CHAPTER SEVEN

Betu was more concerned about her Jeeju than how my life with him had begun. I couldn’t help myself. He was just so proper and buttoned up. It drove me crazy.

“Oh! Don’t give him so much credit, he’s always in that executive mode. You should see him when he enters the house.”

I mimicked his deeper voice, how he loosens his tie with one hand when he walks in the door, his other holding his phone. I shouted across the room, just like he always did “please get me a coffee, Chhaya Didi! In my room.”

Betu burst out into laughter and protested, “oh! He can’t be like that. I’ve never seen him doing such things.”

I challenged her. “Well, wait until this evening, you’ll see. He ignores me, won’t say anything to me when he comes home, and he’s constantly on his phone. I’m telling you, the man is a workaholic.”

I shook my head, realizing exactly how hard it was to communicate with him. I mean if someone would say three sentences, he would speak one in return. In my case, it's even worse, I have to talk for five minutes just to get him to respond to me. Sometimes, it feels like I’m talking to a tree or like I don’t even exist for him.

I turned toward my mom. “Mumma what did you see in him for me?”

She slid a chapatti onto the plate in front of me and replied with a soothing stream of light in her eyes, “I have seen so many things in him and his family. It’s so lovely to know that things are actually as excellent in the family as they seem. They have started to accept you, that’s a good start. Now, concentrate on your food. I made kadhi just for you.”

***

When the doorbell rang it was nearing seven o' clock. I knew immediately that it was him.

Betu screamed in excitement, “Jeeju is here!”

She ran toward the door before I could stop her. I could imagine his expression, the same one he gave me so often. The one that said he was just so put upon to be stuck with me.

Betu unlatched the door with a loud welcome.

“Hi Jeeju! How are you?”

My husband surprised me. He did not give my thirteen-year-old sister, a haggard, deflating look. He did not flippantly ignore my family in favor of whatever business he had with his phone. Instead he greeted my sweet sister with a high-five and a grin that made my heart melt.

“Hi Kavya! I'm very well, how are you?”

As she guided my husband into the hall through the gallery where he got rid of his shoes she beamed at him with blatant affection. “I'm good, too! I’ve been waiting for you since this morning. You know I have so many things to tell you.”

She behaved as if she was his sister, not mine. The two of them acted like they’d known each other since childhood. A little pang of jealousy struck at my heart. It was me who’d been living with her for years and, God, how I missed her already.

“Betu, have you ever waited for me in such a manner?” I guess she would have answered me, but he interrupted before she got there.

“So what if she was waiting for me? Are you jealous?”

“No.” I rolled my eyes and grabbed my phone to search for a method to kill a person at home, something like a DIY murder weapon. “Why would I be?"

Our war had just begun when Mumma came out of the kitchen. He crossed the few steps to where she stood, bent down in front of her and touched her toes in an act of respect common in our religion. It’s believed that there’s a lot of good energy in the toes of older people, and the blessings they give in return of this simple gesture can actually help one move mountains. That one simple action made me forget all my anger. When he did things like that, sweet and thoughtful things, I couldn’t help but feel a certain sense of pride in this man—my husband. He respected my family the way he esteemed his own. It gave me a feeling that it wasn’t just us who had been married, but that this had been a union of two families.

He made the same gesture of respect upon greeting my papa. I wanted to thank him for making the effort, for making my family feel so cherished, but decided it would be better left for that night, when we would be alone and I’d be searching for some way to get him to talk to me.

As the five of us moved to sit for dinner, my sister and I started to argue about who would get the chair beside my Mumma. Arnav chuckled and interrupted our spat.

“How often do you fight Kriti ji? At home you fight with me, and here you are fighting with Kavya. Is there anyone else you’d like to infuriate today?”

I raised my eyebrows at him wishing he’d stay out of it. “I'm not fighting. That's my place.”

My father was clearly not amused by our quarreling. “Kriti, let Kavya sit there. Would you please grow up?”

I was quiet at once. I absorbed the insult, and quietly took my seat across from Mumma. I hated Daddy for a moment, for making me feel so childish. But I was used to that kind of harsh judgement from my father. It was a razor sharp reaction that had, in all likelihood, been brought on through my own callousness. When my mother and I shared our hurt fueled rant about Dadi, my father was growing less and less tolerant of our own shortcomings. This little bruise kept me quiet through dinner, a fact which Arnav had apparently noticed.

That night Arnav and I slept in the guest room. I was brushing my hair when I looked up to find him staring at me with questions in his eyes.

