#21Days

Day 6

11.01 am

I officially became Sonakshi Sippy on 11 December 2017. Yes, I changed my name and no, I didn't hyphenate it to the fashionable Sonakshi Rastogi-Sippy. I have no sentimental attachment to my maiden name. After all, it belonged to my father, who abandoned me when I was twelve years old, forcing me to grow up overnight. 

Having never experienced it, I don't know what the life of a normal child feels like. What I have experienced is wet towels on my stomach, that my mother used to occasionally substitute for dinner. What I have experienced is seeing my mother cry silently when she was forced to take me out of school because she couldn't afford my fees. What I have experienced is the treacherous world of television where I've had to step cautiously to avoid being taken advantage of. I don't know what a normal childhood is. I haven't known it since I was twelve.

My cleaning mission has taken me to the topmost shelves that line our built-in closets in the bedroom. These shelves are usually reserved for extra pillows, duvets, and empty suitcases. I'm making it my mission to wash and repack every one of these pillows and duvets and dust the suitcases. There are four of them on the shelf - two black ones, one blue one and another red one. 

I've cleaned and repacked the other three but am unable to get the red one down. It seems heavy and placed in a rather odd way. Standing precariously at the edge of the stool, I stretch my hands as far as I can to grab the suitcase's topmost handle. The stool slips from under my feet and I close my eyes awaiting the impact of my fall. But I don't fall. Instead, I feel breathing against my stomach. I open my eyes to see Rohit holding me.

When I look down, I still have my arms outstretched. It's funny. Suddenly the two of us burst out laughing. It's been a while since the two of us have laughed. We used to laugh so much together. We fell in love because of that. But lately... I brush my thoughts aside and continue to laugh. I don't want to ruin this moment.

Rohit scrunches his eyes as they begin to tear up. Laughing always did that to him. He then gently puts me down.

"You're home early." In the last two weeks, I've never seen him home at this time.

"I'm tired. I thought I should sleep for a bit before going back."

My hands immediately go to his forehead. I touch them with the back of my palm to see if he is running a temperature. He's not. It must be due to a lack of sleep. I don't know how much sleep he's been getting for the past two weeks. But if I had to guess, I would say not more than four hours a day. At this rate, he's going to burnout. Yes, I know what burnout is. I've burnt out many times.

I don't realize that my hand is still on his forehead. He gently moves it away and raises his eyebrows. I know what he wants to ask. I look up and point at the red suitcase. He moves me aside, stretches his hand, and without the aid of the step-stool brings it down. There are a few advantages of marrying a tall man, after all.

As I try to wheel it to the living room, I realize it's heavy. Once there, I lay it on its back and unzip it. It is full of memories - our memories. There are concert tickets, posters, clothes, albums, photographs. I pick up our wedding album and flip it open to a random page, only to land on a picture of my mother applying tilak to Rohit's forehead, as a welcome gesture. Both of them are laughing. There is so much love in her eyes. I've rarely seen that look on her. Rohit always had a special place in her heart.

I sense Rohit standing behind me. "She was very special." I know he's talking about my mother. But I don't turn around. I don't want him to see the tears that are collecting at the edge of my eyes. Before they spill out, I brush them away. "Yes, she was. She loved you." I want Rohit to know. He doesn't say anything. Instead, I see him crouching beside me. He reaches for the album and pulls the picture out. "When the lockdown is over, we'll have this enlarged and framed. It should go on our living room wall." I turn the pages of the album and pull out another one of his mom hugging me. "This should be enlarged and framed too, for our living room wall." He gives me a quizzical glance. He knows I don't share a great relationship with his mother. I don't answer. I might have not shared a good relationship with his mother until now, but I have every intention of changing that.