~ Mantilla – The Boutique (Part-1) ~
It was a beautiful spring morning, warm enough to not be chilly, yet cold enough to need a shawl or light sweater. The garden was ablaze with flowers. They were everywhere, in pots, in beds, curling around the decorative brick arch, draping the wall and hanging over the eaves. Beautiful red roses in beds were surrounded by bright yellow marigolds. Huge zinnias in pots stood guard over lovely pink and purple petunias. White daisies clustered in a flower bed footed with a riot of pansies. The Jhumka bel hanging over the eaves was laden with delicate red, pink and white flowers and the bougainvillea on the wall was resplendent with bloom. The creeping roses on the arch were pink like the cheeks of a healthy, happy baby. There were butterflies and bees of all shapes and sizes, buzzing around – the guardians of this paradise. A heady fragrance threatened to overwhelm the senses so that if one took a deep breath, one would feel the garden inside them. The place was a reminder of God’s abundant, infinite blessings.
It was still a few minutes to 10 am when the bell rang and the small gate at the end of the garden opened to admit a lady. She was generously proportioned and wore a crisp, printed salwar-kameez. Her hair was still wet from the shower, her eyes lined with black kajal and lips painted bright red. Huge diamonds glittered on her ear lobes and wrists. She walked purposefully down the garden path, her face set, unaffected by all the beauty around her. She reached the verandah with a terracotta tiled floor and opened the glass door that led to the boutique. The wind chime tinkled, welcoming the visitor.
The thin girl behind the counter immediately stood up recognising their most difficult customer. “Good morning ma’am, how do you do?”
“Good morning dear. I hope you’re not going to keep me waiting. Are my clothes ready?”
“Let me check ma’am.”
“Dear girl, I called yesterday evening to keep my packet ready.”
“Then I’m sure it will be here.” The girl disappeared behind the glass-topped counter, desperately trying to find the packet labelled Mrs. MKD while Mrs. MKD tapped the counter with her well-manicured fingernails. “I think you better call Lalita.” Knowing that it would be best not to argue with this formidable foe, the tiny soldier marched off to call the General.
Less than thirty seconds had passed when the bead and bell curtain parted, and a woman entered. She was middle-aged, petite with her greying hair parted on the side and pulled into a neat bun at the back of her head. Her beautiful smile lit up her face and eyes as she greeted her morning customer in her kindest voice. “I’m so sorry Raman couldn’t find your packet; she was not here yesterday. Here it is.”, she said putting a fat packet of clothes on the counter. Her manner was so polite that even Mrs. MKD couldn’t continue being disagreeable. She paid and Lalita, handing back the change, remarked “All my best wishes and blessings for your son and his bride-to-be.” For a moment, Mrs. MKD wondered why she had not remembered to invite this sweet creature to the wedding. Her sensible mind, however, reminded her that Lalita was a curiosity, a woman who lived alone without a husband or family of any kind, and although extremely successful (Mrs. MKD knew well enough that her entire circle of friends frequented Mantilla), did not mingle and had actually turned down the generous offer of becoming a member of the Ladies Club. Mrs. MKD thought that was not good business sense, after all Lalita could have become acquainted with a lot of well-heeled, potential clients at the Club. It was hard to believe that Lalita had snubbed them, maybe she had her reasons and after two gossip sessions, speculations about Lalita’s refusal had died. And if Lalita turned up at her son’s wedding, how would Mrs. MKD introduce her? She didn’t even know Lalita’s full name. This train of thought reassured Mrs. MKD. She collected her packet, thanked Lalita and left with a satisfied smile on her face and no guilt in her heart.
Raman let out a big sigh of relief which made Lalita laugh. Raman giggled, echoing that infectious laughter. “Lalita ma’am, aren’t you scared of Mrs. MKD? She’s so rude and overbearing.” Lalita smiled a motherly smile. “Raman, Mrs. MKD is not rude, she’s unsure of herself. Since she doesn’t love herself, she has no love to give others.”
