The Accidental Wife (27 page)

Whole

A
s Alice had predicted, Naina had no difficulty adapting to her absence.

She kept herself occupied, sticking to the regimen her friend had drawn up, as it left little room to sulk over the palpable void she had left behind, along with her own persistently nagging insufficiency.

She worked on her exercises, prepared quick and sensible meals (much to Rihaan’s delight) and rode the taxi alone to all her appointments, though often she found her husband waiting there ahead of time, perhaps indicating a lingering lack of trust in her decision making capabilities. It irked her immensely yet she didn’t begrudge him, because she wasn’t prepared to trust herself either.

Despondent thoughts like these continued to plague her periodically. At such times she’d consciously recall Alice’s wise words and try to comfort herself.

Alice had said: ‘The secret of happiness is very simple. Just count your blessings. You’ll see that you have more than you think.’

Naina couldn’t do anything but agree. She had her health. She had her life. And most of all she had her crux—her husband. He was her blessing.

There were days when her endurance was rewarded and hope made an ungainly resurgence. Flashes, tiny frames, teasing glimpses, of people, scenes and events that didn’t string together in a neat logical sequence sorted themselves in her mind.

Such as when Rihaan took an entire weekend off and chose to spend it taking her around the city. “We need to spend some quality time together. Just you and I.”

She didn’t realize until later that it was his way of dropping hints without making blatant suggestions, thereby relieving her of considerable anxiety.

She accompanied him to the corner bagel shop for a late morning breakfast, where the young proprietor greeted her by name. She smiled to shield her embarrassment, not having any inkling whatsoever of ever being there before, let alone eating a bagel or meeting Gil, or his Indian wife Uma, who had just delivered their first child.

Yet, she didn’t hesitate when asked to place her order. “Toasted pumpernickel with jalapeno,” she said, then stood back perplexed at her not so conventional choice.

Rihaan, on the other hand seemed quite amused.

“Do you know something I don’t?” she demanded, looking at him.

He responded with a grin as he pulled her aside. “Rest easy sweetheart. It’s what you usually order. Things are looking up, shall we say?”

So it appeared.

They took a cab around the city, stopping briefly at various spots—Wall Street, United Nations, The Met, St. Patrick’s cathedral, Tiffany’s… Naina’s face drooped as the skyscrapers rushed by—her mind drawing a continuous blank and all the razzle-dazzle only making her nauseous and dizzy.

Her husband probably read her mind, for within the space of five minutes (more likely fifteen, but it always seemed so much quicker with Rihaan) they had boarded the subway for a ride across the river. And soon after getting there, they drove to a caf
é
oddly called Happenstance where Naina sat trying to hustle a Key Lime shake while Rihaan stared fixatedly at an obscure apartment block across the street.

Why had he brought her here? Was it to trigger a specific memory? Was he disappointed that she hadn’t jumped up screaming: Yes! It’s all coming back to me!

Her perturbation on a steady upswing, she wanted to cry out—
What do you expect from me, Rihaan?
But she couldn’t get the words to her mouth. She didn’t want to risk provoking him. He was all she had—her past, her present and her future. Without him her life would become tenuous. She would cease to exist.

“Shall we go?” he asked her after what seemed like forever. His mint julep remained untouched.

She nodded vigorously, not trusting her speech. Maybe it’d been a long day, maybe she was simply worn out, maybe she was just tired of trying to remember all the time—a perfectly valid explanation. But all she wanted to do now was get back home, curl up in bed, and go to sleep.

The train jerked as it hugged a sharp curve. She went sliding across the plastic seats. Rihaan caught her and they both broke out laughing. He held on. She snuggled into the open V of his shirt, seeking much needed solace. The contact stirred something deep—a surge of emotions—of gnawing pain, unrequited love and a smoldering all-consuming passion. She retracted, trembling with fright, leaving him utterly bemused.

***

The cast came off. Finally! She was free! And there was no need for continued use of the crutches.

Naina danced a little jig in front of Rihaan. “Now I’ll be able to come biking with you.”

“Yes,” he laughed, “but let’s first celebrate with a walk.”

She sensed an undercurrent of excitement in him, and she felt it, too. It would be her first outing as an emancipated woman.

