There was something about sunrises I've always loved. Aniket and I were sitting on our balcony, drinking a cup of tea, and enjoying the tranquil silence.
I never thought it would be me who would shed a tear at the sight of the beautiful rise of the glorious sun. But to my disappointment, I cried. I always imagined that Aniket would be the softy. I've seen him cry on multiple occasions for the most childish reasons before he lost his memory. Now, he's awfully talkative, and doesn't blush as much. He seems almost confident of himself.
I like it in a way, but it puts me one edge. This is not my Aniket. My Aniket is sweeter than chocolate and more addictive than the fragrance of freshly picked orchids. He is my sunrise and sunset. My beginning and my end. The love of my life.
Now, he's confident, cocky and such a sweet talker. His eyes wander, never settling on my eyes for more than than moment. I sip my tea, and watch his behavior closely, simultaneously wiping the lone tear on my glowing cheeks.
Aniket smirks at the sight and leans forward, adjoining his hands together and spreading his legs apart arrogantly. "Is this from the pregnancy hormones too?"
"Yes, I don't cry very easily." I say, pouting at him when he lifts his eyebrow.
We sit there for a while until we hear the front door shut loudly. I jump up in shock, and blush furiously when Aniket shakes his head.
Damn this.
I run down the stairs anticipation stirring in my blood. Who could it be?
When I reach the end of the stairs, my mother has a disapproving look on her face, shaking her head at me for running.
"Sorry." I say sheepishly grinning, and placing a protective hand over my stomach.
"Krithika! How dare you kidnap my daughter from me?" Mayma yells at my devil of a mother. Mayma has her hands fisted, like she wants to punch a wall in anger.
My mother laughs in response with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "We also kidnapped your son, you know that right?"
"Oh, who cares about that idiot." She says, waving her hands towards her left absentmindedly. "I just want my daughter back."
I try not to laugh while they exchange their weird pleasantries. Aniket stomps down the stairs, and I drag him to sit beside me on the island in the kitchen.
He doesn't bother to get me a chair, so I just lift one by myself and place it in between Aniket and Mayma. My mother is standing on the other side, making some Upma for this morning.
I have that weird craving for honey at the sight of food. I swipe my tongue over my lower lip and bite it gently as the image of sweet, golden honey comes rushing into my head. I am dragged back from my delicious thoughts when Mayma asks me a question.
"What do you think Krithi? Should your Pops and I stay here until our house is built?"
"Um, sure, that's a great idea Mayma!" Mayma smiles at me and quickly gives me a side hug when my mother turns around to get the salt from the cupboard.
"Mayma?" Asks Aniket confused. He scratches the side of his neck, clearly not fitting in our conversation. Papi and Pops was no where to be seen. Probably out talking about cars. I wanted to go join them than sit here talking about nothing and everything, but I don't think my mother would approve. Especially when Mayma is here.
"Yeah. It's a nickname. I gave you one too, but I don't think it's appropriate." I say, eyeing my mother and whispering the last part while her back is still turned.
His lop-sided smile turns into a wicked smile by the time I finish responding to his simple one-word question.
"So, what's the nickname?" He asks, leaning in close as if he were going to kiss me. I lean back in the chair, putting my right hand on his chest and nodding my head sideways, signaling to Aniket that Mayma was sitting right beside me.
Aniket smirks at my embarrassment and continues to torment me by putting his hand on my waist and pulling me in along with the chair in one swift motion.
God, why is he so smooth all of a sudden? I glare at him out of the corner of my eye and shove his large hands off my tiny waist. "Hmph, Stop doing that." I growl, leaning near his ear as quietly as possible.
Meanwhile, Mayma is humming the tune of a bajan, and trying to peel onions with a rusted knife.
"You are my wife, aren't you? Then, I can touch you however and wherever I want." He hisses into my ear.
Hearing his comment, I've had enough. I would have slapped him, but since Mayma and my mother are two inches away from me, they probably would not approve. I jump off the chair, making sure to exit as dramatically as possible.
I go out to see my father and Pops sitting side by side in the driveway, on the concrete floor, slightly gasping as they try to fix the busted tire.
"Want some help, old man?" I ask, putting a hand on my father's shoulder.
"Sure, kuty. Do your magic." Papi smiles at me, and I hug him for trusting in me. After all, he was my teacher.
I purse my lips at Pops, who has his mouth open in shock as I sit down tucking in my cotton saree.
"So, how long has the air compressor been in there for?" I ask, inspecting the tire.
"For about ten minutes, we think there's some sort of metal sticking out of the bottom. You know about Indian streets." Papi says, sighing.