“And since you are so nice, does that mean you love yourself?”
“Yes, it does.”
“I wonder what makes you the way you are, I want to be like you.”
Lalita smiled in a distracted way but did not reply, which was unlike her. Raman thought she saw an expression of pain in her mentor’s eyes. However, it was gone in a moment and Lalita went back into the house.
Raman got back to her job – counting the beautiful silks, the printed cottons and the embroidered georgettes. She dusted the mannequin and draped a green banarasi silk dupatta across its shoulders. She had loved her job right from the first time she had entered the boutique six months ago. It was a place of immense peace, a glorious idyll where one could forget one’s pain and troubles, where every object would force its presence on your senses and its beauty heal your wounds. If she had a choice, Raman thought she would call the boutique ‘The Garden of Beauty’.
Raman was a simple, honest, sincere young girl, her innocent disposition as yet unmarred by any guile or deceit. Her father was a block-printing artisan who worked for Lalita. After she had completed school, there wasn’t enough money to go to college. Her mother had severe asthma; frequent trips to the hospital finished off whatever little money was left over after buying necessities for the family. One day, Lalita ma’am had come to know of their state while chatting with her father. The very next day, a message came from Lalita that she had an opening for a salesgirl and Raman was welcome to join if she wished. And things had got better for Raman since that day. Lalita had encouraged Raman to apply for a correspondence course and paid for it too, because she believed that Raman must continue her education while working to support her family financially. When Raman had tried to object to Lalita paying her course fee, Lalita replied that Raman was like the daughter she never had.
Raman thought she was lucky to have an employer who was so generous, loving and helpful. Lalita had inspired a fierce loyalty in Raman because of her genuine concern for the problems her employees faced. And not only her employees, everyone she came in touch with. She was like a breath of fresh air, her smile a balm for the most forlorn soul.
After a while, Lalita came into the boutique and invited Raman out to the garden. “Today looks like the perfect day for a chat over a cup of tea.” Raman was a little surprised because although tea breaks were a part of her daily schedule, chats were never offered. She wondered what Lalita wanted to talk about. They both walked out to the garden and settled down into the cushioned garden chairs. There was a comfortable silence; the senior and her young protégé both lost in their respective thoughts. Raman was the first to break the silence. “Ma’am, I know you’ll think me silly for saying this but I think you have magical powers. Whatever you touch, becomes beautiful. Every single thing here is a testimony to this fact.”
“Thank you for the compliment, Raman.” Lalita smiled and pushed the plate of chocolate cookies towards Raman. “The reason you are so impressed is that you are still very young and have not seen enough of the world. And as for magic, well… I must be a sorry magician to have let all the Chrysanthemums die off like they did last season.” Lalita joked. “And you remember the wasps we had in autumn? We couldn’t step out of the boutique without risking being stung. My magic broom failed to shoo them away and we had to call the powerful wizard – JP Pest Control to get rid of them.”
Raman smiled sheepishly, looking down at her hands.
“But I don’t think you are silly Raman. In fact, I know you to be an extremely intelligent girl. I haven’t had a single day of trouble since you started managing the counter.” Raman reddened, basking in this praise. “And although you may not know it, you are smarter than many young girls I know. Including me.”
This was too much for Raman, the goddess she was trying to emulate was trying to jump off the pedestal she had put her on. Raman started to protest. She looked up to expostulate but the serious expression on Lalita’s face stopped her.
Lalita continued, “When I was as old as you, I was in the second year of college, studying my favourite subject – Biology. I was fascinated by the world of the living and wanted to become a Professor of Botany at a prestigious university. But I was also naïve and trying to test my powers of attraction on the young boys around me. One of those boys took me seriously and I was so carried away that we got married at once.”
