THE DARK ABODE

Sarojini Sahoo
THE DARK ABODE

Sarojini Sahoo

Translated by Mahendra Kumar Dash

English Copy Editing by Paul J. McKenna

ii
Second English Edition 2009 by Indian AGE Communication
Originally Published from India as Gambhiri Gahara in 2005. Also
published from Bangladesh as Mithya Gerosthali in 2007.

© 2005-2009 by Sarojini Sahoo. All rights reserved.

All artwork © 2008 by Ed Baker. All rights reserved.

ISBN 13: 978-81-906956-2-6

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of
trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise
circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of
binding or cover other than that in the which is published and
without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed
on the subsequent purchaser.

PRINTED IN INDIA

iii
About the author...
Well known for her frankness, Sarojini Sahoo is a prime figure and
trendsetter of feminism in contemporary Oriya literature. For her,
feminism is not a gender problem or any confrontational attack on
male hegemony, so it is quite different from that of Virginia Woolf
or Judith Butler. She accepts feminism as a total entity of
femalehood which is completely separate from the man’s world.
She writes with a greater consciousness of the bodies of women,
which would create a more honest and appropriate style of
openness, fragmentation, and non-linearity.

She has received many awards, accolades, and honors including,

but not limited to the Orissa Sahitya Academy Award (1993), the
Jahnkar Award (1992), the Bhubaneswar Book Fair Award and the
Prajatantra Award.

Her works have been translated and published in English as well as

many languages of the Indian subcontinent. Her stories have been
included in anthologies published by Harper Collins, National Book
Trust, Gnanapith, and Sahitya Akademi. She has published eight
anthologies of short stories and five novels. Her English
publications include an anthology of short stories Waiting for
Manna and this novel, The Dark Abode.

Born in the small town of Dhenkanal in Orissa (India), Sahoo has an

M.A. and a Ph.D. in Oriya Literature and a Bachelor of Law degree
from Utkal University. She now teaches at a degree college in
Belpahar, Jharsududa of Orissa. She is the second daughter of Mr.
Ishwar Chandra Sahoo and Mrs. (late) Nalini Devi and is married to
Mr. Jagadish Mohanty, a veteran writer of Orissa . They have a son
and daughter.

About the Translator...

Mahendra Kumar Dash is a software professional and an avid
follower of Oriya literature whose mission it is to spread Oriya
works in English.

About the Artist...

The cover art and the inner sketches are drawn specially for this
work by Ed Baker. Ed lives in Maryland (USA) and is a published
poet and artist.

About the copy editor and bookmaker...

Paul J. McKenna is a jack-of-all-trades living in the USA. He holds a
Bachelors degree in Music Education, a certificate in Children’s
Literature, and is a published writer. He works as a court reporter

iv
and also has his own music production and graphic design
business.

v
Forward…
It is said in the Saimdarua Lahiri that Uma is the source of all
power in the universe and because of her; Lord Shiva gets all of his
powers. She is often depicted as half of Lord Shiva, the supreme
god, and she also is a major symbol of female sexuality. Her name
refers to her being born daughter Himalaya, lord of the mountains.
Beautiful, gentle, powerful consort of Shiva, mother of Ganesh,
Kartikeya, Saraswati and Laxshmi, she encompasses their powers
and exudes a tranquil, serene beauty and provides a calm within.
Uma is a symbol of many noble traditional (Hindu) virtues: fertility,
marital felicity, spousal devotion, asceticism and power. She refers
to the symbol of early feminine power and energy. Known formally
as goddess Uma, Lady of the Mountains, she shows us how to
balance the many aspects of our lives. Beautiful and (benignly)
powerful, she is also known as Shakti, Parvati (consort of Shiva),
Ambika, Annapurna , Bhairavi, Candi, Gauri, Durga, Jagadmatai
(Mother of the World), Kali, Kanyakumari,Kumari, Mahadevi, and
Syama.

Is the protagonist in this novel a modern, living form of Uma? Is

she all that Uma represents in human form? I invite you to decide
whether she is or isn’t.

Other English works by Sarojini Sahoo…

Sarojini Sahoo Short Stories (2006), published by Grassroots, India,
ISBN 81-89040-26-X

Waiting for Manna (2008), published by Indian AGE

Communication, India,
ISBN 978-81-906956-0-2

Partial Published works by Ed Baker…

Restoration Poems (2008), published by Country Valley Press
ISBN: 978-0-9820196-0-3

Neighbors, Books 1,2,3 & 4 (2009)

http://www.newmystics.com/lit/EdBaker.html

Good Night, Moria Press, e-book and print version:

http://www.moriapoetry.com/ebooks.html

Song of Chin and Hexapoems II, Ungovernable Press, via their

blog:
http://mischievoice.blogspot.com/

Points/Counterpoints, Fact Simile Press, e-book:

http://issuu.com/fact-simile/docs/points_counterpoints

vi
More on Ed Baker: http://edbaker.maikosoft.com

vii
 Dedicated to

Suresh Palamel

viii
Call her by name and she will appear. Gaze upon her
face; her beauty.
Celebrate: metta, mudita, upekkhs

1
 CHAPTER 1

“You are a fairy without wings.” The very first

sentence of the e-mail made Kuki blush. Getting soothing e-
mails embellished with romantic poems had become routine
for her. The e-mails seemed to mark the exchange of
feelings between two teenaged lovebirds separated by
distance. He had written, “You are a fairy without wings.
But that does not deter you from trying to break free of all
your shackles. If somebody were to gift you wings, would
you come and join me here?”

Kuki would read the e-mail umpteen times to

discover and rediscover the sense of every single word and
try to experience them with the imagination of a poet,
blushing shyly all the while. It was as if she had become a
dreamy and bubbly teenager in these last few days. Her
outlook seemed to have become pure and fresh and she
seemed to have returned to her sensational sweet sixteen
again.

Kuki had never been into writing poetry; nor was he,
really. Yet each of his letters was poetic and tasteful. While
writing poetry, he would often slip into the realm of prose
and vice-versa with remarkable spontaneity.

Kuki’s heart had initially been reluctant to heed the

invitation and she remembered the first letter she had
written, “My body is too frail for its moods. My aging flesh
follows the demands and diktats of family life. My weary
senses return to my courtyard seeking warmth among my
kids. Now my wings no longer have their old charisma that I
will fly in response to your call. There is no longer that
endless, expansive, azure sky for me, nor its grand brilliance
that would absorb me inside its bosom. But you shot
cupid’s arrow and a thrill rippled through my body,
mesmerizing me; and the music of the unforgotten years
sounded once again in my soul.”

“Why are you so lonely? Perhaps you do not know.

It was when you entered my life that I first began to dream.

2
I have enjoyed many women indiscriminately. I have been
sincerely insincere with them. I was like a butterfly
passionately addicted to pleasure, sucking the juice of
flowers and leaving them stunned and bewildered only to
hop on to other flowers. But it was you who made me
realize what love was. Do you know what I pray for? I pray I
can remain stuck like a pollen grain to your petal-feet,
listening to your anklet chimes.”

Aniket, her husband, used to write such gratifying

lines for Kuki when she was sixteen or seventeen. “I would
be blessed to adorn your feet.” How old was Aniket then?
Twenty, perhaps twenty-one. Time had played its all too
familiar but never-welcome tricks and had now left its mark
on the color of his hair and the wrinkles on Kuki’s body.
Youth had been left behind somewhere far away near the
distant horizon. And love? It was as if love had been long
buried under the apple cart of life, condemned to a
monotonous and never-ending treadmill. Her dreams and
aspirations lay hidden beneath the rubble of the dream-
house of immortal romance that she had once built so
enthusiastically.

Safiq was taking great pains to convince Kuki that he

was not flirting with her. His love was sincere and intense
and not a fleeting and ephemeral one. He would sometimes
send her a sketch drawn from his imagination or some
favorite quotations of his. Quoting Einstein, he had once
written, “Gravitation cannot be held responsible for people
falling in love.”

Slowly and without any reason whatsoever, this

person she had never met had somehow begun to occupy a
corner of her heart, and perhaps, of her subconscious mind,
too. It puzzled her immensely, though. How could a man
love someone so intensely without ever having even seen
her? What was the motive? How was this possible? She
had even raised this question once, so intrigued had she
been by the question.

Apt came the unique and flattering reply. “Who told

you I have not seen you? Look—aren’t you exactly like
this?” The sketch sent as an attachment with the mail was

3
somehow ‘Kuki’ for this man. The sketch revealed that he
had spent these last few days bringing his imagination to
life, Kuki thought.

How eccentric these artists were!

The girl in the sketch had locks of hair hanging down

to her shoulder. Emotions of trust and anxiety were playing
hide-and-seek on her face. A nubile nymphet oozing youth,
she was draped in an almost transparent fabric clinging to
her every curvaceous contour, revealing more then it was
hiding, leaving nothing to the imagination. A creeper wound
its way round her waist and her navel was tinged with a
shade of topaz. Kuki kept looking at the sketch and tried to
find herself in it. Which part of her body did the sketch
resemble most? The dark almond shaped eyes? The
aquiline neck? The rotund bust? The navel? No, perhaps
the resemblance lay in the coy smile. It was that smile that
defined his perceptions of her. How could Kuki have
concealed it within herself?

Plagued by orthodox and conservative thoughts, she

would retreat a step even as she moved two steps towards
that man. No, Kuki had never engrossed herself in amorous
love. The reason for her fear and suspicion was beyond her
comprehension. Perhaps the man had read her thoughts
much earlier; that was perhaps why he had tried to purge
her doubts and dilemmas. “Listen, we must transcend the
petty considerations of caste, religion and nationality.
Never allow them a place in your heart.”

But Kuki found it impossible to ignore her age-old

values ingrained so deeply within herself. It was not as if
she had never met a Muslim. When she was a child, they
had lived in a house that was adjacent to a Muslim colony.
She had also had a few Muslim friends at school. She used
to visit their houses as well. Shabnam came from a
prosperous family. Their house was well decorated, with
manicured lawns and many different varieties of roses in
their garden, all of which spoke highly of their status. They
had a Doberman whom Kuki was very scared of. Sitting
under a tree in the garden, Shabnam would tell Kuki stories
about Allah.

4
 Then there was Latifa, another friend of Kuki’s. In
sharp contrast to Shabnam, Latifa’s family lived in a gloomy,
muddy and filthy house in very unhygienic surroundings
somewhere deep inside the colony. A foul smell would
emanate from their yard which was always flecked with
droppings of goats and hens, and sometimes, even feces of
children. Kuki could never invite them to her home. She
would steer off the topic even if they expressed their desire
to visit her at her home. They had, of course, come to her
house a few times, but her mother would always grumble
after they left. Angry, she would start throwing the utensils
this way and that with a resounding crash. She would start
washing the bed-sheets as soon as they had left. Kuki had
to wash in the backyard the utensils with which she served
food to her friends. As the mattresses could not be washed,
they were sanctified with sprinkles of holy water from the
Ganga. Kuki used to do all this out of fear of getting a
beating. However, she herself had never considered
Muslims untouchable.

True, Kuki hadn’t ever considered them untouchable

but wasn’t there a faint ray of mistrust concealed
somewhere inside her? This was something more than any
personal vendetta; there was no personal reason behind her
mistrust of Muslims.

She was what her circumstances, upbringing and

environment had made her. The prejudices had seeped into
her psyche. She couldn’t help it. As a child she had often
heard elders say, “Don’t trust even a dead Muslim.” She
had never analyzed or questioned this stance. She had
accepted such dictums at face value, like so many other
things. Although the inhabitants of that ‘colony’ were not
looked upon as creatures from some other planet, they were
still never considered as one of them. It was as if, to them,
the Muslim ‘colony’ was a miniature Pakistan!

He was from Pakistan. Kuki had never imagined that

she would someday fall so intensely in love with a Pakistani.
She found it impossible to refuse his passionate overtures.
On the contrary, she would spend hour after starry-eyed
hour poring over his e-mails with the enthusiasm and
curiosity of a teenager. Each time she re-read his

5
messages, she discovered new meanings in them—it was as
if she had never read them before. If she took too long to
reply, she would find a passionate letter, choked with
emotion, waiting for her in her inbox the next morning. He
would write that he wanted to lie down with his head in her
lap and weep.