“It’s been so peaceful here, today. I will have to ask Papa ji to put you in your place more often.” I didn't reply. I knew he was just trying to cheer me up and, like always, he used humor. I would usually giggle even in the gravest situations, but that day I was feeling awful after that harsh treatment from my Daddy. It wasn’t anything new, but I didn’t expect him to react that way after I had been gone so long. No silly joke from Arnav could make me forget that, even for a moment. He asked me again, for what felt like the fifth time since we escaped to our room for the night, “what’s wrong Kriti ji? So sad, just because of a scolding from Papa ji?”

I replied squirting moisturizer into my hand, “no. It's nothing. I'm okay.”

I was physically still there, in that room with my husband, but mentally I was somewhere else.

“Kriti ji,” he trailed off.

My heart was very heavy, and I wanted to cry aloud taking out all my heart's burden. It wasn’t just today. It was about all the years before. He moved toward me, closing the gap between us, and I tried to avoid him. I tried to get up and move toward the bed but he grabbed my hand halting my retreat.

“Kriti ji, it's okay. You can tell me. It will be between us. I won't say anything to anyone. You can trust me.”

I searched his eyes, trying to decide if he was telling me the truth, trying to decide if I could trust him. As soon as our eyes met though, I couldn’t control my tears. The damn broke and I cried, bitterly, covering my face with my palms and he held my shoulders. He wrapped his arm around me and we walked to the bed where he sat me down. He went to the night stand, poured some water in a glass, and offered it to me. I shook my head but I accepted the tissue he held out. I dabbed at my face as the tears subsided and I got myself back under control. My heart's burden was released after crying. It was always difficult for me to cry in front of anyone except Mumma and Akansha. I had been an emotional introvert. But Arnav had helped me relax, had let me cry my heart out in a display of sensitivity I would have never imagined.

“Now, tell me Kriti ji, what's the matter?” His voice was serious as he knelt down in front of me.

“Arnav ji, you know, Daddy always acts like this with me after…” I took a deep breath, and dropped the subject. I couldn’t talk to Arnav about the deepest of my secrets, not yet.

“After?” he asked, voice awash with concern. My eyes again pooled with tears and he took my hands into his. “You can tell me Kriti ji, did something else happen?”

“I don’t think Daddy loves me anymore. He used to love me when I was young, but now he doesn’t…and,” I paused trying to frame sentences. “I mean Daddy always does this. He always scolds me, and he never says anything to Betu. Why?”

“Because she is younger, and you being the elder are expected to understand things better. That's it. It's effortless you see,” he said, as if the answer were plain as day.

“No. Arnav ji, It isn't. Why should she always get the privilege of being younger? Why am I always expected to adjust?”

Arnav’s face fell for a moment, as if he’d been slapped. “It's nothing Kriti ji, I think you’re overreacting to such a small thing.”

“No, Arnav ji, I'm not overreacting. It hurt me that I came here after so many days away, after giving up so much of my life to ‘grow up’, and still, he scolds me for clinging to that little piece of home.” I closed my eyes for a moment and recalled, “he always does that. I’m just done. I don't want to stay here either. I’ll come back home as soon as I can. I’m sorry for being so emotional earlier.”

Arnav whispered, “do you want me to talk to Papa ji?"

"No,” I replied, sobbing. “Don’t say anything to him. I just won't stay here again in the future. He will do that to me again.”

“Why would he do that Kriti ji? He’s your father. A father loves his child more than anything, would never purposely hurt you.” I could see Arnav’s longing to for his own father. He had lost him years ago, and his voice held the pain of losing the man at a young age. He looked into my eyes, “I know how fathers are. Tough on the outside,” he nodded, “but he still loves you a lot.”

“I think he would have loved me more if I’d been a son.”

His eyebrows furrowed deeper and he gave me a strange look. “What do you mean?”

“He’s never actually come out and said it, but I know it’s true. Over the years we…there’s a distance between us.” I tried to look away from his desperate eyes, eyes that wanted to read every untold word of my story. “I’ve always been more of a momma’s girl. I’ve always, kind of, supported my Mumma in everything. Whenever…”

“Whenever?” he asked, cupping my jaw gently with his hand.

“I don’t know.” Our eyes met again. “It’s…complicated. He loves his mother, and if I support Mumma in anything she says against Dadi, he tries to…” I thought for a moment searching for an exact word, which just pained me even more, “dominate us.”

“Hold on, hold on. What do you mean? Just be clear.”

