part 3
It was nine forty-five p.m. and light, it seemed, was calling it a day. She had been rocking herself back and forth, fighting the tears that threatened to fall, swallowing the lump that threatened to rise in her throat, forcing back the thoughts that threatened to drown her mind. It felt as though she were fighting everything right now. She fought the people who invited themselves into her world without her permission; she fought Abhi and his head full of childish ways, her sister and her problems, competitors in her business. She felt she was always fighting, fighting, fighting. And now, here she sat, fighting her very own emotions.
She felt as if she'd been through a hundred rounds in the ring, as if she'd taken every punch, thump, and kick her opponents could throw at her. Now she was tired. Her muscles ached, her defense was falling, and her wounds weren't healing so quickly. Her mind began to rewind over the events of the day. It stopped and played Sheela's visit. Played it over and over again, the volume rising on every repeat. They all leave eventually, "isn't that right, Sarita?" The sentence repeated itself like a broken record. It kept on at her like a finger prodding her chest. Harder and harder, first grazing the skin, then breaking it, prodding and prodding until eventually it tore right through and reached her heart. The place where it hurt most. The breeze blew and stung her open wound.
She shut her eyes tightly. For the second time that day, Sarita cried.
They all leave eventually, isn't that right, Sarita?
It played over and over again, waiting for an answer from her. Her mind exploded. YES! it shouted. Yes they all eventually leave. Every single one of them, every single time. Every person that ever succeeded in brightening her day and cheering her heart disappeared as quickly as the cat in the night. As though happiness were only supposed to be some kind of week- end treat, like ice cream. Her mother had done just as this evening's sun had done: had left her, had taken away the light and warmth and replaced it with a chill and dark.
Sarita hugged her knees and cried and cried, like a little girl who had fallen and cut her knee. She wished for her mother to come and pick her up, to carry her and rest her on the kitchen counter while she applied a plaster to her cut.
She wished for Armaan, her only love, to take her in his arms, in arms so big she was dwarfed in his embrace. She wished to be surrounded by his love while he rocked her slowly and softly as he used to do, whispering hushes of reassurance in her ears and running his fingers through her hair. He made her believe that everything would be OK, and lying in his arms she knew that it would, felt that it would.
And the more she wished, the more she cried because she realized there was no one around who could make her feel this way again. A noise at the sliding door of the kitchen caused her head to jerk up from where it was cradled in her knees. At the door stood a man, lit like an angel by the kitchen light behind him.
"Oh." Sarita swallowed hard, her heart pounding at being caught. She wiped her eyes roughly and smoothed down her wild hair. She rose to her feet. "You must be Abhay's dad." Her voice still shook from the emotion bubbling inside her. "I'm Sarita."
There was a silence.
"I'm sorry, I didn't hear the doorbell ring." She pulled her cardigan tighter around her waist and crossed her arms. She didn't want to step into the light. She didn't want him to see that she had been crying. "I'm sure Abhi has told Abhay you're here but . . ." "But I'll just give him a quick call anyway," she mumbled. She walked across the grass toward the house with her head down, rubbing her forehead with her hand to hide her eyes.
When she reached the kitchen door, she squinted against the bright light, but kept her head lowered, not wanting to make eye contact with the man. All she could see of him were a pair of blue Converse runners at the end of a pair of faded blue jeans.
"Abhay, your dad is here to collect you!" Sarita called weakly up- stairs. There was no answer, just the sound of a pair of little feet running around the landing. She sighed and looked at her reflection in the mirror. She didn't recognize the woman she saw. Her face was swollen and puffy, her hair messed from being blown in the breeze, and damp from rubbing her teary hands through it.
Abhi appeared at the top of the stairs, sleepy-eyed and dressed in his Spider-Man pajamas, which he refused to allow her to wash, instead hiding them behind his favorite teddy, for protection. He rubbed his eyes tiredly with his fists and looked down at her in confusion.
"Huh?"
"Abhay's father is still waiting so could you please tell him to hurry down."
Abhi scratched his head in a daze. "But . . ." He stopped and rubbed his face tiredly.
"But what?"
"Abhay's dad collected him when you were in the gar..." He stopped as his gaze was diverted to over Sarita's shoulder.
Abhi's face broke into a front-toothless smile. "Oh, hello, Abhay's dad."
He giggled uncontrollably. "Abhay will be down in a minute." He laughed, then he ran back to his room.
Sarita had no choice but to turn slowly and face Abhay's father. She couldn't continue to avoid him while he waited in her home for his son. On first glance, she noticed he had a look of bewilderment as he watched Abhi run back down the hall giggling. He turned to face her, looking worried. He was leaning against the door frame, hands tucked into the back pockets of a pair of faded blue jeans. He wore a blue T-shirt and wisps of jet-black hair escaped from under his blue cap. Despite his youthful attire, she presumed he was her age.