“Each night my visions wander far,

To places I cannot travel to;
And there they mingle with your thoughts
In a lovers’ rendezvous”

Kuki would send him a list of all the household

chores she had to manage and earnestly plead with him not
to be so restless over the slightest of delays on her part in
replying to his e-mails. But she herself would become
listless as she ran through his letters. He once wrote in
desperation, “I know I can never visit India, nor can you
come to me here in Pakistan. The relationship between the
two countries, the visa problem, and so many different
restrictions will keep us separated. We may not be able to
even see each other; yet, if you so agree, we can belong to
one another till death overtakes us. But please never mope
over the fact that you are a Hindu, and I, a Muslim, or that
you are an Indian, and I, a Pakistani.”

She had read Virginia Woolf: “As a woman, I have no

country. As a woman, my country is the whole world.” But
the word, ‘Pakistani’ was synonymous with ‘terrorist’ for
her. A slew of questions disturbed her. What if her husband
and children were to discover this secret online affair? What
if her son were to ask, “Mama, how dare you love a
Pakistani?” Her son, her own flesh and blood, was no less
than a fundamentalist. The very thought of Muslims made
his blood boil. The younger one was more gentle. He loved
her very much, so perhaps he would sit by her and say,
“You don’t know, mama; all Pakistanis are terrorists. You
have not seen the movie, ‘XYZ.’” What would Kuki say,
then?

The man offered namaz only once in a while; nor was

he very fastidious about observing Roza during Ramzan. On
Id-ul-Fitre he preferred a quiet nap. Instead of going to the

6
Idgah, he would sleep quietly at home. He believed in Allah,
of course, but he called himself a Kafir.

He would bombard Kuki with child-like inquisitive

queries in every letter of his. She tried to explain things to
him the way she did to her children. She would narrate to
him many tales from Hindu mythology, the Upanishads in
particular. He would be overwhelmed by each tale. He said
there was a fascinating and well-defined philosophy in
Hindu mythology—something that the Quran lacked. The
Quran spoke only of social commitment; its aim was to build
a healthy society, he said.

Whenever she woke up early in her childhood, Kuki

would hear the “Allah Ho Akbar” cry floating in from the
mosque. One could not hear bhajans from the Hindu
temples, though. The mosque in their town would wake up
at dawn while the temple was still wrapped in sleep. Her
younger sister couldn't help but frown each time she was
disturbed in her sleep by the cacophony blasting through
the loudspeakers of the mosque around the corner. She
would grumble, “Is Allah deaf? Why do they call so loudly?”

Kuki had once ventured into the mosque with

Shabnam. Shabnam took her to every nook and corner of
the mosque. Kuki was ten or eleven then. Although her
eyes were looking for a deity in that big vacant room, she
didn’t dare ask Shabnam about it; she was engulfed with
some strange fear. She was petrified that someone would
recognize her and ask, “Hey, aren’t you a Hindu child? How
dare you come inside?” She ran out of the mosque when
she couldn’t bear it any longer. And she had never visited a
mosque since then. It was a vacuum for her. Her notion of
what a mosque was really like was as vague as her notion of
Islam.

Of course, she knew that there was no idol-worship

in Islam and had even made offerings once at the dargah of
Moinuddin Chisti. Yet the absence of a deity in the dark
interiors filled her own heart with an unusual emptiness.
Kuki would often make fun of Hinduism. We have created
numerous gods for our endless desires: for birth, death,
wealth, wisdom, everything one could think of. Yet her

7
heart looked for an idol where no idol was there. The
human mind searched for something concrete and tangible.
She knew God was formless, without attributes, and
impossible to define. She knew God was nothingness yet
omnipresent, but her heart could still not accept the empty
chamber.

But did love care for religion? The true religion of

love was to tread the untrodden path. It was as if he had
totally mesmerized Kuki.

“Each passing day makes me love even more and

more,” he had once written. “Today, more than yesterday,
and tomorrow, more than today.” Kuki also felt that there
was a freshness in their love, a freshness that refused to
fade away or become stale with the passage of time. And
she was utterly fascinated by this man’s absolute frankness
and candor.

He had revealed everything about himself, even the

darkest of his sins, in his very first letter: He had two wives
and four children. His first wife lived in the village and did
not have any sexual relations with him now. But her two
daughters stayed with him in town and were pursuing their
higher studies. His second wife, incidentally, had been his
student. He had had sexual relations with her before their
marriage. He had also had a long-term relationship with
Linda Johnson, an American girl, who had clued him into the
intricacies of sex. But he was no longer in touch with her.

Kuki had read this man’s life story the way she read
the newspapers. “A complete pervert!” His ‘love’ was like
M. F. Hussain’s love for Madhuri. It was not her cup of tea,
she had thought.

“Perversion goes hand in hand with genius; be it

Einstein or Flaubert, it boosts creativity.” This was the only
consolation for her. While the man’s honest and
spontaneous ramblings impressed Kuki, his habit of going
astray had filled her with utter disdain and contempt.

After reading his letters, Kuki became curious about

the nikah of Muslims. Of course, she knew a Muslim man

8
could marry four times. She had once quizzed Professor
Siddiqui to satisfy her curiosity. He cited several references
from the Quran and tried to explain things to her. “Look
madam, the Quran doesn’t encourage four marriages in the
sense you look at it. The law was actually made to protect
women and the destitute. Many men die on the battlefield.
The system of polygamy was devised to protect widows and
orphans and to save them from harassment.”

Kuki felt a sense of relief after hearing Professor

Siddiqui’s analysis, but the feeling was short-lived. The man
who loved her had not married a second time to save some
helpless woman! And what of his relationship with Linda
Johnson? Yet, Kuki couldn’t forget his love for her. She felt
as if no one had ever given her so much in her entire life.

Kuki was gradually drifting away from her own usual

domestic self. She felt as if she was living in a dream world
where there was no one else apart from the two of them.
She lost interest in devising innovative delicacies for her
children. Nor could she apply her mind to the little
problems Aniket came up with. The plants, unwatered,
began to wither away.

The garden had stopped smiling in delight; with their

moth-eaten petals, the flowers sat gloomily, looking
emaciated. Portions of the lawn had become bald, rooms
had been smutted with spider webs, and a patina of dust
had gathered on the idols placed on the shelves. Taking
advantage of her absent-mindedness, the housemaid was
skipping her work. Her domestic set-up was moving
through a period of chaos. But where was she?

She became obsessed with sitting in front of the

computer and responding to the call of love. She was trying
to provide shape to all that remained unexpressed within
her. And to her surprise, even after saying so much
everyday, new thoughts would blossom inside her like an
endlessly meandering stream.

They had decided to have their conversation at three

levels.

9
 The first one was about the common man’s world;
the second was ethereal love; and the third one related to
sensual love. In the course of this conversation, Kuki
mastered several words she had never been able to use
earlier. After her children had left for school and college,
and Aniket, for work, she would spend hours on the
computer, writing letters to this man.

She would be very upset whenever she heard of any

strains in the relations between India and Pakistan. The
prospect of a war between these countries frightened her
immensely. Even the thought that her home, children,
husband, parents, siblings, and other relatives were all
together here was not of much consolation to her. Perhaps
everything would be destroyed by a bomb. She felt as if her
heart was beating at some unseen place in Pakistan and
would suddenly stop with the dropping of a bomb, leaving
behind a pool of blood. Her world would come crashing
down.

Kuki often felt that India and Pakistan should not

have been two different nations at all. What was the need
to divide them and leave them fighting forever? Kuki had
never seen Kashmir. But what could there possibly be in
Kashmir that the two countries had been fighting over ever
it as if she was a beautiful damsel? Her blood would curdle
whenever she heard of terrorist activities in Kashmir.
Shocked by the brutality of those people, she had decided
Pakistan was a heartless country. Like Sparta, Pakistan had
been manufacturing militants masquerading as jehadis. But
all her notions changed after she came to know him. She
realized there were still some people with compassion and
intelligence amidst the oppressive ambience created by the
military junta.

Aniket and Kuki were returning from their visit to a

hill-station. As they could not get reservations, they had to
wait in Delhi for three more days. While visiting various
places, they had entered the Dhumimal art gallery. Kuki
was fond of art but Aniket had quite different feelings about
it. Modern painting, like modern poetry, was obscure to
him. He felt suffocated in the serene ambience of the
gallery and preferred to go outside for a smoke. Kuki was

10
now left alone with her senses. As she scanned through
each painting hanging on the wall, one painting in particular
held her eyes. There was a strange loneliness written all
over the painting. She felt as if someone had held her hand
and dragged her down some unfamiliar street of an
unknown city to a very lonely man; a man whose anguish
was so acute that it was yet to find expression in words.
The tiny letters read: Alienation, oil-on-canvas, 191 x
143cms, Safiq Mohammed, published by Pakistani Art
Forum, Lahore.

Kuki did not have enough money to buy the painting

yet she felt life would lose all meaning for her if she could
not buy it. Rich people never understood painting, yet they
would buy paintings to show their wealth off, she thought.
She was a connoisseur of art, but could not afford to buy
paintings. She couldn’t concentrate on any other painting
that day; she kept returning to that one canvas. The man at
the counter asked, “Madam, we can get a print of the
painting. Would you like one?”

Kuki had been delighted. She had returned with the

print and brochure. She could get Safiq Mohammed’s e-
mail address from the brochure. Then she had knocked on
the door of Safiq Mohammed’s consciousness. She had
never imagined that someone eager for her would say,
“Each night my vision wanders to a place I can’t travel to.”

“Why can’t you come to India?” Kuki asked him.

“Restrictions on travel between the two countries have been
relaxed now. Besides, you are an artist. You are famous for
Alienation. Who will come in your way? If Sheema
Kermani’s troupe can perform in Kolkata, if the Pakistani
cricket team can come and play in Indian cities, why can’t
you come to India?”

He tried to evade the question, and instead, diverted

Kuki’s mind to a love poem replete with effusive
sentimentality. He was as much outspoken as he was
emotional in writing the poem. As if he had been trying to
find an answer to that question, “If Sheema Kermani’s
troupe can perform in Kolkata, if the Pakistani cricket team
can come and play in Indian cities, why can’t you come to

11
India?” One day he wrote a reply of sorts, “The whole world
is a stage. Never think that India and Pakistan constitute
the entire world. There are so many other places in the
world where we can move freely and chat for hours and
where I can hum poems close to your ears under the
moonlight. One room and one bed is all we need to dissolve
all barriers and barbed-wire fences. It is my dream that
someday I will take you to a place like that. This man is
tempting me with a dream again, Kuki thought. He began
to tempt her with a dream at a time when her heart craved
freedom from the monotonous letter writing; freedom from
an unresolved mystery! Yes, the world was vast, big and
wide. Besides, how much space did two people need? As
Kuki wove such dreams, the man offered her a strange
proposal. “You know, I wish to sketch the most priceless
painting of my life with your love. Come close to me,
become my skin, my self, my world, and bless me with the
gift of fatherhood.”

Kuki was both startled and offended by the man’s

candid proposal but she also felt a shiver of excitement. An
invitation beckoned her from a distance as if she was a
goddess and that a devotee from some remote place was
coming to worship her. She felt restless, but whom could
she confide to? There was no one at all. Yet she wished she
could speak to someone. She wished she could tell
someone that there was a man she felt like writing poetry
for. An unknown fear also plagued her. The gentle breeze
kissed her forehead and wafted by, sending a shiver down
her spine and inducing a feeling at once unfamiliar and so
well known.

“I am in this prison of a soul that I have created for

myself dwelling over my unrequited love for you." Finally
she wrote, “Okay, I am more than willing to come to you
with all my love and dedication and bless you with
fatherhood. If I, me, my body, can be the canvas for your
priceless painting, I am ready and I am looking forward to
your most beautiful creation after Alienation.

Kuki’s consent delighted him. He wrote, in his next

letter, “You are the beacon of my life; the new dawn in my
existence. You came into my life, and I began to see life

12
anew. I’ll sketch the most priceless painting of my life with
your love. I’ll tie your name with mine. As you are the new
morning of my life, you won’t be Kuki any longer, but
‘Rokshana.’ I want to introduce you to the whole world as
Rokshana.”

Kuki felt numb. Her whole world seemed to be

crumbling into dust at her feet. The skies suddenly looked
grey and gloomy, the rustling leaves, dead, and the chirpy
birds, silent. She became very pensive. She was not herself
any longer. She was somebody else. Then who was she
until today? Whom did the man love? Kuki or Rokshana?
But Kuki had never wanted to marry him. She had desired
only love, unconditional love. Why such a condition, then?
Why ‘Rokshana’ instead of ‘Kuki?’ Who was this Rokshana?
From where had she suddenly surfaced? Where had she
remained hidden all these years? Within the recesses of his
wild imagination or in the pages of the Quran? The very
thought sent a shudder down her spine. Am I being selfish?
Is it selfish to want to preserve oneself and one’s own
identity?

