‘What do you mean by difficult?’
‘If you try to fit into a dress one size too small, it will invariably come apart at the seams. My thoughts tear at the seams all the time, exposing my naked soul. The funny part is that the seams tear, but the cloth remains intact. I try to hide what I can. When you reject me, I stand in the balcony for hours, praying to either become completely wise or completely an animal. I don’t like this in-between stage. I want to burn away all my weaknesses. That way… What happened? Why are you crying?’
‘…’
‘Did I say something wrong?’
‘I’m the one who is at fault. You never confided your unhappiness in me, and I never asked you…’
‘Why should I confide my unhappiness in you? One should never. It has to be borne by the individual. It’s important to be able to see whether the unhappiness is because of something really tragic, or just something petty and the fear that your pettiness may get exposed. Don’t cry now. Okay, I won’t say anything more.’
‘No. Please go on … I’m listening.’
‘What can I say?’
‘Please, please, Shekhar! Don’t get up. Just stay the way you are. Speak to me. I want to sit and listen. Say whatever comes to your mind. Truth, lies, dreams, whatever! Tell me what you imagined your married life to be.’
‘First wipe your tears.’
‘Okay. Now tell me.’
‘I can’t recall right away. It’s been years since we got married.’
‘Jog your memory. Tell me.’
‘It wasn’t anything special, really. I would imagine: It’s morning and you’ve woken up much before I have. You’ve had your bath and combed your hair neatly. You’re trying to wake me up but I resist, turning the other way, acting sleepy. You get upset and start hammering at me with your fists. You pretend to be cross and try to scratch me with your nails. Finally, you get tired and get me tea in bed. You chat incessantly, standing outside the bathroom, while I shave. Then you get hot water for my bath. I splash some water on you, drenching you, and you’re forced to have another bath. We roam around aimlessly that day. Stop at a wayside hotel for a snack, walk into any movie hall that we see on our way. We sit until late at night on the sands of Juhu beach. We dream a million dreams. I rest my head in your lap, the same way I am right now…’
Shekhar couldn’t complete the sentence. Teardrops fell from Kalpana’s eyes onto his cheeks. He got up with a start. Kalpana was sobbing. She could see how her companion’s beautiful dreams had been shattered. She had to find a way to protect them. She had to work for another twelve years to make the dreams come true. She was worried that she wouldn’t have the enthusiasm and zeal to enjoy and live those dreams after twelve years. They would reminisce about the dreams they had dreamt, dreams which never materialized. She feared that the tears, which flowed freely that day, would dry up in another twelve years. They’d get lost in the struggle to meet the demands of job, home and a million other things. There would be no pleasure left even in shedding them. And then she would wonder, had she always been so emotionless?
KARKHANIS
Everyone looked at Bhau Karkhanis when he stepped into the office. Bhau didn’t notice anyone, though. As if it was just another normal day. He walked in the way he had for the past twenty-three years. The office staff, on the other hand, felt like they’d been shaken by an earthquake. There was no one who didn’t feel it. The first one to be surprised was the guard at the ground floor. The next one was the liftman.
‘Bhau saheb, you’ve come?’ he asked. Unable to fathom the reason behind this question, Bhau Karkhanis chose not to answer. He hadn’t paid attention to anyone while entering the main hall of the office. He’d never done so in the past twenty-three years. Why should he behave any differently today?
He kept his handbag on the shelf next to his desk, then wiped his tabletop clean with a cloth. He opened the window behind him. He undid his top shirt button and rolled up his sleeves. He asked Shankar to get him a glass of water, turned towards Limaye at the next desk and, as usual, asked, ‘How’s your Indira doing today?’
Everything was happening the way it always did. The only difference was that Limaye chose not to reply.
He continued to stare at Bhau Karkhanis.
It wasn’t just Limaye. The entire office was staring at him.
Seeing Karkhanis engrossed in his files, Gole went over to Lad’s desk and asked,
‘Lad, what do you think?’
‘I can’t understand anything.’
At that moment, Anjarlekar walked over from his desk to join them despite his aching knee. In his high-pitched voice, he said,
‘Something’s wrong.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He shouldn’t have come to work.’
‘That’s what I was telling Lad. What do you say, Lad?’
Lad was silent. He couldn’t comment. Not that he didn’t have an opinion on whether Karkhanis should have to come to work or not, but he had just begun to chew on a paan. He would have to spit to answer. But he had no choice now. He got up to spit.
By that time, four more colleagues had gathered at his desk. Limaye, who had refused to answer Karkhanis, was present too.
It was Karkhanis’s habit. When Nehru was in power, he would ask,
‘How’s your Nehru doing today?’
The name changed to Shastri and, later, Indira, but the question remained the same. Still, today, coming from Karkhanis it seemed really inappropriate.
‘I suspect he’s been seriously affected.