They took a cab to the park. “This was a bad idea. I’ve no muscles to speak of. Let’s go back,” she exclaimed, frustrated after trudging only a few yards.

“No. I won’t let you goof-off. We shall finish what we set out to accomplish!” he declared, dismissing her demand.

The resolute brute!
But his cheer rubbed off on her and somehow she made it to the lake where they sat down on a bench to rest. It had been well worth the effort.

“Close your eyes. Do you see anything?” he asked.

She closed her eyes. After a few moments she smiled and nodded. “Yes. The color of the water, I remember it was much darker and the geese—they created such a din that I…”

“Let’s go, Naina.” He stood up abruptly. His face darkening with anger and also apparent pain.

“But why…?” she asked, puzzled.

“It doesn’t become you to lie. The last time you were here was in the dead of winter and the bloody lake was frozen,” he said tersely and strode off.

“But…but, Rihaan!” She hobbled after him, forgetting that she could walk just fine. “I was just trying to please you…”

He swung around. “Don’t Naina, don’t ever do it again! I can handle anything but I cannot handle untruths, no matter how innocent they may seem!” he snapped.

She bit her bottom lip to keep it from trembling. It took all her self-control to avoid bursting into a loud frustrated scream. What had she done to upset him so much? Had she deceived him in the past?

They returned home and soon after he left, saying he needed to attend an urgent call. He was providing himself with a convenient excuse to flee and walk away from her questions.

It was hopeless. They were hopeless. She locked herself up in the bedroom and cried herself to sleep.

***

The following two days were spent deliberately avoiding each other. They were not unlike a couple of rash and impetuous teenagers after a particularly fierce spat. It was quite a comical situation and if Naina hadn’t been party to it, she’d have probably died laughing.

But then something happened to interrupt the silent brouhaha.

Rihaan was lounging in the living room, in his favorite recliner, when Naina approached him.

“Your mother’s on the phone,” she said. She held a cordless phone.

“Tell her I’m not here,” he muttered quietly, continuing to scroll on his cell as if his life depended on it.

“It’s not you she wanted to talk to, it’s me.”

His head came up sharply. “Whatever for?”

Naina faltered. It was clear that the situation between mother and son continued to remain grim. “Uhm… She has invited me along with you, of course, to the house tomorrow…a sort of welcome back party for me—her
bahu,
she said.”

A myriad of expressions crossed her husband’s face—from shock, to frank incredulity, to wonderment.

Naina was growing impatient. “What should I say? I told her I’d let her know after asking you.”

“I’ll go with whatever you want,” he replied evenly.

“But…I…” Naina was thrown by his words. How could he leave it to her when thus far he’d been the one who had been making all the decisions? She wrung her hands. “I guess I cannot say no. She’s my mother-in-law after all. God, I’m so nervous.”

His expression softened into a smile. “Don’t be. She’s not going to eat you alive. Besides, I’ll be there with you. Consider it your coming out ball, Cinderella.”

Inconsistent Life

S
ilk and summer don’t go together, Naina brooded regretfully, as another rivulet of sweat trickled down her side and drenched her sari-blouse. But her sister-in-law had insisted. “Mom will be absolutely bowled over. She’s a tradition junkie!” And now, even though she wished she had opted for the more sedate
salwar kameez
, Naina was glad she had sought Rima’s help. Who’d know better about a woman’s likes and dislikes than her own daughter?

Besides, her skills as a couturier had come in very handy when she expertly refitted Naina’s blouse for her and offered valuable advice on the best way to drape her sari, so as to conceal the worst of her scars and wear makeup to highlight her beautiful eyes and draw attention away from her hollow cheeks.

As a bonus she even provided her with a shoulder length wig, which boosted Naina’s confidence tremendously, though Rihaan didn’t look very impressed.

Naina turned to glance at her husband. She found him in a pensive mood, gazing out of his side of the cab. Now there was someone who’d never need a morale booster of any kind. Even in the casual jacket he’d hastily shrugged on after returning from work, he managed to look breathtakingly suave. Even despite a six o’clock beard.

Naina frowned. She’d rarely seen him miss out on that aspect of his grooming. Undoubtedly, he had something serious playing on his mind.

Suddenly he leaned forward and tapped the cabbie on the shoulder. “The address is at the end of the street.”