She drafted the return e-mail in her mind: “Look at

me. Feel me in my wholeness. Experience me as I am.
Don‘t try to transform me. Let me be myself. Don't push
me into oblivion. Accept me as I am. Accept me with my
wrinkles, my tokens of age, the traces of my beauty, my
innocence, and my arrogance. Accept me as I am. Do not
try to transform me. Tell me, whom do you want? The
complete Kuki or the new Rokshana?”

Kuki became restless. Her otherwise nimble fingers

seemed reluctant to move over the keyboard. Her words
refused to find shape. She groped in the darkness for the
right letters, for the right words for her emotions. But
everything remained as formless and shapeless and vague
as ever. After much effort, Kuki managed to jot down
everything she wanted to say. A wave of relief swept over
her. She wished to fly like a bird. She wanted to return to
her threshold and her garden. The rose leaves had
shriveled up. The buds on the dahlia plant refused to
blossom; those wild plants looked pale behind the grass.
Smut had piled up in the corners of the house. Dust

13
gathered on the furniture. Sarees lay in a mess in the
cupboard. A peepal plant had sent down roots beside the
bathroom window. Kuki had been far away from her
domestic self for too long. It was time for her to return to it
once again.

Kuki tried to arrange everything neatly in her house.

She chatted heartily with the plants in the garden, and they
also smiled at her new look. She finished all her household
chores that afternoon and even prepared delicacies for
everybody. Her house began to feel complete with broad
smiles lighting up every face.

Yet, a Rokshana still writhed somewhere in Kuki’s

consciousness. She could not bring herself to send the
letter she had written. There was no mail for her either.
She hadn’t received anything after that day. The inbox
showed, “You have zero unread mail.” Yet her heart would
pound heavily; the man would be desperately searching
through his mailbox everyday. Perhaps he would think
something dreadful had happened to her. She would often
have this funny feeling at the oddest of hours that the man
would come and knock on her door, or would stand by the
window and smoke cigarette after cigarette, desperate to
meet her.

Kuki sat once again in front of the blank monitor, her

listless fingers on the keyboard. Perhaps, her fingers would
now come to life. Perhaps she would write now: “Hey, look,
I have returned again to your world. I am Rokshana, not
Kuki. But what is there in a name? It is meaningless. I will
gift you fatherhood. You can now start the most priceless
painting of your life.” Kuki’s fingers became animated, but
she reclined into silence after a few lines. She reopened the
old letter in which she had expressed her desire to be Kuki
and only Kuki.

But a sense of emptiness kept her gazing at the

lifeless and now useless computer. What would her next
course of action be? Was she ready to relinquish her own
identity and start afresh or was it best for her to find solace
in her very own small paradise, her sweet home?

14
 What about her love, then, the love she had nurtured
in her breast all these days? Was it false? What about her
hopes, her dreams, her despair? Could she possibly survive
without the love of that man?

On one hand, there was Aniket and his old, sweet

and stable world with its lost charm. On the other, there
was Safiq and his alluring, exciting new world. Both had
stretched their hands out towards her. Which one would
she embrace?

What had she hoped to find? she wondered. These

were the things men lived by; the forms of their spirit, of
their culture, of their enjoyment. She had seen nothing else
anywhere for many years.

She remained immersed in her pensive

introspection; her body was still as a statue. It was time for
her to move but in which direction was she to move?
Experience and instinct battled ferociously inside her.

She had felt her fingers raring to run over the

keyboard. But she remained motionless. All of a sudden a
thought blazed through her mind -- Nuni. Yes, it was Julius
Caesar who had given the name ‘Nuni’ to his beloved
Cleopatra. Love encompasses every obsession. One can
even feel like giving a new name to that very special person
and calling her by that name. What was she so worried
about? Why should the fact that someone wanted to call
her by a special name give rise to such a dilemma and such
hairsplitting? Why was she getting so upset? It was a kind
of rebirth for her.

Kuki started on her third e-mail. “I am ready to live

my lovely life with you, as your beloved. You can call me by
any name you want to. Yours, ROKSHANA”

15
16
 CHAPTER 2

Rokshana,
Words become stagnant
All sound chokes in the throat.
Wringing all moisture from the expression,
Distorting meaning,
All my efforts in finding you
With these jumbled words
Drain me out fully,
And turns futile.

Safiq wrote a small poem this time. Even though

painting was the umbilical cord of their blooming
relationship, Kuki had never had a chance to see any of his
paintings except the one at Dhoomimal Art Gallery in Delhi.
She knew Safiq the poet better than Safiq the painter.

When she wrote as much to him, Safiq said, “I’ve

never been a poet. It is you who has made me one. Your
intense love has given birth to the poet inside me. You can
provide forms to your feelings in poetry.”

But Kuki found it was beyond her. Expressing her

feelings in the form of poetry was not her cup of tea. But
did that mean that she loved him any less than he loved
her?

Kuki had written, “I don’t have a fertile literary mind

like you do. I can’t juggle with words to convey my feelings.
I can’t imagine the sky, the moon and daffodils as you do. It
doesn’t come naturally to me. I cannot articulate my
dreams or abstractions as you do. Nor am I very proficient
in English. But your abilities compensate for my inabilities
in this field.”

“What is so special about words?” Safiq wrote in

reply. “All that matters is that you convey your feelings. It
doesn’t matter what means or language you use. It can be

17
as primitive a language as gestures or non-verbal cues or
even lip movements.”

She was enthralled by his broad-mindedness and his

enthusiasm. After ‘meeting’ Kuki, he had started visiting
the library, scanning through voluminous books on the
geography, history and culture of India. All this was just so
that he could understand her better. He wanted to rid
himself of his misconceptions about India. He had even
started learning Kuki’s mother tongue, a few words every
day. He tried to use some of those words in the e-mails he
sent her.

“I love you.” A small expression, but he seemed to

have searched the whole world for it.

Je t’aime. French.
Ich liebe Dich. German.
S’ agapo. Greek.
Ani ohev otach. Hebrew.
Te amo. Spanish
Amo-te. Portuguese.
Jag a’lskar dig. Swedish.

Dutch, Japanese, Albanian, Morocco, Polish, Russian

and even Latin. He’d carried on and on, giving expression
to his desire in 38 languages.

“Do you know what they mean?” he’d written at the

end of the list. “They all mean ‘I love you.’”

Kuki was tired of reading all this. It was impossible

to remember more than two or three of them. What kind of
a guy was he anyway? Sometimes like a haughty
adolescent? A naughty teenager? A wild, original but
perverted genius?

She had addressed him as “My hot and sweet

hamburger.”

And Safiq had asked, “Hamburger? How come me, a

hamburger?”

18
 “Because you possess a teenager’s sensibility
coupled with a wise man’s intellect,” she replied.

Safiq had been delighted with the compliment. Kuki

sometimes addressed him as the ‘sun,’ and sometimes as
the ‘banyan’ tree. The sun because it provided sustenance
to all creatures, and banyan tree because it provided shade
and shelter to many.

Safiq was always full of praise for the funny but

innovative sobriquets Kuki used for him. It was as if the two
of them were playing out a game of words among
themselves.

Kuki had once been out of town for eight days.

When she came back and opened her mailbox, there was a
bunch of e-mails from him. His restlessness and longing
echoed powerfully and poignantly in each of his e-mails. He
had written:

“One week without you, is like one moment

Without air, like one day without food
And a week without water.
One week without you is like a month
Without sunshine or shelter;
One week without your voice is like a
Year without the sound of music, or birds
Or of rain and thunder.
One week without your comfort
Is a week without sleep.
For my heart knows no rest,
And my nights give me no peace.
One week without your love, and my days are
Bereft of all beauty; though I see all around me,
others who are called ‘beautiful,’
none compares with your visage
As I spend my hours gazing at your picture.
One week without talking to you
Is like years alone in the wilderness,
Or on a deserted island; though
I may talk with people on the streets,
My heart feels lonely and stifled.
One week without you is like a year

19
 In prison; though I may come and go
As I please, my soul knows no freedom.
One week without you in my life is like
No life at all; darling.

The mail also carried the following solitary line: “I

have turned blind. Come back soon to hold my hand.”

It reminded her of a similar line she had read

somewhere during her school days. Perhaps it was a line
penned by the ancient Oriya poet, Upendra Bhanja—“As a
newly blind yearns.”

All of Kuki’s replies were terse, rational and devoid of

superfluous emotion. It was as if Kuki was the mistress, and
Safiq, her servant. Each word keyed in by Kuki was
important to him. Sometimes Kuki had the feeling Safiq was
her pampered, naughty son who had gone astray and was
trying to return to being normal. She had never tried to
bring him to the correct path, but Safiq himself was trying
his best to come to grips with the new world he was
encountering. Kuki’s world was a strange one to him, as
indeed his world was to her.

While telling her about himself, he had once blurted

out, “I have had sex with 52 different women. Have you
had any such experience, Rokshana?”

He sounded like a victorious soldier, proudly

describing his sexual exploits. After reading that e-mail,
Kuki was really heartbroken. Her faith in him lay shattered.
She had got emotionally attached to a person who was
nothing short of promiscuous and perverted. There was a
limit to everything. How had she become so entangled with
this disgraceful creature? she scolded herself. She felt
betrayed. The more she delved into the matter, the more
intensely did she feel an all-encompassing darkness closing
in on her. Was this what the darkness of hell was like?

She was new to this kind of lifestyle. It was not as if

she hadn’t heard of extramarital affairs. But every time the
faintest of weakness for someone else had bloomed inside

20
her, she had simply wiped it out as if she was scrubbing dirt
off a used utensil.

So this kind of thing also exists in this world? she

thought to herself. She had encountered such things on
television and page-three reports, but she had never
understood the psyche of the individuals involved. Just
imagining the scenes of lust made her shudder. She felt
stifled and suffocated.

Kuki had never met Safiq in person. She had only

the photo he had sent with his first e-mail at the beginning
of their virtual relationship. Staring at the photo, Kuki
thought what is divine pleasure for this man is acute
anguish for me.

And this was the man about whom she had begun to
harbour such intense dreams? The relationship she had
nurtured all this while, was all of this nothing at all? Enjoy
today to the fullest and forget tomorrow? She had never
believed in this creed. As if ‘one-night stands’ could snatch
moments of happiness; like beggars enjoying a plate of
mutton with their alms at the end of the day, trying to
forget the trials and tribulations of life.

But was it possible for a man to live only for himself?

How would his children grow up? With parents spending
their evenings in obscure nightclubs, who would teach their
children, “A for apple” or “A plus B whole square…,” etc?
What kind of trauma would the children be living through?

She was suffering the pangs of sharp and

penetrating remorse. She felt only disgust and hatred for
the man when she remembered his words, “I have had sex
with 52 different women.”

What does he think of women? Are they mere

commodities, only toys for carnal pleasure for him? What
about emotions? What about the heart, the mind, the soul
—does nothing except flesh have any importance? Does
Safiq have a heart at all?

21
 This man had duped her with his sweet and alluring
words, she thought. She felt betrayed. Perhaps she was
just the next woman on his list, number 53. Perhaps she
meant nothing more than that to him. Paroxysms of grief
and loneliness submerged into her consciousness.

Though he had never had the opportunity to touch

Kuki, they had derived pleasure from the e-mails expressing
all the bedroom emotions through the medium of words.
She had to be naked before such a person, for whom
nothing but the body meant anything. Kuki felt very sad,
and that sadness snowballed into repentance and anger.
She was getting irritated over trivial matters. She felt as if
her world had turned topsy-turvy.

She had made a mistake; she had chosen the wrong

person, someone who was not worthy of her. She wouldn’t
be able to return to her own world. She became quieter and
quieter.

Her stoic silence was beyond her family’s

understanding.

“What’s wrong? Are you ill? Is it the old stomach

ache again?” Aniket inquired.

“If it was the old stomach ache, wouldn’t I tell you

about it? What do you think?” she retorted, irritated.

“You do nothing but sit tight at home all day. You

don’t have to slog ten hours a day in the office. Why are
you so quiet? What’s wrong? Did someone call from my
place?”

