#21Days

Day 4

12.12 am

No, I haven't missed Day 3. It was another uneventful day. Was. It's past midnight now. We're officially on Day 4. And it's been over 24 hours since I've seen Rohit. 27 hours to be precise. I know he's okay. I would know if he wasn't. Like the time I felt it in my bones that he'd had an accident. I didn't know what that feeling of restlessness was then. I will now.

That was over a year ago, the worst phase of my adult life and the start of my marital decline. Within one month, I'd lost my mother and was on the verge of losing my husband.

No. My mom's death wasn't unusual. We'd expected it. When Rohit had operated on her, he'd clearly indicated she may live for another 6 months. She'd outdone Rohit's prediction and lived for a good year longer and died peacefully in her sleep. At least death had been kind to her. Life had given her more than her fair share of trials and tribulations.

My Mom was my rock. Throughout our ups and downs, we had each other. She was also the sane voice in my head that kept me from going astray. I still remember the first time I came home drunk after a late-night party. I knew it. She knew it.

"Sona," she'd said the next day morning as she handed me a glass of water and two tablets of aspirin. "Never ignore the day after, for the sake of tomorrow."

Hangovers, headaches, and maternal advice didn't go well together. I snapped at her. The next minute, I was emptying my guts into the toilet bowl. I'd managed to sleep through the night. But my system was revolting now.

She gently caressed my head, even as she held on to my hair when I threw up. After, she handed me a glass of lukewarm water and gently massaged my scalp as I drowned it. "Sleep," she said, no trace of anger or despair evident in her behavior. "You still have another five hours before your call time."

All through the shoot that day I wondered what my mother was all about. She hadn't screamed, yelled, or thrown a tantrum. I dismissed the incident. But I couldn't dismiss how it all made me feel. I didn't party that night, or ever again. Somehow, the image of my mother holding my head over the toilet bowl never left me and I vowed never to give her another such opportunity.

My mother adored Rohit. The two of them got along splendidly. To be honest I was always a teeny bit jealous of them. I didn't share such a warm and cordial relationship with Rohit's mother. Frankly, I didn't share any sort of relationship with his Mom.

Mrs. Sippy, that's what I called her. And she never corrected me. Mrs. Sippy. I always wondered how a warm, affectionate person like Rohit had Mrs. Sippy for a mother. Then again, I've always wondered how a calm, collected and level-headed person like my Mom had an impulsive girl for a daughter.

*****

2.40 am

The sound of the doorknob twisting suddenly wakes me up. I glance at the luminescent digital alarm clock attached to the Bluetooth speaker in our living room. As my eyes adjust to the lack of light, I see Rohit tiptoeing towards the kitchen. I get up and turn the lights on.

"Hi." He looks at me. I can sense some hesitancy. He's thinking about what he should say next. "I'm sorry I disturbed you." The hesitancy is still there. He's not saying what he wants to. I sigh and ask him to go change while I make my way into the kitchen to heat up his meal. I'm not sure what you call a meal you eat at 3 am.

By the time I bring the plate with food out, Rohit's already waiting at the dining table. I place the plate in front of him and go back to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. As I make my way back, I hear him cough.

I rush to him and place the glass near his lips, coaxing him to drink. As he grabs hold of the glass, I take the opportunity to pat his head and shoulders to help the cough subside.