#21Days

Day 2

12.07 am

It's a little past midnight. I'm having my third cup of coffee waiting for Rohit to come home. I shouldn't be. Six months ago, when I told him I wanted a divorce, I also told him it didn't matter to me whether he lived or died. I didn't think my emotions spewed in a moment of heated argument would be put to test so soon.

Yes, I was the one who asked for the divorce. And like a good husband, he agreed to grant my wish. Did I expect him to fight me, to beg for another chance? I hear my alter-ego laugh. "Who're you fooling Sonakshi?" it asks. Unknown to me tears stream down my cheek. I try to will my mind to stop them but it seems I've lost my will.  "I just want him to love me, unconditionally," I whisper. In another part of my brain, faint words spoken by my mother chose to remind me of their existence. "Rohit loves you, Sona, loves you unconditionally. Just not the way you want him to."

Kahani Parvati Ki had ended a year ago. That's when trouble in paradise began. It's difficult to be a superstar. It's even more difficult to deal with the fallout. Stardom comes at a price, odd work hours, strict diets, limited exposure to the real world, and lots of self-indulgence. When all that is taken away, coping with life becomes challenging. 

The initial days of staying at home were blissful. A welcome break. Having shot non-stop 12 hours a day, for five years, I enjoyed going to bed and getting up when I pleased, eating what I wanted, wearing things that fancied me. The novelty, however, wore off within a month. I wanted to get back to work. 

Nobody said the world of television was fair. Parvati was iconic. And that same iconic Parvati was making it difficult for the public to accept me, Sonakshi, in a different role. They loved me as Parvati, they revered me as Parvati, but when I made my appearance on the small screen as Jahnvi, a woman cop who uses filthy language and takes on Mumbai's underworld, the TRP's tanked. TRP's determine the life of a television show. A couple of misses and very soon I was placed on the shelf. Producers assured me that it was simply a matter of two to three years. Public memory was short-lived. But my entry back into the Indian television industry was dependent on erasing the memory of Parvati from the viewer's minds. 

I look at my watch again. 12.15 am. It's not that I haven't tried sleeping. In the last two hours, I've tossed and turned on the uncomfortable fold-out couch, had a drink of water, a bite of the loaded french fries, and switched through six movies on Netflix, each of which I watched for precisely 15 minutes. I stare at the same page in a book for a good 10 minutes before I give up pretending to myself. I'm thinking about Rohit. No, I'm worried about him. How could I not? 

He is risking his life every day at work, attending to COVID-19 patients. I can't help but worry that somehow he's going to get affected too. I'm not a doctor and I don't know if I even begin to understand the repercussions of this new strain of the imported virus. In India, anything that is imported is believed to be of superior quality. If that same logic were to apply to this virus, I know it's going to be an uphill battle.

I walk up to the huge window that overlooks the apartment's living room and stare outside. The city that never slept is deserted, not a soul in sight. I sigh, hugging myself and rubbing my arms to rid myself of the eerie feeling this sight gives me. I close my eyes for a moment and then open them, turning quickly before I get drawn once again into the image of this once-bustling but now a ghostly city. 

I make my way into the kitchen, turning on the kettle and scooping some instant coffee into a mug. The mug makes me smile. A new beginning awaits you, it reads. I pour hot water into my mug and make my way back to the window. Bright yellow light from the opposite building commands my attention. The emergency ward of the Sukhmani Sippy Hospital, which I can see from our living room. I sense a shadow moving around that floor and choose to believe it's Rohit. I also know it's wishful thinking.