Naina’s grip tightened on the door handle. She didn’t want to do anything to further upset her mother-in-law and damage their relationship forever. If nothing else, for Rihaan’s sake. He seemed a lot more affected than he let on.

She took a deep breath and gave herself a pep talk.
I can do this.

***

From her perch on the edge of the flagstone path, Naina stared warily at the secluded suburban villa, anticipating a turmoil of some kind. But the vibe counter was registering a dismal zero.

Backing onto lush green hillside, the red tiled, ivory-washed stucco house, and it’s tastefully landscaped grounds dotted with an abundance of shade trees, evoked nothing but a sense of blissful serenity. Adding to the rustic appeal, a profusion of summer color sprang artfully from every direction—it was by no means an ominous vision.

The fluttering in her chest settled down a little, but sped right back up when she spotted Shobha standing at the front door with an
arati
thali
in her hands, her expression in complete variance with the surroundings.

“Let’s get this over with.” She heard Rihaan mutter under his breath at her side.

Yes, might as well suck up and face the music, Naina reasoned wryly and pushed forward. Though at the same time, she struggled to draw the sari’s edge over her head, in a show of modesty and sound upbringing, but the wretched thing wouldn’t stay. It kept slipping from her fingers.

She lingered wordlessly, as the metal plate with its oil lamp, circled the air, encompassing both her and her husband, keeping with the ancient tradition of warding off all evil. Then dutifully, she bent forward to accept the red
kumkum
dot
in the center of her forehead, thereby awakening the third eye.

Here it comes!
Naina braced herself and waited for the ax to fall.

But Shobha, having honed her skills on a steady diet of
desi
soap operas, seemed intent on prolonging her daughter-in-law’s agony. She smiled, rather sweetly at her, though her words were directed at Rihaan. “At last…you think of bringing your wife to visit your mother.
Meri aankhen toh taras gayi thi.
(My eyes had grown weary.)
When did a son need an invitation to visit home?”

Naina glanced at her husband in confusion, but his features revealed nothing. They seemed set in stone. And whether her mother-in-law was expressing genuine sentiment, or was it all a part of some grand scheme, Naina didn’t have the luxury to ponder it over because she was swept away in a whirlwind of festivities, set up apparently in her honor—the daughter-in-law who had defied Yama, the God of death himself.

The Mehta residence was much larger than its exterior belied. But the wide open floor plan which allowed for plenty of natural light, plus the ample use of marble everywhere, endowed the place with a soothing ambience rarely seen in large houses. And even though one could tell it wasn’t filled to capacity, the crowd present wasn’t meager either—quite unlike the intimate gathering that Shobha had mentioned on the phone.

“My mother is very gregarious as you can see. She never lets go of an opportunity to socialize, much to the chagrin of the rest of us,” Rima explained in a regretful aside coming to stand next to Naina.

Naina silently acquiesced to being exhibited like a trophy acquired after great battle, disguising her fears and mortification with a smile. She was determined to give Shobha no reason to find fault with her—not if she could help it.

Yet as the hours passed, Naina felt more at ease. Everybody seemed so nice and mindful of her sensitivities. They introduced themselves, sometimes more than once, and treated her no different from the rest of the clan. Though of course, there was the usual sprinkling of unavoidable characters with shady intentions, but that didn’t concern her, because her husband, as promised, stayed by her side with a hand parked firmly on her hip—alert for mischief and icy sharp with his repartees.

Indeed, he appeared to have assumed the role of her unofficial bodyguard, that too with an exceptionally cynical sense of humor. And though it appeared many were put off by his apparent fierce possessiveness, she reveled in it.

It was close to ten in the night before Naina concluded that the grand showdown with Shobha had been deferred to another day. Better still, it seemed the woman had forgiven Naina for her mistakes and secretly reconciled to all their differences. Even if she was doing so for her son’s sake (who unfortunately seemed to cut her no slack) it was to her credit. She was at least trying.

Rihaan, having perhaps realized the same, relaxed visibly and stepped away to mingle with his own set. His full-throated laughter that boomed forth from time to time imbued Naina with pleasure and satisfaction—her decision to confront the lioness in her own den hadn’t been in vain.