Before Raman could form her thought into words, her gaze betrayed her – there was no wedding ring, bangles, Bindi or Sindoor. Lalita answered her unformed question, “It’s a long story Raman, and not a very happy one. Talking to you makes me wonder if I am truly over it, as I like to believe, or have I just buried all those feelings in a corner of my heart.”
“If it pains you to remember, ma’am, let’s forget this topic and talk about something else.” Raman would have done anything to comfort Lalita, suppressing her curiosity was the least she could do.
“I think I need to share this with you Raman. For the last two years, since I came here and set up, I have not had anyone I can call a friend. I meet people like Mrs. MKD, brainwashed stereotypes professing to be ‘society’ and feel that I would rather keep to myself. Or maybe I am afraid that they will scratch my old wounds and hurt me. And scratch they will, with their gossip, with the hush in the room when I enter, with their eyes which will follow every move I make to look for a mistake, a weakness.”
Raman was taken aback. She knew Lalita did not go out much, but she thought it was because there was so much work at the boutique, Lalita scarcely had any time.
“Will you be my friend, Raman? For you are the only person who doesn’t judge me and that’s the most important quality a friend should have.”
“Lalita ma’am, you are annoying me by talking like this; it would be an honour for me to be your friend and I cannot understand why anyone would not see you for the wonderful person that you are!”
“Dear innocent Raman, ‘society’ respects ‘respectability’ and an unattached, independent, financially comfortable, forty something woman without even a sick parent to look after is the antithesis of respectability.”
Raman looked at Lalita doubtfully. Lalita was never sarcastic. Raman waited for her to continue.
“Although we promised to love each other, we both did not know what love was.” It took a moment for Raman to realise that Lalita was talking about her husband.
“We were like two young children playing together when reality struck. I was pregnant and soon after I completed my graduation, I gave birth to a baby boy. My husband was fascinated with all the interesting goings-on and hung around taking part in all activities for a few days. But when he realised that the endless rut of sleepless nights, diaper changes and two-hourly feeding sessions had set in, he conveniently retreated. At first, his excuse was that he couldn’t afford to be yawning all day at his new job, so he would sleep in the other room. Later, he said that he didn’t want to disturb the baby and me when he returned late from the office or a dinner party, so he shifted his things too.” Lalita paused, deep in thought, as if trying to recall an elusive memory.
Raman could not imagine anyone not being interested in babies. Her cousin had a baby girl and Raman had loved helping to feed, change and bathe the little bundle of joy. And she had seen her cousin’s husband insisting on doing everything for the baby as long as he was at home. She could understand Lalita ma’am not wanting to live with a man who didn’t care for his own baby. But where was this baby then?
A fat raindrop plonked down onto Raman’s face. She looked up at the sky and there was a single, large grey cloud, ready to discharge its burden onto them. Rain, on a bright, sunny, spring day! In a moment, there were raindrops everywhere and the two ‘new friends’ quickly collected their tea tray and rushed to the shelter of the verandah.
The rain had put a temporary halt to the conversation. Lalita remembered that she needed to bring in the laundered clothes she had put out to dry on the terrace and ‘Masterji’ had come down from the workshop on the first floor of the boutique to report to Raman that the lining fabric was nearly finished and needed to be ordered right away. Raman became engaged in finding the number of the supplier and placing the order, and then attended to a client who had braved the rain to collect her new dress which she had to wear to a theme party that very evening.
When Lalita came into the boutique, Masterji was waiting to discuss the design of the dress ordered by a client. She had wanted a beautiful silk saree to be reincarnated into a long jacket because jackets were all the rage right now and it was so boring and cumbersome to tie a sari. Masterji had decided that without quilting the fabric, the jacket would not have the right stiffness. Lalita realised that he was right and requested Raman to call the client to inform her of this development and the extra price it would entail.