I blew out a breath. “Dadi has always been…difficult. It’s like she’s on a mission to drive Mumma and my Aunts away. To push them out. My Daddy and Chacha have always been her biggest admirers. They could never say anything against her, no matter what she did. And today, when I was talking to Mumma about your family, Mumma mentioned how lucky I am to have in-laws who accept me. That she hadn’t been as lucky. Daddy didn’t say anything at the time, but later in the evening he found an opportunity.”

Arnav nodded. “So, you mean that was revenge?”

I didn’t know how to explain everything I’d seen for years in just these few moments.

I replied, shrugging, “not revenge, exactly. He was just taking out that frustration on me.”

He blinked, and paused for a second considering this. “Kriti ji, are you sure about what you’re saying? I’m asking because I think you’re thinking too much. I mean, why would a father do that to his girl?”

“Yes.” Welcome to my world, Arnav, I thought. “I’m sure about it. You know, I’ve known him for years, Arnav ji. Anytime I’d stand up for myself he used to shut me down by saying ‘let’s just see how accepting your mother-in-law is going to be.”

“I know that he’s your father. I believe you completely, but it’s just that I could never imagine that things could be like this. Your family seems so…functional. Everyone seems so happy.”

“Arnav ji, is any family really so simple? I’ve grown up with this. A house filled with turmoil usually looks calm on the outside,” I stated, hiding all the pain I’d been feeling for my mother. “You know, I realize I was over-reacting on that first day with my in-laws, but it was because of this. This was why I expected things to be different. I thought that I needed to be perfect. I knew from watching my own family, not a single mistake would be tolerated in the house of my in-laws. I’ve never been perfect. You know what a mess I am. I had no idea how I was going to survive this. I was so scared, but then Maa, she made all my fears vanish. I just keep thinking that I am so, so lucky.”

He shifted from his place and rolled his eyes. “Kriti ji, don’t talk like this. No one can be perfect. But, I still don’t completely understand why this addition of ‘in-laws’ is such a big deal for you.”

My eyes were still wet, “Arnav ji, it makes a difference. My life has changed.”

Arnav looked into my eyes. “I don’t think so. Yes, I mean, your surroundings have changed a bit, but, you, as a person are still the same. Your life, your rights, your freedoms, everything is the same.”

But that was the problem, was it not? I’ve never felt as if I had rights before. I’m a girl, what rights am I entitled to? I can’t even choose my life partner on my own without being judged or suppressed. Yet, there stood that man, my husband who was selected for me, talking about my rights. But something he’d said resonated. No one else had ever made me realize that I do have rights, I do have some freedoms. I couldn’t think of how to explain what I was feeling. Bitter tears slid down my face despite my best efforts to stop them.

“Kriti ji,” his face went all gloomy as he asked, “what happened? I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you. Please stop crying,” he requested.

I just shook my head. There were a lot of things I wanted to say to him, but the words would not come out. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, again.

My gaze fixed at our hands, “Arnav ji, why are you sorry? You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just…it’s just, no one has ever said that to me. I’ve realized for the first time ever that I, too, have a life of my own.”

He announced, “of course you have a life of your own. No one can take that from you. Even if you marry a thousand times. It’s you who can make decisions for you.” His voice faded, “you can choose whatever you want, if you were not allowed to do that before, then at least now you can.” He requested again, “stop crying, please.”

When I finally stopped crying, he tried to cheer me up. “Please don’t cry, or we’ll all drown before, the night is over.” His lips twisted into that self-satisfied smirk. He is so mean. A perfect devil.

“Arnav ji, you are—”

“I am what?” he laughed as he finally got up from his place and came and sat beside me.

“Nothing.” I was trying to hide my glee. He always made me laugh however grave the situation was. He leaned back, his body’s weight being transferred to his hands on the bed, grinning. I cursed, “I think I’d rather talk to a rabid dog.”

He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. “You don't want to grow up, do you?”

“No. I’ve never wanted to, so don’t ask me to.”

“Never,” he said with all the care he was handling me with a moment ago. His eyes sparkled and I was lost in his magical gaze, but he broke it. “Okay, now get to sleep. It's late and we need to be out of here at nine o' clock tomorrow morning.”

“Okay,” I shrugged, “good night.” I crawled into my side of the bed. Arnav switched on the night light. “Oh, shit,” he mumbled as he sat down on top of the comforter.

“What happened?”

“I don't have my sleep mask.”

I reached for my purse on the nightstand without throwing back the covers and dug out the sleep mask.

“I knew you would need it. I brought it for you.”

I took out that band from my bag and he smiled in return and said, “thank you, Kriti ji.”