Disclaimer: The timeline is all messed up due to the show - so please assume that Tulsi and Mihir got married in 2000 (s1 actual year) and that it’s still been over 44 years since then.
Chapter 43: On His Shoulder
Part 1:
The kaada had gone down the way it always did — slow sips, the balcony still holding onto the last of the morning cool before Mumbai's heat and noise came crowding in. Tulsi had just wrapped both hands around her chai, warmth sinking into her palms, when Mihir reached for his own cup at the same moment and their fingers collided at the tray. They simply smiled and sat quietly sipping their tea.
A while later, he was about to say something, when Ritik came down and opened the balcony door at a pace that stopped his words where they were.
Not running. But close enough to it that both their cups paused mid-air.
"Ritik?" Mihir was on his feet before he had even entered the balcony fully.
Tulsi's grip on her cup tightened. "Kuch hua kya? Timsy theek hai na?"
"Timsy theek hai, Maa." Ritik's breath hadn't quite caught up with him. "Shower lene bheja hai usse abhi."
The relief lasted exactly as long as the sentence after it.
"Main Mitali-Timsy ke room mein gaya tha, roz ki tarah Timsy ko jagaane. Mitali ka saara saamaan — pura kamra bikhra pada tha. Packing chal rahi thi."
Mihir went still in the particular way Tulsi had learned to read over these past months — not surprise, exactly.
Something quieter and heavier than that.
"Maine poocha usse," Ritik went on. "Boli — aaj noon tak nikal jaayegi. Gautam Bhaiya papers mangwa rahe hain aaj late morning tak — yahin Shantiniketan mein, dono ke liye. Signing yahin ho jaayegi. Phir woh chali jaayegi.”
Tulsi heard *noon* and felt something in her chest recalibrate, fast, like a plan rearranging itself before she'd consciously decided to make one.
She didn't say anything. She reached for her phone instead.
Mihir was watching her with the look she knew well — not confused, just waiting, giving her the room to say it herself before he asked. His eyes though asked her - *ab kya karenge?*
She didn't get the chance to answer his unspoken question, because Ritik spoke first, still working through the pieces.
"Maa," he said slowly, "aapne abhi tak Mitali se baat nahi ki — yahin reh jaane ke baare mein."
Tulsi met his eyes. "Aaj karungi. Noon se pehle."
"Toh phir—"
She simply dialed a number on her phone.
The line picked up on the second ring.
"Munni, beta, jaagi hui ho?"
"Haan Malk— sorry, Maa," Munni corrected herself quickly, still catching up to her own new vocabulary. "Jaagi hoon. Sab theek hai?"
"Haan haan, sab theek hai." The lie slid out smooth as anything. "Tu office nikalne se pehle mujhse mil sakti hai? Main aa jaati hoon, nashte pe."
A small pause — Munni, clearly recalibrating, unused to Tulsi asking for anything at all. "Haan, bilkul Maa. Par... itni subah subah, sab kuch theek hai na?"
"Bas mann kiya tera muh dekhne ka," Tulsi said, which wasn't quite a lie and wasn't quite the truth either.
She hung up before Munni could ask a second time.
Ritik glanced between his parents, visibly confused. He expected her to speak to Mitali. He couldn’t understand why she was going to meet Munni instead. Mihir gave him nothing either — just a small, tired shake of the head that said *let her*.
"Sabse pehle ek kaam karega?" She was already moving towards her room to grab her purse, "Mujhe Munni ke ghar chhod dega? Abhi, paanch minute mein?"
Ritik blinked. "Munni ke yahan... abhi?"
"Haan, abhi."
"Aur uske baad?"
"Uske baad tu apna kaam kar — bachchon ko school drop kar. Roz ki tarah." She said it like it was the simplest thing in the world, already moving.
Ritik stood there a second longer, visibly trying to make the morning's pieces fit into something that made sense — Mitali's packing, the noon deadline, his mother suddenly needing to see Munni before any of it was addressed — and failing.
"Theek hai, Maa," he said finally, because there was, in his experience, no version of arguing with her when her mind had already moved three steps ahead of everyone else's.
He glanced at his father on the way past, a silent aap samjhe kuch? Mihir only shrugged, the particular shrug of a man who had long since stopped expecting to understand fully what his wife was up to, though he had a faint idea.
-----
The staff cleared the last of the breakfast quietly, moving with the practiced invisibility of people used to a Collector's household. When the after-breakfast tea arrived, Munni waited only until it had been poured before she turned to the young woman who'd brought it.
"Tum log ab jaa sakte ho," she said. "Shaam ko aana. Aaj subah ke liye bas itna hi kaafi hai."
The girl nodded, unbothered, and within a minute the house had emptied itself of anyone who wasn't the two of them.
Munni turned back to Tulsi then, her hands wrapped around her own cup, and simply waited — the particular patience of someone who'd already understood, perhaps on the phone call itself, that this visit hadn't been about breakfast at all.
Tulsi turned her cup once in her hands before she spoke.
"Sorry Munni," she said slowly, "agar teri Maa ki tarah sochun toh yeh bilkul nahi bolna chahiye jo main bolne wali hoon."
She looked up, something unusually unsteady in her own voice for once. "Lekin iss waqt main na tumhari Maa hoon, na Ritik ki — uss waqt main sirf Timsy ki Dadi hoon. Woh bhi ek selfish Dadi."
Munni's cup paused halfway to her lips — something gentle already settling into her expression — she'd clearly guessed at least this much before Tulsi had said a word.
