13

Stepping Out—Fearfully

‘I’m not bitter. Why should I be bitter? I’m thrilled to death with life.’

—Johnny Cash

I was cancer-free! The black cloud of the disease looming ominously over my head had disappeared. And I was finally leaving the hospital and flying back to Mumbai.

Shouldn’t I have been celebrating and jumping with joy, much like Annie, my bubbly character from the 1996 film Khamoshi? The girl, delirious with joy, grabs a broom—bouncing, capering and warbling a song:

Aaj main upar,

Aasman neeche

Aaj main aage,

Zamaana hai peechhe

Tell me, O khuda

Ab main, kya karoon

Chaloon seedhi ki ulti chaloon?

Today I’m on top, the sky is below me

Today I’m in front, the world is behind me

Oh god, just tell me what I should do,

Walk in a straight line or walk backwards?

But no. It was not pure bliss that I felt. My head and heart were swirling with conflicting emotions. Nudging out the initial burst of joy were darker clouds of fear—the fear of recurrence (which was a high possibility) and the fear of restarting my life in Mumbai (which I dreaded doing alone).

The past five months had been draining—physically as well as emotionally. Did I now have the strength to rebuild, reinvent or reimagine a new me?

And what about my finances? They had been severely dented during my treatment. How would I manage? Being an independent working woman, I had never leant on my parents for financial support. How could I do so now?

I was in the bedroom of my New York home. Just before boarding the plane to Mumbai I looked at my reflection in the mirror and stared into the eyes of a stranger—so fearful, so unsure, so different. I had felt joy at my falling hair and bald head. It meant that the chemotherapy was killing my cancer cells. But the joy dissipated completely when I thought of my future.

How would I face people like this in Mumbai? They had known me as a beautiful, glamorous star with lustrous hair and confident strides. But now?

The image that stared back at me was of a frightened woman with battle scars.

To my horror, I heard a hypercritical voice in my head: ‘Haww! Kaisi thi! Aur kaisi ho gayi! (Look how she was! And look what she has become now!)’

Visibly upset, I grabbed an eyebrow pencil and pencilled out my missing eyebrows. Then I applied some eyeliner and prayed that it would create an illusion of eyelashes where there were none. For the first time, I realized how difficult it must be to fit in and look like the standard version of a woman.

The apartment was in a frenzy. My cousin was busy cleaning the apartment, while Mom was packing Dad’s and her own clothes. I needed to do something to calm myself.

I packed five months of clothes, books and medicines. I picked a red jumpsuit to wear, to denote the celebration of a new life. Its comfortable fit calmed me. But the eyes staring back from my mirror did not. Hastily I covered them with sunglasses.

All too quickly, it was time to board an early afternoon flight from La Guardia to Mumbai. As if to demonstrate the finality of this brave step we were taking as a family, all of us pulled our clothes tighter around us after seating ourselves inside the plane. My father adjusted his Dhaka topi tight, my mother snuggled deeper into the confines of her shawl and I pulled the hoodie over my head in an attempt to cover my face.

My heart was thudding. I felt sure others could hear it.

What must people be thinking of me? No, no, I don’t want to know.

I felt briefly comforted when the pilot emerged from the cockpit and greeted us warmly. He ensured that my parents and I were comfortable. I was grateful for his empathetic gesture.

But there were those stares to be dealt with—even in first class.

What if I meet someone from the film industry? What will they think of me? How will I handle it?

Suddenly I froze. My eyes locked with Hrithik Roshan’s hazel-green ones. He was sitting just one row away. With lightning speed, I averted my eyes, pretending I had not seen him. But Hrithik would not let the moment pass.

Can he read my fears?

He seemed to know what I was thinking. Leaning over, he said with complete genuineness, ‘Manisha, you are looking great. Your skin is glowing.’

Softly, I whispered, ‘Thank you!’, not really believing him, but pretending to and wanting to do so. Desperately.

I shall never forget Hrithik’s kindness. It had been my first encounter with the familiar world of glamour. I had left it as a patient and was coming back emaciated, yet cured after fighting a five-month bloody battle. I looked different. But in the warm sunshine of his acceptance, I felt some of my fears fading away.

I reclined in my seat and began concentrating on the peaceful scene outside my window. I let my thoughts fly to Mona, my financial adviser in Mumbai. She was in the process of cleaning my Mumbai home, making it ready for our arrival. She had hired a housekeeping company to completely disinfect the house. With my immune system so low, I needed a shield around me—one that would defend me against bugs, infections and toxic people.

I snapped out of my fitful sleep with the in-flight announcement. Mumbai awaited us. And so did my new life.

The all-too-familiar anxiety attack gripped me. Darkness bared its claws at me.

Emerging out into the crowd of people, I felt choked and weak. My brave mom walked strongly ahead. Hoodie on, I hid behind her, holding her arm for support. My eyes were focused on the ground. Not once did I look at anybody’s face. I did not want to see their expressions at all. I desperately wanted to reach my apartment.

Somehow, I waddled through the crowd. A huge sigh of relief escaped my lips as I got into my car and we sped home.

Feeling suffocated at being trapped inside me, Fear finally spoke out: So that was not too bad, was it?

Bravado popped out and said: Next time it’s I who will rule.

The beginning is always the hardest, I told myself. How could I dream of a better tomorrow if I remained stuck in my yesterday?

I would just have to be strong.