#21Days

Hope

6.00 am

I'm brewing my morning cup of coffee. Just one. It will be a while before Rohit gets up. That is if his phone doesn't interrupt him.

It was 5 in the morning by the time Rohit and I made our way back home. He promptly changed and went off to sleep. Try as I might, I couldn't. I tossed and turned for forty-five minutes and then got up to get on with my day. I have a lot to get through today. And I'm not sure why. People are getting bored during the quarantine and here, all of a sudden, I don't have enough time in my day. How did that happen?

I stop to process all that. I just called this house home. It's finally beginning to feel like one. In our two and a half years of knowing each other, this is the most amount of time Rohit and I have spent together.

I pick up my cup and make my way to the living room. I have a funny feeling I'll need a lot more of it than my regular dose to get me through today.

I look outside the giant windows, gazing at the tall concrete structure that's blocking the view of the sunrise. The bright light shines around it, giving it a sort of glow. It's beautiful. I've always been a morning person. The orange hues emanating from the first rays of the sun have always had a calming effect on me. But today I'm unable to focus on them. My mind is a jumble of thoughts. I'm thinking about all that has transpired in the world in the last three weeks. I'm thinking about all that has transpired between Rohit and me within that same time. Have things changed? Is there hope?

"Sona, there's always hope." Another faint memory. For some reason completely unknown to me, I'm thinking about my father today. The man who abandoned us to fate and fled the ship. Did he really? That's one question we never got an answer to. Just one fine day, he never came back home. 

I remember my Mom that evening. She slept on the chair in our living room, waiting for him to walk through the door any minute. The next day, she walked 10 kilometers, from our house to his office in the hopes that she would spot something on the roads, an indication as to what had happened. She'd taken his picture along asking people on the way if they saw this man in the area's vicinity. She had climbed six flights of stairs to reach his office only to be told that he'd not been showing up at work for over a week. She'd visited the police station to seek help and continued visiting, covering her shoulders with her sari, and tugging it closer, as the lecherous eyes of the others roamed freely towards her. She'd been told her husband wasn't important, that he must have abandoned her and run away with his mistress, that she should stop bothering with her visits because they had more pressing matters to deal with. She'd been ignored and belittled. As hope waned, and reality sunk in, I assumed she forgot she ever had a husband. I was wrong. On my wedding day, I saw her fondly gazing at her wedding picture.

"Mom." I hugged her. I knew she was getting emotional but I was also upset that she was remembering the one person who was responsible for everything that we'd been through. She hugged me as she wiped her tears. "Sona, never judge someone else based on your circumstances. I don't know why your father did what he did. And I'm not saying life wasn't difficult. But I also don't know what happened to him. I don't know if he's dead or alive." She paused. And I waited. Waited to hear from her how broken she was because of that man. But what she said next surprised me. "Sona, I still have hope that someday I'll get answers to all my questions."

I knew how difficult it was for her to admit all this to me. Despite the abandonment, she'd never spoken ill of my father. She'd wanted me to respect him and if possible, love him. Sadly she didn't realize that both love and respect needed to be earned. 

*****

11.10 am

Rohit's just woken up. After six hours of uninterrupted sleep. This is the longest he's slept since the lockdown began. I'm in the kitchen making Rajma Chawal for lunch. It's my go-to comfort food. Mom made amazing Rajma Chawal. I'm missing her today.