"Maa," she said softly, "Timsy ke baare mein? Kyun chinta hai aapko? Timsy toh wahin rahegi na. Shantiniketan mein. Yeh toh mujhe bhi pata hai, aur Ritik ko bhi. Iss baat mein toh koi do rai hain hi nahi."
"Haan, woh toh hai," Tulsi said. "Lekin yeh iss dadi ki poori maang nahi hai, Munni."
Munni waited, her hands clasped.
"Yeh dadi nahi chahti," Tulsi continued, "ki Timsy do hisson mein bant jaaye. Ki use kabhi ek parent ke paas rehna pade, kabhi doosre ke — ki uske do ghar hon, do alag zindagiyan, aur woh beech mein khadi rahe yeh decide karte hue kahan jaana hai kab." She paused, choosing the next words carefully. "Yeh dadi chahti hai use apne Maa aur Pitah dono milen. Poori tarah. Woh dono milke uski parvarish karen — ek hi ghar se, co-parents ki tarah."
Munni was quiet for a moment, turning the shape of it over. "Aap keh rahi hain..."
"Main keh rahi hoon," Tulsi said, "ki Mitali ko uss ghar se nahi jaaye. Ritik se uska rishta bhale hi khatam ho jaaye— lekin Shantiniketan se uska rishta khatam na ho."
Before Munni could fully turn the idea over, Tulsi went on.
"Maine Mitali se baat nahi ki hai abhi iss baare mein, Munni. Aaj Ritik-Mitali divorce papers sign karne waale hain, toh woh aaj hi ghar se jaa rahi hai. Lekin isse pehle ki main usse baat karun — mujhe teri permission chahiye."
"Maa!" Munni sat forward at once. "Meri perm—"
"Meri baat poori hone de, Munni."
Munni stopped, and closed her mouth, though it clearly cost her something to hold the protest back.
A pause settled between them, Tulsi choosing the next part carefully, as if she'd rehearsed it and still found it heavier out loud than it had been in her head.
"Main jaanti hoon tu pehle hi bahut kuch compromise kar rahi hai iss shaadi mein," she said. "Yeh ek aur bahut bada compromise hoga tere liye — ki tere husband ki ex-wife hamesha teri nazron ke saamne rahegi."
Munni opened her mouth to respond, but Tulsi held up a hand, not quite finished.
"Ek baat clear kar doon, Munni." Her voice had shifted — softer now, but firmer too, the kind of firmness that came from genuinely meaning it rather than just saying it to be kind. "Agar tu inkaar karna chahe — 1% bhi — toh tujhe poora haq hai. Kisi ko bura nahi lagega. Aur tere liye hamari family mein respect mein koi kami nahi hogi. Agar tu mana bhi karti hai, toh bhi."
She let that sit for a second before adding, quieter, "Main nahi chahti tu haan isliye bole kyunki tujhe lagta hai tujhe bolna padega. Main sirf sach sunna chahti hoon."
Munni was quiet for a moment, absorbing that Tulsi had thought even of this — of giving her an actual door out before asking her to walk further in.
Then she spoke.
"Maa," Munni said finally, "sabse pehle toh — mujhe koi 1% bhi inkaar nahi hai." A small, steadying breath. "Lekin main chahti hoon aap ek baat jaanein, isse pehle ki aap soche main sirf aapko khush karne ke liye haan bol rahi hoon."
Tulsi waited.
"Mitali ne mujhse maafi maangi thi," Munni said. "2-3 din pehle. Ek café mein milne bulaya tha maine use — kyunki main directly usse sunna chahti thi ki woh divorce chahti hai aur kyun. Saara sach bataya usne — social media wali baat, apna aur Ritik ka rishta, divorce ka faisla, sab kuch." She looked down at her cup for a moment. "Maine socha nahi tha ki woh itni... itni honest hogi. Uske baad se mere mann mein uske liye jo darr tha, jo confusion thi — woh bahut kam ho gayi hain."
Something shifted in Tulsi's face — surprise, quickly folding into something warmer.
"Toh," Munni continued, "Mitali ke ghar mein rehne se mujhe darr nahi lagta, Maa. Woh Timsy ki maa hai, aur mujhe lagta hai woh ek achhi insaan bhi hai. Socha nahi tha ki kabhi Mitali ke liye aisa bolungi”. She paused, and here her voice wavered just slightly, the honesty in it costing her something. "Lekin ek cheez hai jo sach mein pareshaan karti hai mujhe."
"Bolo," Tulsi said gently.
"Har teej-tyohar, Timsy ka har school function, har ghar ki family photo — woh bhi wahin hogi." Munni's hands tightened slightly around her cup. "Main ghar mein aaungi ek nayi dulhan ki tarah, aur mera pehla din se hi ek... ek tarah ka sharing hoga jo shaayad kisi aur bahu ko kabhi nahi karna padta. Yeh sochke thoda ajeeb lagta hai, Maa. Sach kahoon toh."
She looked up. "Lekin ajeeb lagna aur galat lagna, do alag baatein hain. Aur mujhe yeh galat nahi lagta — Timsy ke liye toh bilkul nahi. Bas... mujhe thoda waqt chahiye hoga khud ko iske saath comfortable karne ke liye. Itna keh sakti hoon abhi."
Tulsi reached over and covered Munni's hand with her own.
"Agar tujhe iske baare mein sochne ke liye waqt chahiye," she said, "toh le sakti hai. Main Mitali ko keh sakti hoon ki woh kuch din aur ruk jaaye — tab tak, jab tak tu apna faisla na le le."
She paused, making sure the next part landed with its full weight.