The day passed as usual and Raman thought that Lalita had forgotten all about their conversation which was good because she did not want her ‘friend’ to be unhappy thinking of the past. Raman’s shift ended at six in the evening, although the boutique was open till seven. When Raman was ready to leave for the day, a lady walked in, looking for an indo-western outfit. Raman wanted to say goodbye to Lalita ma’am, to feel close to her and to be reassured that today’s confidences were not regretted. But there was no chance for a private moment.
It was after seven that the last client left. Lalita heaved a sigh of relief. Today had been a rather tiring day, she thought. Although not much different from other days, she was conscious of having carried a heavy burden. Her shoulders ached and she wanted nothing more than to curl into her favourite chair with a cup of hot soup. She quickly went into the kitchen and put some water to boil. As she was tossing the vegetables into the pan of boiling water, there was a loud clap of thunder followed a moment later by the sound of raindrops falling. Lalita quickly locked up all the doors and decided to break her rule of dining at the table. She had figured that without some discipline, a lonely person was very likely to become lazy and so she had set some rules for herself. But she also knew that there were times when pampering oneself was important.
Tonight was one of those occasions and she carried her soup bowl and toasted bread up the stairs to her bedroom. There was a window in her bedroom overlooking the garden and a winged chair next to it. This chair, upholstered in fading floral maroon and beige velvet fabric, was an unlikely candidate for favourite chair but it had won her heart because of its size. It was so big that when she sat back in it, her feet didn’t touch the floor and she was reminded of the swing in the park which she used to play on when she was a child. Her mother would lift her up and seat her on it and then push hard. And she would squeal with pleasure. Her thoughts drifted back to her childhood days. Her father was a clerk in the electricity department. Her mother was a simple, uneducated village lady who had mastered how to run a household comprising seven members with the meagre salary her husband made. There was always food on the table, even during the days the electricity department staff went on strike for three months. Her grandmother, who lived with them, constantly nagged her mother for giving birth to only female children – “Now you have produced the fourth one, please stop. Have you ever thought about how much my son will have to struggle to marry them all off?” were her exact words when Lalita’s youngest sister was born. Lalita wanted to protect her mother from this mistreatment but she didn’t know how. Once she had asked her mother why she never retaliated. “A girl leaves her parents’ house in her wedding dress and her husband’s house in her funeral shroud.” her mother had said. “What would be the point of an argument? There is truth in what your grandmother says.” She added. That day Lalita had vowed to herself she would study hard and support herself. And she had succeeded in getting a scholarship to college.
She wrapped a warm shawl around herself and snuggled into her chair with her meal. It was dark outside and no part of the garden could be seen but the changing rhythm of the falling rain interspersed with the occasional sound of thunder kept her entertained as she ate. When she had finished, she put the tray aside and laid her head back on the chair. She had just closed her eyes when the phone rang. A little hazy because she had almost fallen asleep, she answered the phone with a croaky hello. It was Raman. She was calling to say that her mother had had an acute attack of asthma and Raman was in the hospital with her. Raman’s father was away and she hadn’t enough money to buy the medicines the doctor had prescribed. She was sorry to be bothering Lalita ma’am but it was a desperate situation and she wanted to know if ma’am could lend her some money. She could come to collect the money right now. Lalita firmly told Raman that there was no need for her to come, Lalita was coming to the hospital herself. She hung up before Raman could say anything more.
Lalita quickly made a call to the cab company for an urgent ride, got dressed, counted some money and put it into her purse. Within minutes, she saw the headlight of the cab outside her gate. She locked the house, got into the car and told the driver where she wanted to go. It was still raining heavily and she felt an uneasiness within her. She had spent a lot of time in hospitals and although she didn’t hate them, she wouldn’t visit one unless she absolutely had to.
It wasn’t difficult finding Raman in the Emergency room. Her mother had an oxygen mask on her face which didn’t seem to be working looking at her laborious breathing. Lalita could see through the brave front that Raman was putting up; there was fear in Raman’s eyes. Lalita quietly handed her the money and Raman went to get the medicines. When she returned, the nurse told her that the doctor wanted to speak with her. Lalita accompanied Raman. The doctor had bad news. Her mother’s lungs were so weak that a minor infection had resulted in this acute attack. She would have to be shifted to the ICU right then and there was every possibility that despite their best efforts, she may not survive.
