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Ten months later
Bengaluru
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Nandini's POV-
"Nandini wait! You forgot this." Shanno aunty comes running after me with a tiffin in her hand.
"Ayyo Shanno ji, what are you giving Nandini today!" Murthy uncle comes out too, sporting a harried look, his heavy south Indian accent as pronounced as ever.
"Murthy ji, aap chup rahiye." She scowls at him and turns to me with the brightest smile ever. "Nandini, today I have made puri and manchurian for you." She tells me proudly and shoves the tiffin into my hands. Murthy uncle gives me an apologetic smile from behind and I grin at him. Shanno aunty loves experimenting with food. At the moment, she is trying to perfect a variety of dishes she calls 'fusion food'. Each morning, as I leave for work, she gives me a tiffin full of her latest experiment and I take it everyday only to spare her feelings.
"Thanks, aunty." I give her my biggest smile and wave at the two of them before getting on my scooty and riding away.
Shanno aunty and her husband are my next door neighbors. We share the same surname and they had taken an instant liking to me when I moved here, to Bangalore, ten months ago. Both of them have helped me a lot since my first day here. When I turned twenty-one, I was able to access my dad's trust fund and claim the large sum of money he had left me. I had used it to build a new life for myself, here, in his hometown.
The most difficult thing about moving here had been finding a new house. For some reason, people were apprehensive to strike a deal with a 21- year old, single girl who apparently had no family.
Now that I look back, I realize they may have been more uneasy about the fact that I looked like someone who had just gotten out of a load of trouble, and would invite more, than my age or lack of family members. Their reservations were justified, really.
When I moved to Bangalore, I had been in a terrible state, both mentally and physically. All semblance of normalcy had disappeared from my life and I wasn't functioning properly. I still remember how my days and nights had morphed into endless nothingness; the thought still chills me to the bone.
After going through numerous dealers and houses, I had just been about to give up when I finally found my home.
It's a two-storey house with a small garden out front, located in an upscale neighborhood near the booming IT sector of Bangalore. The wide roads are lined by rows of houses on either side, all having a garden in the front. There is a huge playground around the corner which is almost always buzzing with the laughter and warmth of children and their mothers discussing the latest hot gossip. My house is not very huge, but it's beautiful, spacious and has some kind of an old world charm. I love it and feel proud to call it mine.
It hadn't been easy to buy the place. Just like the other places I had seen, I thought I was going to be turned away from this one too. Just as I had been about to leave, utterly dejected, Murthy uncle and aunty from next door had walked in. They had taken one look at me and felt sorry for me; I could see it in their eyes. They had chatted with me for a bit and then convinced the previous owners, who were their friends, to sell the house to me.
"But she's is a Murthy baba." Shanno aunty had said with a huge grin. "She'll fit right in."
I'm always going to be grateful to them. I couldn't have found a better place for myself. This entire locality always brims with cheer and positivity. It's exactly what I needed back then.
The people here are also very lively and electric. They like to get together for brunches and garden parties every now and then. I had got invited to tonnes of them when I first came here, everyone showing eagerness to get to know me and include me in their tight-knit community. But I had refused all the invitations, being in no fit state to interact with a bunch of strangers, no matter how sweet they were.
Eventually, as people realized that I wasn't the sort to mingle, they had started leaving me alone.
I am on the path to change that now. A path of rediscovery.
When I came here, I was only an imprint of my past self, so consumed by the grief of losing Jenny that I was living through a haze of hopelessness. It was my lowest low, with no desire left to live.
A big part of me wanted to just die and put an end to the misery.
But there was also a bigger part that thought it was my fault Jenny was dead.
That part didn't let me die.
That bigger part didn't want me to have an easy escape. It wanted me to feel all the anguish in its full force. It wanted me to suffer because I had caused the death of someone so good, so kind.
And so I had condemned myself to live. After all, there is only one hell, the one we live in now.
I told myself I deserved this hell and I couldn't have the luxury of dying.
For a long time after that, I had begun to envy people who got easy, early deaths. The lucky ones passed on early while sinners like me were doomed to life. I don't even remember my first two-three months here. I wasn't eating, sleeping or doing much of anything. I had gotten in the habit of taking long walks on the dark, lonely roads every night. I would walk and walk, aimless. Lifeless.