"Lekin ek baar maine yeh Mitali ke saamne rakh diya, Munni — phir main isse wapas nahi le paaungi. Uske liye bhi yeh ek badi baat hogi, apne bachche ke saath rehne ka mauka. Ek baar maine usse keh diya, toh keh diya."
Munni looked at her for a long moment, the offer of time sitting between them — a real one, not a formality.
Munni sat with it for a moment, and what came back to her wasn't the practical weight of Tulsi's offer — it was Mitali's face across that café table, the way her composure had held for almost the entire conversation except right at the end, when she'd talked about what had actually delayed her these past months.
*Woh Ritik nahi tha jo mujhe rok raha tha. Timsy se door hone ka darr tha. Aur Maa se. Khaas kar Maa se.*
Munni remembered the glisten in Mitali's eyes when she'd said it — someone who'd apologized for the worst thing she'd ever done, and then, almost as an afterthought, revealed the one thing she was actually afraid of losing.
"Nahi, Maa," Munni said quietly, before she'd fully finished thinking it through, some certainty arriving faster than she'd expected. "Mujhe waqt nahi chahiye."
Tulsi looked at her, waiting.
"Jab Mitali mujhse mil rahi thi, café mein," Munni said, "toh usne bataya ki uski divorce ki himmat itne mahino se sirf isliye nahi ho paa rahi thi kyunki woh Timsy se door nahi hona chahti thi. Aur aapse, Maa." Her voice softened. "Uski aankhon mein jo dard tha aapka naam lete waqt — main woh bhoolungi nahi. Agar main abhi 'mujhe sochna hai' bolun, toh yeh sirf apne aaram ke liye hoga. Aur uss aaram ke liye main kisi ko uss insaan se door nahi rakh sakti jiski use sabse zyaada zaroorat hai."
She met Tulsi's eyes properly now. "Aap Mitali se baat kariye, Maa. Aaj hi. Main theek hoon."
Something in Tulsi's face gave way — not surprise this time, but something closer to being moved beyond what she'd let herself expect from this conversation.
"Aaj tune jo kiya," Tulsi said, "woh shayad koi aur nahi kar paata. Apni khud ki asuvidha se pehle Timsy aur Mitali ki zaroorat dekhna."
She paused, and when she spoke again, something simpler had replaced whatever grander thing she might have said.
"Thank you, Munni," she said, and meant it more than the word usually carried.
She squeezed Munni's hand once, then reached for her phone, the offer of a delay no longer needed, the morning finally, properly, moving forward.
Tulsi dialled Mihir.
"Driver free hai na abhi?" she said. "Use bolo mujhe pick karne aaye."
There was a small pause on the other end, the kind that meant he was already smiling before he'd said anything.
"Tumhara driver hamesha free hai tumhare liye," Mihir said. "Main hi aata hoon."
Tulsi found herself smiling as she cut the call, something in the reflexive ease of it settling her more than she'd expected.
Munni was watching her, faintly puzzled. "Main drop kar deti na aapko, Maa, office jaate hue. Papa ko kyun bola?"
"Tera office toh doosri taraf hai, Munni," Tulsi said. "Tu late ho jaati mujhe drop karke." She glanced at her then, taking in the casual salwar kurta, the hour ticking past on some invisible clock. "Waise bhi, tu already late ho rahi hai apne office ke liye."
Munni looked down at herself, as if only just remembering she had a whole day of her own waiting — and a Collector's office that wouldn't wait for a family crisis, however momentous.
"Jaa, taiyaar ho jaa," Tulsi said. "Main nahi chahti meri wajah se tu late ho."
Munni hurried off to change into a saree, something more befitting the desk she'd be sitting behind within the hour, while Tulsi stayed exactly as she was, waiting now for the sound of Mihir's car in the driveway.
-----
The car pulled out of Munni's gate a few minutes later, Tulsi settled into the seat beside Mihir, the morning's whirlwind at Munni's finally behind her.
"Sab theek hua Munni ke saath?" Mihir asked, eyes on the road, though she could tell he was more curious than the casual tone let on.
"Haan," Tulsi said simply, not ready yet to lay out the whole of it. "Sab theek hua."
He seemed to accept that she'd tell him the rest when she was ready, and let a moment pass before he spoke again, his voice dropping into something quieter.
"Tumhe ek baat bataani thi." He glanced at her briefly before returning his eyes to the road. "Timsy school jaa rahi thi tab, Mitali usse chhodne aayi thi gate tak. Bahut emotional ho gayi thi."
Tulsi turned to look at him properly. "Kya hua?"
"Kuch bola nahi usne," Mihir said. "Bas Timsy ko gale lagaya, bahut der tak. Fir uska maatha choom liya, aur haath hilate hue - jab tak Ritik ki gaadi mudkar nazron se ojhal nahi ho gayi, wahin khadi rahi."
He paused. "Maine dekhe uski aankhon mein aansoo. Chhupane ki koshish kar rahi thi, lekin main samajh gaya."
Tulsi was quiet for a moment, the image settling into her — Mitali standing at the gate, watching Timsy leave for school not knowing yet whether this was one of the last ordinary mornings she'd get to have.
"Aaj noon tak papers bhi sign honge," she said quietly, half to herself.
"Haan," Mihir said. "Shayad isiliye."
Tulsi looked out the window, the city beginning to move past in its usual unbothered rush, and thought of the conversation still waiting for her back at Shantiniketan — the one that might mean Mitali never had to stand at that gate wondering if it was goodbye.
"Ghar chalke Mitali se baat karte hain," Tulsi said finally, breaking her own silence.
