part0010

“What?” Avi muttered as he settled deeper in the couch. He aimed the remote at the TV and the sound of cricket fans cheering loudly at yet another Kohli boundary rose up. A lot. “What did you say?”

Meher released a frustrated breath. She considered marching up to Avi, ripping the remote away from his hands and giving him yet another lecture. But what was the point? He would give her a goofy grin, with that sheepish twinkle in his eyes and say sorry, mana ivi I’ll get it now and she would melt.

She always melted and forgave Avi.

Love made fools out of people, Meher thought angrily.

She counted to ten, like the deep breathing meditation video she’d seen last night and felt a little calmer.

Meher painted an exposed part of her nose with the green French clay mask that was supposed to have the anti-aging and anti-fatigue benefits. She took care to leave the area around her cute nose-ring unattended. She’d read somewhere that diamonds eventually lose their shine if exposed to mud and clay.

When she was done she walked over to the couch and sat down next to Avi.

He shot her a loving smile. The man was a nutcase like that. He always smiled at her when he saw her. It was a one-second smile, and then he’d go back to watching the stupid cricket or working on his laptop or conducting a work call but he never failed to recognize her presence.

It was like he was genuinely happy to see her.

Which made no sense because they had been together for so long, she couldn’t remember a time when Avi wasn’t part of her life, her head. Her heart. Her very pores. Some days, she woke up smelling of him – a peculiar scent of shampoo, cologne and the detergent she ended up buying when she did the monthly grocery shopping.

Avi’s smile turned into a full-out wicked grin. She could see a little bit of the chicken skin they’d had for lunch stuck in his teeth.

“What is that on your face?” He was so amused. “You look scary.”

“You have chicken on your teeth,” she retorted. “Pot calling kettle black.”

“Oh, please.” Avi snaked an arm around her waist and pulled her close for a cuddle. He nuzzled her neck and breathed deep of the clay. “You’re fair and lovely. You can’t be black if you tried, manaivi .”

Meher shot him a droll look. “Do you have to call me that in the group? It’s so freaking embarrassing.”

“It’s the truth, isn’t it?”

He nuzzled her neck again, giving her a little open-mouthed kiss right in that spot she loved. “You are my manaivi . We have a marriage certificate and photos on Facebook as witnesses.”

“Can you please be serious for one minute?” Meher shoved Avi’s arm away, before he could distract her with his cute double meanings. “And did you buy the milk? You went down to wash the bike, didn’t you? You said you’d bring some when you came back.”

Avi played with her hair, twisting the curling ends of it around his fingers. She had a lot of hair, it was waist-length, so he could do it even though they were sitting apart.

“Sorry,” he began sheepishly. “I was going to get the milk, I swear it. But then I met Mehta uncle downstairs and we started talking about today’s match and I totally forgot about it.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll get it during the innings break. Okay?”

“It’s not okay.”

Meher snapped the TV off and threw the remote on the floor.

Avi’s eyes widened. “Hey! That is an expensive remote, you know. And those are NiFe cells, not your regular Duracell batteries.” He was already on the floor, picking up the precious remote.

“Can you please be careful with it?” He muttered.

He wore orange shorts and a faded tee shirt with holes on the neck, as if he wasn’t a responsible house owner but a college boy relaxing on a Sunday. His tee shirt actually read Calm Down, Machaa!

And right now she could kill him for being so careless.

“Like you’re careful about following my instructions?” she asked him acidly.

Avi shrugged. “I said I’m sorry, right? And what’s the big deal anyway, Meher? It’s just milk. Do we not have enough milk right now for coffee? I know we do. I was the one who woke up at six when the doodhwala bhaiya rang the doorbell. Because my wife was too lazy to get up.”

“It’s not about that. And don’t make it about that,” Meher snapped back, peeved. “You know Sundays are the only day I get to sleep in a little. With all the extra activities at college even waking up at five am isn’t early enough. Don’t you dare make me feel guilty for wanting a little rest.”