Now when I look back on those days, I realize its really a miracle that nothing happened to me and I survived in one piece.
One night, in a dark, deserted alleyway, everything suddenly changed.
It was almost one in the night. I had been taking one of my usual walks when I came across a child sleeping on a bench under a streetlight. There was no one else around. She must have been seven or eight and looked heavily battered. When I woke her up, she had given me a terrified look and started crying. I tried my best to talk to her and ask about her parents. But she didn't utter a single word. In the end, I had scooped her up in my arms and carried her to the nearby police station. The cops had taken one look at her and seen something I hadn't; she was a possible victim of abuse. They had called the local child welfare committee. The officials of the committee had intervened without wasting time and a probe was started into the child's family.
Just as I had been about to leave the police station, one of the guys from the committee had jogged up to me and thanked me for bringing the child to the police station.
"It's no big deal." I had told him.
"No, it really is." He had smiled at me. He had a pair of dark, thick eyebrows, a square cut jaw and very kind eyes. He must have been only a few years older than me. "You'd be surprised to know just how few people are willing to help kids like these. Most are content to post awareness messages on social media. Very few actually want to get involved." He had finished with a sad smile.
I had just stared at him, not knowing what to reply.
"I am Aryaman Khurana." He had shaken my hand with a bit too much enthusiasm. "This is my card. Our main office is only a few streets down from here. If you ever feel like helping someone again, just give me a call." He had given me his card. "You know, there are very few organizations that genuinely want to help people in trouble. Ours is one of them. We get very little help. Sometimes the situation gets really difficult. But we always pull through. Otherwise many kids will be left to suffer."
I had gone back home and thought about Aryaman Khurana's words all night. The kid's face was stamped on the insides of my head. Why had I bothered to take her to the police station?
It was the look in her eyes.
How many times had I looked in the mirror and seen the same gaunt, fearful look in my own eyes? Countless.
Something about her had resonated deep inside me. Looking into those young, troubled eyes had felt like peeping into my own younger self.
The next day, I had gone to the child welfare committee and officially signed up with them. The pay was not much, but one look around the place had told me that they were doing the kind of work that money alone could not get done. It needed heart.
Aryaman had been very pleased to see me there. He had thoroughly explained the workings of the committee to me and helped me ease right in. His amazing sense of humor and easy smiles had made it almost effortless for me to warm up to him. He had quickly become a friend, my first friend outside of Cabir and Navya.
Why shouldn't I do something meaningful with my life, I had thought. There were many unfortunate kids out there who needed saving, just like me. Jenny had been my savior, my hope, and this was an opportunity for me to become someone else's savior.
Joining the welfare committee had cleared my head a bit and given me a new purpose in life. It had also dissolved some of my guilt over Jenny's death because I now believed I was redeeming myself by doing some good in the world.
I could now save so many children from becoming a Nandini. And surely, in that process, a number of Jennys would be spared too.
A month after joining the committee, I had visited a psychiatrist. They did a psychiatric evaluation on me and after prescribing some medication, referred me to a psychologist for counseling.
Dr. Prasad, my psychologist was in his late fifties and very well renowned. It took me a few sessions to open up to him. But once I did, I talked and talked until I had told him everything. I had cried in front of him, screamed in anger, pulled at my hair like crazy, broken things, cursed and even thrown up on occasion. But he had never lost his patience with me. He helped me process my grief and channel my rage. All my pent up anger and bitterness over the years had cost me deeply. He helped me express all of it and get rid of it in the process. He asked deep, thought provoking questions that always compelled me to introspect and understand how I was feeling.
He also helped me come to terms with Jenny's death, made me understand that it was completely Singhania and Nyonika's fault that she was dead, not mine.
I told him that if I had handed over evidence against Nyonika at the start, spoken up right after witnessing the murder, maybe none of this would have happened.
He had smiled very kindly and told me that sometimes, even grown ups made wrong decisions after being in disturbing situations, while I had only been a nine year old kid who was possibly suffering from post traumatic stress disorder and so, couldn't be relied on to make the right decision. It had not been diagnosed at the time, because I was never allowed to see a doctor. But the symptoms did sound similar to how I had felt.