Mihir glanced at her, something in his expression suggesting he'd been waiting for exactly this sentence since they'd pulled out of Munni's gate.
A pause settled between them, the car easing through a signal that had just turned green.
"Tum shayad soch rahe hoge," Tulsi said, "ki main Munni se pehle kyun mili, Mitali se seedha baat karne se pehle."
She kept her eyes on the road ahead, though the words were for him. "Kyunki mere liye yeh jaanna zaroori tha — Mitali ko yeh offer dene se pehle — ki Munni iske saath comfortable hai ya nahi. Yeh sirf hamara faisla nahi ho sakta tha, Mihir. Munni ki aane wali poori zindagi iss ghar mein beetne wali hai, aur Mitali hamesha uske saamne rahegi — har tyohar, har function mein. Usse poocha bina, main Mitali ko yeh offer kaise de sakti thi?"
She finally turned to look at him. "Aur woh theek hai. Poori tarah se. Khud usne kaha, apni marzi se."
Mihir was quiet for a moment, something like admiration settling into his face, the kind he'd stopped bothering to hide from her these past months.
"Tumne yeh bhi soch liya," he said softly, "isse pehle ki koi aur soch pata."
Tulsi didn't answer that, just turned back to the window, the house drawing closer now, and with it, the conversation she'd been carrying since the morning had first broken open.
-----
The room was half-stripped when they reached it — two suitcases zipped shut by the door, the wardrobe behind them standing open and empty in a way that made the space feel larger than it had any right to. Mitali stood near the dressing table, folding the cable of her phone charger, before dropping it into her handbag, methodical, unhurried, the way people packed when they'd already made their peace with leaving.
She looked up at the sound of them entering, surprise crossing her face at finding both of them there together.
"Maa, Papa?" she said. "Aap dono?"
"Tumse ek baat karni thi, beta," Tulsi said. "Lekin usse pehle, ek aakhri baar, ek sawaal karna tha."
Mitali set the charger down, giving Tulsi her full attention. "Haan, poochiye na, Maa."
Tulsi held her gaze steadily. "Tumhare dil mein sach mein koi waisi feelings nahi hai na, Ritik ke liye?"
Mitali looked straight into Tulsi's eyes. "Nahi, Maa. Kabhi thi hi nahi."
A pause, and then her gaze dropped, something harder to hold now sitting behind the first answer. "Sach kahoon toh — shaadi ke shuruaat mein, jab usne mujhe—"
She stopped there, her eyes flicking toward Mihir, the sentence catching somewhere it couldn't quite pass through in front of him.
Mihir understood before either of them had to say anything. "Main bahar hi hoon," he said quietly, already turning toward the door. "Zaroorat pade toh bula lena."
He stepped out, pulling the door partly shut behind him, and Tulsi turned back to Mitali, saying nothing, simply waiting — giving her whatever time the room needed to hold what came next.
Mitali sat down slowly on the edge of the bed, her hands finding each other in her lap.
"Ritik ko trap karke shaadi toh kar li maine," she said finally, her voice flat in the particular way that came from having gone over something too many times alone. "Phir Maasi — Noina — ne kaha, jitni jaldi baby ho jaaye, utna behtar. Ki isse meri aur mere through uski jagah iss ghar mein aur pakki ho jaayegi."
She stopped, and when she continued, something in her had gone very still.
"Jab maine khud use..." Mitali stopped, her eyes dropping to her hands twisting in her lap, the sentence refusing to finish itself the way she'd meant it to. A breath, and then, quieter, almost forcing the word out because saying it plainly felt less dishonest than softening it: "Seduce kiya. Maine khud kiya yeh sab, Maa. Aur jab usne mujhe chhua — main aapko woh feeling bata nahi sakti. Kitni cheap mehsoos kar rahi thi main khud ko. How disgusted I felt with myself."
A long pause
"Toh waisi feelings ka toh sawaal hi kabhi nahi tha."
Something cold moved through Tulsi as the words settled — not just at what Mitali had done, but at the shape of the hand that had put her up to it. A fresh, sharpened fury at Noina, at whatever twisted, unrelenting hunger for Mihir had driven her to use her own niece this way — to hollow out a young woman's sense of herself so completely that intimacy with her own husband had become something to feel disgusted by. Even now, even with Noina gone from their lives, the damage she'd engineered was still sitting here in this half-empty room, still being carried by someone who'd never asked for any of it.
Tulsi crossed the room and sat beside her, taking both of Mitali's hands in her own before she spoke.
"Suno meri baat," she said, her voice steady despite everything churning underneath it. "Jo tumne mehsoos kiya — woh sharam tumhari nahi hai, Mitali. Woh sharam Noina ki honi chahiye thi. Usne tumhe iss hadd tak dhakela, apni khud ke ek ghinone fitoor ke liye, aur tumhe iska bojh uthaane pe majboor kiya — kaafi chhoti thi tum tab, uski chhaya mein badi ho rahi thi, aur usne tumhara istemal kiya jaise tum uska koi mohra ho."
She tightened her grip slightly, willing the words to actually reach her. "Kisi bhi ladki ko apne pati ke paas jaate hue itna toota hua, itna gira hua mehsoos nahi karna chahiye. Aur iska matlab yeh nahi ki tum poori tarah galat thi, ya sirf tumne hi kuch bura kiya — iska matlab hai ki tumhare saath shayad usse bhi bahut bura kiya gaya, itni kam umar mein, ki tumhe shayad poori samajh nahi thi kya ho raha hai."