"Don't worry about Abhi," Sarita said, slightly embarrassed at her son's behavior. "He's just a little hyper tonight and," she rushed her words, "I'm sorry you caught me at a bad time in the garden," Sarita said, wrapping her arms around her body protectively. "I'm not usually like this." She wiped her eyes with a trembling hand and quickly clasped her hands to-pgether to hide her shaking. Her overflow of emotion had disoriented her.
"That's OK," the soft deep voice replied. "We all have our bad days."
Sarita chewed on the inside of her mouth and tried in vain to remember her last good one. "Divya and Raj are not here at the moment, I'm sure you've had dealings with them, which is why we've never met?"
"Oh, Abhi mentioned them lots of times. He's very fond of them."
"Yes." She smiled weakly and wondered if Abhi had ever mentioned her. "Would you like to sit down?" she motioned toward the living room. After offering him a drink, she returned from the kitchen with the unusual request for a glass of milk for him and an espresso for herself. She paused at the door of the living room in surprise to catch him spinning around in the leather swivel chair. The sight of him made her smile. On seeing her at the door, he smiled back, stopped spinning, took the glass from her, and then moved to the leather couch. Sarita sat in her usual chair, so oversized it almost swallowed her up. She hated herself for hoping his runners wouldn't dirty her cream carpet.
"I'm sorry, I don't know your name," she said, trying to brighten up the dull tone in her voice.
"My name's Vikrant."
She spluttered coffee down her top as it caught in her throat.
Vikrant rushed over to pat her on the back. His concerned eyes stared
right into hers. His forehead creased with worry.
Sarita coughed, feeling stupid, quickly broke eye contact, and
cleared her throat. "Don't worry, I'm fine," she murmured. "It's just funny that your name is Vikrant, because . . ." she stopped. What was she going to say? Tell a stranger that her son was delusional? Regardless of the Internet advice, she still wasn't sure his behavior could be considered normal. "Oh, it's a long story." She waved her hand dismissively and looked away to take another sip. "So, what is it that you do, Vikrant, if you don't mind me asking?" The warm coffee ran through her body. She felt herself coming back, slipping out of the coma of sadness.
"I guess you could say I'm in the business of making friends, Sarita." She smiled understandingly. "Isn't everyone who's in business?"
He contemplated that idea.
"So, what's your company called?"
His eyes lit up. "It's a good company. I really love my job."
"Good Company?" She frowned. "I'm not familiar with it. Is it based here in Mumbai?"
Vikrant blinked. "It's based everywhere" Sarita raised her eyebrows. "It's international?" Vikrant nodded and gulped down some milk.
"What is the company involved in?"
"Children," he said quickly.
Sarita barely heard him; her mind had slipped back into thinking mode. She couldn't stop herself.
"Are you all right?" he asked with that kind voice.
She stopped staring into the bottom of her coffee cup to face him. Why did he look like he cared so much? Who was this softly spoken stranger who made her feel so comfortable in his presence? Each twinkle in his brown eyes added another goose bump to her skin, his gaze was hypnotic, and the tone of his voice was like a favorite song she wanted to blare and put on repeat. Who was this man who came into her house and asked her a question not even her own family could ask? Are you all right? Well? Was she all right? She swirled the coffee in the cup and watched as it swished around, hitting the sides and spraying up like the sea. She thought about it and came to the conclusion that if the last time she had heard those words uttered by anyone was more than a few years ago, then she supposed the answer was no. She was not all right. She looked at the kind stranger with the brown eyes watching her and saw more care in those eyes than she had in those of anyone she knew. She wanted to tell him how she felt, she wanted to hear him say it would be OK, that she wasn't alone, and that they would all live happily ever after and that" She stopped herself. Dreams, wishes, and hopes were not realistic. She needed to stop her mind from wandering onto those paths. She had a good job and she and Abhi were healthy. That was all she needed. She looked up at Vikrant and thought about how to respond to his question. Was she all right?
He took a sip of his milk.
Her face broke into a smile and she started laughing, for above his lip was a milk moustache so big it reached the end of his nostrils. "Yes, thank you, Vikrant, I'm all right."
He looked unsure as he wiped his mouth and, after a while of studying her, spoke. "So, you're an interior designer?"
Sarita frowned. "Yes, how did you know?"
Vikrant's eyes danced. "I know everything."
Sarita smiled. "Don't all men." She looked at her watch. "I don't know what Abhay is up to. Your wife will probably think I've abducted the two of you."