“Where did you get that idea now?”

“You just said it, Avi. You said I was too lazy to get up,” she shrieked. “I had to stay up till one last night grading the substitute teacher’s papers because she has dengue. And you’re trying to make me feel guilty for wanting rest.”

“I’m not.”

He dropped down on the couch next to her but made no attempt to touch her, his posture stuff. Irrationally, that hurt Meher even more. Even though she wouldn’t have welcomed his touch at the moment.

He sighed. “Do you want me to get the milk now? I’ll get it.”

Meher’s shoulders slumped. “It’s not about the milk.”

Avi bit off a ripe curse in Tamil. “Then what is it about? You just gave me a lecture about being careless and forgetting the milk. And now you’re telling me it’s not about the milk. I can’t keep up with your crazy, Meher.”

Hurt tears filled her eyes and she glared at him. “I’m not crazy. ”

Avi rolled his eyes. And switched the TV back on. He put it on mute though, like the smart man that he occasionally was.

“Do you think I’m crazy?” she asked in a small voice.

He gave her an exasperated look. “What are you talking about now?”

“Your mother thinks I’m crazy.”

Avi’s tense shoulders immediately slumped too. “So, that’s what this is about? Amma Appa coming home?”

Meher curled her legs on the couch and rested her chin on her knees. “Last week, when I called her to ask her about her packing for the trip, she asked me what was I waiting for to get pregnant. Divine intervention? Then she said I was crazy to not use my best child-bearing years because I wanted to earn my Phd.”

Avi sighed loudly. The fan whirred lazily, making the only sound in the room.

“Amma doesn’t know what she’s talking about, Meher. Please don’t pay any attention to her. I’ve told you that a million times.”

Meher shot him a tear-filled glance and he immediately pulled her close. She rested her head on his capable shoulders and smelled his familiar Avi smell, mixed with the delicious chicken they’d had for lunch. Chicken that Avi cooked because that was the one thing he adored doing in the kitchen.

Apart from making love with her.

“What if she is right, Avi?” Meher admitted her deepest, most shameful fear out loud for the first time. “What if I can’t have a baby later on? Maybe we should try now only.”

Avi shook his head. “You’re twenty-eight, Meher. Not thirty-eight. Can we please not do this again? I’m exhausted talking about this baby thing for the last three months.”

“Because you keep saying no!”

Avi glared at her for a moment. Then he tugged off his shirt and revealed a semi-fit body. He had curling hair all over his torso, having sworn never to step foot inside a salon while he lived. And a little bit of a pot belly too because Avi loved beer like he loved Meher. But his shoulders were tough and he maintained his biceps and triceps with regular workouts at the gym.

Meher felt inconvenient desire sneak into her at the chest display.

She was such a fool for him.

“You want a baby?” He gritted out. “Let’s make a baby.”

Meher couldn’t believe her ears. “You mean, right now?”

He nodded, unbuttoning his shorts too. “Yes, right fucking now. Clearly, you don’t want to have a rational discussion about it. So there’s nothing to talk about, is there?”

He pulled her closer for a hard, fast kiss. “Let’s do it.”

“But I’m wearing a face mask.”

“So? Wash it.” Avi bit off. “Or don’t. It’s not your face that needs to be available anyway, right?”

Meher put a hand over his chest. His heart was beating irregularly fast and he looked furious. And determined. It was hot to see her mild-mannered joking soul mate get so riled up. And a small part of her actually did want to take him up on his offer.

Meher licked her lips, staring at him. Falling in love all over again at this new facet to him.

“I…”

“What?”

The anger left his voice, but the lust remained. His hand snaked inside her blouse till he found an armful of woman. Avi squeezed and Meher sighed. “You don’t want to anymore? Your biological clock has calmed down suddenly?”

“You don’t have to be so clinical about it, you know.”

But she put her arms around his neck and kissed his eyes. “You look so hot when you’re mad.”