Mitali's eyes had filled, though she was clearly fighting to hold them back the way she'd been holding everything back for years.
"Aaj tak tumne yeh akele uthaya," Tulsi said, softer now. "Aur aaj, jab tum aakhirkaar khud ke liye ek sahi faisla le rahi ho — Ritik se, uss saari cheez se aage badhne ka — mujhe khushi hai ki tumne yeh mujhe bata diya. Isse pehle ki yeh tum akele leke ghar se chali jaao."
She reached up, gently, and brushed a tear from Mitali's cheek — the same tenderness she'd have shown any of her own children.
"Tum uss ladki se bahut aage nikal aayi ho, Mitali," she said. "Aur ab jo bhi aage hoga — woh tumhara apna faisla hoga. Kisi ka thopa hua nahi."
A pause settled between them before Tulsi spoke again, something more deliberate now in her tone.
"Toh iska matlab yeh hai," she said, "ki tumhe Ritik aur Munni ko saath dekhke bilkul bura nahi lagega?"
Mitali looked up, faintly puzzled by the specificity of the question, but answered without hesitation.
"Bura? Maa, maine ab Ritik ko dil se apna dost maana hai." A small, genuine smile touched her face — the first easy thing to cross it since they'd walked in. "Dost ko apne pyaar ke saath khush dekhke mujhe toh achha hi lagega."
"Toh ab hum tumse woh baat keh sakte hain," Tulsi said, "jo kehne aaye the."
She rose and walked to the door, pulling it open. Mihir was a few steps away, thumb still moving over his phone, some official email clearly demanding his attention even here. He looked up at her silent summons and came in, slipping the phone into his pocket.
Inside, he and Tulsi looked at each other for a moment — a wordless exchange, *tum kahogi ya main?* — until Tulsi gave him a firm, settled look that answered it for him.
Mihir cleared his throat and turned to Mitali. "Mitali," he said, "maine tumhe hamesha apni beti ki tarah dekha hai. Shuru se hi. Yeh baat maine kabhi khulke kahi nahi, lekin aaj kehna chahta hoon."
Mitali's eyes softened, something in her posture loosening at the words. "Mujhe bhi hamesha laga hai, Papa, ki maine aap mein ek pita paaya hai." She glanced at Tulsi. "Aur Maa ke saath rehke — pehli baar samajh aaya mujhe ki ek maa ka pyaar kaisa hota hai."
She paused, something catching in her voice. "Main aaj yeh ghar chhod rahi hoon. Lekin jabse Maa laut ke aayi hain — yeh kuch mahine mere zindagi ke sabse khoobsurat, sabse meaningful mahine rahe hain."
Tulsi didn't let the opening pass. "Toh phir," she said gently, "jaana hi kyun chahti ho?"
Mitali looked between them, faintly confused by the question. "Matlab... aaj nahi toh kuch din baad jaana toh hai hi na? Jitni jaldi jaaoongi, utna sab ke liye achha hoga." She gestured vaguely toward the suitcases, as if the logic of it were self-evident. "Aaj toh papers bhi sign ho jaayenge. Aur ab jab Munni aur Ritik ka rishta tay ho gaya hai, toh uska aana-jaana shuru hoga iss ghar mein — toh mujhe na dekhe, tabhi toh woh zyaada comfortable feel karegi. Aur Timsy se bhi rishta ban paayega uska, aasaani se."
She said it plainly, like something she'd already worked through and settled on days ago — not a wound she was still circling, but a conclusion she'd arrived at out of care for everyone except herself.
Tulsi shook her head slightly. "Mera sawaal woh nahi tha, Mitali. Maine yeh nahi poocha ki aaj kyun jaa rahi ho. Maine poocha — jaana hi kyun chahti ho?"
The distinction landed slowly, Mitali's expression shifting from certainty to something more unmoored, as if the question had opened a door she hadn't realized was still shut.
"Maa," she said carefully, "main samjhi nahi..."
Mihir stepped in then, his voice quiet, deliberate. "Yeh baat," he said, "tumhari Maa ke mann mein hi aayi thi."
Mitali looked between them, something uncertain flickering across her face. "Maa ke mann mein? Kya baat?"
Tulsi took a breath, and when she spoke, her voice had none of the hesitation it had carried on the balcony two days ago with Mihir — only the steadiness of someone who'd already made peace with the idea, even if she was still afraid of how it would land.
"Main nahi chahti tum yeh ghar chhodo, Mitali," she said. "Ritik se rishta khatam ho jaaye, theek hai — woh faisla ho chuka hai, aur main use samajhti hoon. Lekin uska matlab yeh nahi hona chahiye ki tum Timsy se, humse — Shantiniketan se — bhi door ho jaao."
Mitali stared at her, not fully following yet.
"Main chahti hoon tum isi ghar mein raho," Tulsi continued. "Ritik ki patni ki tarah nahi — hamari beti ki tarah.
Hamesha ke liye. Timsy apne Maa-Papa dono ke saath, ek hi ghar mein, badi ho — use kabhi choose nahi karna pade kisi ek ke paas rehne ke liye."
The room went very quiet. Mitali's hand had gone still over the half-packed handbag, the charger she'd been holding a whole ago now forgotten entirely.
"Beti?" she said finally, the word coming out barely above a whisper, as if saying it too loudly might make it less real, or might make it disappear altogether.
"Beti," Tulsi said. "Bahu nahi. Beti."
Mihir watched Mitali's face carefully, the same tenderness in his expression that he'd have for any of his own children hearing news too large to take in all at once.
