An Act of Love

It was an act of love, she had said. Nonsense. 

I can't ever think of it that way. I watch Ananya fight for her life, and I know, I know I can't let her quit. I can't even let her think of quitting. Not for one second. Stupid, stupid doctors… what do they know? They don't know how extraordinary she is. How much spirit lives inside that little body. Nothing. They know nothing. 

She is in so much pain. Poor little thing. So much pain. Just a little bit more baby girl. Fight for papa, please. I can't let you go. I will never let you go... I will not let it happen again. 

Ah, Uma is here. What a ray of sunshine. She's had my back since 1976. Formidable Uma. Let them tell her it's hopeless. Stupid doctors. Stupid, stupid people. If I have to handle one more snivelling well-wisher… God. Just let us be. Let us cope. We can't be there for your emotions right now. Don't people understand that? 

I can't stop looking at how much Ananya's hands look like Shaila's. Clearly, Shaila and I aren't going to make it. It feels so inconsequential right now - I don't know if it always did, or if I don't have the headspace right now. Either way, the fact that I don't care is telling, I guess. We did make this beautiful girl together, so there's that. But little else. 

Uma looks like she's been crying. She keeps glancing at me and then glancing away. Something's up. 

There's a weird energy at the nurses' station. None of them meet my eyes. Uma's nose is so red. "We need to talk, Arun". Huh, that doesn't sound good at all. She looks off kilter. Shaky. I walk towards the waiting room and she grabs my arm. "Wait." Now she won't meet my eyes. What the hell is going on? "Mum is here." Now she looks at me, the only thing keeping me there are her eyes alone. NO. Hell no. "Just listen… just listen to what she has to say.." Et tu, Uma? 

"I know what I'm asking." She grabs my arm. There is so much pain in her eyes that it is breaking my heart. I hate this. Why would she do this? Why now? I let her lead me into the waiting room. 

Mother. Everlasting mother. So self contained, so cat like, so cold. Ah, she uses a cane now. There is nothing in those eyes but false grief. She should be sad, so she is. If Shaila were here, she'd lap it up. Thank God for Uma. 

"How is she?"

"She's fine. She'll get through this too. There was no need for you to come." Was that pity in her eyes? 

"Look son, I know you don't want to hear this-"

"Oh, here we go. The angel of death makes her case!"

"Arun." Yeah, I'm not cowed by that voice or that face anymore. Nope. 

"Why is it so easy for you to let go, huh? Why?"

"It isn't." 

"Right."

"Will you never forgive me?"

"Seriously? Is this why you're here right now?"

"No."

"So what then?" That came out louder than I intended. I sit, and take a breath. 

"Will you listen?" Oh, the drama. Someone give her an Oscar please. 

"Remember when this happened to papa? Of course you do. Stupid of me." She swallows as if she can't speak. What a performance, really. 

"Do you know who I've loved the most? Out of all of you?" If she says it's me, I'm out of here. 

"No, it's not you." There's that steely gaze I know so well. 

"It's Papa. I've never loved anyone the way I loved papa."

"Loved him to death, did you?" Ah, shit. Uma gasps and looks at me, daggers in her eyes. Mother looks at me pityingly. 

"I know you're hurting Arun. That's why I'm here." Of course you are. 

"I'll say my piece and leave. But do me the courtesy of listening. Just this once." There's that dramatic pause again. 

"I loved- love papa. I saw that man fight for 3 whole years... He was so brave." I feel that old ache in my chest open up once again. 

"We believed he would make it. He would be the one to beat it. Of course he would, right? I was there every step of the way. Every appointment, every procedure. There was no way I was going to lose this fight." For a moment, our eyes meet. I see my determination reflected there. 

"But he did lose. Long, long before he died, son. And he suffered so much. He hurt all the time, everywhere... You know, I think by the end, he was holding on by the sheer force of his will. Like that Kipling poem, remember? The one he had up by his desk?" I nod, awash in a flood of memories. The hole in my chest is a cave now. 

"If. It was 'If' by Kipling." Uma's voice. 

"Yeah, it was. That day, when I looked into that face I loved so much, all I saw was misery. All I saw was how much he was hurting. And for what? For me. Because he didn't want to leave me behind. He was worried about me. Me. When he was on his deathbed. Can you imagine love like that, Arun?" To be honest, no, I couldn't. I don't have that. I've yearned my entire life, for the kind of love I've seen my parents have. 

"I knew then that he was waiting for my permission to go. To let go and be free.

I didn't care what it would do to you or Uma or me… I put him first. Something I should've done ages ago." I watch her wipe her chin - the tears nestling in those soft folds. 

"I didn't need to possess him to love him, Arun... Did you?" There are knives in my chest now. It's so hard to breathe. 

"Please, don't punish Ananya for what you consider my sins." Oh no, you don't. 