“And you have green stuff on your face. I want you anyway.”

Because she was practically on his lap, she knew he wasn’t lying. He did want her. Their chemistry had always been good, very good, touchwood. Passion was not a problem area in their relationship. It had never been. But passion alone wasn’t enough to sustain a marriage, was it?

Avi kissed her nose. “You’re thinking again, manaivi. Now what’s the problem?”

Meher snuggled closer because he wasn’t pissed off anymore. And he was back to calling her manaivi. She knew she complained all the time about the nickname but she loved hearing it.

Maybe he was right. And she really was crazy.

“Say it again.”

“Say what?”

Their lips were so close, the words were kisses themselves.

“Call me manaivi .”

Avi smiled, slow and easy and wicked. He unbuttoned her blouse, letting his fingers brush against her naked skin with each button.

Meher’s breath turned shallow with each brush of his fingers.

“I.” He kissed her neck, the spot between her neck and shoulders, where a pulse beat visibly against her skin. “Love.” He moved down to the valley of her breasts. She clutched his head closer to her, crawling into his lap. “You.” He kissed her there.

Meher tugged his head up.

“Manaivi, ” Avi said.

And Meher attacked his mouth.

There was no talking after that.

“We used protection,” Avi said much, much later when he could open his eyes. “I thought you wanted to have a baby.”

Meher shook her head. “We can have a rational discussion about it first. I’m sorry I keep yelling about stupid things.” She drew a circle on his sweaty chest, in the comfort of their king-size bed. Their first and most precious purchase together.

“I’m sorry for doing stupid things.” He kissed her hair.

“Then don’t do them, no?” Meher pulled on a chest hair.

Avi howled in pain. “You’re a sadist, Meher Sreedhar!” He declared.

She smiled sweetly. “I am. Please remember that, the next time you talk to Mehta uncle about Kohli’s batting average and forget to get the milk.”

He groaned. “We’re still discussing the milk?”

“Look.” She sat up and modestly draped the sheet over her naked upper body. Her hair fell around her in a cloud. She shoved some of it back from her face and Avi’s eyes took on a familiar gleam again. “Look , Avi,” she gritted out.

“I’m looking,” he murmured, running a finger over her bare arm. “And I love what I’m looking at.”

“Pay attention then.” But she grinned and kissed him quickly. Before he could deepen it, she drew back and continued, “Your parents are coming to stay with us for the first time in years. I don’t want them thinking we are irresponsible kids who are playing at marriage. These little things will matter to them, even if they don’t matter to you.”

“You have got to stop worrying about what my parents think about you,” Avi muttered, sitting up and wearing his discarded shorts. “I’m thirty, Meher. And I am not going to spend the rest of my life looking for approval from them.”

“It’s different for you,” she retorted. “You’re their precious son who could do no wrong. I’m the Muslim girl who married you for your money and then took you to Bombay, thousands of kilometers away from them.”

“And, according to your parents,” he said coldly, “I’m the Pattar pullai who ruined their daughter so she had no choice but to marry me. Do you hear me complaining about that?”

Meher gave him a chagrined look. “You know I don’t think…”

Avi held up a hand. “Never mind. We’ll only end up arguing again. I’ll go buy the milk and put a reminder on my phone so we are never out of milk. Is that acceptable?”

“That’s acceptable.”

He got up from the bed and went to the bathroom to clean up, while Meher lay looking up at the ceiling fan. It was a little dusty because, of course, the maid wasn’t going to use her own initiative and clean the fans. Not unless Meher or Avi actually instructed her to. And Avi would never bother about cleaning the damn ceiling fan.

Because she was getting riled up about the stupid thing again, Meher turned sideways. She didn’t want to see the ceiling fan anymore.

She heard Avi come out of the bathroom, but he didn’t speak to her. He had a right to be furious, rationally she knew that.

