"Where's the little dasi? Tell her the queen is back!" Shruti exclaims dramatically as she enters the house, their mother behind her.
"She's probably asleep, Shruti. Must you be so loud at four in the morning?" Seema asks with a bit of irritation as she lugs the suitcase into the house. She had left very early in the morning to get Shruti from the airport. She hadn't disturbed Shweta and had locked the door, rather grumpy at having her morning slumber ruined.
"Well, I was expecting a celebration," Shruti says, mock-pouting and Seema rolls her eyes. "You have become more theatrical and dramatic with time. What happened to my sensible, dependable Shruti?"
"Oh, she's here in one of my pockets." Shruti says, carelessly as she bounds up the staircase before turning back and saying, "Maa, leave my suitcases and catch up on your sleep. I'll sort it out."
Seema shakes her head as she sees Shruti's fading back. She's very grateful that Shruti's hair is now a very normal shade of black and not a bizarre color. Seema had been rather afraid at the airport, scenarios of a bald Shruti with an orange scalp passing through her drowsy mind.
As Shruti climbs up the staircase, the change within her is noticeable. She is no longer the sad, tortured twenty-one-year-old she had once been. The serious lines that framed her young face are still there, but the confidence in her eyes makes up for it. Her mouth that once had hard lines from pressing in a secret is lighter; it's has known that release sometimes comes in the form of people far removed from the secret. She is brighter, more charming, and effusive than she has ever been.
She's strong and decisive and when she walks, you know that this is a young woman who knows that there is nothing wrong with being confident. Men have always been intimidated by Shruti, her classmates have long forgotten the girl who walked on a tightrope, precariously avoiding arguments. She has become a woman who knows the importance of standing her ground, of not backing off when she's right. And if a few people were butthurt by her, Shruti knows now, their insecurities are not hers to deal with.
Shruti pauses at Shweta's door, glancing at the clock in the dimly lit hall. She didn't want to disturb Shweta but she was so desperate to have a nice, long conversation with her sister. Phone calls simply didn't simply give her the satisfaction of in-person heart-to-hearts. Absent-mindedly, Shruti thumbs the ring that she's woven in a necklace around her neck. She had planned to remove it before coming home but she'd forgotten it. In the wee hours of the morning, Seema's eyes had been aching for sleep and had not noticed the promise her daughter seemed to have made to a man. A small, delicate white gold ring with two thin elegant bands, in the middle of which was seated a dazzling, dark blue sapphire.
A gemstone ring that when Ashish had seen had made him sigh; the blue latching onto his soul and the depth reminding him of someone he couldn't quite put his finger on. Then, as fate would have it, his phone had rung. A smiling Shruti in all of her bubble-gum pink-haired glory calling him.
That was when he had known; with certainty that still stunned him; someday her name on his phone would change to something else; sweeter, scarier, and still serene. Ashish was a practical fellow and as financially prudent as he was, he found himself withdrawing a good fraction of his money to buy the ring. What both Shruti and Ashish didn't know was that he would replace the sapphire with a three-carat diamond someday; after she'd shocked him by going down on her knee and asking him to marry her.
Shruti gives three hard raps on Shweta's door to wake her up and then enters. A groggy Shweta, her throat dry and unused gets up, rubbing her eyes. In the darkness of the room; her vision still blurry, she asks, "Maa? Are you leaving for the airport now?"
"It's morning, silly. And it's Shruti." Her sister replies, switching on the tube light. The bright LED sends forth the exact amount of brightness as promised in its advertisement, causing Shweta to rub her eyes violently.
"Oh, my god. My eyes!" She wails and then adds, "Oh, my god. Shruti!"
"That is right," Shruti says, looking very pleased. "I am your God and everybody else's."
"Oh, shut up. I didn't think it was possible for your jokes to get lamer." Shweta groans, getting up from her bed to greet her sister.
But Shruti recoils faster than Severus Snape would when faced with a shampoo. "Brush your teeth. Use a mouthwash. You know you get morning breath."
Shweta looks at her sister unable to believe her eyes. Grumbling, she hurries to the bathroom and grabs the blue bottle of Listerine sitting on her cabinet. Trust Shruti to never walk on eggshells around her. When she walks back into her room, Shruti is already whispering on her phone.
"Listen na, babe. I just reached home and I'll call you later, okay." Shweta can make her sister whisper the words and she smirks at her.
Shruti notices her and blushes, cutting the call and folding her arms in a defensive stance, and asking, "What?"
"Nothing. Nothing." Shweta says, raising her hands in surrender.
Shruti narrows her eyes and when Shweta doesn't flinch, she gives up.
"You're a good little wife, aren't you?" Shweta asks, her jaw twitching to break into a laugh. Shruti's eyes widen at the comment and grabbing a pillow she throws it with all the force in her five-foot-one-inch body. Shweta ducks, laughing now, and further teases her.
"No, really. I mean calling him babe and blushing. Your honeymoon phase never got over it seems." Shweta squeals, climbing on the bed as a murderous Shruti tries to hit her with the pillow.
"I. am. not. his. wife." She huffs and she lunges forward to hit Shweta but misses her and lands face-first on the bed. Before she can get up, Shweta crashes on top of her like a referee during the wrestling match.
