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Sheetal left the Holiday Inn and descended a concrete slope as a chilly breeze rippled the knee-length hem of her blue kurta. She kicked pebbles in her path, sending them reeling down to nestle among pockets of melting snow and chips of broken asphalt. A cold breeze rustled the few leaves that still clung to overhanging branches, and the sun hid behind a thick gray padding of clouds. She tightened her jacket’s hood.
A light blue Fiat approached. The taxi driver rolled down his window as he slowed and stopped. “Where would you like to go, Madame? I can drop you.”
She wanted to walk. She treasured the freedom of anonymity and didn’t want to be boxed inside four walls again so soon. “You carry on, and I’ll figure out my destination,” she replied in Hindi.
“I can drop you off at Mall Road,” he said.
Sheetal shook her head. Mall Road was an easy downhill walk from the Holiday Inn and cut through the quaint town of Mansali. Shops, hotels, open-air food stalls, street vendors, and family-owned restaurants lined both sides of Mall Road while bungalows and private schools dotted the hillside.
“Where are you going, Madame, in such cold weather?”
“I’ll figure out.” Sheetal tightened her grip on the strap of the handbag that hung off one shoulder. To her relief, he drove off.
As she walked, the town of Lower Mansali peeked from a dip in the valley, a patchwork of green, yellow and brown squares, with ponds the size of her fingernail glistening like mirror work stitched onto a lush carpet. The breeze picked up and the temperature plunged. Sheetal rammed her fists into the side pockets of her jacket as tendrils of hair flew about her face. Then the clouds scudded and the sun burst forth and Lower Mansali sparkled on a living and breathing canvas.
What beauty! What brilliance! Sheetal halted and absorbed the warmth that spread across the land, then she angled toward a cliff bordered by metal railings.
This vacation would have done Rakesh so much good. Or maybe not, considering his lack of patience when it came to appreciating natural beauty. She imagined him standing next to her lighting a cigar and complaining about the wind chill. He would have had the taxi driver follow close on their heels, and have checked his cell phone for email updates at least five times by now. He would have lost cell phone connection a few times, cursed the town, cursed the mountains, and when done, he’d have jumped into the vehicle and ordered the driver to take him to a five-star hotel for a drink.
She tensed, and deliberately released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Maybe Rakesh’s absence would do her good. Her shoulders sagged with relief, and she reveled in the pure joy of being able to forego the pressures of everyone’s expectations and escape the gravity of a million responsibilities. Oh, to soar with the freedom of a bird every day. What must it be like to live a life in the mountains? What if she could make this life permanent?
After marriage, a woman's status transferred from her father's responsibility to the husband's, and she was the husband's property even if the husband proved to be unfaithful to their relationship. A woman could not expect a second chance at marriage to a bachelor because after the first marriage, she was considered damaged goods and would likely be considered for the role only by a widower who needed a mother substitute for his children.
Sheetal bit her lower. She couldn’t be selfish and desire what clearly fell out of reach. She shouldn’t desire, let alone seek, an escape from Rakesh.
***
As Sheetal strolled along Mall Road through Upper Mansali, restaurant owners called to passersby to come in for a meal or some hot masala chai. The fragrances of spicy dals, bubbling tomato gravies, steamed Basmati rice, deep fried fritters, oven-baked naans, and white-flour flatbreads peppered the air before the restaurants gave way to an open-air market. The market’s stalls were separated by colorful bedsheets tethered to wooden poles and manned by animated vendors. The makeshift stores sold colored glassware, crocheted table mats, runners, potholders, refrigerator magnets, and other trinkets.
“Arrey, gori gori Memsahib!” a waving vendor addressed Sheetal as beautiful Madam. “Three for twenty. Buy as many as you like for yourself and your friends.”
Sheetal picked up a multi-colored glass trinket box and held it against the sun. Light streamed through and refracted off the tiny green, orange, and pink triangular shapes that formed its design. She marveled at the glowing colors, thumbed open the lid, and pools of green, orange, and pink flooded the four-by-four-inch cavity.
“Buy it, Memsahib.” An elderly lady in a faded salwar suit and stringy-knit jumper smiled to reveal four missing teeth. “I give you special. Only seventy-five rupees.”
Sheetal closed the lid and returned the box to the wooden shelf. “I was only looking.”
“What’s there to look when you can buy?”
“Arrey, Memsahib,” called a neighboring vendor in a multi-colored sari and black shawl, “come take a look at my collection.”
The Dhanrajs gave gifts of gold and silver to friends and family members, not trinket boxes purchased from open stalls run by a toothless old woman out in the middle of nowhere. Even if she bought the box for herself, it would appear out of place on her dressing table filled with crystal bottles of imported perfumes. Maybe she could position the box so it hid from Rakesh’s view but caught light from her bedside lamp. She could get rid of the magazines and—
“Khareed lo, Memsahib!” The old lady beckoned her to buy the trinket box.