Raman broke down. Her father would not be back until the next evening. She loved her mother very much and did not want to lose her. She heard Lalita ma’am telling the doctor to do the best he could and not worry about the expense. Through a haze she heard the doctor telling the nurse to inform the ICU that a very sick patient from Emergency was going to be shifted up. She signed a few forms that were thrust in front of her. The nurse handed her her mother’s jewellery – the single gold bangle and earrings. And then they wheeled her mother away.
Lalita guided Raman to a bench in the waiting area outside the Emergency. Raman placed her head in Lalita’s lap and wept like a child. Lalita herself could barely hold back her tears. There was nothing to say. They both knew what was coming.
When Raman had spent herself, Lalita quietly suggested that since they were going to spend the night in the hospital, they ought to find themselves a better place to sit and a cup of tea perhaps. The security guard pointed the way to the canteen and they found themselves in a shabby room lit with a flickering tube-light and smelling of stale frying oil. There were packets of chips hanging from a wire fixed to two nails on the wall and biscuits on the shelf behind the counter. Lalita ordered two cups of ‘special chai’ and joined Raman at a rickety plastic table.
The first words that Raman spoke were, “I hope what they are doing to her doesn’t hurt.” Lalita reassured her that it didn’t. “How are you so sure?”
“I was myself a patient once, a long time ago. I stayed in a hospital for over a month and underwent many operations.”
“Oh! Why did you need to go to a hospital?” Raman’s interest was aroused again.
“Because I hurt myself badly.”
“When you were a child?”
“No. When I was an adult.”
“Children can hurt themselves when they fall off a swing or fall down the stairs. How can an adult hurt herself?”
“By jumping off a terrace.”
“Like when a person is drunk or has an accident?”
“I was not drunk. And it definitely was not an accident. I was quite sure I wanted to die.”
Raman was shocked. Lalita knew she would have to explain a little more.
“After my son was born, I realised very quickly that my career plans would have to be shelved. But what I was not prepared for was the defection of my husband. I think all I wanted from him was some support, some appreciation for trying my best to bring up our son, some acceptance of the changes that came in me when I became a mother, and some patience for the change in my priorities from him to the baby. When we celebrated the first birthday of our son, his entire office staff and circle of friends were invited. I was left with a nagging suspicion after the party got over that he was very close to one of his female colleagues. That doubt ate into whatever little self-confidence was left in me.”
“Twenty rupees!” The loud voice of the canteen boy interrupted Lalita’s train of thought. Raman looked up at him with an irritated face while Lalita fumbled for the exact change in her purse. After he left, Raman turned her face to Lalita with an expression that made Lalita smile. There was surprise, sympathy, sadness, but most of all curiosity.
Lalita continued, “I told myself repeatedly that I should overlook his infidelity but I couldn’t. Then one day, I summoned up the courage to confront him. And I prayed to God that he would deny it. Then I would believe him and live happily. But he didn’t. He admitted to it and was sorry that he didn’t love me anymore. This is what happened in every marriage, he said. But for the sake of the baby, he was willing to continue with the marriage provided I looked the other way.” Lalita’s voice sounded a little hoarse, as if there was something stuck in her throat. “Try as I might, I couldn’t think of any way out of the situation. If I got a divorce, how would I support myself and the baby? My parents were old and had yet to marry off my three younger sisters. I couldn’t burden them with my problems. And they had been so happy when I got married – one girl ticked off the list, and to an educated and rich man. They would have definitely advised against divorce. And I was just barely a graduate. The only job I could get would be clerical and who would look after the baby while I was away? In my young mind, the fear of fending for myself and my baby alone in the world was bigger than the fear of being hurt in such a relationship. Hadn’t I seen my own mother braving the worst. I agreed to stay with him.”