"Love shouldn't bind us in misery, Arun!" I leave her and her wretchedness behind. I have a daughter to tend to. 

She's awake, but she isn't lucid. She whimpers so piteously. I call the nurse. She can't administer more, there's no relief for my baby. The nurse takes a seat, stroking my baby's hair. She whispers soft prayers. It is soothing. 

I wake up to screaming alarms. Ananya's little body contorts, her wrists grinding into the sheets, her back slamming into the bed. I step out and watch them work. It's a valiant effort. Never will I hear a word against doctors.

The nurse nods at me; I walk back in. 

Ananya is looking right at me. She's here, for now. The doctor is saying something about a locked jaw, but all I see are my daughter's anguished eyes. Ah, she can't speak. That's what the doctor is saying. She doesn't need words, anyway. Her eyes are doing the asking. The cave in my chest returns full force. I think about all the memories to come, that will never be. I would grieve them, but this is not about me anymore. It's about her. This is her life. Or her death. My job is to love her, as unselfishly as I can.

Relief mingles with peace as I stroke her cheek. The chest cave is... different.

It's okay, baby girl. Go, if you need to. It's okay.

I love you. 

Yoghurt Dip

 "Let's never do that again." Nicole sighed mightily, taking off those hideous heels that had been murder all night long. She spotted a smudge of that disgusting yoghurt dip on her skirt. 

"What, wear those shoes?" Said Tony. 

He wasn't even looking at her. He barely looked at her anymore. This is what happens when a marriage gets old. At least Joe had looked. He'd really looked. All evening. It was a miracle Tony hadn't noticed. Nor had Sharon. She never seemed to. 

"I really don't know why we have to keep up with this friendship. Neither of us likes either of them." She struggled out of the skirt. That yoghurt stain better scrub off. "Can't we just let them go? It's not like either of them can help us in any way…" Tony looked at her, disgust plain on his face. She felt her stomach drop. "I'm going to shower."

Tony watched her go. He rotated his neck, pulling to ease the kinks. This is what she does to me. Flopping into his favorite chair, he turned on the TV. He put on the headphones and made himself a drink. He glanced towards the bedroom and then switched channels to the Hindi shows he enjoyed. She hated them. But he found them relaxing. No demands. Just blandly pretty faces and banal storylines. It was easy. He keyed in the channel number for the news and then hit the previous button - back to the good stuff. 

This is what she does to me. In his own house, on his own TV, he needed to pretend to watch the news. Fuck this shit. His mind wandered over to Sharon. Now that was a woman. Intelligent but undemanding. An artist in the kitchen. And she didn't give a fuck about how "unhealthy" it all was. 

The scene on TV mocked him - a woman adoringly served her husband food, waited while he tasted it, and smiled in delight when he reacted. He sighed and shifted, trying to get comfy. The evening had been so great. He and Sharon had made the dip together. She licked the spoon with such delight. He'd licked it too. The others had droned on about some Netflix show, as if they were invisible. 

He was invisible. Fucking Nicole. She never looked at him the way Sharon looked at Joe. The way she had once looked at him. No, don't go there. The TV droned on, and his mind slipped into a memory of tangled arms and legs, choked sighs and sweaty, frantic lovemaking. They had been in such a hurry. It was almost as if she couldn't wait to have him. That mouth had  been everywhere on his body. She'd bit him and he'd counted them the next day as badges. It was never like that with Nicole. What would've happened if I'd kissed that mouth tonight? 

He jerked upright. His erection hurt. Fuck this. He walked into the bedroom and turned towards the in-suite bathroom. Nicole sat on the bed, applying moisturiser. She stretched her legs seductively as she saw him. "Sorry" he mumbled, "something I ate." He darted into the bathroom, locking it. 

Nicole snorted in disgust. "Must be that dip!" she called out. What a disgusting man. Does he really think I didn't see that erection? She could picture him standing over the toilet, wanking off, scrunching up his face into that stupid expression. It could kill anyone's sex drive, just seeing that face. She stopped. I'll show him. She took off her bottoms and slipped under the covers. He'd step out, and she'd ambush him. No way he'd be able to get it up now. Stupid little, sorry little man. 

It was taking him a while. I'll bet he's taking so long coz he's thinking of that fatty Sharon. Joe, on the other hand, now that man knew how to do it. He liked it rough. He'd taken her every which way. All those afternoons when her parents were out. She felt a rush of heat at the memories. She throbbed down there. She turned her back to the bathroom door and slipped her hand in, stroking. She remembered those times when he had pushed her against the wall, on the bed, on her knees… stroking in and out like a piston. She felt reamed afterwards. There had been a day when she couldn't walk right. She felt a shudder pass through her, filling her with a glow. Fucking Joe. You can still make me cum. 