The evening was in its final laps. Gossip with coffee and
chai
was winding up in the reception lounge. The ladies were ferreting their men from their various hideouts and saying their goodbyes. Naina stole the opportunity to stifle a yawn, but nothing escaped Shobha’s eyes.

She looked legitimately concerned. “You look tired.
Mein toh bhool hi gayi
(I almost forgot) you are still an invalid. You need your rest.”

Though Naina didn’t entirely concur with the opinion, she agreed to retire. But when Rima offered to take her to Rihaan’s room, she refused politely. “Thank you, but I think I can find my way.” She desperately wanted to spend some time alone.

“It’s isolated at the end of a long corridor in the west end—a large room swimming with books on gross topics—you can’t miss it!” Rima said with a laugh.

Naina couldn’t suppress her excitement as she headed down the aforesaid passage—like a child on an illicit mission of discovery.

And illicit it was. Though not in the way she wanted it to be—

She heard voices. Ugly, nasty whispers that filtered through the door hinges, ricocheted off the walls and poured directly into her ears. They belonged to the same people who had conversed with her hours ago and wished her well.

“I know I shouldn’t be saying this, but I really feel for Rihaan. The poor boy. Look at his wife… How she was and how she is now.”

“And totally clueless…”
This was followed by a hushed snicker.

“Never seen anything uglier.”

“But he appears so devoted…”

“Sab dikhawa hai. (It’s a mere pretension.) He must be cursing his luck. I don’t get why he sticks with her. Someone should thrust some sense into him. My Sushmita…she is ready even now, if he would just…”

Naina clamped her hands over her ears and snuck into a darkened alcove. She had heard enough.

Her husband—young, virile and very much a man—had been leading the life of a virtual saint. Deprived of his needs because of her. And she…a fool, had been blind to it all, or had simply refused to acknowledge it. Maybe because in all this time he hadn’t touched her. Not in that way… And why would he? Her ugliness repelled him.

Hot tears of pain came gushing down her cheeks. Everything was falling into place. Her husband’s distance. Shobha’s reservations. Everything. Her daydream was over.

Finding an unlocked side door, she yanked it open and rushed outside. But what she saw there brought her to a sudden halt.

Under cover of the heavy blooms of the Wisteria tree, was a couple shamelessly making out. But there was no mistaking their identities. She remembered the man from introducing himself to her earlier. It was Rudy, Rihaan’s perpetually smirking friend, in his stand-out stark white suit, with a girl in a white and gold
lehenga
—who did not happen to be his wife in the terminal stages of confinement, but her teenage cousin.

Choking back a cry of disgust, Naina turned and fled the other way.

She made for what looked like a gazebo, brilliantly white and surreal in the moonlight—a perfect place to escape and tally her woes.

The night air was scented with the cloying fragrance of jasmine. She squatted on the low wooden bench and listened as the crickets, frogs and other nighttime creatures performed a raucous symphony; as dancing fireflies went off like tiny flashbulbs in the bushes, and somewhere faraway, a lonely house pet let out a mournful howl.

She heard the muffled sound of footsteps approaching and hurriedly wiped her cheeks.

“There you are!” Rihaan’s voice sounded almost angry, but he instantly moderated his tone. “I was worried.”

“Why?” she said, continuing to stare into the distance. “Am I not allowed to spend time alone?”

“Of course you are. But…”

“But what?” She turned around and saw him standing with his shoulder slouched against the trellis, slightly inebriated.

“I…” he hesitated.

“Thought that I’d have a seizure? I haven’t had one since I was released from the hospital. Please Rihaan…!” Her voice was unintentionally gruff.

“Okay. Sorry. My bad.” His mouth relaxed into that familiar lopsided grin.

“You’re forgiven,” she responded indulgently.

His beautiful face was etched in silver, but his eyes—they shone like burnished fields of gold—warm, benevolent and sensual. A man like him would be no stranger to receiving love notes and sundry messages of undying devotion from his patients—his na
ï
ve victims. He probably took them in his stride. They were to him but a clinical curiosity—to be examined and dismissed, before moving on to the next.

Was she too—one among his umpteen transiently interesting subjects?

He looked uncomfortable under her scrutiny. “Anything bothering you? We can talk about it.”

She stood up abruptly. “I don’t want to stay here anymore. Can we go home…please?”