There was nothing different about the afternoon at the Old Age Home. The sun- the winter sun- shone brightly over the sky. And on the splendid yards beneath, there grew an abundance of cornflowers. While it was a hassle for the gardener who was employed on the grounds; to the viewers, it looked both pleasant and beautiful. The cats seemed to agree with it as quite a few of the tabbies from the Old-age Home lay against the warm weeds, sprawling in the sun.
The fleas jumped up and down their bellies and only occasionally would a cat sit up and rub its' belly. The residents were engaged in various activities, most of these taking place outside now. The regular carom table had been brought outside and had managed to engage two Bengali gentlemen in a fierce debate with each other about who had scored a goal and who hadn't.
Next to them, were some of the young residents. One of them had a guitar with him, but it lay beside him unused while the owner tinkered with a notebook instead. The Old Age Home had decided to start a 'Warm Drinks Bar' after much success of their 'Cold Drinks Bar' in the summer. And while in summer they'd served non-alcoholic beverages ranging from ice-cold water, lemonades to carbonated drinks and the occasional iced teas and cold coffee.
The cold season favoured drinks like coffee and tea with ginger in them in order to ensure that none of the seniors caught a cold. When one of the seniors caught a cold, Mrs. Matthew would shake her head. The virulent nature of the flu would only ensure that all the residents one-by-one fell caught a cold as well. While the seniors liked to chuckle at Mrs. Matthew's worries, she would remind them that they were old, their immune systems were already compromised. It didn't take much for a cold to trigger something worse.
For all her grumpiness, Mrs. Matthews was wonderfully kind and all of the residents loved her for it. As did both Shweta and Vaibhav. Even long after Shweta had decided to stop volunteering, Mrs. Matthew always ensured that she felt welcomed enough to be a part of their Sunshine Village as she was used to calling it. And Shweta gladly accepted the invite because she had begun feeling lonely and the old age home and Bhavya did a lot to keep her loneliness away.
And much like any other day- there was nothing really special about the afternoon as well. The sun was perfectly in place as it always had been. The trees were stationed where they always had been and there was the familiar smell of cleaning fluid rubbed all over the floor of the area. It would only be a while before Bhavya trudged up in front of her. He had begun limping these days and would only return to his wheelchair when his feet really started hurting.
He had been painting a lot more as well. And by the time summer rolled around, Bhavya had plans to return home as well.
The only slightly different thing about the afternoon was that today in an airport miles away from where Shweta was, Vaibhav would be boarding a plane to Melbourne. He would probably send her a message when he'd reached and then well, who was to say what would happen next? It had been an understanding between them that they'd consider themselves broken up the day he left.
And for Shweta; it seemed like all of the unease she'd been feeling from when she met him was finally giving way to feel the one thing that she'd been so afraid of feeling. And now she would have to work her way through it. Shweta's own phone was bombarded with messages from her friends- and in the evening she had a coffee date with Riddhi.
Riddhi had managed to fly back home on the pretext of saying goodbye to Vaibhav but had stayed back because she knew how much Shweta needed her. While Shweta hadn't really said much, she'd been really working around to keep herself occupied. Shruti found herself being relieved of her kitchen duties more often than not, with Shweta being more than willing to cook all sorts of meals. She seemed to be willing to do anything; as long as it kept her mind off him.
And Shruti had been quiet about the fiasco with Vaibhav ever since it had caused her to argue with Shweta. And as she went back and thought about it, Shruti realized that she had said some things that hadn't been very nice as well. She had taken an argument more for Vaibhav than for Shweta and while at the time she had been trying to rationalize, it would've perhaps been kinder of her to have taken Shweta's side.
But sides, you take on a battlefield. But when two people who really love each other simply decide that it is for each other's best that they don't see each other, what do you do?
***
It was almost close to the afternoon when Bhavya had slipped away for his art lessons. He had been taking some classes, teaching some of the senior residents painting. And it had been strangely therapeutic for both Bhavya and the seniors. Usually, Shweta would've joined him but today she wasn't really feeling much like it. She didn't want to check her phone because really, what was there to say? What could be said other than the fact that she was afraid of all the emotions that she would feel when his contact number popped up on the screen? That she couldn't anymore; feel his presence like she had grown so accustomed to? Likely, ever.
Did she know anyone who had felt the same emotions as she now did? Someone who had loved so much that the thought of not loving the person anymore made it difficult to breathe?
It surprises Shweta a little that it had taken her so much time to think of the person. And then, she presses the number. And then, after a brief conversation, Shweta heads up to the empty balcony overlooking the main road. She really cannot do anything but cry, now.