Eventually, Dr. Prasad had managed to convince me that none of it was my fault. I didn't have to force myself to live anymore-it was slowly starting to feel natural again and not like a punishment I had to endure.
But I suspected that the most important factor that helped me recover was Nyonika and Singhania's complete disappearance from my life. It felt like going through a detoxification process, like cleansing myself from within.
I was free. I was breathing clean, fresh air after being in stagnant water for years. The knowledge that they were locked away in jail and going to suffer for the rest of their lives brought me immense peace of mind.
After seven months of rigorous counseling and medications, I had finally started getting back to normal. I was able to let go of my bitterness and had started trying to let other people in.
After actively ignoring the Murthys next door for months, I had finally forced myself to reach out to them, about four months ago. They were the only two people in the neighborhood who hadn't completely written me off, despite my rudeness. Shanno aunty would always smile at me kindly when we came across each other on the street. I suspected this was because Murthy uncle was partial to the entire Murthy population out there and thought we could do no wrong. All Murthy children were his children, simple. Anyway, they were my best hope if I wanted to start interacting with people.
When I went over to their house one Sunday afternoon, with a batch of freshly baked muffins, they had been overjoyed, not even showing an ounce of resentment at my previous behavior. They were two of the kindest people I knew; they bickered all day, but the love between them was evident even to me. I had started growing really close to them, so much so, that it has now become a norm for me to stop by their house every morning before going to work and wish them a good morning. Shanno aunty then happily gives me a box full of food.
Of late, they have also started telling other people in the locality that I am wonderful. They didn't fail to notice how everyone else was giving me the stink eye and were making a conscious effort to get their friends to warm up to me. I don't think its working, what with the rest of them still being offended that I had refused to attend all their garden parties.
Eventually, I am going to reach out to them too. One person at a time.
I don't think even Dr. Prasad realizes just how much he has helped me. If there is ever a competition for psychologists where he is required to present his best work, he should present me.
He would win hands down.
__________________________
"Nandini, have you seen this? It's amazing! Your friends really are very talented." Aryaman looks up from his laptop and grins at me as I enter our office.
He is watching the new song of Fab 5. All five of them-Cabir, Dhruv, Alia, Mukti and the new lead singer, Madhyam Arora, who was the music company's find, look fabulous. Their song is beautiful and the new singer has done a good job. I beam at the screen in pride.
A few months ago, I would have resented the fact that Cabir was living his dream without me. But the new and improved me knows better than to hold on to any kind of negativity. She knows how to be genuinely happy for others.
This is also my new mantra-the old me vs the new me.
Whenever I find myself in a tough, uncomfortable situation, I stop and think about how the old me would have reacted to it. Then the new me proceeds to react in an exactly opposite way. So far, it's working great for me.
As I watch the five of them, all I feel is happiness and pride at what they have achieved in such a short duration of time. The video had only been released a few hours ago, but it is already trending with a huge number of likes and comments.
In my heart, I know that I have evolved as a person and for the first time in my life, I am doing something that makes me genuinely happy. I am in charge of my life. I am at peace.
Now, I can be happy for other people too, even for Alia and Mukti.
Cabir, Dhruv, Alia and Mukti had not been able to perform in Musicana finals because they didn't have a lead singer. But they hadn't given up. They had started recording their music and uploading it on their YouTube channel- Fab 5. In a short span of time, the videos had caught everyone's attention, making them online sensations. They are now hugely popular across all social media and their work has made several music labels sit up and take notice. An up and coming music label had offered them a contract of three songs. The first one has just been released online and by the looks of it, its going to be a mega hit.
Cabir, Dhruv and Navya know that I am here, working in the local children welfare committee. During my initial months, they visited me several times and begged me to come back. I told them I couldn't. The city held too many wretched memories for me. I wouldn't be easy in my mind there. I am never going back.
This is my home now.
When they realized I wasn't going to change my mind, Cabir had practically dragged me to a hospital and gotten me an appointment with a psychiatrist. Apparently, they had done some research and were convinced I needed to see a doctor. That's how I came to meet the good, old Dr. Prasad and my recovery had begun.