"Yeah." I say, turning my head to the side absentmindedly. "Where's the key?"
"Here." Papi says, pulling the keys out of his Khaki pants and placing it on my rosy hands.
"Thanks." I yell, as I open the car door and hoping onto the black seat. I jam the key into the ignition, and fire up the engines. I move the car until Papi tells me to stop, and I shove my feet onto the brakes, halting the slow roll of the tires.
I come out of the car, taking the silver key out of the ignition and slamming the door shut. I turn to face the front tire, a brownish metal was protruding out of its side.
"Pull it out, Pops." I order, turning to Pops. Pops moves a step and clutches onto the metal, pulling it out with a groan. I can hear the air rushing out, freeing itself from the contained space of the tire.
Papi covers the gaping hole with his calloused hands, effectively stopping the air by putting his weight and replacing the air with the air from the air compressor.
"Do you want the remove it? We can't plug it when it's facing sideways." I say, scratching the back of my neck and sighing. "Get the jack." I say to Papi, as I replace the hole with my small pudgy hands.
Papi runs to his truck to get the jack and a toolkit, and out of the corner of my eyes, I can see my mother and Aniket trudge down our stairs and towards me. Mayma follows them, trying to stop them from yelling at me. "That is not a woman's job!" My mother yells, marching down our front yard. "And you're pregnant! You shouldn't be doing this." She yells, her hands making weird gestures.
Papi and I ignore her, and I place the jack about a feet away from the tire. I place the lug wrench on the lug nuts and crank them to the left, loosening all six of them before moving to jack up the car.
"You know how to do this?" Aniket asks, standing beside me in his ripped jeans and white t-shirt. I don't respond to him, working on elevating the car.
He touches my shoulder, and I jerk, not expecting his touch. He doesn't remove his ice cold hands from my shoulder, and uses my support to lean towards the tire for a closer look. I can tell that my mother and my in-laws are staring holes into head by now, but I ignore it, focusing on the job at hand.
I remove the tire, and sit on the concrete floor in Indian style, crossing both my legs, and placing the tire on my lap. My mother almost shrieks when I ruin my cotton saree. I smile in satisfaction, rubbing the tire on my saree further. My mother covers her mouth with her hands to stop from yelling in despair.
My mother had her love for sarees, I had my love for mechanisms. With the toolkit beside me, I insert the tire plug with a screw driver, while Aniket gasps dramatically as I pull the plug through. He's worried for the baby, I'm guessing. When I pull the screw driver out, smirking at accomplishing my task, he sighs in relief, looking above as if he was thanking god. I glued the plug into place and checked to see if any air was escaping, placing my ear near the now plugged hole.
I then sit on my hind legs, and crank the lug nuts back into place along with the tire. The lug wrench cranks as I twist it, creaking in protest when I turn it too tight. Aniket is now standing above me, looking rejected, after I pushed him away when he tried to help me. Papi stayed far away, knowing well that I liked to do this alone. He had a proud smile on his face as he watched me fix the tire back into place, leaning on a shocked Pops' shoulder.
That'll show them. I dust my hands on my saree, effectively getting more grease on my blue cotton saree. My mother sobs into her hands, unable to cope with my mischief. Papi hands me the keys, but Aniket stops him while taking hold of my elbow. "You're not driving." I wrench my hands out of his grasp, defying him with all my strength. I place my hands on the handle when he grasps my hand again. I sigh and shoot a death glare at him, which makes him take a few steps back cautiously. I open the car and slam the door loudly, expressing all my pent up anger in the most dramatic way possible.
I drive the car back and forth to let the sealant on the tire distribute evenly. When my Papi gives me thumbs up from the outside, I get out of the car and look at my handiwork.
"How long did I take?" I ask my Papi.
"Forty minutes. Better than before." Papi says, give me a fist-bump.
I laugh at him, hugging him sideways while the my in-laws and husband look as if I just killed an dinosaur by shooting lasers out of my eyes. My mother has her hands on her hips, and walks towards me as if she wants to slap me. I glare back at her, and she halts in her step, yanking me towards the house by my elbow. Presumably, She doesn't want to make a scene in front of the nosy neighbors. I wave at one middle aged woman, who was looking at me with wide eyes. All she needed was binoculars. She would be your typical Indian nosy lady who goes around gossiping in a housewife club. I sigh as I take the stairs toward my doom.