It takes almost an hour before the familiar vision of a silver Chevrolet pulls up into Shweta's line of vision. She's cried herself out but when that familiar image pops up, she cannot help but cry again. Its' both comforting and soothing to see her mother emerge from the car, her no-nonsense magenta sari, draped over her. Shweta grabs her little purse and hurries towards the exit before anyone sees her and begins greeting her mother. The last thing she wants is for people to catch her with her eyes as red and as puffy as they are now.
"Oh, Shweta," Seema says, as she sees Shweta's eyes all swollen and puffy. She wasn't even trying to hide the fact that she had cried. This had been one of the things Seema had been most afraid of ever since she'd heard her daughter giggle and fall in love in high school. The falling out of love would break her heart; Seema had known that she would be the one who would have to restore her daughter's strength back to her.
"Can we go home, maa?" Shweta asks, her eyes pooling with tears again. God, all she ever seemed to be doing lately was crying over a guy. And crying over a guy. Where all her feminism went to die, she wondered.
"But do you want to go home, Shweta?" Seema asks.
"I don't." Shweta says, "I don't think I'd want to go anywhere."
"It's' going to be okay, Shweta," Seema says, mussing her daughter's hair gently. "You're going to be okay."
"Will I though, maa? I think you've been saying that to me since the beginning of my drop year." Shweta says, openly sobbing now. Her tears are streaming down her eyes, hot stinging tears that taste salty as they fall on her lips. "God, maa. I feel like such a failure maa! I'm so sorry, so sorry for what I've become."
"Oh, Shweta, no," Seema says, but her daughter is leaning against the car as if her legs cannot support anymore. Clutching her heart, as though it were physically hurting her- and Seema knew it was.
"No, maa." She says. Holding her purse close to her face and the stream of tears that just won't stop. "I don't know what I want to do with my life. I don't have Vaibhav anymore. I don't, I don't know who I am. I'm sorry, maa. You tried to stop all of this from happening. I'm really sorry I didn't listen to you."
While the last statement was everything that any Indian mother would want to hear, Seema remembers the conversation she had had with her own mother, ages ago. "No, Shweta," Seema says, gently lowering herself to where her daughter was crouching. "When I tried to warn you- I didn't mean that this should never happen to you. What I meant was that one day this would happen to you, and I hoped then that I had packed enough strength in your little heart to get you through this."
"Maa," Shweta says, looking at her mother. "I don't think I have enough strength to get through this. And I feel worse about that! You were married to papa and you emerged out so strong like you are today. And here I am, crumbling to pieces because of a break-up."
"I wasn't always strong," Seema says, pulling Shweta up so that she could pull her daughter into a hug and keep her there. Shweta complies, allowing herself to lean against her mother- somehow feeling much safer there.
"I wasn't always strong," Seema says, "I didn't feel like I could keep moving on. But I did because I had you and Shruti. And every day that I did move on a little, things became easier. Bit by bit."
"Maa," Shweta says, "I just feel so stupid. Maybe if I hadn't fallen in love- then I would've been someone much happier and stronger, don't you think? Or you know I fell in love, so, so hard only for this to happen. This heartbreak. What proof do we even have that love exists? Maa, I know you don't believe in love. I can see why."
"That's not entirely true, Shweta," Seema says, looking back at what she'd said in angry haste to both her girls some years ago. But with the understanding that her own mother had given her- and the experiences that had followed Seema's personal life, "Love does exist." Seema says firmly. "But so does heartbreak. And these two are not mutually exclusive of each other. You live in a universe where both exist."
"That's-..." Shweta says, letting her mother's words sink in. Love exists. But so does heartbreak. "That's very helpful." She says.
"I know," Seema says, placing a kiss on her daughter's temple.
"But maa-" Shweta says, after a while. "How do I start being okay?"
"By accepting that you're not okay." Seema answers.
"I don't want to be dramatic, maa." Shweta says, "But I feel kind of empty. I know I still have you and Shruti and my friends. But I do feel a lot empty."
"That's alright." Seema says, "He was a big part of your life. Big enough for you to cause a pregnancy scare in high school. But the emptiness, Shweta. People aren't meant to fill in. You need to fill that. And that is going to be difficult because you'll have to face the emptiness every day when you fill it up bit-by-bit."
Shweta laughs at the mention of the pregnancy scare. She had almost forgotten about it. "I'm sorry I gave you such a hard time in school, maa."
"You wouldn't be my daughter if you weren't such a hothead," Seema chuckles.
"Do you think I'll be okay, someday?" Shweta asks.
"Yes, my love." Seema says, "I think you'll be very okay, someday."
A/n: Now we've just got the epilogue left!