It wasn’t that she was a control freak, Avi loved that she was so organized and meticulous about all the million little things that went into running a house and making it a home. In fact, he wasn’t as bad as she’d just made him out to be. He never complained when they ordered out because she was too tired to cook. And he let her pick movies for movie night, and he was very handy with power tools when he finally set his mind to it.

He’d actually assembled this lovely bed one weekend with help from Charlie before they’d moved in. The one and only time Charlie had actually seen their home. It had been Avi’s homecoming gift for her. And one that still filled her heart with a sweet ache every time she woke up in it.

But…she didn’t know…

Maybe it was stress at work, combined with PMS and worry over Avi’s parents coming over.

Maybe she was just that crazy.

Meher hated this self-doubt that was beginning to creep up on her more and more often. She was a smart, confident woman with a great job and a husband who, frankly and publically adored her. They lived in Mumbai, the city that never slept and actually owned a home here. A high-priced, eight figure home the mortgage for which would bleed them dry well into their fifties but it was theirs.

The nameplate, Charlie’s gift to them, carved from actual driftwood in some remote beach in India, read Avi’s & Meher’s Chalet .

Her life was movie-level perfect.

What was wrong with her?

Meher groaned and sat up. “You are crazy,” she told the empty room. “You are extremely crazy, Meher Shreedhar.”

She wore her hastily discarded satin kurti and matching skirt after washing up. The sky was dark by then, indicating night. Meher switched on the bedroom lights and then went in search of Avi.

He was sitting on the couch, in the dark. The TV was on low volume. Kohli was about to hit a century. On the coffee table were three half-liter milk packets.

“I’m calling Shashi to ask how the evening went. You want to talk to her?” she asked, diffidently.

Avi shook his head, all of his attention glued on the TV. His glasses reflected the cricket match while his face was in profile, in shadow to her. Her heart clutched at the remote expression on it.

“No. I’ll talk to her after the match is over.” Then he turned his head gave her a brief smile, before going back to the TV.

Meher smiled back automatically, but her heart clutched again. There was no genuine pleasure in this smile.

And she was struck by the horrible realization that the best, most endless and unconditional of loves had a limit. She was afraid Avi was beginning to reach his.

Meher finished wiping down the kitchen and laying the ingredients for next day’s breakfast (aloo poha) before she turned her phone on. As predicted, the group had blown up with about a hundred messages exchanged between Anu and Shashi regarding her big day.

Nothing concrete was revealed though because, loyal girls that they were, they waited for Meher to show up.

But, Meher was tired and a little emotional so she decided to chuck the texting in favor of a call. She pressed speed dial four – Anu was three and Avi was two – and Shashi answered within two rings.

“Where have you been, dee ?” She began without preamble. “Anu had to go for night shift duty. She’s going to be pissed that she’s not on the call.”

“I know. Sorry, kunju .”

Meher wiped the already-shining counter for one last time. She held the phone in the crook of her neck, tilting it at an awkward angle. “Ouch,” she said. “Will you hold on while I get my earphones?”

“Okay.”

Meher ran to the living room and fished her wireless earbuds out of the bag kept ready for the next morning. Her hijab and Avi’s worn and torn leather wallet (her twentieth birthday present for him) sat next to her fancy tote. Meher swallowed, struck mute by the sight.

“Meher? Meher?” Shashi’s voice came through the phone.

“One second.” Meher connected the buds on Bluetooth and wore them quickly. “Sollu . How was the meeting? Is he as cute in person?”

“The meeting was fine. Amma made her famous Mysore idlis and he really liked them.”

“Good. He’s now going to expect you to cook like Anita aunty.” Meher chuckled.

She touched the wallet’s edges. The stitching had come off in places, and the color was a faded brown now, from the original tan. It was a miracle that a forgetful man like Avi would still hold on to this wallet.

“I don’t think so.” Shashi spoke so confidently, Meher was instantly suspicious.

“Hey, everything was fine, no? You liked him and he liked you?”

“I do…he also likes me.”