“Thank you, but maybe next time.” Sheetal walked on and ignored the lady’s request to name a price.
A gust of icy wind slithered down the collar of her jacket and tossed a lock of hair that brushed a corner of her lip. Sheetal tugged the wisp behind the curve of her ear, but the strands leapt free. Her legs ached from the three-hour walk and she longed to sit down. She lifted the sleeve of her jacket to look at her watch. Two-thirty. She had another hour and a half until Yash’s classes ended.
The door to a nearby restaurant swung open and a man wearing a turban exited, a heavy, rolled carpet balanced on his shoulder. Sheetal caught a glimpse of his face and thought she recognized him. Then the carpet slipped and he caught it diagonally across his chest. The taxi driver! Sheetal turned away to avoid him and his chatter.
“Ah! Hello Madame!” he called out. “So nice to meeting you!”
Sheetal glanced back and nodded. His name? What was his name? “Hello. How are you?”
“Always good, Madame. Jatinder Singh always good.”
That’s it! Jatinder Singh.
“My restaurant here, Madame. Spiceality.” He pointed to a sign above the door. “Please come in. Most welcome. Always welcoming new customers.” He turned around, walked back to the door and pushed it open with his free left hand as Sheetal followed. Overhead door chimes tinkled and warmth flooded out.
“Really, it’s all right,” Sheetal pressed on in Hindi. “You don’t have to—”
“No problem, Madame,” he persisted in English. “I am coming back in little minutes. Please, you sit anywhere you are liking and my staff taking your care.” He hollered instructions to a skinny, teenage boy in a dull white, long-sleeved shirt with a gray towel draped over one shoulder and worn brown trousers. “I go now, Madame. You treat like your home.”
The door closed and the door chimes tinkled furiously as the aroma of thick onion gravy and damp wood spiced the air. Several customers seated at solid blue-, red-, and green-draped tables for four looked up. A gentleman, apparently unperturbed by her entry, flipped the page of a newspaper held before his face.
A waist-high wooden counter equipped with a cashier’s register paralleled the back wall and separated the kitchen from the dining area. Sheetal looked for an empty table near the center of the room, away from the peeling, cream-colored wall paint. An elderly woman in a dull purple salwar suit manned a mini kiosk displaying books, magazines, trinkets, and souvenirs. A haphazard arrangement of light bulbs suspended from overhead beams convinced her this place would fall apart any minute. Maybe she should leave.
The gentle rustle of paper caught her attention. The gentleman dressed in black trousers and matching shoes appeared to be sensible. Perhaps this restaurant would suffice for a short rest and a cup of coffee before she headed over to Stonewall.
The teenager approached, gestured to an empty table on the gentleman’s left, and Sheetal followed. A sudden whiff of musk caught her off-guard. She sniffed. The scent came from the direction of the newspaper.
“Yeh table theek hai, Madame?” the teenager asked if the table he paused before would do.
Crumbs and oil stains littered the surface.
“Can you wipe the table, please?”
The boy yanked the towel off his shoulder, swiped the plastic tablecloth, and gestured for her to take a seat.
Sheetal removed a wet tissue from her handbag, flattened it on the chair back, and pulled out the chair. Then she wiped clean the area of the tablecloth’s surface closest to her. The boy snorted, but she didn’t care. She was about to sit down when the gentleman rustled the pages of the newspaper and lowered it.
“Sheetal? Sheetal Dhanraj?”
She turned. Her heart welled in her throat and she swallowed. “Arvind? I can’t believe it’s you. How are you?”
“I-I’m fine. And you?” He smiled. “You’re looking great.”
“I’m fine. You as well.” She paused to weight her comment. "You’re looking good.” He looked better than he did the last time she saw him. A French beard and softened jawline added to the elegance of his thirties, and a firm layer of flesh now padded his frame. His copper-bronze complexion had lightened and his jet-black hair still curved back in waves.
Arvind rose to his full five feet eleven stature. “You look beautiful.”
Warmth crept up her shoulders. That’s what he said when they last met on her bedroom balcony.
“Would you like to join me?” Arvind set aside the newspaper.
Was it really Arvind in flesh and blood after all these years? She wanted to touch him. Instead, she slid her hands into her jacket pockets. “So, what are you doing here?”
Arvind cocked his head back and laughed. “Nice intro!”
Sheetal sucked her lip. “I meant, do you live here? You know, suddenly meeting you after all these years up in the mountains.”
“I teach at Stonewall Preparatory School.”
Sheetal sat down. “Oh, what do you teach?”
“Science. Yash, is in my class.” Arvind sat down. “I’m his House Master.”
Chopra Sir.
“He’s an intelligent, bright boy, always ready with the right answer. A lot like you.”
Warmth crept up the nape of Sheetal’s neck as he folded both hands into a fist on the table. She remembered stroking those hands while he caressed her cheek and promised to love her forever. “So, you knew all along that Yash was my son?”