“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong with me. Why would I be

quiet? There’s nothing wrong at all. Everything is fine. I
am absolutely fine!”

The face is the reflection of the mind, she thought,

but she preferred not to speak out. Did she always have to
be her usual bubbly, active self? Didn’t she deserve some
time for her own self? Couldn’t she feel like just sitting
down and thinking?

22
 “Mama, I feel sad when you’re so quiet,” the younger
son said.

“Don’t bother her,” Aniket told him. “She’s in a bad

mood.”

My thoughts must have affected my facial

appearance, Kuki thought. But to whom could she confide
all her problems, her feelings, and dilemmas? How could
she strike a balance between the two worlds in which she
now lived? Was she doing justice to her family? Kuki
thought of closing the back door of her mind -- for good.

Aniket had asked the children not to disturb their

mother. The children were busy in their own world. Aniket
was engrossed in the newspapers and television. She was
feeling very lonely in her own home.

The other day, she had spent the entire evening in

bed. She had forgotten that she was a homemaker. The
others were waiting for her to serve them their food. Aniket
was finding it more and more difficult to distract himself
with the newspapers. “How are you now?” he was asking
every now and then. “Do you want to take some medicine?
Let’s visit the doctor!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll do all the work,” she would reply.

“Just give me a few more minutes. “

She would inquire, “It’s okay, we’ll have bread

omelet today? What do you all say? Bread is okay with
you, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” replied the younger son. “We’ll have

pizza some other day.”

Kuki felt guilty and sad. What was she doing? The
family was thoroughly dependent on her—and what did she
think she was doing? There was more to life than her own
ambitions and aspirations. She felt she was responsible for
her children and her husband.

23
 Kuki got up abruptly to cook for her family. But her
loving family did not allow her to, thus leaving her again in
the world of thoughts and gloom, guilt and sorrow.

When everybody had left the house the next day,

she felt herself drawn irresistibly towards the computer.
She logged on just to see if she had gotten any e-mails from
Safiq. Her heart began beating faster. Her fingers ran all
across the keyboard. Her mailbox was empty and showed
no unread e-mails.

Nothing like this had ever happened to her before.

Even when she was not at home, e-mails had flooded her
mailbox. So what was the matter now? Had Safiq wanted
freedom from her by telling her the story about having sex
with 52 different women? Her thoughts outstripped her
erring feet. Would the abhorrence of Kuki automatically pull
her away from the relationship?

She frantically logged on to the internet five or six

times that day, fervently praying for an e-mail from him.
But it was all in vain. Each time she saw her empty inbox,
she felt more and more frustrated.

“Where are you Safiq?” she cried out loudly. She felt
herself surrendering to a series of incoherent expressions.

She switched on the TV to distract herself. But she

found herself unable to concentrate on the family serials
that were playing on various channels. She tried to sleep
but without success. She remembered Safiq’s words:

“Within you I lose myself;

Without you, I find myself searching
To be lost again.”

She thought of visiting the neighbors to keep herself

busy in idle chatter. She felt a deep sorrow pressing down
upon her. But this feeling of sorrow was different. Last
night she had felt guilty; she had felt the sorrow of having
been betrayed, duped by a Casanova. A vision of this man
laughing at her and announcing, “You know, I can conquer
any woman” had haunted her.

24
 The feeling of betrayal was not around the next day.
It had been replaced by the sadness of losing her love. She
didn’t want to lose Safiq. There was nothing more
intoxicating than being in love. She didn’t want to lose that
love. The emotions that had haunted her last night became
irrelevant today.

After two days, Kuki discovered two new e-mails

from him in her inbox.

“What’s wrong? Why have you stopped e-mailing

me? Are you unwell? Any problem in your family? Perhaps
you have gone out of town without informing me? Has my
e-mail hurt your sentiments?” He sounded very eager and
anxious. “I just did not know I had missed you as much I
do.”

It was as if Kuki had been re-born. She was smiling.

The sunshine came back into her life. Some magical power
seemed to have set everything back in motion. Nobody
would ever have any inkling of this secret.

Like a moth drawn towards the fire, she found herself

drawn to the computer. She gave vent to her feelings;
almost without knowing it, she started scolding the man.
“What is the point of living like a caterpillar, of leading a life
of unbridled enjoyment of female flesh without any
emotions or attachments? Do you think I have been
attracted towards you in anticipation of physical pleasure? I
wish I was aware of all this from the beginning.”

“You’re insulting me, baby. You’re calling me a

caterpillar!” replied Safiq. “Yes, I do agree that I have lived
a caterpillar’s life. In the flush of youth, I have enjoyed
female flesh every night. But Rokshana, you are the first
woman who has been able to usher me into the world of
pure and unselfish love. You are different from the others. I
will show you one day how much I love you and how much I
respect you and your feelings. I will prove it to you one day.
Don’t leave me. I touch your feet with my head. Forgive
me for my grave misdeeds. But don’t leave me. And please
don’t call me a caterpillar.”

25
26
27
 CHAPTER 3

“Please don’t call me a caterpillar.”

Perhaps she had hurt Safiq. Should Kuki have hurt

him like this? Should she have used all those names for a
man she loved -- a barbaric Satan, a flesh-hungry coward, a
tasteless, promiscuous man? She should have thought
twice before choosing her words. Hadn’t she been too
reckless? How hurt he must have been! Kuki’s heart bled
for him.

The problem with Kuki was that she could never

suppress her feelings. She was not the kind of person who
could wear a fake smile on her face. She had known
everything about Safiq right from the beginning and had
accepted him, so there was no point in raking up his past all
over again now.

She had insulted the man repeatedly and rebuked

him many times. But surprisingly, their relationship had
only grown stronger. It was all destiny, Kuki thought.
Everything seemed to have been decided by some supreme
being, including the fact that she would come across Safiq
at a time when she was busy charting out her son’s future,
observing the rituals for the well-being of her family, and
deciding on monetary investments that promised to double
her wealth. At this point, life brought her back 20 years.

Neither he could live without her, nor could she.

Still, they would fight angrily with each other. Kuki had
written, “You are my destiny. Otherwise, why does my mind
reach out to you regardless of the endless obstacles that lay
ahead? ”

“You belong to the land of my enemy,

I do not share your beliefs.
What similarities do you have with my nature?
Still, there is something; pull me near you.
Like a leaf fallen from the tree
I reach out to you, when I find myself free.”

28
 Safiq had replied in his own crazy way: “O my sweet
erotic goddess, don’t say things like that.”

That day, Safiq had taken Tabassum to a late-night

dinner party. They returned home in the wee hours of the
morning. In his studio, his canvas, colors and computer all
waited for him, and Rokshana, waited inside the computer.
Unhurriedly, he reached her. He logged on to the internet,
and Rokshana invited him to come to her and sit close to
her on her desktop.

Safiq wrote, “I did not go to the New Years party so

Tabassum forced me to attend the late-night dinner party. I
didn’t want to leave you alone, but I couldn’t say no to
Tabassum. I drank heavily. I don’t know how to dance. Do
you? My eyes searched for you amongst the crowd but you
were inside my heart. I was having wine and observing
Tabassum. She was engrossed with her boyfriend; they
were going wild. She was almost half fucked!”

The drunken Safiq had written, “You are the greatest

woman in my life. I have given all my property in my village
to my first wife. This mansion, I have gifted to my second.
But I have placed you in my heart. We will never part ways.
There is no one for me except you.”

In a few moments of madness, he had written three

poems, ‘O My Mother,’ ‘O My Daughter,’ and ‘O My Sweet
Wife.’ All three were dedicated to Kuki. He had imagined
Kuki in these three forms only. Every poem was a
testimony to his yearning for Kuki’s presence and
companionship.

“You know Rokshana,” Safiq had written several

times, “this studio is where I get eternal peace. It feels as if
we are very close and I can almost feel your presence inside
the computer. I dream of you. I miss you. I yearn for you.
Yet you’re not really there in person. There is only a
vacuum, a yawning void.”

29
 Kuki had observed during these last few days that
Safiq would wait for Tabassum like some nocturnal animal
into the wee hours of the morning. Sometimes he would
wait for her return before sitting down to paint or
sometimes, before writing a 24-kb e-mail to Kuki. Safiq’s
nights trundled along, weighed by the wait for Tabassum’s
return from parties that wound up at dawn and never
before.

Ever since Kuki started corresponding with Safiq, she

had been reading about Tabassum’s exploits. But Safiq did
not seem bothered at all. No frustrations. No objections.
Once in a while, Tabassum put in an appearance in his e-
mails as well.

“Baby, come to my arms. It’s now 1:00 a.m.

Tabassum is yet to come home.”

And sometimes he wrote, “Tabassum has just gone

out with her youngest boyfriend. You know this chap,
Shamim, is just 25!”

Or, “Rokshana, Tabassum has gone on a date today.

The maid is on leave. I helped my daughter with the
cooking. We have just finished dinner. A peg of rum and a
cigar and I’ll be right with you.”

Tabassum used to go out on dates with her

boyfriends and return only after midnight or shortly before
dawn. Safiq had given enough freedom to his second wife,
Tabassum. But Kuki had not noticed any expression of
annoyance or anger on his part with regard to Tabassum.
At least he is not one of those selfish men who indulge in
polygamy and expect their wives to be completely loyal to
them, Kuki thought.

Sometimes, Kuki found it difficult to accept

Tabassum’s activities. But she never expressed her
reservations to Safiq. He might not like her comments, she
feared. She had only asked him once, “What do you do in
the evening in your house? No offering of Namaz? No
discussions? No reminiscing about the past? Nobody to

30
whisper goodnight to the children. Don’t the children ever
ask where their mother has gone? Don’t they complain?”

Safiq would often forget to answer Kuki’s queries.

That was what happened on this occasion. But Kuki’s
middle-class mentality could not accept Tabassum and her
activities. Still, she had made a conscious effort not to
interfere in their personal lives.

“You know Rokshana,” Safiq had written once,

“something very odd happened today. While in bed with
Tabassum, I called out your name several times. To my
surprise, instead of getting angry, Tabassum smiled sweetly
and said, ‘Why love a woman who can never be yours?’ I
know Tabassum. She can’t tolerate any other woman in my
life. How did she accept you like that without any
complaints? It’s a miracle, my sex goddess. It’s nothing
short of a miracle!”

She felt thrilled on reading Safiq’s tale, but it

troubled her as well. No feelings, no emotions, no caring;
only flesh? What kind of fantastic world was this? Was he
giving vent to his fantasies and painting a dream world?
One that did not exist in reality?

Aniket had taken her to Darjeeling once. A new

place to her, she had wandered around it like a vagabond.
Inadvertently they had entered the red-light area of
Darjeeling. She was witness to a strange sight. Poverty and
want were palpable all around her. Yet the women here
were draped in beautiful saris, sported cheap and heavy
make-up and wore flowers in their hair. They smiled
alluringly as they stood in front of their houses. “Why are
these people standing around like this?” Kuki had asked
Aniket.

Without answering, Aniket had pulled her away from

that street. And said, breathlessly, “That’s a red-light area,
an area for prostitutes.”

Oh God! They lived in such conditions! Her heart

bled for them. They didn’t even get the respect a beggar
did, she thought.

31
 Darjeeling had been unbelievably beautiful, but she
still couldn’t forget that street. It still haunted her. But
those women had to trade their bodies out of sheer
helplessness and dire need. What was forcing Safiq and his
ilk? She simply could not come to grips with their lifestyle.
For them, the female body was nothing more than a
commodity, an instrument of pleasure. Kuki had once
asked, “How come you have become so liberal? Aren’t your
mullahs very conservative? Don’t they criticize your
recklessness? Aren’t you afraid of being punished under the
Shariyat laws? Doesn’t Tabassum wear a burqa?”

“We have two Pakistan’s, Rokshana,” Safiq had

written, “one for the have-nots and another for the affluent.
We belong to the latter. Most of us follow the West. For the
affluent, there is no ‘taboo.’ They live far away from the
clutches of the shariyat. People here label me pro-
American. The mullahs you are talking about are for the
common people of Pakistan. They are taught only religious
matters in the madrassas. But why do you ask all this?
Have you still not pardoned me for all my past
misdemeanors? Perhaps you think I am yet to relinquish my
old lifestyle? Do you find it so difficult to believe me when I
say there is nobody else in my life now? I know I am not
exactly a perfect match for you, sweetheart. I know I have
committed so many blunders but I need you to forgive me,
my baby goddess. I can’t live without you and your smile.”