Lalita heaved a big sigh. Raman thought it hurt Lalita to relive these memories but Lalita was more frustrated than hurt. What a silly girl she had been!
“After that day, life changed for both of us. He started taking me for granted. I was the housekeeper and babysitter. I had no right to question anything he did and he spent as much time outside the house as he could. I tried to focus all my energies on bringing up my son. When I could not ignore certain things, I would cry. At times I blamed my son for my misery – if he hadn’t been born, my life would have been very different. Time passed, my child grew up and started going to school. I remember it was the year my son turned four. It was my younger sister’s wedding and I was at my parent’s house. My husband always found excuses to absent himself from our family functions because he couldn’t stand my poor, middle-class relatives. My parents always understood, after all their son-in-law was a busy man, and proudly proclaimed those excuses to nosy guests. The children, including my son, were busy playing in the courtyard below, chasing each other and shouting each other’s names. The women had assembled on the terrace for the ‘mehndi’ ceremony. It was a pleasant February afternoon and some of the women sang folk songs while others were getting the mehndi applied on their hands and feet. My sister sat there, her arms and legs bared with the artisans busy making intricate designs. I wanted to tell her that this was all a farce. I couldn’t understand why the married women looked so happy. Weren’t their marriages like mine? Didn’t they have demanding children who sapped their strength and unfaithful husbands who insulted them? I overheard my aunt congratulating my mother on the great catch – “Where do you source these handsome, educated, rich boys for your daughters?” she asked enviously. That was the precise moment when something snapped inside me. I could visualise the release. Nobody noticed me going to the edge of the parapet and it was clumsy trying to get my feet to the other side being dressed in a sari. But I did it. I jumped. I was free. Like a bird.”
Raman’s mouth was agape. “And then?”
“Then there was a moment of intense pain.”
“Oh! and then?” Raman couldn’t stop.
“Oblivion.”
Suddenly there was a commotion; the security guard was looking for the young girl whose mother had been shifted to the ICU. The doctor wanted to see her. Lalita and Raman rushed to the second floor as instructed by the guard. A tired-looking doctor in a white coat informed Raman that her mother’s condition had deteriorated and she would have to be put on a ventilator to assist her breathing. Raman consented and signed some more papers. “Can I see her?” “Yes, after we have stabilized her, I’ll send a call for you.”
Lalita suggested that they both sit down on the stairs since there was no other place to wait. Raman grasped Lalita’s hand when they sat, “I’m feeling very scared.” Lalita hugged her and they both waited in silence.
After about an hour, a nurse came out of the ICU and gestured for Raman to come. Raman took off her shoes and put on the gown, mask and slippers provided by the nurse. She was gone for less than five minutes. There was pain writ large on her face when she returned. “She’s unconscious and there is a pipe in her throat which is connected to the machine. All I could do was hold her hand. I don’t think she can feel anything.”
“Yes, that’s oblivion.”
Raman was deep in thought for a minute and then said almost in a whisper, “That’s good, because she can’t feel any pain.”
Lalita was glad Raman was being so brave. As they both descended the stairs, Raman asked, “So what came after the oblivion.”
Thinking that her story could help distract Raman from the present situation, Lalita jokingly said, “When I came to, I was on a hospital bed with many broken bones in addition to my already broken heart.”
“Is that why you needed many operations?”
“Yes. I had a cracked skull, blood clots in my brain and quite a few broken bones. I can’t recall the early days in the hospital very clearly as I was asleep most of the time. But when I was shifted to the room, I remember being completely alone. The only people who came to meet me were the doctors and nurses. Other than these people, guilt was my constant companion. I realized the real extent of my folly and selfishness – to release myself from pain, I had decided to forsake my son. What kind of mother was I?” Lalita was shaking her head while she spoke. Raman could see that Lalita’s guilt was still very much alive.