“Who doesn’t know the Dhanrajs?” he emphasized the last word as though it were contagious. “Hard not to notice.”
And yet he’d never made an attempt to contact her.
“I’m guessing you’re here to pick him up for Diwali break.”
She nodded. “Rakesh and I usually take vacation around this time.”
Arvind’s fist paled just a little at the mention of Rakesh’s name and he began folding the newspaper as if to leave. “I have extracurricular activities in about an hour. This place is my corner where I come for a bit of peace and quiet. It’s my escape from all the hustle and bustle of campus, plus great food and great company with Jatinder Bhai. Maybe we’ll meet again.” He stepped away.
Sheetal surged to her feet.
“You only just got here,” Arvind said. “Do stay. The food here is excellent, but if you’re not hungry, a hot coffee will do wonders against the cold.”
“I’m meeting Yash on campus at four.”
“Oh good! So, you have time to kill.” He headed for the door and Sheetal followed. “You’ll find deals in the local bazaar. Remember to bargain.” He turned the knob, opened the door, and door chimes tinkled his departure.
Sheetal followed, her heart in her throat. A couple of autorickshaws sped past. She couldn’t let him go so soon.
“Memsahib! Gori gori memsahib!” the toothless old woman called out. Sheetal turned to look and the old woman beckoned her to come back. “Arrey! Give me twenty rupees then!”
“Looks like she’s trying to sell you something for twenty.”
“I picked up something to look at and she’s been after me since.”
Arvind hailed for an autorickshaw, and in less than a minute, one veered close to the sidewalk and stopped. Arvind ducked and slid across to the other side. “I can drop you off, if you want.” He patted the empty seat.
Sheetal hesitated.
“You probably have a car waiting. Anyway, this auto would be a bumpy ride. Stonewall Preparatory School.” He patted the driver on the shoulder, waved goodbye, and the autorickshaw pulled away.
***
That afternoon, Sheetal and Yash visited Echo Point, an overhanging cliff surrounded by mountains. Yash cupped his mouth, shouted “Mum!” and the word echoed.
Sheetal grabbed the metal railing, leaned forward, and screamed, “Y-a-a-sh!” Her voice echoed louder.
Then Yash cupped both palms around his mouth and yelled, “D-a-a-a-d!” The word echoed louder than Sheetal’s. “If I say it louder, maybe Dad will hear and yell back from Raigun.”
“Go on then, try.” Sheetal feigned a smile. “Maybe when your daddy’s here next time, you can both scream each other’s names.”
“He’s always busy on the phone with office work.”
“How about I call him and ask if he can hear you?”
“Okay.”
Sheetal checked her watch. Five. Rakesh would be in the office. Sheetal called and pressed the phone to Yash’s ear.
“He’s not picking up.” Yash frowned. “I told you, he’s always busy.”
“Maybe he left the phone somewhere and didn’t hear it ring. How about we try again later? I have to get you back on campus before 6:30.”
“Okay.”
Sheetal reached for Yash’s hand and tightened her grip around his fingers. Since her arrival, she’d tried calling Rakesh several times but he didn’t answer. He could, at least, have called once to speak to Yash. Didn’t he see the missed calls? What prevented him from answering just now?
First, he forgot about her hotel reservation, then he didn’t turn up after moon rise on Karva Chauth. When he did finally walk in, he was stone drunk and went straight to bed. Now, he had the audacity to ignore them.
At five-thirty, the taxi let them off outside the gate to the dormitories and for the next half hour, she and Yash strolled past rows of student cottages. Lamp posts cast wide nets of yellow on the snow-crusted ground as Yash prattled away about homework, friends, and roommates.
“And my friends, Mum, they said I should....”
She paused on the walkway outside Yash’s cottage. Was Arvind inside? What if he stepped out for a breath of fresh air? Her heart raced. She stopped in a circle of yellow light and turned toward Yash’s cottage so Arvind wouldn’t miss her.
“Mum?”
Sheetal looked down at Yash and smiled. Maybe Arvind would have an errand and a reason to come out.
“Are you listening?”
She should apologize for the way their relationship ended and how she had turned her back on him. “What a coincidence that Arvind is your House Master.”
“Arvind?” Yash asked.
“I mean, Chopra Sir.”
“Why?”
“Isn’t anyone in charge around here?”
“The twelfth standard captains are on duty until the House Master returns.”
“Oh,” Her heart sank. “So, when does he return?”
“Who?”
“Your House Master.”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you think he’ll be back soon?”
“Who?”
“Your House Master,” her voice rose sharply without meaning to and Yash stepped away. Sheetal squatted, met Yash’s gaze, and gulped. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound angry.”
“Chopra Sir might be in. Should I check?”
“No.”
That night, Sheetal called Rakesh on his cell phone for the fifteenth time. The ringing continued. Sheetal looked at her watch. Only 10 p.m. Was he with clients, at dinner, or in the office? Exhausted from chasing Rakesh, she switched off her phone and dumped it in her handbag.