"Oh, I'm not married," He replied quickly. "Actually we seperated years wgo." He lied.
"Oh I m Sorry", Sarita replied.
"Dont be, i m happy so why are you sorry" Vikrant joked.
She started laughing. "What?" Vikrant smiled widely, revealing a set of sparkling white teeth.
"You," Sarita said, trying to calm herself and control her laughter. She couldn't believe she was acting like this with a total stranger.
"What about me?"
"You're funny." She smiled.
"You're beautiful," he said calmly and she looked up at him in surprise. Her face flushed. What kind of a thing was that to say? There was another silence, uncomfortable on her part, as she wondered whether to be insulted or not. Rarely did people make such comments to Sarita. She didn't know how she was supposed to feel.
"Thank you, Vikrant," she said politely. "And thank you, too."
"For what?"
"You said I was funny."
"Oh, yes. Well, em . . . you're welcome."
"You don't get many compliments, do you?"
Sarita should have stood up right there and then, ordered him out of her living room for being so intrusive, but she didn't, because as much as she thought she should, technically, according to her own rules, be bothered by this, she wasn't. She sighed. "No, Vikrant, I don't."
He smiled at her. "Well, let that be the first of many."
He stared at her and her face began to twitch from holding his stare for so long. "Is Abhay staying with you tonight?"
Vikrant rolled his eyes. "I hope not. For a boy of only six years of age, he snores awfully loud."
Sarita smiled. "There's nothing only about being si"" She stopped herself and gulped back some coffee.
He raised his eyebrows. "What was that?"
"Nothing," she mumbled. While He was looking around the room, Sarita stole another glance at him; she couldn't figure out how old he was. He was tall and muscular; manly, yet with a boyish charm. He confused her. She decided to cut to the chase.
"Vikrant, I'm confused about something." She took a breath to ask her question.
"Don't be. Never be confused."
Sarita felt herself frown and smile at the same time; her face was even confused by his statement. "OK," she said slowly. "Do you mind me asking what age you are?"
"No," he said happily. "I don't mind at all." Silence.
"Well?"
"Well, what?"
"What age are you?"
Vikrant smiled. "Well, let's just say I've been told by one person in particular that I'm old like you."
"Children keep you young, though, Sarita". His voice turned serious, his eyes deep and thoughtful. "My job is to care for children, help them along their way and just be there for them."
"You're a care worker?" Sarita asked.
Vikrant thought about that. "You could call me a care worker, professional best friend, guide. . . ." He held out his hands and shrugged. "Children are the ones that know exactly what's going on in the world, you know. They see more than adults, believe in more, are honest, and will always, always let you know where you stand."
Sarita nodded along with him; he obviously loved his job. As a father and as a care worker.
"You know, it's interesting." He leaned forward again. "Children learn much more, far more quickly than adults. Do you know why that is?"
Sarita assumed there was some scientific explanation for it, but shook her head.
"Because they're open-minded. Because they want to know and they want to learn. Adults""he shook his head sadly""think they know it all. They grow up and forget so easily instead of opening their minds, they choose what to believe and what not to believe. You can't make a choice on things like that, you either believe or you don't. That's why their learning is slower. They are more cynical, they lose faith, and they only demand to know things that will help them get by day by day. They've no interest in the extras. But, Sarita" he said, his voice a loud whisper, eyes wide and sparkling, and Sarita shivered as goose pimples rose on her arms. She felt as if he were sharing the world's greatest secret with her. She moved her head closer.
"It's the extras that make life."
"That make life what?" she whispered.
He smiled. "That make life."
Sarita swallowed the lump in her throat. "That's it?"
Vikrant smiled. "What do you mean, that's it? How much more can you get than life, how much more can you ask for than life? That's the gift. Life is everything, and you haven't lived it properly until you believe."
"Believe in what?"
Vikrant rolled his eyes and smiled. "Oh, Sarita, you'll figure it out." Sarita wanted the extras he spoke about. She wanted the sparkle and the excitement of life, she wanted to release balloons in a barley field and fill a room with pink fairy cakes. Her eyes filled again and her heart thudded in her chest at the thought of crying in front of him. She needn't have worried, because he stood up slowly.
"Sarita, he said gently, "on that note, I shall leave you. It was my pleasure to spend this time with you." He held out his hand. When Sarita held out her own to touch his soft skin, he grasped it gently and pumped it hypnotically. She couldn't speak for the lump in her throat that had taken over.
And he exited the living room, leaving her lost in his words.
P?S Vikrant's explanation of llife are not my words. i read it somewhere, and really liked them, so included them here also.
Edited by --Nisha-- - 11 years ago
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