The toilet flushed. Her hand leapt out and switched off the lights. She relaxed, breathing deeply. Let the fucker sleep. I don't care.

Tony cracked the door open. Good, no lights. He turned off the bathroom light and stepped out. Sliding under the covers, he peeped at her. Yep, definitely asleep. Sighing quietly, he melted into the sheets. Finally. 

The Inappropriate Wife

There were days when she really, really tried his patience. Like right now. She stood there, goofy expression on her face, arms held up like a T-Rex, swaying with the motion of the plane, stepping forward as if to start a tickle fight. Really. 

Shouldn't she know better? I'm working right now! I don't go prancing about like a moron when she's working. He turned his attention back to the log sheet, ignoring her. 

She actually roared. Not loudly, of course, but like a pretend roar. God, she's annoying. 

"Stop it." He held up a finger for emphasis. 

Suddenly, she charged, pretending to bite the emphasising finger. Oh, hell! Really. This is what happens when you marry a fucking kid. 

"Stop. It." 

He didn't know why he was laughing. This isn't funny. A passenger could walk in at any minute and see us like this! The whole world seems to think all crew do is screw. Really, this is the last time I bring her on a flight. 

She grabbed for his finger. Unsuccessfully. "Baby. Please stop." There was such a firm note of admonishment in his voice that she did. 

"Fine." She pouted. Then leaned forward and placed her forehead on his. Damn it. Shouldn't have sat down. She has the high ground advantage. 

"Babe, please. A passenger could walk in any minute."

And of course, right on cue, one did. 

"Whoops! Sorry…" she said, backing away. He wanted to sink through the floor of the aircraft, but instead, he smiled encouragingly at the passenger. "What can I do for you?" 

"A coffee... please?" She was looking at his stupid wife. He could see the questions in her narrowed eyes. His face flamed. "Sugar?" 

"Yes, please. Two." He busied himself, opening and shutting drawers. I'm NEVER bringing her on another flight with me. EVER. 

"Milk?" The passenger shook her head. She was avoiding looking at either of them now. 

I could kill her right now. He sneaked a sidelong look at the wife, expecting to see a sheepish, apologetic woman, but NO. She was looking at him, impishly. Shameless. The woman is shameless. . 

"Here you go Ma'am," He handed the coffee back to the passenger. She reached for it, but he found he couldn't let go. 

"That's my wife, actually." It sounded lame coming out of his mouth. He knew it. The passenger had to know it. 

"Oh?" The passenger was a thin, tired looking thing in an over large sweatshirt. But she brightened up at that. In fact, she could barely keep her face straight. 

"Yeah. She's coming along for New Year's Eve. We wanted to spend it together. We've never had new year's eve together" Stop babbling. "Yeah. We don't get much time together, with this job. It can be hard for couples" Oh my God. Stop. Talking.

He looked at the wife, who was, of course, being no help at all. Typical. The one time she chooses to shut up. 

"Well.., bye!" Said the passenger, skooching off, grinning. He rounded on the wife. His blood was up. He didn't want to say anything because he knew right now, he knew he would regret w-h-a-t-e-v-e-r he said. So he poured all his anger into what he hoped was an effective death stare. 

She looked SO stupid. She had that irritating face on, the one that precedes a stupid giggle fit. If she laughs right now… I swear to God… 

She laughed. Of course she did. It started out as a burst of air escaping her nose and mouth. She clapped a hand over her mouth, but then she couldn't stop shaking. She looked away, and that seemed to help for a second. But then each time she looked at him, it set her off again. Stupid. Stupid STUPID woman. What did I ever see in her? 

She continued to choke back her snorts and guffaws… and then gave up entirely. It was like watching a hyena. Her face was incapable of shutting her lips, her lungs incapable of drawing breath. She looked so stupid. 

"Oh my god. Your face!" She gasped out. Tears. Tears were streaming down her face now. She doubled over. 

"Your cute little, silly little face!" It took her a good long while to say that between gasps and bursts of laughter. 

She was pointing at him now, still doubled over and unable to breathe. 

"Oh. My. God. Your stupid little face!" And she let out another bark of laughter. 

A little guffaw escaped his lips. Why am I laughing? This isn't funny. 

"Your face is the stupid one." His voice wiggled, trying to hold back the laughter threatening to erupt out of him. His insides were aglow. 

She made another mad bark of laughter at that. She's lost the capacity for human speech. 

"You stupid, stupid woman." He took her in his arms. Why do I love this creature? He turned that stupid face up to kiss it. Full on the mouth. I just can't help it. She leaned into the kiss, the laughs morphing into something warmer. 

"Happy New Year, you silly cow." he said. She smiled up at him, mischief still glinting in her eyes. She nuzzled into him, squeezing him hard. 

"I love you too, baby". He felt those words more than he heard them. 

He just had to kiss her again. Damn the fucking passengers.