Meher left the wallet and sat down on the shoe stand. “What are you not telling me, Shashi?”

“What are you talking about, Meher? I told you everything. You and Anu know everything. You are my best friends.”

“I’m just checking.” Meher sighed and rested her head against the cold glass of a portrait.

It was their wedding photo, of the five of them – Charlie, Anu, Avi, Meher, and Shashi. All of them on stage, pulling the funniest of faces. The photographer had almost refused to take the picture of all of them showing the fuck off sign. Tanjavur was a pretty conservative town in some ways, even now.

She could see the photo’s reflection in the looking glass on the opposite wall. Some vaastu shastram fad that Avi’s mom had insisted on.

How young and in love she and Avi looked. Her sharara was light green and had thirty pleats on each pant leg. Dancing in it had been an impossible nightmare. But somehow, she’d managed it because Avi had moved her around so much. He’d made her dance to every song the DJ played.

Meher sniffed.

“Meher, ennachu ?” Shashi asked, instantly concerned. “Are you crying?”

“No! No I’m not.” Meher strengthened her voice even though tears weren’t all that far away. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long week and next week is worse.”

“Because uncle, aunty are coming to stay with you guys?” Shashi was perceptive enough to ask.

“No,” Meher instantly denied. “Yes,” she admitted a second later. “I’m fighting more with Avi because I know he isn’t worried about their stay with us.”

“Because he’s a silly man, Meher. He’ll just go to office and plan weekend trips and expect the house and groceries and meals to take care of itself.”

Meher gave a watery laugh. “Thank you for taking my side. This is what’s worrying me.”

“Then talk to him, no?” Shashi said. “Tell him what needs to be done. Make a list,” she suggested. “Just asking him if he remembered this or that is only going to piss you off. Because, let’s face it, Meherunnisa, the only thing your husband remembers is to love you.”

Meher laughed again, stronger than before. “What nonsense.”

“It’s true,” Shashi said quietly. “Why do you think Anu and I haven’t fallen in love with anyone all these years? Or found our own aallu ? Because the best man we know has set the benchmark so high.”

“But you like this Mumbai engineer aallu , don’t you?” Meher teased back.

Shashi didn’t answer for a long moment. “Meher, if I tell you something you have to promise to not be mad at me. Okay?”

Meher was instantly wary. “What?”

“I don’t want to get married to anyone right now,” Shashi spoke really quickly, in a whisper. “You know how Amma Appa are. So worried about me since…since well, everything. And the new promotion is in HDFC headquarters in Mumbai.”

Meher sat up straight as she put those disjointed sentences together, making the connection quickly. “Oh my god, kunju ! Are you saying yes to this Mumbai engineer because you want to come and work here?”

“And also to hang out with you and Anu and Avi,” Shashi protested immediately. “I miss you guys, so much. We haven’t had any time together at all, since you two moved to Mumbai. And Anu got busy with her MBBS studies. And I love Amma Appa a lot but I want…”

“Yeah, I know what you want,” Meher said softly. She forgot, in the openness and sunshine of Shashi’s personality of the things that had shaped her, the incident that made her into the woman she was today.

“Freedom,” Shashi said, just as softly. “Arjun also wants freedom to live his life without his mom emotionally blackmailing him into getting married.”

“Sounds like a lovely guy,” Meher’s sarcasm was apparent.

“He is. He has a really nice laugh,” Shashi said absently.

“And he lives in my complex, right? So he isn’t a serial killer,” Meher answered her own question. “They do police verifications here nowadays before allowing anyone to rent a flat.”

“I think he bought his flat. Like you two.”

“Then he’s a rich serial killer,” Meher said dryly.

“Dee , there’s really no downside to this. Three months’ probation at the bank headquarters and I’ll get to be assistant regional manager of the North Mumbai Zone.”

“That’s awesome, Shashi. I’m so proud of you!” Meher’s voice quivered with suppressed emotion.