"Humne iske baare mein bahut socha hai," he added gently. "Aasaan nahi hoga — Munni ke liye bhi, tumhare liye bhi, sabke liye. Lekin Munni khud iske liye raazi hai. Poori tarah se."
Mitali's eyes had filled again, though this time the tears sat differently than they had a few minutes ago — not shame, but something closer to disbelief at being offered more than she'd ever thought to ask for.
"Lekin tum soch lo aaram se," Tulsi said, gently pulling back from the moment's intensity, giving Mitali room to breathe rather than pressing her for an answer. "Yeh faisla tumhara apna hona chahiye — sirf tumhara. Sirf apne aur Timsy ke baare mein sochna. Aur kisi ki chinta mat karna. Theek hai?"
Mitali nodded, still visibly working to steady herself, the offer clearly too large to respond to properly in the same breath it had arrived in.
"Hum chalte hain," Tulsi said, rising.
Mihir gave Mitali's shoulder a light, brief press on his way past — nothing that needed words — and the two of them stepped out, pulling the door softly shut behind them, leaving Mitali alone with two packed suitcases, an open handbag, and a decision that had, in the space of ten minutes, stopped being made for her.
-----
Ritik knocked once, and when no answer came, pushed the door open just enough to look in. Mitali was sitting exactly where they'd left her, the suitcases untouched, her eyes fixed somewhere past the room entirely.
"Tum theek ho, Mitali?" he asked, stepping in properly now, his voice carrying none of its usual easy humor — only something careful, tender. "Agar chaho toh aaj nahi karte hain sign."
Mitali barely seemed to register the offer.
"Maa-Papa ne kaha—" she started, then stopped, as if the sentence was too large to finish out loud a second time.
Ritik didn't need her to finish it.
Something in his face settled, unsurprised — Tulsi had already told him she meant to speak with Mitali about staying, though clearly not the exact shape it had taken.
"Toh tumhe kya lagta hai?" he asked quietly.
"Main—" She shook her head slightly, searching for the honesty underneath her own confusion. "Main confused hoon, Ritik. Tum kya chahte ho — please, sach sach batana."
Ritik held her gaze for a moment, and when he answered, there was nothing performed in it — just plain, steady certainty.
"Toh sach sach suno, Mitali," he said. "Reh jao. Hamesha ke liye, yahin — unki beti ban ke, Timsy ki maa banke, aur meri dost banke." A small, warm smile found its way onto his face despite the weight of the moment. "Humein milke Timsy ko bahut achhi parvarish deni hai."
Something in Mitali eased at that — not relief exactly, something quieter and more settled than relief, the particular feeling of being told, plainly, that you are wanted for reasons that have nothing to do with duty.
She didn't say anything, only looked at him, letting the moment hold itself without needing words to fill it.
A pause later, some part of her mind caught up with the time.
"Papers aa gaye?" she asked.
"Haan."
"Tum jao," Mitali said, already rising, smoothing her hands down the front of her jeans. "Main aayi bas do minute mein."
-----
The papers were spread across the table in the sitting room, Gautam having already gone through them line by line with the careful precision of someone who did this for a living but still felt the weight of doing it for family. Tulsi and Mihir sat across from Mitali and Ritik, the room quieter than any legal proceeding had any right to be.
Tulsi's eyes moved down the page Gautam had placed in front of her, and stopped.
"Yahaan," she said, tapping the clause. "Alimony wala hissa — yeh khaali kyun hai?"
"Maine mana kar diya tha," Mitali said simply, not looking up from her own copy.
Mihir frowned, leaning forward slightly. "Arre, lekin Mitali beta—"
"Mitali ka decision hai," Tulsi said, cutting in gently but firmly, one hand coming to rest briefly on his arm. "Toh theek hai. Humein accept karna chahiye."
Mihir looked at her, something in his face wanting to argue further, but he let the objection go unfinished, deferring to whatever Tulsi had already decided about how far they were allowed to push into Mitali's choices today.
Mitali signed where Gautam indicated, her hand steady in a way it hadn't been all morning, and set the pen down.
"Ek baat," she said, looking up at all of them now. "Mujhe thodi der apne room mein akele rehna hai. Jitni der bhi lage." Her voice was calm, not distant — just clear about what she needed. "Please, koi bhi mujhe bulaane mat aana. Jab main taiyaar houngi, main khud aa jaaungi."
Nobody argued with that either.
-----
An hour passed before Mitali could form a single coherent thought. When she finally reached for her phone, her hand still wasn't entirely steady.
"Sorry," she said the moment Munni picked up, "tumhe work day ke beech mein disturb kar rahi hoon. Abhi baat kar sakte hain?"
"Haan, bilkul," Munni said. "Lunch hour hai waise bhi, main free hoon."
Mitali took a breath. "Humne aaj papers sign kar diye."
There was a small silence on the line, Munni clearly unsure what to say to that — congratulations felt wrong, condolences felt worse.
"Lekin isliye call nahi kiya maine," Mitali said, before the silence could stretch further. "Maa-Papa ne mujhse kuch aisa kaha, jo maine sapne mein bhi nahi socha tha."
Something in Munni's voice eased into understanding. "Shantiniketan mein reh jaane ki baat na?"
"Haan." Mitali paused, then went on, hesitant in a way that clearly cost her something. "Aur, Munni — mujhe tumse ek baat seedhi poochni hai. Please sach batana. Tum sach mein iske saath theek ho? Ya tumne haan isliye bola kyunki tum apni hone waali family ko khush karna chahti thi?"
"Nahi, Mitali." Munni's answer came without hesitation, warm and certain. "Main sach mein theek hoon. Poori tarah se."