32
33
 CHAPTER 4

“I know I am not exactly a perfect match for you,

sweetheart. I know I have committed so many blunders;
but I need you to forgive me, my baby goddess. I can’t live
without you and your smile.”

Yes, she felt disturbed by this man’s misdemeanors.

She was in the throes of acute mental turmoil. She was at
liberty to close the door on him forever at any moment she
wished to, but she found herself quite unable to do so.
Something was stopping her. Some divine force she could
not overcome. Some strange attraction kept them going.

She felt hypnotized by his words, his expressions of

undying love. She was entangled in a web of mystical love.
She could not help sitting before the computer and replying
to his e-mails. Whatever she wrote to him, however harshly
she rebuked him, she couldn’t go to sleep without writing to
him.

Behind her hard exterior, she had a soft heart; and

that heart of hers refused to let go of him for some strange
and mysterious reason. What sin had the man committed
that he had to provide explanations in every mail he sent to
her? What was it that he felt so guilty about?

Was he involved in a murder? Had he looted people?

Exploited others? Was he a terrorist; had he shot
indiscriminately into a crowd? If not, then why this tone of
repentance and remorse? Why this feeling of guilt? What
kind of a sin was he so repentant for? “I know I am not
exactly a perfect match for you, sweetheart. I know I have
committed so many blunders; but I need you to forgive me,
my baby goddess. I can’t live without you and your smile.”

No, Kuki had never raised these questions; she had

deliberately steered clear of things that could hurt him. But
as their relationship ambled along, Safiq had gradually shed
all inhibitions and laid his past bare for her to witness.

34
 Now, a worried Safiq wrote, “I can’t write you a long
mail today. I am very busy; I have been summoned for an
interrogation. I am very busy. I will write you a long e-mail
after I return.”

This was his shortest e-mail to date. What was the

matter? Why the summoning? Kuki felt worried. But whom
could she ask? She didn’t have his or his neighbor's
address or phone number. Of course, she wouldn’t have
called even if she have them. As for Tabassum, she had
never met or spoken to her. Moreover, it was difficult
calling a Pakistani number from a public booth.

Her concern clamored for articulation. It was so

strange. Here was a man she had never seen, never
touched, never smelled; a man who was a thousand miles
away. Yet she could still feel his presence every moment.

Who would believe her? Kuki was deeply troubled;

had Safiq landed in trouble because of her? She was from
an enemy nation after all. Had the ISI found anything?

There was another reason why Kuki felt so troubled.

In his madness, Safiq had made several copies of Kuki’s
photo. One for his wallet; one for his car; another for his
stud; and yet another one for his walls. “Who is she? Your
wife or girlfriend?” a friend had asked him once. “She is
everything to me,” he had replied.

“Don’t you feel afraid to hang my photos all over the

place?” Kuki had asked once, “How do your children react?”

“They know all about it. You are my everything,” he

had answered without the slightest hesitation as if he had
nothing to be apologetic about. Tabassum told them
everything before even I did. You should come here and
see what kind of reception they extend to you. You’d be the
darling of the house here.”

Alas, if only she could say the same about her family.
If her husband and children ever found out, Aniket would
either die of uncontrolled anger or would kill her. Would her

35
children ever call her ‘mother’ again? Kuki could live, be
discussed and respected comfortably in a family in Pakistan,
but what was Safiq’s status in her family? He was only
something to be tucked inside a folder of her inbox. He
could only be someone who would engage in gossip and
banter with Kuki. A fairy had once turned a youth into a
lamb. If Kuki had a magic wand, she would also love to
transform Safiq.

The next day, she received an e-mail from Safiq. He

couldn’t hide anything from Kuki. He had written, “I want to
leave the country. I hate the system of this nation. I hate
that military junta. They have taken the skeleton out of the
cupboard and revived the case that had been dead for all of
these last two years, at a time when it doesn’t have any
meaning.” He had left it at that. He was just bemoaning
his plight.

What case? Why was he so worried? Kuki felt like

reaching out to him and consoling him. She wanted to say,
“Don’t worry, I am with you.” But his worried condition
made her gauge the seriousness of his trouble. “I don’t give
a damn. I don’t care for anybody,” he was writing
repeatedly.

“What is the matter? What is it you’re so upset

about?” Kuki asked in her next e-mail. “If it’s not too
personal, tell me about your troubles. Why are you so
worried?”

After reading his reply, Kuki’s hatred for the man

grew manifold. She couldn’t understand him at all…

“Two years ago, I did something wrong,” Safiq wrote.

“It didn’t create much trouble at that time. But now, a
military officer has revived the case to blackmail Tabassum.
I did something wrong once, Rokshana. There was this girl,
one of my students, and also the model for one of my
paintings—I had sex with her. The girl later got married and
today lives happily with her family. She might have
forgotten the past. It doesn’t mean anything today. But the
military office is using that girl to blackmail Tabassum.

36
 Model? Blackmail? What model? What painting?
Kuki couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Kuki only understood
that he had been in a relationship with one of his female
students two years ago. She was aware of his unbridled
lifestyle, but all this stuff about blackmail was new to her.

Safiq had gotten her extremely worried; her mind

spent the next few days partly in India and partly in
Pakistan.

“Please explain what exactly you mean,” Kuki had

written. “I can’t understand what you’re saying. Isn’t it true
that you didn’t feel any emotional attachment towards the
girl? Without loving her, you had sex with her; that’s
tantamount to rape. You forced her when she did not
consent; that’s why she filed a case, right? Then how can
you possibly write it doesn’t mean anything? All these are
petty irritants to you; and you don’t give a damn, eh? How
can you do this, Safiq?”

A grievously hurt and defeated Safiq had written in

reponse, “The patient is just a body for a doctor, Rokshana.
For me, too, she should have been just another body.
That’s where I went wrong. Her eyes, breasts, and lips
invited me to touch them and fulfill the very purpose of their
existence. Yes, Rokshana, I have committed a wrong. But
Rokshana, the girl did not cry a single teardrop that day.
Why the sudden change? Somebody must have egged her
on to file a complaint. Who that somebody is I am yet to
discover! Yet I know that I have wronged! I am sorry
Rokshana! I am forever your culprit. Safiq.”

Kuki had abandoned her conservative middle-class

thinking long ago along with all her sorrows, helplessness
and failures. She had immersed herself in her love of Safiq,
forgetting the real world.

Married life was such a strange entity. It wiped out

all traces of love; wrung it out of the relationship. Living on
a day-to-day basis with another person slowly begins to
appear like the discharge of one’s duties as set out in a
contract. The stream of love hides itself in some obscure
niche. Was this what was happening to Kuki? Was she

37
desperate to regain that lost stream of love? Was Safiq the
answer to that problem?

Kuki remembered that she had not fallen ill for the
last eight months. She had smiled her way through these
last few months. All the rebukes and the mishaps had not
succeeded in leaving her heartbroken. Aniket’s anger and
outbursts didn’t seem to matter to her any longer.

When was the last time she had fallen ill? Yes, one
year back. Aniket had almost single-handedly dragged her
from the doorstep of death. She had needed three bottles
of AB- blood. She had an ulcer in the intestine. Continual
bleeding had made her anemic. Her hemoglobin count
hovered around the danger mark. Looking after the
children at home, arranging for blood for Kuki, staying up
through the night, cleaning the bedpan, changing the soiled
bed sheets—all of this had fallen on Aniket’s shoulders. At
the end of it all, Aniket looked rather like a tired hero.

She had returned from hospital after eight days.

Aniket, obsessed with cleanliness, had sanitized all her
belongings with Dettol. Watch, shoe, chains, rings, etc.

Aniket still remained apprehensive. He was haunted

by the vision of a virus moving around here and there in the
house. She was yet to recover fully. Aniket was juggling his
responsibilities at home and work with great difficulty; the
officials had forwarded his Character Record, which was
required for his promotion.

He looked disturbed. There were no forerunners

ahead of him for the promotion. His contemporaries had
left him behind long ago. All his competitors now were his
juniors.

He knows Joshi well enough. Dash, too. “How did

Pradhan get promoted?” Aniket grumbled, “His father-in-
law is an MP. Nobody appreciates hard work and sweat and
toil these days. Status overrides everything. How much
hold you have with the top brass is what matters, nothing
else. Your father had once reversed the transfer of your
brother-in-law. Why don’t you ask him if he can put in a

38
word for me with some MLA or MP”

“Father has grown old. He has given up politics.

What can he possibly do now?” Kuki mused.

“Why don’t you say that he wouldn’t do for me what

he has done for your brother-in-law Bastard! Here I am,
washing everything for his daughter, yet he still doesn’t
care a fig for me.”

When Aniket got angry, he would use foul language.

One would be hard-pressed then to guess that he was a
civilized, urban-educated executive working with a well-
known MNC.

“Why are you blaming my father?” Kuki questioned,

“Has he said no to you? Everything will be okay; don’t
worry.”

“Nothing will be okay, nothing…,” growled Aniket.

Kuki felt very sad for Aniket; she could feel his sadness. His
sadness was snowballing into a huge inferiority complex.

He would leave for work early in the morning, only to

return at eight in the evening. When he was in sales,
spending the day running around from pillar to post to
procure orders, his colleagues in the office spent their days
sitting in the comfortable air-conditioned room and earned
themselves quick promotions to boot. When he was posted
at the office, the men in the field got the promotions,
flaunting unbelievable sales statistics. And he remained
where he had been.

“Who cares for a small-town guy from Orissa? Being

born in Orissa is a curse,” Aniket would often complain.
Kuki felt for Aniket. He was struggling against factors and
prejudices that were well beyond his control. What was the
big deal if he was from a village and his father was a
farmer? How did it matter that he had gone to a vernacular-
medium school? He had proved himself by taking his
engineering degree from the IIT. There was no reason why
he should not be treated as an equal. It was not just empty
sympathy; she had supported him actively on many

39
occasions. Locals always had the upper hand, she knew.
But it was not as if ‘outsiders’ climbing up the corporate
ladder was unheard of. Aniket's short temper and unbridled
anger were proving to be a handicap in his quest for that
elusive promotion.

It had taken Kuki close to a month to recover fully.

The children had been clamoring for a shopping spree for
several days. Aniket took all of them out. The kids had a
wild day; they gorged on pizza and enjoyed themselves
inside Disneyland. It was a long time since Kuki had last
ventured out of her house. After the pizza session, the
children had clamored for Bhelpuri. And what a blunder she
had made! In the midst of the chaos, fun, and merry
making, she had drunk a glass of water from a roadside
stall. Aniket had become red with rage. He had given Kuki
a tight slap, reducing the whole gathering to stunned
silence. “I have spent thousands for you; I have had do take
such pains to nurse you back to health—who asked you to
take water from the roadside? Couldn’t you have brought a
water bottle from home?”

The sight of the stunned customers, shopkeepers,

and onlookers had filled Kuki with shame. She was not at all
prepared for this humiliation. She tried to say something,
but her voice trailed off and her stare dissolved into tears
rolling uncontrollably down her cheeks. And she had looked
away, turning her face towards the road.

“Get rid of that bug in your head, Aniket,” she had

muttered. “I can’t stand that odious bug which makes you
lose all sense of propriety every now and then. This bug is
much more dangerous than any virus I might be carrying. I
don’t need your status. I don’t need your love. I don’t want
this life.”

40
41
 CHAPTER 5

“I don’t need your love. I don’t want this life.” But

even suicidal tendencies refused to touch her. She was
disgusted with the life she was leading. There was
perpetual gloom and loneliness in her life with hardly any
flashes of tenderness or love.

Could she have ever guessed that this very life would
open up such new vistas in front of her? On one hand there
was Aniket; short-tempered and obsessed with cleanliness.
On the other, there was Safiq; honest, broad-minded but
perverted. A quiet strength and constancy went in Aniket’s
favor, while Safiq impressed her with his sensitivity and
tact.

If someone were to ask her, “Whom do you want?”

she would answer, “Both.” It didn’t sound nice, but she
knew she couldn’t be happy with either one or the other by
himself. But was such a thing possible?

Could Aniket tolerate Kuki’s relationship with Safiq?

He would probably go mad. He would either kill Kuki or
himself -- or both. He would destroy everything in sight.
The house would be full of corpses and shards. And he
would sit over the ruins, pondering the heinous crime he
had committed.

