#21Days

Day 5

2.30 am

I wake up with a start, sensing strange wetness on my eyebrow. The drop trickles down my cheek, bypasses my lips, misses my neck, and lands on my nightshirt. The A/C in the room shows it's set to 18 degrees and yet I feel suffocated. I throw the sheets off, swing my legs to the side of the bed and sit there, my hands cupping my head. I know I've had a nightmare but I can't seem to exactly remember what it is. The images are fading, fast. Wires, tubes, doctors, nurses, everything's just a blur. But I clearly remember what startled me. The nurse proclaiming Rohit to be dead.

I turn my head to look for him, only to find myself sleeping alone on the bed, once again. I stand up, grab my cell phone from the side table and make my way into the living room. I spot Rohit sleeping on the couch, again. He looks uncomfortable. his legs are bent at the knees, hugging his chest, scrunched up against his body. But he's safe. At least for now.

I slowly walk up to him and gently thread my fingers through his hair. He stirs. I quickly withdraw my hand, unwilling to disturb his tryst with sleep. He hasn't slept much in the last two weeks. I don't know how much longer his body will continue to support him. But I also know that when it comes to the needs of his patients, his body shows superhuman strength.

"Vimmi, where is Rohit?" I asked the house-help at Sippy Mansion. It had been over three days since I'd met my husband. Sure, we stayed in the same house. But between my awkward call times and his emergencies, juggling our work schedules, while making time for our personal lives had been one of the biggest challenges.

However, this was the first time I'd gone without seeing him for three days in a row. Earlier, I'd always managed to catch a glimpse of him, at the dining table eating breakfast, or in the verandah, talking on the phone, or in the bedroom, sleeping peacefully. Sometimes I didn't see him in person, but I would spot that wet towel carelessly thrown on the armchair in our room, the half-finished book with the bookmark jutting out, perched precariously at the edge of our nightstand, his smelly socks, that always found their way to under our bed.

"Bhaiyya hasn't come home for the last three days," she replied, stirring some milk into the boiling oats. "Three days?" I almost spat my coffee out. "And no one in this house is bothered about it?"

"Relax Parvati Bhabhi, there's nothing to worry about. He must've had an emergency at the hospital."

Vimmi was a die-hard fan of Kahani Parvati Ki or as she called it KPK. Whatever she did the entire day, she dropped it all to sit in front of the television set and watch the latest telecast of KPK at 8.00 pm. If the episode was particularly exciting, she would stay awake till 11.30 at night to watch the re-run. Vimmi refused to call me Sonakshi. To her, I was and would always be Parvati.

"Must've had an emergency? Didn't any of you bother to call Rohit to find out?" I was guilty too. It had taken three days for me to realize his absence.

Vimmi shrugged, taking the oats off the stove and replacing it with a frying pan. She then pulled out an extra-large bowl and began to whisk the eggs, gently adding flour to it as she continued to whisk. While she did that, she asked the other house-help, Hari, to start washing and slicing strawberries. Someone had asked for pancakes for breakfast.

In a mansion that housed ten people, each with their own preferences when it came to food, the kitchen resembled that of a restaurant. I finished my coffee, placed my cup in the sink, and moved out of the kitchen. With concern and guilt generously making a space for themselves in my being, my appetite had little room.