"Yield!" She yells as Shruti struggles beneath her.
"I can't breathe." Shruti screams, "My spine is breaking. Call an ambulance. Get me a doctor!"
But Shweta, well versed in her sibling's theatrics knows that this is merely a ploy to win the fight. "Yield!" She screams and Seema comes running to the door, looking furious.
"Shweta! Get off your sister. And Shruti, I told you not to wake her up! For god's sake, what will the neighbors think? When will you grow up?" She yells and Shweta obediently slides off her sister's back. After a verbal lashing from Seema, the girls are both subdued and when their mother leaves, Shweta quietly locks the door.
"All your fault." She pouts at Shruti who just gives a shrug. "You were born faulty." She retorts.
"Hey, you want to see the ring?" Shruti asks after a while and Shweta's eyes widen. "You have it now?" She asks, stupidly.
"Here," Shruti says, holding the ring forth from her neck. "Wait, I'll open it and then you can examine it."
Shweta moves forward excitedly and after a moment's worth of oohing and aah-ing at the ring, Shruti slides it on her ring finger.
"It fits perfectly." Shweta sighs. "Did he put it on your finger?" She asks.
"He didn't. He gave me the box to keep it in. But when I was leaving, I wanted him to see it on me. But you know, I'm not ready to get married and all so wearing it on the ring finger was a huge no-no." Shruti smiles, carefully removing the ring and hunting for the tiny velvet box it had come in.
"Did he see it?" Shweta asks and Shruti's broad smile is a confirmation that he had. And that he had liked it very much.
The rest of the morning goes by in exchanging news and Shruti tactfully avoids asking Shweta about what had been bothering her that day on the phone. Shweta for her part is glad and gives Shruti a little rundown of her encounter with Bhavya at the center. Shruti laughs at the story and grimaces when she hears that Seema had enrolled them in the yoga class.
She's very excited about her possible employment in Belgium and how all of the paperwork seemed to be moving smoothly along. By and by, Shruti gets drowsy and in the middle of Shweta's recount of how a girl had accidentally flashed the entire class during the farewell, she realizes her sister has nodded off to sleep.
She is however wide awake and sighing, she grabs her phone and switches it on. She'd switched it off the previous night before going to bed and she wonders if Vaibhav had sent any message at all. If she were right, they'd be at the homestay right now. Would there be an internet connection there? Was he doing okay?
Her screen lit up to reveal a black and white image of Yoko Ono with the seemingly ominous quote about art demanding creation, the lack of which would reduce man to insanity. Shweta was not an artist but the darkness of the words had struck her because it was not instantly evident. Or because she had been feeling moodier and gloomier the past few months. There isn't any message from Vaibhav, some memes from Aditya, and finally a short text from Riddhi.
I miss yoy too. Shweta feels a brief irritation when she sees the message. Was that all Shweta deserved? A misspelled response from a callous best friend? Or was the better word overworked?
Sighing, she closes her phone. There was nothing to look at and she turns to look at her sleeping sister. Her hair is now very black and Shweta muffles a laugh as she remembers how shocked Seema had been when Shruti had returned home with pink hair. Her sister's eyelashes are still coated with mascara, the lashes sitting in perfect curls. Shruti's lashes had always been long unlike Shweta and Seema's. The two of them had straight, short lashes that ended just as briefly as it started.
Then almost like an electric jolt, a memory comes back to her- one that she wasn't even aware she had. A firing of her neurons and synapses in a direction that had sat untouched for so long that she was surprised that the path still existed on her Memory lane. Memories of clumsy little fingers, tracing the lines of her father's face with curiosity.
The inquisitive fingers, mapping the lines of his wrinkles, almost poking his eyes as she carefully took one little eyelash after another. Learning to remember every inch of his face. The memory seemed so foreign that it felt as though it belonged to someone else and not her. A whole different world with a myriad of possibilities; all of which sat in a direction opposite to where her life was headed now. And just like that, her mind goes back to the image of her father and the toddler.
The blog- what was it about?
Shweta can feel the tendrils of curiosity coming around her. He lives with his wife and children in Tamil Nadu. Was it really the same person? Could it be a look-alike? But the name had been the same with the tell-tale Dr situated in front of it. And the eyes, so identical to Shruti's and so very green. What would Shruti do if she found out?
Shweta looks over at her sister and wonders what her reaction would be like. Would it be a relief to know he was alive? Anger at having started a new family without them?
What would her mother's reaction be like? Would Seema be hurt? Or had she already made peace-really, truly like she'd said- with his absence? For over sixteen years of absence and he had still been alive- why hadn't he reached out even once? Hadn't thought of sending so much as a hello-I'm-alive? Would it have mattered to her family to know that he was alive? Shweta wasn't sure what she felt about it either. Was it relief? It had been a shock but once that had faded away, there was only a vague nothing-ness surrounding a little bit of curiosity. Like how you might want to stalk a classmate who changed schools in second grade on Instagram- simply to see what they're up to.
It wasn't love; it wasn't spite. She was just curious- and sometimes in life, that is enough.
A/n: I can't stress the last line enough! It's gotten me through so much. You don't have to feel hopeful about your future at all times, and when you don't it's okay to just be curious!
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