough to really hurt him, had hurt him, inexplicably, on the one day he wasn’t supposed to. He had hurt him enough to make him angry, angry enough that he had lashed out, that he fought, that he was hurting himself.
A parent’s harsh words were much hurtful than any pain a fight can bring about.
Oh, how she wanted to touch him. How she wanted to comfort him. How she wanted to be able to be there for him in his pain.
Saumya couldn’t do anything.
Just then they heard a commotion. Saumya didn’t flinch, didn’t look away from, but she noticed him. She noticed how he glanced over all of their surroundings, how he made sure that the commotion wasn’t from behind them, wasn’t from the houses in their neighbourhood. She watched as his shoulders relaxed when it was from front of them.
It wasn’t anything, really, a group of ten or so people chanting “Ganpati Bappa! Maurya!” as they pulled a chariot with a Ganesh Idol on top it, his face hidden by a red cloth.
It was Ganesh Chathurti.
That explained the unpredictable, wasn’t supposed to but still falling, rain.
It always rained when people welcomed and said goodbye to Ganpati.
He moved in front of her, blocking her from the view of the people, people who were welcoming Ganpati into their homes. He stood in front of her, a wall, stubborn and protective in the same breath.
She chuckled as those people passed by them without stopping, all fanfare and celebration.
He turned back to look at her, an eyebrow raised in question at her.
She shook her head, her eyes following the Ganpati procession, and answered, “Sahyog ki baat hai Sir.”
His eyebrows raised further in question, and she looked up at the rain falling on them, finally able to connect it to a happy thing, she spoke, “Ek woh Vighnaharta ka Janmadin hai joh saari duniya ke vighna harta hai aur ek mere Vighnaharta ka birthday hai, jinhone mere jeevan mein aane se hi mere saare vighno ko hara diya hai.”
She met his gaze, smiling, grateful for him, she continued, “Aap mere liye ek shagun ke sikke jaise hai, ek saubhagya jaise, jis ke aane ki mubarak mein jeevan bhar manaungi.”
She watched as his eyes once again filled with tears. The rain still did an awesome job of washing away the evidence of the sins of those who hurt them, but this rain was an auspicious one.
A rain that was not predicted, it came because it was welcoming Ganpati. It came because it was welcoming him into her life.
A rain that did not come because it was supposed to hide away sins, it was the rain that come because of people’s faith.
Faith in their God.
Faith that their idol would help them solve all their problems.
Faith that he would continue to help solve all her problems.
Faith that he would allow her to help solve some of his problems.
Faith that he would allow himself to want her as she wanted him.
It hadn’t been wrong of him, to challenge her faith on her father. She knew that her father was not perfect, but he was her father, and she owed her everything to him.
But as she grew, as she learned, as she understood and as she realised, she knew that her faith was not everlasting.
In fact, her faith was changing, and it was changing to him.
The day she began loving rain again was the day she felt her faith shift.
Udne Ki Aasha
Cricket
108 Base Hospital Uri
Khatron Ke Khiladi 15
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