Once, while they were traveling on a train, the man

sitting opposite them had dared to stare at Kuki. That had
been enough to make Aniket lose his cool. He had given
him a piece of his mind. That night, he had found himself
unable to go to sleep. Kuki was his property; he would scold
her, beat her, love her, adorn her with sarees and jewelry.
And Kuki would accompany him like his shadow at parties
and picnics that he went to.

She had no idea where Tista was now. She had been
Kuki’s roommate at the university. A hardcore liberal, Tista
had said something to Aniket in Kuki’s absence. When she
came back from her village, Aniket had said, “Kuki, I would

42
like to bow my head in front of you.” Kuki was astonished.
What had happened? What did he mean?

Aniket was a student of IIT Kharagpur then. He used

to come to meet Kuki sometimes. Kuki had not known
about his imminent visit on that occasion. She returned on
Monday and found herself greeted with those words.

“How do you manage to cope with this Tista? Do you

know what kind of a girl she is? I have been observing her
for the last two days; I am quite stunned. Really Kuki, it’s
quite amazing—the way you manage to keep yourself
insulated from all these nasty elements. It’s a good thing
that you go home every Saturday.”

Kuki understood what must have happened. Tista

must have blurted out all her secrets. A very outspoken and
extrovert girl, she had no sense of what to say and what not
to say. She had a steady boyfriend, but she still went
around with several lovers.

“Just wait another year,” Aniket had said, “then I will

imprison you. You will be mine and only mine.”

Simply caged, what else? Imprisoned in a golden

cage—that was her condition. Kuki desperately longed to
escape from the cage and fly to freedom. She remembered
a disconcerting situation Aniket had put her into once. She
was in her M.A. final year then. Matrimonial proposals were
pouring in for her. Kuki was very disturbed. She couldn’t
write to Aniket regularly. She felt as if she was on a boat
that was being dragged along by the powerful current and
she had no say in what was happening in her life. Aniket
visited her suddenly one day at her hostel. Disheveled hair,
unkempt beard, the royal arrogance of youth written all
over him. Looking like a mad man, he had handed over a
plastic bag to Kuki and said, “All the letters, photos, gifts
you have ever sent me. I want to be free of all this. I can’t
tolerate the way you are neglecting me. It’s better that I
move out of your life and you live happily.”

Aniket seemed to be burning with rage. The scene

caught the attention of the other lovebirds in front of the

43
hostel. Kuki was perplexed. Was this the end of their
relationship? But, why? Who was at fault? She started
trembling. Her tears couldn’t stop Aniket, though; he had
returned to his hostel.

Did Aniket doubt her faithfulness? Did he think she

was seeing somebody else on campus? Why had he created
this drama? Aniket hadn’t left her, though; he was her
destiny. A few lines from Kuki had been enough to bring
Aniket back into her life and keep them together ‘til date.

Aniket was the love of her youth and Safiq, the love
of her middle age. She had often observed that Safiq
cleverly disentangled himself from any discussion on Aniket.
He seemed to harbour no visible interest or curiosity
regarding Aniket, as if he had discounted his presence in
Kuki’s life. It was as if there were only Safiq and Rokshana,
alias Kuki.

Sometimes she thought Safiq was jealous of Aniket.

When she mentioned, while writing poetry, that she was
writing all this for Aniket too, Safiq would write back, “My
love for you is purer, more intense and eternal than
Aniket’s.”

You are my fire

And your love burns right through my soul
Your love can make me whole.
Because you are my life, my world
Without you there is no me.
You are everything I ever wanted
Or have ever dreamed of.
With you I have been reborn
With your seductive charms, into the mystique of the
universe.
Pulsing with your love.
My very spirit is astounded because you are a
magical whisper of love.
I love you,
Now, and always will.
Because it is pure destiny,
Forever meant to be.
Our two hearts and souls together always,

44
 Until death do us part.
And we will meet once more
In heaven above.
“I will take you with me one day, Safiq had written.
“Will you come with me? I won’t care for any of your
protests. I am planning to go to Paris. There is a post lying
vacant at Columbia University; I have applied there. I know
it’s not easy getting in there; there is fierce competition.
Still, for your sake, I won’t give up. I have to write a para-
thesis on Islamic art for that.”

“You know the famous Louvre art gallery? I will take

you there. Will you come with me? I have a dream—I want
to kiss you on your crimson lips in front of everybody there.
Ah darling, I am dying for your lips.” These were just
dreams. Kuki didn’t know if she would ever be able to go
climb up the Eiffel tower to see Paris, the City of Light, the
fashion capital of the world, stretched out below her.

Nor did she know if she could ever sit with Safiq in a
park, their palms entwined. But it felt good to dream. At an
age when family worries crowd your mind, dreams open up
a fantasy world in front of you—one in which you can be a
completely different person. It was never too late in life;
one could always make a fresh start.

“You know, Rokshana,” Safiq had written, “I have

started on the painting that was bothering me so much.
You are my inspiration, Rokshana. Your love and
Tabassum’s sadness inspire my creativity. I can’t tolerate
Tabassum’s pain and I can’t live without your love. Without
you, I am nothing. Never leave me, please; I am ready to do
anything for you. I can go to every nook and corner of the
world to get a glimpse of you; I will wait for you ‘til my last
breath. Rokshana, don’t ever abandon me.”

“I have nothing to hide from you, Rokshana. We are

not separate; rather, you are like family. What will I hide
from you about Tabassum! You came into my life and
everything changed! You are the harbinger of hope.
Tabassum started smiling, and I, too. You are my lady luck.
Never, ever talk about leaving me, okay?”

45
 “Why are you always scared of losing me?” Kuki had
written. “Do you really think I would abandon you and go
off? You are my destiny. I don’t know where the stream of
my life is taking me. I can no longer differentiate between
what is stable and what is fleeting. Am I running after a
mirage or towards absolute fulfillment? There is so much I
don’t know, Safiq. I don’t know whether I will be part of this
world tomorrow or not. Don’t know whether I will ever be
able to come to your country, or you to mine. I don’t know
how the great Berlin Wall crumbled. I don’t know the truth
about the big bang theory and I don’t know why a scientist
suddenly begins to believe in fate. I don’t know why a much-
revered monk visits a prostitute in the last phase of his life.
There is so much I don’t know.”

“If you don’t, then who does?” Safiq had written.

“You are my goddess, my angel; I gaze upon your beauty,
awestruck. I have never seen an angel fly so low.”

46
47
 CHAPTER 6

“I gaze upon your beauty, awestruck. I have never

seen an angel fly so low,” Safiq had written. “Since you
walked into my life, there is no worry, no sadness…
nothing!”

The e-mail made Kuki laugh. Alas! If she were a real

angel, she would not have had to tolerate all the agony she
went through.

“When you see me and touch me,” Kuki had written,

“you will realize that I am an ordinary human being with my
own sorrows and grief, doubts and dissatisfactions. I am no
goddess; I possess no divine powers. I hunger. I thirst. I
crave for sex. I have my own aspirations and ambitions. I
also pretend. I also lie. I also betray Aniket and live my life
behind a mask.”

“Why am I so important to you? What have I given

you anyway?”

Replying to Kuki’s mail, Safiq had written:

“There are angels

In heaven above
And they shine with the light
Of an inner love;
Your love is a light
That brightens each day
Of all the people you see on the way.

Rokshana, you are responsible for the smile always planted

on my lips these days. What more could you have given
me? I don’t have anything to hide from you. I have no
separate existence.”

You know, I have not been to a nightclub, even once

since your arrival; never indulged in group sex. Your love
has been a beacon for me. I am sad only for Tabassum.
You know I have allowed her every freedom. I have never

48
stopped her from going on dates with her boyfriends. But in
the world of glitter and glamour, she made the mistake of
not being able to differentiate between human and demon.
She is in trouble today. She fell into the clutches of an Army
man. The man was very wicked and selfish. Taking
advantage of her simplicity, he tried to gift her to his boss
for a night.

But Tabassum was not ready for this. The incident

left her shell-shocked. She has confined herself to the
house since that fateful incident. A long period of
depression, it is as if she has turned into a lifeless frame.
Even the thought of touching her is difficult for me today.
She was suffering from depression and harboring self-
destructive thoughts. And there was this nasty guy
repeatedly asking for her on the phone. But she was not at
all ready to face that guy again. Still, the military guy
wanted her, hook or by crook.

Do you know what he did in desperation, finally? He

started blackmailing me. He thought he could get to
Tabassum by blackmailing me.

You already know how he blackmailed me. He

reopened the two-year-old case that everybody had
forgotten about and brought it out from cold storage. You
remember I had to go to Islamabad for an interrogation a
few days back.

But, my angel, nobody can touch me as long as you

are by my side. I hadn’t expected everything to settle down
so soon. I love you Rokshana; I adore you. When my sky
turns grey and the bolts of lightning start flashing and it
seems tomorrow will never come, I turn to you and
you’re my angel sent to me from above.

Kuki had initially had a poor impression of Tabassum.

She had thought of her as a woman of dubious character.
She was a middle-class woman; how could she open herself
up to so many men? She must be desperate for sex; must
be some kind of a maniac. Tabassum had several
boyfriends, Safiq had told her. Her youngest boyfriend was
just twenty-five. He used to massage her and help her in

49
the kitchen and with the housework as well. A sex slave,
perhaps.

There was something most disgusting and

intolerable yet, the man who had come to fix their daughter
Nagma’s marriage had kissed Tabassum. He was one of
Safiq’s cousins. After everybody had left, Tabassum kicked
up a row and declared she would not marry her daughter
into that bastard's house. She felt they were planning to
take Nagma as their daughter-in-law only as a way of
getting to her. They thought it would then be easier for
them to get access to her. It could turn out to be very
difficult to handle a person who was behaving like this from
the very beginning. Better not to enter into a relationship
with such people at all, she had opined.

Kuki had heard about this incident long ago. Safiq

had solicited her opinion on the matter. “Tell me, what’s
the way out? I can’t come to a decision. Should I marry
Nagma into their family or not? If I endorse Tabassum’s
decision, Nagma will complain that her stepmother is
playing a spoilsport and making unnecessary trouble.”

At that time, Kuki had not paid too much importance

to the complexity of the issue; she had been preoccupied
primarily with Tabassum’s relationships. How come
anybody could come and touch her body? She was a
woman; why didn’t she resist? Didn’t she have any self-
respect?

She had written to him advising him not to enter into

an alliance there as trouble seemed to have been brewing
right from the very beginning.

But this incident, coupled with the one relating to the

military man, made Kuki a bit softer towards Tabassum.
She became more sympathetic towards her. At least she
was not the person of dubious character that she had first
thought.

Kuki had a feeling that it was the perverted Safiq

who was responsible for Tabassum’s exploits. The poor
wife, in trying to keep pace with her husband, had run into

50
rough weather. Kuki’s hatred for Tabassum slowly began to
evaporate. She imagined her as a beautiful woman sitting
quietly with eyes like beads of glass -- emotionless, dead
eyes reflecting the anguish of her aching heart.

Kuki had written, “Please let Tabassum know that I

am equally sad for her. What happened to her was not
good. How could that man offer his beloved to someone
else? Was Tabassum a lifeless object? Her helplessness
has made me restless. I am really sad for her state of
affairs.

Be with her, Safiq; give her company. Sorrows are

an integral part of this life. You will face sorrow every
moment of your life. Who knows better, Safiq, than that
man, how empty and helpless is his core in spite of his
bright suit, glazed appearance and beautiful smile?

I don’t know. Regarding this world of corporal

pleasure, I have little experience. I had a ‘love marriage’
with Aniket, but we didn’t have any physical relationship
before marriage. After marriage, I discovered that Aniket
was not very sensitive or open to understanding female
physiology.

Sex is just a game for him. I am yet to discover what

an orgasm is. You will be astonished to know that I have
not been kissed for the last fourteen years. I know it
probably seems very unnatural, but I feel the love between
Aniket and me is intact; it has not withered or wilted even a
bit. If it had, his sorrows would not have made me so sad.

You know this love is just like the wail of the violin,
timeless and enchanting, but at the same time, conscious
and subconscious.

Go back to Tabassum. Feel for her. Give her

company. Spend as much time with her as you can.”