Everyone in the family rushes back in to stop my mother from doing anything rash. Once the door closes, my mother slaps me with her cunning words. "How dare you! Do you know how many people are waiting for a child? You are irresponsible, going around doing a man's work. I should've raised you better; I should've kept you closer to me instead of letting you spend your teenage years with your father. I gave too much freedom and look where it led you! One mistake, and you could have lost your child. My grandchild! That's it. Your staying at home from now. No working, no helping, and absolutely no more freedom!"
"Ma! Don't you think that's a bit rash? I knew what I was doing. I did that thousands of times before and—
"That does not mean there weren't any risks to my child!" Aniket hollers, taking me by shoulders and placing me on the soft grey couch.
"Your child? I'm carrying the baby. Not you! I think I know what I'm doing!"
"And what's that? Overworking yourself and helping others but not yourself?" My mother asks, sitting beside me and turning me towards her.
I look at her in the eyes. "I love helping mother. I like to be free. If anyone restricts me from doing what I like, then I would happily choose abortion!" I warn.
Everyone in the room audibly gasps.
My father has never laid a hand on me before. Yet, when he slaps me across the cheek, I expect it. I deserve it. I regret it.
"I did not raise you to be a—
I stand up, not wanting to hear more. Tears sting my eyes as I walk out of the room, and rush up the stairs to my bedroom. I shouldn't have said that.
Yet I did. I was not going to hide and be a coward. I head back down the stairs.
"I love this child more than you, people. I'm the mother. If there was the smallest harm, I wouldn't have done the job. What do you expect me to be? A housewife? I spent eight long years, preparing to be a doctor. Do you know how many nights I've spent with dead people, how many hours I've spent consoling mothers who lost their child to an epidemic, how many hours I've spent trying to make a teenage mother agree to keep her child? Insurmountable. And you!" I faced my father. "You have every right to do what you did." I turned to my mother next. "But you? You should trust me more. That your daughter will always make the right choices for herself and her growing child. You should trust me more." With that, I go back to the living room and plant my behind firmly on couch, and expect a apology. From everyone except my father.
Yet, no one says anything. In an hour, everyone's mingling, except me. I sit in a corner, on a separate couch, pretending to sleep. I can hear what everyone is saying. My mother pulls my father away silently, probably warning him to not let me near anymore danger, and probably scolding him for laying a finger on me.
I smile. She had that right. I never gave that freedom, but my mother wrenched the right from me forcefully. I let her because, of course, you couldn't argue with her.
Afterwards, my mother came back with my embarrassing baby pictures. Mayma, in exchange, showed my mother Aniket's baby pictures. I couldn't take it anymore. Partly because I was being embarrassed, and secondly because I was curious to see Aniket's cuteness as a child.
"Look at this one. She looks so adorable playing with her rubber duck in the bath tub." My mother squeals. And the most embarrassing thing was, my husband was sitting beside her, looking at my pictures. I stop pretending and jump out of my seats, retrieving the scrap book in one yank.
My mother point a finger at me accusingly. "I knew you weren't sleeping."
"You can't just show him naked pictures of me." Okay, that sounded wrong. "Baby pictures." I add, blushing furiously and clutching the scrap book to my chest and hiding my face behind it.
"Relax, I've already seen everything. You have nothing to be ashamed of." Aniket says, winking at me, and lazily slouching back into the couch.
I hit him with the scrap book, earning a glare from my mother and a chuckle from Mayma and Pops. Even Papi laughs wholeheartedly.
"You idiot! You. Don't. Say. That. In. Front. Of. People." I yell, hitting him every time I uttered a word.
He pulls me in, tickling me, and I yell at him more, struggling to get out of his grasp. My feet hits the coffee table accidentally and everyone tushes around me, to see if I'm alright. "I'm fine." I say, chuckling at their cautiousness.
"Aniket pulls me in closer, and I snuggle into him, not caring that that my family was watching. Until he pinches my waist. I swallow my yelp, and glare at him for ruining the moment. Okay, that was not playful.
I sit up, getting out of his clutch. "Aniket, are you all right?" I ask him.
"Yes, I'm fine. Why are you asking?" He asks, smirking at me. I sigh, and face him. "Stop smiling. This is serious. You haven't been yourself."
"What do you mean? He looks fine to me." Mayma says, looking at her son as she sips her cup of tea.
"I can tell Mayma. I can't tell you why, but I suspect it's something to do with his head injury.
"Your behavior. It's changed. I can notice the slightest change in you Aniket."
"How? I feel fine." He says, shrugging his shoulders.
"I cannot explain it in front of them." I hiss at him. "But, trust me," I say in a normal tone, "you have something much worse."
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