Sadness and anger—always a great combination for rash decisions. One day, as Poonam was sulking, too agitated to read, she got up from her chair and walked to Vishal’s place before she knew what she was doing.
She saw Vishal transplanting rice saplings into the ground, sweating from the labour. When Poonam called out to him, he looked up and smiled. He stepped across the rice bed, careful not to step on the saplings, and walked over to her.
‘I meant to come and see you, but I’ve been busy,’ he said, gesturing at the saplings. ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’
‘Don’t be,’ said Poonam. ‘Even my brother wasn’t sorry. Said his employers didn’t give him a day off for his grandfather’s cremation.’
Vishal looked confused.
‘You are working your land?’ asked Poonam, ignoring the look on his face.
‘Couldn’t sit idle forever,’ said Vishal, rubbing his hands. After a pause, he said, looking at Poonam with a sidelong glance, ‘You thought I could.’
‘I didn’t—’ Poonam stopped short. ‘I just thought that you, maybe, underestimated how hard it was going to be!’
‘Well,’ said Vishal, ‘you definitely can’t overestimate how hard it’s going to be, because it’s harder than you can ever imagine.’
‘Vishal . . .’
‘Poonam . . .’
‘I’ve been thinking . . .’
Vishal’s smile disappeared.
‘ . . . Maybe we should get married.’
Vishal wiped his hands on his pants absent-mindedly, staring into the distance. He then let his gaze settle on Poonam, and did not take his eyes off her for a long time, even though it made Poonam a little uncomfortable.
‘Poonam, you don’t know what you are saying,’ he declared at length.
For a second, Poonam thought she detected a hint of anger in his voice. But only for a second, for she soon realized that it wasn’t anger but gentleness. For the first time, Poonam had seen that beneath the characteristic nervousness, there was something far more profound in this man standing in front of her. It was a certain gentleness sprung from strong, unwavering love and respect.
‘I do,’ said Poonam softly, at a loss for what to say.
‘No,’ he said with a sigh. ‘You are saying this because you are sad and lonely.’
‘No, Vishal, I—’
‘Do you love me?’
Poonam was caught off guard.
‘Do you love me?’ she asked him, a little incredulously.
‘I think you know the answer to that,’ he replied with a smile. ‘Poonam, I’m not good at putting things into words, I’ll be the first to admit that. But be assured that my proposal came from love and not from wanting a business partner.’
‘And now you are rejecting my proposal?’ asked Poonam, irritated.
‘Did I say that?’ asked Vishal calmly.
Neither of them said anything for a few moments.
‘Do you love me, then?’ Vishal repeated.
‘Does anyone love anyone when they’re getting married?’ cried Poonam.
‘You don’t, then,’ he muttered. He looked at his dirty hands, and then at the sky.
‘Well then,’ Poonam said haughtily, ‘I shall take that as a rejection. Goodbye.’
She turned around to leave.
‘No, Poonam, wait.’
‘What?’ cried Poonam. ‘Look at you. You say you want to marry me, and then you say you don’t. I don’t—’
‘Look,’ he cut in, ‘I’ve been thinking about some things since I started farming. And I realized I was happy you rejected me. Not because I don’t love you, but because when your life is changing, it’s the worst time to change it more. As in, it’s the worst time to get married. So how about we wait? I’ll work the land and make something of myself so I can support us. And you can find something to do—you’re the smartest girl I know. But if not, you can wait till your life settles down, till you’re not so sad. Till then we can wait and see if we, well, can stand each other enough to get married. What do you say?’
Poonam stared at Vishal for a moment, and gave him a slight nod and a smile. Then, without saying anything, she turned and left. Already, she felt the sadness settle back on her chest. But she knew that Vishal couldn’t feel it for her. When she returned home, she sat on a chair and opened a book. And thus she resolved to wait out the sadness till her life settled down.
3
The Doors of the Closet Are Now Open
Sai Nithin
The room was more or less the same since our last visit. A painting of a half-naked man hung on the wall. The same certificates, neatly framed, hung beside the painting. The same red-blue-green wind chimes tinkled near the window. The same hourglass stood on the desk; the same old chair creaked behind it; and the same counsellor sat on that creaking chair, helping us solve our problems. It had been fifty minutes now. But what caught my eye was the new picture of a quote that hung on the wall behind the counsellor’s head:
That it all began in the days when the love laws were made.
The laws that lay down who should be loved.
And how.
And how much.
—Arundhati Roy
‘So, you guys said . . .’ Dr Anitha Subramanyam, our marriage counsellor, began, but when she saw me staring at the quote behind her, she changed the topic. ‘Have you read the book?’ she asked me, adjusting her glasses.
DK, my husband, didn’t bother to look at me, or her. So it was on me to carry on the conversation.
‘Er . . .’ I began. ‘Sorry, Anitha, but which book are you talking about?’
Anitha stood up, turned to the framed quote and said, ‘The God of Small Things, of course.’
‘No,’ I answered.
She looked disappointed.
‘Nevertheless, aren’t these lines beautiful? You should read the book sometime,’ she said.
I nodded, knowing that I would probably never do it.
Anitha picked up her notebook from the table, opened it and said, ‘Well, you said that you both met for the first time in school, right?’
DK and I nodded, paying attention for the first time. We had been visiting Anitha Subramanyam for a few days now, without any obvious results.
Anitha placed her notebook on the table. She lifted the hourglass and shrugged, ‘Well, your session is done.’
These counsellors are very particular about their session timings, aren’t they?
‘However, let me tell you this,’ she continued. ‘Needless to say, there are problems in every relationship, but the solutions to those problems are surprisingly simple. You just have to, you know, look back at the happy times you spent—and I am sure you must have had happy memories too—which now are locked up in your closet. Just open the closet and reminisce.’
Reminisce? Who even uses that word?
DK and I thanked Anitha and started for the door, when she gave us her message of the day, like she usually did at the end of her sessions.
‘Sometimes, for love to rekindle, you need to add a pinch of innocence to it.’ She sighed and touched the tip of her thumb to her index finger. ‘Just a pinch.’