Their kunju had grown up to be the smartest of them all. It was such a proud moment. Almost as if the promotion was hers by default.

“But this is still a terrible idea. Anita aunty will murder us all when she comes to know what you’re doing. And she’s your mom. She will come to know,” Meher warned.

“I’m suffocating here, Meher,” Shashi replied. “There’s no change here. Just the same routine. Even the rickshaw guys wave to me when I drive home from work. I want some fun. I want to live. ”

“Anita aunty is going to murder me,” Meher said weakly.

Everything Shashi said was true. Her parents were amazing, supportive people. They’d certainly stood by their daughter through a lot of tragedy that would have made other Indian parents give up and lock her in a cage. But even they were of the old school of thought that meant an educated, smart girl still needed the protection of a man to move about in the world.

For supposedly liberal people, that was such a patriarchal world view. And one that Meher’s own parents echoed quite vociferously. As did, unfortunately, her in-laws.

“So we’re getting engaged day after,” Shashi said when Meher still said nothing. “My interview is next Monday so I’ll come down on Thursday.”

“I can’t wait to see you, kunju .” And Meher meant it. It had been too long, almost three years since they’d actually spent time with each other. And flying visits didn’t count. “Avi’s going to be thrilled too.”

“Actually,” Shashi said slowly. “I know you have your in-laws staying with you, so I won’t be able to crash there.”

“The bank’s not providing living quarters?” Meher teased her gently.

“They are. Closer to office. Andheri! I looked it up on the maps. That’s like one hour from your place in Powai. Without traffic.”

Meher was confused as to what Shashi was getting at. “Okay….”

“And you always sound so tired because of work and travel and with uncle, aunty there you won’t be able to get out much at all. So, I was thinking…”

“What?”

“I need your help in convincing Anu to leave her PG and share a flat with me,” Shashi said excitedly. “Appa loves this plan because Arjun’s already living there. And so are you. And he’s even willing to pay the deposit money, as long as it is in your complex, Meher, and Anu lives with me.”

“Shashi, NO!” Meher was shocked. “What are you doing?”

It was a little shocking, how much thought Shashi had put into her moving-to-Mumbai plan. She wasn’t this organized, or cunning, relying on her optimistic nature and quick brain to sort her life out.

But this was a plan. A dangerous one.

“I’m not playing, Meher,” Shashi said firmly. “This might be our best chance to be together before Anu leaves for her MS. You know she’ll clear it this year. All you have to do is ask Avi to find a nice two-bedroom flat for us in Kurukshetra Heights. There are fifteen buildings so one flat should be available. It will be party central! You can escape to our place when your mamiyaar gets on your nerves.”

“Anu’s going to murder me too,” Meher predicated darkly. But the idea of escaping Avi’s parents for a little bit was appealing too.

More importantly, Shashi was coming to Mumbai for the first time. It did make sense for her to want her oldest friends close. Shashi was a nurturer that way.

“Yes,” Shashi agreed cheerfully. “But, she’ll agree to the plan when you convince her of the benefits.”

Meher sighed and gave in to the inevitable. “Of course, she will. Does anyone say no to you? Ever?”

“Why would they?” Shashi asked in bewilderment. “I have the best ideas. Why would you say no to the best ideas?”

Meher had no answer to that. So she wisely said nothing. They hung up after talking for a few more minutes, then Meher texted the whole group. Sitting in the dark in the living room, afraid to talk to her own husband.

Avi sent a thumbs up and a smiley emoji while Shashi sent a flurry of hearts and kissie emojis. Anu was at the hospital, so she wouldn’t reply till morning.

Meher gazed at the reflection of her wedding portrait. The five of them, making the silliest faces with sunglasses on at eleven in the night.

And there he was, Charlie Thomas. The very definition of tall, dark and handsome in a blue cotton shirt and crisp veshti . The only man on the planet to look good in one, to be honest.

On impulse, Meher wrote another message.

It was the last message in the group for the night.