As Fab 5's popularity soared, Cabir and Dhruv had started finding it difficult to make frequent trips here; they are practically swamped with work, but still make it a point to check on me a couple of times every week. Pathak uncle calls me regularly as well, always telling me he's just a phone call away if I need anything. He had to pay a hefty fine to the court, after which he was cleared of all charges he had been facing due to his association with Singhania group. He now has a new, clean job and couldn't be happier about it.
Navya is a different story altogether. She has been unrelenting, still insisting on visiting me every fortnight, even though I've reassured her I am doing much better now. Her last visit was about a week ago, and I can tell she's thrilled at the progress I've made. I am sure she's gone back and reported my progress to Cabir and Dhruv too. When I talk to them, they sound relieved that I have come out of my funk.
One of our co-workers suddenly walks in with a huge file, breaking me out of my reverie.
"Our new agenda is here." Innaya, the co-worker snaps at me and Aryaman. She plops down on the chair next to me and puts her feet up on the table. Aryaman scowls at her.
She isn't so much a co-worker as a volunteer. Her father is a rich industrialist and philanthropist, who desperately wants her to make something of her life. Innaya, on the other hand, is spoilt, bratty and totally unbothered. She had finished her graduation and then, instead of finding a job or joining her dad's company, started partying her life away. Her ways were getting wilder and wilder until, one day, her father decided to put a stop to it, threatening to disown her if she didn't change. He is one of our main sponsors and a very generous one at that. So when he requested us to let his daughter volunteer for us, we hadn't been able to say no.
So, Innaya had been forced to work for us. In the two months that she has been here, she has hardly done any real work. She is irresponsible and careless. We try not to give her anything too important to do because of how likely she is to mess up.
Aryaman is always annoyed by Innaya and doesn't like her one bit. I, on the other hand, am more patient with her. The old me wouldn't have wasted a minute to blast her and put her in her place. But the new me knows how to control her temper.
There's also the fact that she has one redeeming quality after all, the one we value the most at our committee. All faults aside, Innaya is really kind to the children that we deal with. She plays with them, tells them stories and makes them feel loved and safe. Thats the only reason we haven't written her off completely and Aryaman tries not to get too irritated by her.
I pick up the file that she has so ungraciously dropped on the table and go through it. "There's a fundraiser in four weeks." I tell Aryaman. "And we have to organize an art competition for the kids after that." He nods at me while Innaya is just looking at her phone, not paying any attention to us. Our committee organizes competitive events for the kids of nearby orphanages at regular intervals of time. The purpose is to show these kids a good time and inculcate a healthy sportsman spirit in them. This is going to be my first major event and I can't wait for it to be a success.
But we have the fundraiser first!
Aryaman throws one last dirty look at Innaya as we get to work.
__________________________
"Nandini, tera hi wait kar rahi thi. Aa jaldi." Shanno aunty pulls me into her house. The Murthys had invited me to their home for dinner tonight. After getting back from work, I quickly dumped my things in the living room, freshened up and came here.
Murthy uncle is already seated at the dining table. His eyes light up when he sees me, like I am his favorite person in the world. It's really heartwarming to see the amount of love they have for me. They are family now.
"Shanno ji, aur kitna time hai?" He shouts after her impatiently.
"Bas ho gaya, Murthy ji." I pick up the glass of water and take a long sip.
"Suniye, usko bhi bulana hai kya?" He shouts with a deep scowl.
"Usko kisko?" Shanno aunty yells back.
"Arey usko." Uncle says impatiently, stressing on the second word.
"Murthy ji, aap bhi na." Shanno aunty comes out of the kitchen wearing an exasperated look. "Kya usko usko kar rahe hain! Kitna sona naam hai uska." She giggles. She giggles! "Sone munde ka sona naam."
"Who are you talking about aunty?" I ask, taking another long sip of my water.
"Our new tenant, beta. He rented the room on our terrace a few days ago and moved in just today. He's a lovely boy!" Shanno aunty says with a dreamy look. "I have made chhole for him. He'll love it." She claps her hands together and pulls out her phone to call the tenant.
"Hello, Manik beta? Dinner is ready. Tum neeche aa jao."
Clang.
I drop the glass of water I am holding. As it falls down and shatters into pieces, I feel that one name loudly echoing in my ears, over and over again.
Manik?
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