51
52
53
 CHAPTER 7

“Feel for her. Give her company. Spend as much

time with her as you can. But with whom? Tabassum or
you? I couldn’t believe my eyes at first, baby—your
husband hasn’t kissed you even once in the last fourteen
years! That’s terrible! I really feel terrible for you. I didn’t
know your husband was such an impotent and effeminate
creature. Fourteen years! What a waste! How is this
possible? I can understand your pain. Don’t worry. Now
that I am in your life, I will provide you with all these little
pleasures you have missed out on. I feel terrible for you,
Rokshana. How come you have not told me anything of this
‘til now? Come to my arms, baby; I want to give you a
hug.”

The long e-mail was full of descriptions of physical

intimacy and lovemaking in different positions and postures.
She felt suffocated. She felt wet. She was feeling really off.
If only he hadn’t called Aniket impotent. This she could not
digest that easily.

She felt very angry with Safiq. Was the man jealous
of Aniket? She had observed earlier, too, that Safiq had
never evinced any curiosity about Aniket. He had replied to
any references to Aniket with studied silence as if there was
nobody called Aniket. As if she was a spinster. After so
many days, he had written something about Aniket; even
then, he had not taken his name. He had referred to him
only as ‘my counterpart.’

She read the mail again and again. Every time, she
stopped when she reached the word ‘impotent.’ Useless
and insensitive fellow, she thought. No, she would stop her
correspondence with him immediately. How dare he call
her husband ‘impotent?’ Did he think Kuki had established
a relationship with him because she was deprived of sexual
satisfaction in her married life? Could this man think of
nothing but sexual love? What kind of a person was he?

54
 Her anger egged her on to demand an explanation
from Safiq. “How dare you call my husband impotent? How
insensitive of you! How dare you! You must be jealous of
him! I am deeply hurt by your words. Marriage is boring,
true! It is a contract to be honored till death; an institution
that fetters one into slavery and formality. But the moment
you disregard the norms of married life, you realize how
your existence itself is questioned and how you become
helpless and isolated.

Is the body everything, Safiq? Don’t emotions

matter at all? What about words like beauty and taste? You
are an artist. What can I tell you about beauty that goes
beyond the realms of the physical? The stimulating
thoughts of a thinker? Of eternally fruitful love? Those are
the hallmarks of an artist, aren’t they?

If you love me, Safiq, you have to love me as I am.

You have to love all the ingredients that make Kuki -- the
beauty, the ugliness, my present, my past, my relatives, my
land and my thoughts. You have to accept everything. Do
you agree to all this?” No, Kuki did not ask for a kiss or
write any sentimental sentences in this letter.

She felt relaxed after sending the e-mail in a fit of

rage. A heavy load seemed to have been lifted off her
chest. But the very next moment, a chilling thought raced
through her. What if Safiq didn’t reply? What if he felt
insulted after reading her mail? Would this be the end of
their relationship?

A feeling of emptiness surrounded her. What did she

want? What did she expect from Safiq? What if Safiq said,
“I am fine with my perverted life; you can carry on living in
your world? Who are you to insult me repeatedly like this?
Who gave you the right to dictate my life? You be in your
world with Aniket and leave me in my own world. Our
worlds are too different.

You talk of ‘love.’ But what is there in love? Where

does it exist? Why detest the body so much when the body
is the physical manifestation of one’s existence? Is it
possible for attraction to exist where there is no body? Is it

55
possible to feel love without this body made up of the five
elements?”

Thus did Safiq reply, an hour after Kuki sent her e-

mail. She had not expected a reply so fast; she had thought
Safiq would break off all relations with her.

“I can’t understand why you misunderstand me!”

Safiq had written, “Why should I be jealous of my
counterpart when my precious treasure is kept safe under
his supervision? Rather, I should be grateful to him.

What mistake have I committed that you are so

angry with me? It was you who wrote that you had not been
kissed by your partner for the last fourteen years. How can
I make you understand? I love your inner beauty. I have
never known true love; I have spent my life savoring female
flesh. But you have taught me the meaning of true love.
How do I describe what I feel for you? We have never met,
but I feel you are with me every single moment. You are my
life, Rokshana. You have taught me so much about life.
You have taught me things that will help me become the
kind of person I need to be. You have taught me to love
without holding back.

Please forgive me if I have hurt you inadvertently.

Please don’t misunderstand me. I have no existence
without you. You do not know how many dreams I have
dreamt about you. Someday, we will be together; we will
share the same address. Every time I pray to Allah, I ask for
you, baby. I am very busy with my para-thesis. That is why
I am not in a position to write long e-mails to you nowadays.
I haven’t been able to devote much time to the painting
either. It’s likely that I won’t be able to touch the painting
for the next one month or so. I have to complete the para-
thesis by the end of December. I must submit the thesis by
the first week of January. That is the only way I can get
closer to you. Give me your blessings, my mother, so that I
can complete my para-thesis.”

It was as if a storm had passed by. Kuki indulged in

a bout of painstaking introspection. In the last few days,
she had realized that the differences between nations,

56
religions, and castes have little meaning in front of the
supreme authority. All such differences were insignificant
when compared to the desires and cravings of the human
mind.

Kuki regretted the harsh letter she had sent to Safiq.

Why did she lose her temper so quickly? The truth was that
Safiq loved her immensely and respected her, too. What
was Safiq’s fault? Anybody who read the e-mail would have
thought the way he had.

How could she convey to him the comatose state of

affairs of her married life? The so-called chemistry of a
marital relationship? Would Kuki write, “You know Safiq,
prior to your arrival I had forgotten the language of love.
My moments were never alone, not even in the darkness of
night. But the strong, hairy, broad-chested man was
becoming meaningless for me. We were spending nights
together in the same bed. But we had forgotten about our
relationship. It was as if somebody had unleashed some
black magic and the senses had become numb, bereft of all
feelings and sensitivities.”

Would Kuki write, “Safiq, how did you know that we

were spending eight hours in bed but in deep slumber?
How did you know that we were just marking time, not quite
living our lives to the fullest?”

What was the use of writing all this to Safiq? It would

just be washing her dirty linen in public.

But Aniket was not impotent; he was just obsessed

with cleanliness. Sometimes he would feel suffocated when
Kuki’s breath tickled his cheeks or neck. Unable to sleep, he
would turn his back towards Kuki. That was why Kuki kept a
long pillow between them. Once they were done with
intercourse, the pillow stood as a wall again, separating the
two souls. He saw more bacteria than feelings in a kiss…

In their house, everybody had a different glass for

drinking water. Lip contact was scrupulously avoided. No
one used anybody else’s towel. Everybody had a separate
soap designated for himself or herself. The washbasin,

57
kitchen, latrine—the bottle of Dettol proclaimed its presence
everywhere.

Habits changed, and attitudes, too. Likes and

dislikes also changed. Aniket had never liked the idea of
Kuki working in some office and mixing with ten other men.
He had the notion that women lose their softness and
simplicity if they worked.

Kuki would often feel suffocated inside the house,

particularly when she had to face Aniket’s tantrums. She
would dream about going far away from him. She thought it
would be better to live alone and work at some office than
spend her life wasting away in this house with Aniket. She
would open up all her certificates every once in a while and
touch them tenderly, wondering how those papers had all
lost their charm and relevance with time.

It was too late for her to try to get a job. Opening an

NGO was a good option but could Aniket tolerate the idea?
Kuki would plan to open a nursery school. She would mull
over where the school building would be located. What
courses would it offer? What would its working hours be
like? Such questions would constantly haunt her.

Aniket loved his family a lot. He was very careful; he

would never waste his evenings but come straight home
from work. He would have a cup of tea and immediately
start teaching the children. Then, there would be the short
evening bath followed by a half hour in the prayer room.

Kuki understood Aniket very well. He could do

anything for his family. Chawla would sometimes say
jokingly, “Brother, it’s not enough to look after the family;
look after your job also.”

At first glance, Aniket appeared very irate and short

tempered. Yet, he was actually very lonely and helpless.
Aniket felt nobody loved him; neither his father, his mother,
sister, children, nor the neighbors. He did not even hesitate
to complain against Kuki herself.

58
 If Aniket had read Safiq’s e-mail, he would have gone
insane. “This is what you’ve been doing behind my back?”
he would have said. “I am impotent, huh? Useless, aren’t I?
I’ve loved you so much and you have betrayed me like this.”

Can even the most patient and tolerant man stand

being called ‘impotent?’

It was enough to get his blood boiling?

After some time he would cool down and say, “It’s

just my luck.” And he would start giving expression to his
childhood frustrations. He would complain about how he
was never his parents’ favorite; about how his mother would
persuade his father to give pocket money to his younger
brother but never to him. Even when he went for a movie,
she would give him only the money for the tickets, not a
paisa more. He had once visited his elder sister’s place and
had ventured out to the market. He saw some delicious
sweets being prepared in the roadside hotel but he had only
the bus fare for his journey back home. So, he came back
without buying anything. His sister asked, “You went to the
market. Didn’t you get any sweets?” He said, “I didn’t have
money.” Surprised, she had offered him a ten-rupee note.

“Everybody’s heart cries for Ramu, the younger son.

Have you ever seen anyone thinking of me?” he had
lamented.

Aniket also suffered from the delusion that his

children loved Kuki more than they loved him -- all this, in
spite of the fact that Aniket was more attached to them. As
Kuki was unwell most of the time, it was Aniket who spent
sleepless nights with the children when they fell sick;
nursing them, feeding them, making sure they had their
medicine at the right time. He listened to all their
complaints and demands. Still, the kids loved Kuki more.
Sometimes, Aniket would give vent to his frustrations,
saying, “You don’t understand the worth of a father. You’ll
understand only after my death.”

59
 Kuki would placate him—“Why are you telling them
all this? What do they understand? Love and affection—are
these things to be displayed publicly?”

“I know,” Aniket would insist, “Our children are more

attached to their mother.”

Kuki would get angry. “So what if the children love

their mother? What’s wrong with that? Every baby loves
his mother first.”

The children would try to remove Aniket's

misconceptions, but they were rewarded with only
reprimands that would force them back into silence.

“Your anger is taking the children away from you.

Not everybody is a Kuki who would try to understand you
and your feelings.”

Aniket heaved a deep sigh and started biting his

nails. This irritated Kuki. She warned him, “You are asking
for bad luck. Don’t you know it’s inauspicious to bite your
nails? Why are you so pensive and absentminded?”

“Mukherjee and Sharma have gone to Chicago and

New York this time,” Aniket said, “all because they sucked
up to their immediate bosses. They have gone with their
family this time.”

The company had sent Aniket to the USA only once,

and very reluctantly at that. He had spent his days quaking
in fear lest someone else should snatch the opportunity
from him at the last moment. He was so desperate that he
had taken a vow to offer puja in the Jagannath temple if he
managed to go abroad. And he had done so too.

What happened to Aniket nobody knew, but on

returning from the office, he had initiated the process for
getting passports for all of them and had got them ready
within six months. “Who knows when you get a chance?”
he had said, “whenever it comes, we will all go together and
have fun.”

60
 Kuki never showed any interest in getting herself a
passport. But had she ever imagined that somebody else
would offer her a trip abroad saying, “One day I will take
you to Paris. We will see the Louvre near the river Seine.
And in front of everyone there, I will kiss you and say, ‘meet
my wife.’”

61
62
 CHAPTER 8

“Meet my wife,” Aniket introduced Kuki even as she

was sipping a bottle of Coca-Cola some distance away.

“Hello,” said Kuki, with a questioning look in her

eyes.

“I didn’t see you at Saturday’s party,” asked the

gentleman.

“She’s not exactly a party animal. She doesn’t feel

very comfortable in a crowd,” Aniket said on behalf of Kuki.

“Oh, but why this unwillingness to enjoy life? You

should live life to the fullest.”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that; I hardly get time after
taking care of the household chores and the studies of my
children,” Kuki was forced to say.

“Meaning?” the gentleman gave her a quizzical look.

The discussion now took a turn with the arrival of Mr.
Khosla.

As they were busy gossiping, Kuki busied herself in

savoring the paneer pakoda and the light gazhals playing in
the background. In the meantime, Mrs. Sharma started
talking about her children and the coaching classes they
were attending, about whose daughter had gone to
Australia, and whose to the USA for higher studies and so
on.

As they were leaving the party, they met the same

gentleman again.

“You’re leaving?” he asked with a smile.

“Yes sir,” said Kuki, nodding her head.

63
 “Come to our house sometime.”

“Yes, we will,” Aniket said.

Wishing him goodnight, they left the hall. The

children wanted to stay on, but Aniket herded them away.

“Who was the gentleman you introduced me to? I

don’t think I’ve ever seen him before,” asked Kuki.

