#21Days

Once upon a time

8.40 pm

The snow looks less pretty each time it falls. Small flecks of white dust sway gently in the winter breeze creating the illusion of magic. But that's all it really is - an illusion.

I once visited Canada, to shoot an extended segment of Kahani Parvati Ki - where Kunal loses his memory, lands up in Canada and Parvati follows him all the way there, to revive his memory and bring him back. The schedule was for 20 days, in March. March weather is supposed to balmy, the perfect blend between the scorching summer and the chilly winter. But we were going to be closer to the Arctic than we'd ever been.

Yes, we'd been told to carry winter wear, jackets, thermals and the lot. And I was prepared to deal with the weather. I wasn't prepared to deal with depression. The initial excitement of playing in the snow and making snowmen soon faded, and what remained was a yearning to go back home to the coastal life.

The snow looks less pretty each time it falls. Because eventually, appearances fade away. What's left is reality.

We're still on Day 4. I've cooked Rohit's favorite Sindhi Kadhi and Koki for dinner.

The first time I tried making Koki, I almost burnt it. It tasted awful and yet Rohit ate it all up. "How could you?" I asked him, making a face, as I took a bite. "Because you tried, for my sake." That day I got a small glimpse of the depth of his love.

My phone rings. It's Rohit. I say hello but don't hear his voice. Instead, I hear the beeping of machines, and Rohit's calm and composed voice firing instructions. Lots of shuffling of footsteps. It's a pocket dial. I should hang up. But I keep the phone glued to my ears, trying to make sense of what's happening on the other end.

"Sir, the patient is flatlining." The voice sounds like Tulsi.

"Check his temperature. Check his vitals. Check the fluid level in his lungs." I could recognize that voice even in a coma. It's Rohit.

Some ruffling of paper. "The patient showed mild signs of pneumonia two days back Dr Rohit." I don't recognize that voice.

"Dr. Mehta, check if the pneumonia has progressed to ARDS. If that's the case, there is no point in any further treatment. It's a question of hours, if not minutes." The deathly calm in Rohit's voice scares me. I disconnect the call. I don't want to know any more. I make my way to the kitchen and start washing the dishes to distract myself.

I don't know how long I stand by the sink, scrubbing with all my strength. Suddenly I sense Rohit behind me. He's back. I stretch my hands to wash them under running water when I feel Rohit's hands around my waist, holding me from behind. I wipe my hands on the kitchen towel and turn, looping my arms around his neck. We stand like that for a while, before he forces himself to disentangle from me and walk back to the living room.

I follow him there, the dinner, momentarily forgotten. There's some silver peeking from behind his ears. He's aged in the last two weeks. I walk up to him and rub his arm in soothing concentric circles.

"I love you," he says abruptly. I'm surprised. I search his eyes to understand why he said that. "If something were to happen to me, I want you to know I love you. I've always loved you."

I tiptoe and place a kiss on his cheek. "I love you too Rohit." He looks at me, disbelief evident in his eyes. I feel small.

"I do." Suddenly I let go of him and walk towards the bedroom. I'm back before he can get comfortable on the couch. I have the divorce papers in my hand.

"Take these," I tell him. "Tear them, burn them, throw them, do whatever you want. I don't want them."

He doesn't take them from me. So I thrust them forcefully into his hands. He clasps my wrist and doesn't leave, his slender fingers gently retracing the lines on my palm.

Then he quietly places the papers back in my hand. "Sona, we both know what you're feeling is temporary. Today, you don't want a divorce. But tomorrow, something else will be my fault, something else will irk you, something else will prompt you to ask for a divorce. We can't live our lives like a yo-yo."

I sit down next to him. "I'm sorry Rohit. I genuinely am."

"I know," he says with a certain longing that makes me hate myself a little more. "I know you don't lie. You always say what you feel Sona. But that's what scares me. Today you're feeling sorry, but tomorrow? I don't know what to expect. I deal with enough uncertainty in my profession. I don't have it in me to deal with some more of it in my personal life as well."

He gets up and leaves, abruptly ending the conversation. I close my eyes and count backward. 100, 99, 98... I don't want to react impulsively. When I'm at 47, I feel calm enough to make my way to the kitchen to complete doing the dishes.

I lay the table, while Rohit changes into something more comfortable. As he makes his way to the dining table, he notices I've cleaned the apartment quite thoroughly. I've also cooked his favorite meal. He smiles.

"Since when did you take to cooking and cleaning?" I smack him with the tea-towel I have in my hand that I used to place the hot Kadhi on the table. "Ow, Sona, that hurts." He rubs his arms and fakes his pain. I walk up to him to kiss the spot I just smacked. He's lightning quick. Grabbing my shoulders he pins me against the wall. Then he holds my wrists and arrests my hands above my head, pinned to the wall. My breath hitches, my being unable to process the intimacy of it all. He seems oblivious.

"Tick tick one," he starts counting.

I pretend I don't understand.

"Tick tick two."

"Rohit," I plead, squirming to release myself from his hold. He increases the pressure on my wrists.

"Tick tick three." He brings his face closer to mine. I can feel his breath in my ears. It is evoking sensations I don't want to deal with right now.

"Tick tick four." I turn my head, putting as much distance as I can between our faces, while his body brushes against mine in a scandalizing manner.

"Tick tick five." I know I'm going to combust if I don't put some distance between us.

"Sorry."

Rohit looks at me, wondering if he heard right. Sorry, I mouth. I can't talk. I feel parched. He gently moves my head to face him and kisses my forehead and releases my wrists. I run to the kitchen. My heart is beating loud and erratic and I'm sure he can hear it.  I support myself near the kitchen sink, waiting for this fierce beating to subside, before grabbing the yogurt and making my way back to the living room.

Rohit is already helping himself to the Koki. I walk up to the table, scoop some yogurt into a bowl and place it near his plate. He smiles.

Another faint memory stirs. Another dinner. Rohit and I, but it feels like another lifetime.

"Parvati ji can I have an autograph please?" I signed my twelfth autograph; since the time I entered the restaurant. Rohit and I were out for dinner, celebrating our first month of togetherness. Rohit had planned this really romantic date, had made reservations at my favorite Thai restaurant and here we were. Trying to unsuccessfully converse for the last hour. Not because we didn't have anything to say to each other, but because I was constantly being interrupted for autographs and selfies.

When I finally had the sense to turn my attention to Rohit, he was missing. I spotted him standing at the balcony of the restaurant, overlooking the Arabian Sea.

"It's so beautiful and calm, isn't it?" I said to indicate my presence. He didn't turn but looped his hand over my shoulder instead to bring me closer. He looked calm and beautiful, just like the sea in front of me.

"Sorry."

"Don't be."

He turned towards me and placed a kiss on my forehead. A kiss filled with beautiful promises of  love, understanding and companionship.

I miss that comfort and ease. I look up at Rohit. He raises his eyebrows questioning the look. I shake my head and scoop some Kadhi onto my spoon. We eat together in silence. As we finish our dinner, my mother's words of advice echo in my head. Sometimes it's simply not enough to tell someone you love them. You need to show them that you love them.

Rohit has always shown his love for me. Now it was my turn.