She let that settle for a second before continuing, something more personal creeping into her voice now. "Aur main jaanti hoon Maa ka saath kitna kuch de sakta hai kisi ko. Mera khud ka bhi ek alag rishta raha hai unke saath. Jab unka apni family se poora sampark toot gaya tha, tab bhi Maa ka mujhse se sampark nahi toota — unhone meri bahut madad ki, himmat badhaayi, jab lagta tha main fail ho jaaungi tab bhi mujhe aage badhaaya. Main aaj jo Collector hoon, uski wajah Maa hi hain." She paused. "Toh main samajh sakti hoon unse door jaana kitna mushkil hoga. Aur main yeh nahi chahti tumhare liye."
"Thank you, Munni," Mitali said, her voice thick with something she wasn't bothering to hide anymore. "Sach mein — thank you."
"Reh jao, Mitali," Munni said gently. “Timsy ke liye." A small, warm certainty settled into her voice. "I am sure hum dono adjust kar lenge ek doosre ke saath."
-----
Mitali came downstairs a while later, some new lightness in her step that hadn't been there before, and noticed movement in Tulsi's room on her way past. She stopped, curious, and stepped in.
"Maa, aap kaam pe nahi gayin aaj?"
Tulsi looked up from whatever she was folding into a drawer. "Nahi. Do wajah hain." She held up a finger. "Ek toh, aisa koi zaroori kaam nahi tha aaj." A second finger. "Dusra — soch rahi thi, ladkiyon ko akele handle karne do sab kuch, mere bina. Waise bhi parso conference ke liye nikalna hai — toh unhe abhi se apne aap sambhalne ki aadat daal leni chahiye."
She resumed her folding. "Aur Munni ke Mama-Mami bhi aa rahe hain aaj shaam paanch baje, Gor Dhana ke liye. Uski bhi taiyari karni hai."
Mitali nodded, absorbing that, then went quiet for a moment, something visibly settling into place behind her eyes.
"Maine ek faisla liya hai," she said finally.
Tulsi looked up properly now, giving her full attention.
"Aap ki beti," Mitali said, "isi ghar mein rahegi."
Tulsi crossed the room in two steps and pulled her into a tight, warm hug, something in her that had been holding its breath all morning finally letting go.
"Achha hai," she murmured into Mitali's hair, "bahut achha hai."
She pulled back after a moment, still holding onto Mitali's arms, something bright and unguarded on her face. "Main abhi free hoon," she said. "Agar chaho toh, tumhara saamaan unpack karne mein madad kar doon?"
"Saamaan unpack karne ke baare mein, usse pehle, Maa—" Mitali hesitated slightly. "Main soch rahi thi, kya main second floor pe koi room le sakti hoon? Yeh room Ritik ke room ke bilkul bagal mein hai, aur mujhe lagta hai mujhe wahaan nahi rehna chahiye."
Tulsi looked at her for a moment, something like quiet admiration crossing her face at the tact of it — Mitali thinking three steps ahead, the same way she herself tended to.
"Second floor kyun?" she said. "Woh toh generally guests ke liye hote hain. Aur tum koi guest nahi ho, Mitali — ab toh bilkul nahi."
She considered for a second, then brightened. "Daksha Chachi ke bagal wala kamra le lo. Staircase ke uss taraf, Ritik se door bhi hai."
Mitali blinked. "Daksha Baa ke bagal wala?" she said slowly. "Woh toh bahut bada hai, Maa — itne bade kamre mein main akele kya karungi?"
"Wahaan rahogi, aur kya karogi?" Tulsi said, a smile tugging at her mouth now. "Waise bhi khaali hi padha rehta hai woh.”
Tulsi was already moving toward the door. "Main Kamla ko bolti hoon, woh room saaf kar de abhi—"
"Maa, ek baat aur." Mitali's voice stopped her at the threshold.
Tulsi turned back.
"Jab bhi mujhe theek lagega," Mitali said, "main kuch ghante ya kuch din ke liye apni Mom ke paas chali jaaoongi. Bas aapko bata rahi hoon."
"Toh isme poochne ya batane ki kya baat hai?" Tulsi said, faintly puzzled by the formality of it. "Tum apni marzi se kahin bhi aa-jaa sakti ho, Mitali. Yeh tumhara bhi ghar hai."
"Toh theek hai," Mitali said. "Aaj shaam, chaar baje se raat der tak, main Mom ke ghar jaa rahi hoon."
Tulsi took a moment with that, the timing not quite registering at first — and then it did, all at once. "Kyunki aaj Munni ke Mama-Mami aa rahe hain?"
"Haan."
"Iski koi zaroorat nahi hai, Mitali—" Tulsi started.
"Maa, sun lijiye meri baat." Mitali's voice was gentle but sure. "Woh log bahut seedhe-saadhe, gaon ke log hain. Main unhe chhota nahi bata rahi — bas yeh soch rahi hoon, woh shayad samajh hi na paayen hum sab yahaan kya kar rahe hain. Ek divorcee, uski beti, sab ek hi ghar mein, sabke saath khush — unke liye yeh sab bahut zyaada ho sakta hai, ek din mein samajhne ke liye." She paused. "Behtar hai yeh rasm bina kisi complications ke ho jaaye. Main Timsy ko bhi saath le jaaungi."
Tulsi looked at her for a long moment, the practical wisdom of it slowly overtaking her instinct to insist otherwise.
"Theek hai," she said finally, reluctance still sitting in her voice even as she gave in to the logic of it. "Jaisa tumhe theek lage."
