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Nisha grew weaker and weaker—day by day. She still judged singing competitions. Composed music. Ran ad campaigns to further her pet causes. But on a wheelchair. Because she didn’t have enough energy to even walk. Raj drove her to every place she wanted. And waited for her. He then drove her back.
Her day also included hospital visits. CT scans. Blood tests. On top of that there was this pressure of being treated like a celebrity, with or without rimmed glasses or caps. All of that was taking a toll on her.
Once she entered the bathroom in her own home and felt dizzy. The world started revolving around her and she toppled. Her forehead hit the side of the bathroom sink. Fortunately, Raj was nearby when he heard a dreadful THUD.
“Nisha, are you okay?” asked Raj.
“I’m hurt...” said Nisha in a very faint tone.
The door wasn’t latched from the inside. Thankfully. So Raj could enter immediately. He saw her lying on the white-tiled floor bleeding. Her forehead had a nasty cut. He immediately helped her stand, grabbing her from the waist so that she didn’t fall again and took her to the bed.
Nisha lied down with her eyes closed. Her breathing heavy.
Raj took a cotton dab and drenched it with an anti-septic liquid. He then gently rubbed the dab on the wound. Nisha moaned lightly. He then put a band-aid on the wound.
As Raj checked, the reason for the fainting was one of the side-effects of a medicine that Nisha was prescribed. The doctor had to immediately change the medicine.
The doctor recommended that Nisha should stay in the hospital. And be looked after by a professional nurse. However, Nisha chose otherwise. If dying was the only option—she chose to be with Raj. Within the comfort of her own home.
Raj made scrambled eggs on her request. He poured the creamy scrambled egg on a plate and took it to his bedroom with a spoon. The scrambled egg was easy to eat. Nisha took a portion of the scrambled egg on her spoon and put it in her mouth.
She closed her eyes in disgust. Raj was hurt.
“Is the scrambled egg so bad?” he asked.
“No. I’m sure it’s quite delicious. But my taste buds are totally gone. So everything tastes so bitter. Like quinine,” said Nisha.
Raj wasn’t sure how to react. He felt sorry for Nisha. God had taken away her taste buds. Her ability to enjoy food. What kind of a sadist, was this God? Or maybe he’d made the scrambled eggs horribly. And Nisha was way too polite to criticise.
Nisha had no energy to take care of Julia. So Raj had to take care of her. He’d made scrambled eggs and boiled sausages for Julia, but Julia simply refused to eat his scrambled eggs. Were the scrambled eggs so horrible? Or was Julia a fussy eater? He preferred the latter to be the case. Otherwise it would have been simply too much to take.
He took Julia out for evening walks and morning walks. He’d to ensure that he took as good care of Julia as Nisha would. Julia’s diet still comprised of vitamins, proteins, Ayurveda and Homeopathic medicines.
Raj gave her baths no matter how much she hated them. He sprayed perfume on her brown fur so that she smelled good.
“You promised me that you won’t let me take care of both of you. You rascal. You broke your promise,” grinned Raj.
Nisha flashed her front teeth. She didn’t have enough energy to even laugh properly.
“Good for you,” said Nisha in a faint tone.
Occasionally Raj went to the bathroom and returned with a wet face. Nisha frequently noticed that his eyes would become bloodshot red.
“Why are your eyes so red? What’s the matter?” she’d ask.
Raj replied in his standard “something got into my eye” way. And Nisha replied in her usual “Oh I see” way.
And whenever she said that, she took Raj’s hand gently and looked him in the eye. Raj felt her bony hand. The twinkle in her eyes told Raj everything.
“I know that you have been suffering alone. I wish I could make you feel better. But I’ll always try,” her eyes said.
And Raj understood.
“I still hope I can heal you with my love,” his eyes said.
It is strange how two lovers can communicate with each other without saying a word. It says a lot about the depth of the human heart.
They watched television together and all their favourite movies. Raj noticed that Nisha looked serious. She was in deep pain. Pain—which can’t be explained in human language. It could only be felt.
Nisha still tried to compose music and keep her mind focused. Raj tried to cheer her up. Their talk was always about happy memories. Raj showed album pictures of their wedding.
“This is the picture that was taken by your friend Rupa. You look stunning dressed as a bride in your red sari and golden jewellery. And I love your smile. It is so real and genuine,” said Raj.
“You too looked so handsome dressed as a bride groom. So young. I felt like I was cradle snatching. You had such an innocent look on your face,” said Nisha.
Raj showed her pictures he’d taken on his mobile phone whenever Nisha laughed.
“See. You look so angelic when you laugh,” said Raj.
Nisha saw the photo. Her mouth was open and the front teeth were visible. Her face fell.
“I look horrible. But that is because you’re a horrible photographer. I know once you took a picture of me from behind—on wide angle. I still remember you showed me the picture as if it was a masterpiece. And when I saw the picture I was horrified. To say the least. It was just a big fat bum. Nothing else. You were so bad. Seriously bad as a photographer,” grinned Nisha.
Her eyebrows fell off with time. Raj and Nisha had to find innovative ways to create artificial eyebrows. He used a black eye shadow pencil to draw eyebrows that looked like real eyebrows. He showed Nisha her face in the mirror.
“How does it look?”
Nisha was glad.
“Not too bad. I don’t think I’ll be able to recognise the eyebrows as fake. You did a good job,” said Nisha.
“I’m glad you liked it. I felt like a kid drawing a sketch with a pencil in my hand,” said Raj.
“You’ve always been a kid,” said Nisha.
Nisha then became serious.
“Raj, will you do me a favour?” asked Nisha.
“Yes,” said Raj. His face became sombre as if something bad was going to happen.
“I know you will find it difficult,” hesitated Nisha.
“Go on,” encouraged Raj.
“The world is divided into two kinds of people—the one who love the seas, and the other who love the mountains. But I’m a little hybrid of both,” said Nisha.
Raj knew what was coming. But what she said next stunned Raj:
“Before I take my last breath, I want to feel the fresh air of the mountains on my face. Consider this as my last wish—”
“Don’t you ever say a word about dying. I’ve told you that,” said Raj almost hysterically.
“Please,” said Nisha for the last time.
Raj got up from the side of the bed and moved to the balcony. He looked at the passing cars on the busy Mumbai street below. A vendor selling bananas. His mind grappled with only one question: Can he risk Nisha’s life?
He knew he could not. Nisha didn’t even have the energy to walk. She was way too ill to travel. But she wanted to. What if something happened to her? An infection on the way. A serious attack of any goddamn unpronounceable disease. What if she were to be hospitalised in a godforsaken place?
It wasn’t a risk he could take. He looked at the dark sky thundering with monsoon clouds. And he realised another interesting truth.
Nisha had always taken a risk. When she visited Hong Kong and Macau. And when she travelled to Turkey. Composed music. Judged competitions. Ran ad campaigns.
Travelling to a new place gave her a reason to live. To experience beauty. It may not have healed her physically. But it healed her spiritually. And this is what Nisha needed the most—a reason to live.
Raj was reminded of his vow. That he’d love her so much that no illness will ever harm her.
He returned to the bedroom.
Nisha looked at him.
“So what did you decide?” asked Nisha.
Raj took a pause and said:
“Yes, we will go.”