“What about your parents?” Raman asked, wondering how anyone could abandon their child.
“As you sow, so shall you reap. They forsake me like I had forsaken my son. I came to know later that my husband had arrived as soon as he heard about what I had done and lost no time in convincing my parents that the only way my sister’s wedding could go on as planned was to make my act look like an accident. He told them that he would stay at my side and until I agreed to apologise for putting them in this predicament, they should leave me alone. I was an ungrateful and thoughtless person to have behaved in this way at my own sister’s wedding, whatever the provocation. You see, in my family, husbands are always right. Not only were my parents grateful to him for footing the hospital bill, he had helped them save face by coming up with the accident theory and advised them on how to properly deal with a rebellious child.”
“After I was declared fit to be discharged, I realised I had nowhere to go. The hospital got me transferred to ‘Nari Niketan’ –the home for destitute women. There I met many other women like me, in worse shape than I was, both physically and mentally. But there is a great thing about that place – it teaches you to love yourself just the way you are, all your faults included. And once you do that, you realise there is so much strength in you.”
Raman made eye contact with Lalita and Lalita repeated, “There is so much strength in you.”
Raman’s thoughts came back to the present. She would have to be strong, at least till her father returned. She nodded mutely mentally resolving not to cry.
By that time, they had reached the ground floor. It was two o’clock in the night and there were hardly any people around. It was a wet, desolate night and although Raman knew she should tell Lalita ma’am to get back home and rest, she didn’t want to be alone. Lalita, as usual, read her mind and told her clearly that she was not going to leave, however hard Raman might try to make her.
They went back to the canteen. The canteen boy was asleep on the counter, the flickering tube light was still on and the two women sat down again.
“Lalita ma’am, I am in a situation today where I don’t think I am reacting appropriately to the trust you are placing in me but I want you to know that I think you are a very brave person and I value your friendship.”
“I know that Raman. That is why I have opened up only to you after such a long time.”
“I don’t want to upset you by asking this, but where is your baby?”
“I stayed at Nari Niketan for three years. There was a lawyer who would visit the Niketan once a month to help the women there with legal matters. I asked him to contact my husband. He brought back information about everything that had happened that fateful day. Now, my husband wanted a divorce and would prove in court that I was mentally unstable and unfit to look after a child. He had told my son that I had fallen off the terrace accidentally and died. He was planning to marry his ‘friend’ and the least I could do to atone for my misdemeanour was sign the divorce papers. He had already conveyed the same to my parents. The lawyer offered to contact my parents but at that time, I was in no mood to apologise. I felt I was the victim and deserved all the sympathy I could get. I never tried to contact them and they never tried to contact me; they must have thought it wasn’t the best thing for prospective in-laws to encounter divorced older sisters; gives the wrong impression. That night I cried uncontrollably. That night I understood the real meaning of death, not being able to see your loved ones ever again.”
It was the wrong thing to say and tears swam in the eyes of both women. No one could speak and they were both trying to control their emotions. Suddenly the voltage fluctuated and the flickering tube light was snuffed out. It became dark inside the room and both women instinctively got up and started walking towards the lit corridor outside the Emergency. Humans will always move towards hope and light, thought Lalita mundanely.
As if to test her, the security guard hurriedly approached Raman. “They are calling you upstairs.” They rushed to the ICU and the same doctor, looking more tired than before stood there. He shook his head as they approached. “I’m sorry we could not save your mother. We tried our best. If it helps, I would like you to know that she passed away peacefully.”
Whether it was that Raman was already spent, extremely tired, or in shock, she did not shed a single tear. The deluge would come later, when the meaning of this permanent separation would sink in. All that Raman said was, “I wish I had got the chance to say goodbye. And tell her that I will always love her.”
Lalita realized that was the chance she really missed too, to say goodbye to her son, to kiss him for the final time and tell him that she would love him forever.