-----
Munni along with her Mama and Mami arrived a little before five, both of them dressed carefully in their best — clothes that had clearly been pressed and re-pressed that afternoon — and both of them visibly braced for something, though neither could have said exactly what.
Mama carried the matli himself, a steel container wrapped in red cloth, filled with sweets and small gifts they'd put together with far more care than their modest means might have suggested. Mami walked half a step behind him, her eyes moving over the sheer scale of Shantiniketan's entrance the way someone's eyes move over something they've decided in advance not to be impressed by, and were failing anyway.
Tulsi was the one who came out to receive them, not sending a servant, not waiting inside for them to be shown in — and something in that alone seemed to catch Mama slightly off guard.
"Aaiye, aaiye," she said warmly, taking the matli from his hands herself before he could even think to hand it to someone more appropriately positioned to receive it. "Bahut intezaar tha aapka."
They were seated in the main hall, the Mami standing behind her husband and for the first few minutes, the visit carried the stiff, careful energy of people trying very hard not to say or do the wrong thing in a house so far above their own. Mami stood with her hands folded tightly in front of her, answering Damini's gentle questions in short, polite sentences, her eyes occasionally flicking toward Munni as if checking, again, that this was really happening — that her niece, who had grown up cleaning these floors not so many years ago, was actually about to marry into this.
Mami had, out of old habit, started to lower herself onto the floor rather than take one of the chairs or sofas — the instinct of someone used to knowing her place in rooms like this. Shobha was there before she could finish the motion, one hand catching her elbow, tutting.
"Arre arre, yeh kya kar rahi hain aap? Aaiye wahan baithiye.” She steered her firmly toward a seat beside her own, settling in close, shoulder to shoulder, as if they'd known each other for years rather than minutes. "Yahaan koi neeche nahi baithta, samjhi aap?"
She launched into some story about Ritik's childhood before Mami could even fully process being redirected, laughing loudly at her own telling of it — then at something Mami hadn't quite meant as a joke but that Shobha had decided to find delightful anyway — and refused to let the conversation settle back into anything formal for more than a minute at a stretch.
Gayatri Chachi simply held Mami's hand at one point, mid-sentence, the way she might have with any woman in the family, and didn't let go for a while.
By the time Angad appeared with a tray of mithai insisting everyone try the mohanthal before anything else began, something in Mama's shoulders had visibly loosened. He glanced once at his wife, and some silent, relieved understanding passed between them — the understanding of two people who had spent the drive over rehearsing how they'd endure this evening, only to find there was nothing here that needed enduring.
The ceremony itself unfolded with quiet warmth rather than grandeur. The priest chanted as gor (jaggery) and dhana (coriander seeds) were offered together at the small altar set up for the occasion, jaggery and coriander seed mingling in a single bowl — sweetness and substance, the old symbolism of a marriage that would need to hold both. Ritik and Munni exchanged rings under the family's watching eyes, Munni's hands trembling slightly as Ritik slid the ring onto her finger, his own hands not entirely steady either.
Then came the blessings — five married women stepping forward one by one, each pressing a hand to Munni's head, murmuring something private and warm. Damini first, then Shobha, then Vrinda, then Gayatri Chachi. And finally Tulsi, who held her hand there a moment longer than the others had, and said nothing anyone else could hear, though Munni's eyes went bright the instant she heard it.
Ritik stepped forward then and bent to touch Mama and Mami's feet, one after the other, the gesture unhurried and entirely without performance. Both of them startled visibly — in their own community, a soon-to-be damaad rarely bent for anyone; if anything, it was the bride's side that spent the engagement carefully managing his ego, mindful of his status as the one being married up to. Mama actually reached down to stop him halfway, murmuring a protest, but Ritik simply straightened only once he'd finished, unbothered by the older man's fluster.
Mami's hand went to her mouth, something in her face rearranging itself entirely.
Mama watched all of it with an expression that had shed every trace of its earlier wariness. When it was over, he crossed the room to where Mihir stood and, entirely without meaning to sound the way it came out, said quietly, "Humne suna tha bade log hain aap log. Kisi ne yeh nahi bataya tha ki itne achhe bhi ho sakte hain."
Mihir, caught off guard by the plainness of it, simply put a hand on the man's shoulder. “Ab woh sirf aapki beti nahi rahi," he said, "hamari bhi ho gayi hai. Toh humare beech koi farak reh hi nahi jaata ab." He paused, something warmer creeping into his voice. "Aur waise bhi — dene waala lene waale se bada hi hota hai. Aap apni beti de rahe hain, hum le rahe hain. Iss naate toh aap hi bade hue na?”
Mama stood there for a moment, entirely unable to speak, something visibly working its way up his throat that he couldn't quite get past. He'd walked into this house braced to feel small — had spent the whole drive over preparing his wife, and himself, for exactly that. And here was the man at the center of all this wealth, telling him plainly that he was the one who outranked him tonight.
"Sahib," he finally managed, his voice unsteady, "hum toh soch ke aaye the ki humein yahaan..." He couldn't finish it, and didn't need to — the sentence had already said enough.
Mihir simply put his arm around the man's shoulders, the gesture doing what words couldn't. "Ab hum sirf sambandhi nahi hain," he said. "Ek parivaar hain."
Mama's eyes went bright, and he turned his face away for a moment, blinking hard, before reaching out and gripping Mihir's hand in both of his — the handshake of a man who'd come in expecting to be tolerated, and was leaving, instead, having been welcomed.
(Continued in next post)
Edited by ElitePerfumer - 12 hours ago
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