“Mr. Chowhan. My immediate boss.”

“Oh my God! I thought he was one of your

colleagues. How could I be so stupid?”

“Why? What you would have done if you’d known?”

Aniket asked with a naughty smile.

Embarrassed, Kuki poked Aniket and said, “Don’t talk

rubbish,” and pointed towards the children.

Aniket was laughing as before when he felt

something was wrong with the vehicle. It was making an
unusual noise.

“What’s the matter?” Kuki asked.

“It seems the accelerator is not working.” The car

refused to move after a few yards.

“What’s the matter, Papa?” the elder son asked,

leaning forward from the back seat.

“Just sit back and wait,” Aniket rebuked him.

Making a false start, the vehicle moved ahead a few

feet. But it stopped again and refused to move as if
somebody had cursed it. Aniket pored over the bonnet.
Half an hour passed by in this way. There was no garage
nearby so they could not even send for a mechanic. Aniket
started biting his nails in tension. “Papa, how do we go
home? Do we ask for a lift?” the younger son asked.

64
 “Sit quietly,” Kuki scolded him. She was also
irritated with Aniket. She had asked him several times to
send the car to the garage, or to sell it off and buy a new
one, but he had never listened; let him suffer now.

“What will we do now?” the elder son asked,

breaking the silence again. Aniket was trying to figure out
what could be done. It was getting late. There were only a
few vehicles plying the road now. “If someone from our
colony comes by, you all can go ahead; I’ll stay on and work
things out,” Aniket said. Right at that moment, they saw an
auto rickshaw coming towards them. Aniket stopped it and
asked for help.

They decided they would all go home and Aniket

would return with a mechanic from the city.

But the auto rickshaw driver advised them not to

leave the car on the road in the middle of the night; the
police might pick up the car. That would be another
headache. “Get a rope, instead. My auto rickshaw will tow
your car. It’s a matter of only five or six kilometers.” Kuki
felt relieved now.

All of them sat in the car and the auto rickshaw

began to tow the car. But soon, the rope broke off. The
auto rickshaw driver repaired the rope but asked them to sit
inside the auto rickshaw this time. The three-wheeler
trundled on slowly, as if writhing in pain. They somehow
managed to reach home, traversing half the distance by
auto rickshaw, and covering half the distance on foot. The
children were completely worn out by the time they got
back home.

The children felt very bad about the whole incident.

All the way back home, they kept murmuring under their
breath. “Mama, give this old car to the scrap dealer,” the
eldest son said.

“Please keep quiet. Daddy will get angry if he hears

you.” She calmed her son down. But she herself was quite
agitated. During the rains last year, water had seeped into
the garage. It had even gotten inside the car. By the time

65
the water receded, the vehicle was badly damaged. The
foam seats had swollen up. The metal doors showed signs
of rusting. But Aniket refused to spend any money on
repairing the car, saying “We will buy a new one, anyway.”
But the new car had not yet materialized for some reason or
the other.

“You know, mama, Ankur and all of them saw our car
being towed by the auto rickshaw,” Kuki’s younger son said.
“They’ll make fun of us tomorrow. Why don’t you get rid of
that old car? Please, mama, never ask us to sit in that
vehicle again.” The elder one said, “Verma uncle has
bought a new Santro. Everybody in the colony except us
has a new car.”

The children’s conversation seemed to ignite

Aniket’s suppressed anger. He grabbed the cane on the
study table and marched towards the kids furiously,
muttering, “You idiot, you can’t even score an eighty in
math and you want a Santro.” Kuki intercepted him.
“They’re just kids; why are you picking on them? Many
people saw us; the children felt bad about it and just spoke
their mind. Why be so angry?

“You have spoilt them, you bitch. You’ve spoilt them

silly.” He started caning Kuki now. Kuki groaned and
writhed in pain. After a while, Aniket calmed down and
threw the cane away.

Sobbing in pain, Kuki saw the window of the room in

front of her open suddenly. The children had gone to their
respective rooms. But hatred and anger were visible in
their eyes.

Red scars dotted her waist and her hands. She was
in great pain. The tears refused to stop; tears of
humiliation, not of pain. She tried desperately to suppress
the tears. She wanted to leave the house and go away. Her
mind was filled with pure hatred for Aniket. What was the
use of education? What was the use of earning a good
salary? Aniket wasn’t a human being. He became so
insensitive when he was angry. He became a senseless
scoundrel. She had often felt that suicide was a better

66
option. But how could she be so selfish and escape from
this world leaving the innocent children in the hands of a
barbarian like Aniket?

Kuki saw her elder son lying restlessly on the bed. “I

am switching off the lights; go to bed,” said Kuki. There was
no response from him. His face was unusually disturbed; it
looked pensive and aged.

He had some of Aniket’s genes. He was short-

tempered; he would vent all his anger on Kuki. He would
start breaking things when he got angry. He would
disembowel the pillows and take the eggs out of the
refrigerator and start throwing them around making a mess.
He would beat Aniket up when he grew up, Kuki felt; her son
could not tolerate Aniket.

Kuki feared her elder son in the same way that he

feared Aniket. But she knew now that his anger was
directed against Aniket. Still, he would never come to her
with assuaging words or a soothing touch. The younger
one, of course, had already tried to console his mother in his
own way.

While Kuki was changing her clothes, Aniket had

been setting up the mosquito nets in both rooms. Kuki did
not feel like sharing the same bed with Aniket, but she went
and lay down quietly. When she dropped off to sleep,
Aniket was yet to join her.

Kuki suddenly awoke at the stroke of midnight. She

felt someone touching her and saw Aniket applying
medicine over her scars -- on her back, her waist, and her
hands. Kuki lay still, her eyes closed. But how long could
one control oneself? The tears came in a flood and the
night passed without a moment’s rest.

67
68
 CHAPTER 9

The whole night passed without a moment’s rest.

Slouched in front of the computer, dawn had set in and the
birds started chirping. “No, no more waiting. I decided to
send the e-mail; let us see what is in store for me,” wrote
Safiq.

What was making him suffer so much? So many

spelling mistakes in the letter! None of his previous e-mails
had ever contained so many mistakes. It seemed he was
suffering from some terrible mental agony. That was why
his fingers had just rolled over the keyboard in one
spontaneous sitting.

The predominant theme of the letter was Safiq’s fear

of losing Kuki. Was Kuki so precious to him? How could he
feel so much attachment for a woman he has not seen, let
alone touched?

Attached to the e-mail were several photos of Safiq.

She had been urging him for quite some time to send her a
few of his photographs. She only had that single passport-
sized photograph he had sent her in his very first e-mail.

Quite a handsome chap. Ruby lips, military

moustache, fair complexion. Six feet tall. Wheatish
complexion.

Three months after receiving Safiq’s first

photograph, Kuki had sent him her snaps. But by that time,
Safiq had already imagined her and sent her a painting,
asking “Look, aren’t you exactly like this?”

The painting had convinced her of Safiq’s eagerness

to meet her. So she had sent him her photo as well. A slim
girl with a coy smile. Safiq had prepared so many copies of
that picture; the copies adorned his studio, car, wallet and
diary.

She had saved Safiq’s photo on her computer, in a

69
folder people did not generally open. She would often open
the picture and ogle it with all the concentration she could
muster. One day, she inadvertently deleted it while
cleaning up the computer. It was impossible for her to see
him now, but his face was indelibly imprinted in her memory
and her heart. She shared all her emotions with this
imaginary person who lived in her heart. One day, she told
him she had lost the photo and requested him to send her a
new one.

Safiq ignored her request. But Kuki would keep

reminding him every now and then. “I had asked you for
something. It seems you have forgotten all about it.
Someday, you will forget me in the same way.” Safiq
couldn’t resist responding. He had written, “I don’t have a
photo. Haven’t taken any for the last twenty-odd years. I
feel awkward going to the studio and getting myself
photographed. But, I can do anything for you, you know. I’ll
definitely get myself photographed and send my snap as
soon as possible.”

He had kept saying things like that, but the

photograph had not materialized. Kuki became listless. If
that was a photograph from twenty years ago, how must the
guy look now? Perhaps a bit aged.

Kuki herself had put on some weight. Her face had

become well-rounded. She imagined a man in his fifties,
with brown eyes, ruby lips, moustache, and salt and pepper
hair.

One day she had written, “I don’t need the photo any
longer. I don’t care whether you look photogenic now or
not. But what hurts me is the way you avoided my request.
I can accept you as you are—doesn’t matter if you are lame
or blind or anything else. But your silence in the face of my
repeated requests hurts me to the core. What are you so
afraid of? After sharing so much with you, do you think your
appearance will change anything? Don’t you have any faith
in me at all?”

This e-mail had really stirred Safiq. Disturbed by her

letter, he had sent her four photos in different poses.

70
 One under the tree, another on a bridge, another one
in a park, and so on. Without opening the photos she had
started reading the text. There was a terrible fear
submerged under the words of the e-mail. What was the
fear? She had found it disturbing and alarming. Switching
the view to ‘full screen’ on the monitor, she had been
stunned. There was absolutely no similarity with the earlier
photograph he had sent.

Who was this stranger? Was it with this man she had
been exchanging e-mails, then?

She had been indulging herself in virtual sex, taking

on different positions from the Kamasutra. No, it was
impossible. This man didn’t seem nearly as fair. Not much
hair on his head. No moustache…this couldn’t be Safiq. It
did not match with the image she had constructed in her
imagination.

Was it some sort of conspiracy? The man was a

cheat. A crook. That was why he had been so hesitant
about sending her his photographs. That was why he had
written, “I am sending you the photographs; now everything
is in the hands of fate!” That explained his strange
reluctance.

Then who was that in the first photo? Had he sent

somebody else’s photo to impress her? Kuki felt duped and
sullied.

She started sobbing. Why this farce? His eagerness,

his emotions, his love poems—was everything fake? If he
really loved her, then why did he feel the need for all these
lies? Had he not known that he would be caught one day
and that it would really hurt Kuki? Kuki had heard that love
was impossible on the internet; that one could only indulge
in flattery and feel sexual attraction. A relationship was
ever so fleeting in this cyber world. In the conditioned
environment, you could only respond as your counterpart
desired. It was the stuff of dreams and fantasies; little more
and little less. Only the body existed in cyber love; the
mind was absent. She should have been more careful. She
reprimanded herself.

71
 Safiq was a votary of sensual love and sexual
pleasure. But Kuki was a very different person. She had
trod this path ignorant of its pitfalls.

Whom could she confide in? Aniket? The person

who was closest to her? How could she confide in him?
How would he react? What would become of her family?
How could she have fallen in love at this age? And with
such a man?

She read his letter over and over again. Zooming in

on the photographs, she tried to imagine Safiq. This must
be some other person. This man was a stranger. She felt
sad; she would now be able to conjure up in her imagination
the image of only this man, not the one she had seen
earlier.

“How could you cheat me?” Kuki wrote. “Who was

that man, and who is the person in the new photographs?
They are not the same person. How am I to know who is
Safiq? Which one have I given my heart to? Try to
understand my pain. Try to understand how difficult it is for
me.”

“Why did you do this? What pleasure did you get out
of this? I did not expect this from you. It’ll be very difficult
trying to keep this relationship going after this. I don’t know
if I’ll be able to ever write to you again. Perhaps this will be
my last letter to you. I am completely shattered. I don’t
want to have anything to do with you any longer.”

And she had clicked on the ‘Send’ button.

Almost immediately, she remembered Safiq’s words:

“And the greatest miracle is how I need you and how you
need me, too.”

Replying to Kuki’s letter, Safiq had written, “I knew

something like this would happen. That’s why I was
reluctant to send the photographs. Is it my fault that time
has wrought such a change in me? How can I convince you?
Both the photographs are of the same person—me. It was a
mistake on my part to send you the first photograph—the

72
one taken twenty years ago. But I didn’t have any ulterior
motivations; it was just that I didn’t have any more recent
snap. Though I have seen my face in the mirror everyday, I
have not been able to mark the subtle changes that have
come over me.

I wouldn’t have sent you the snap if you had not

insisted so fervently. I should have realized what time does
to one’s appearance.

I rebuked Allah today. Why has he let age wreak

havoc on my appearance like this? Why did he not keep me
perennially handsome? Remember, Rokshana, I have told
you many times that I am not handsome. But you have
never believed me; you thought I was being modest. Down
to earth. But looks aren’t everything, are they?

I love you a lot, Rokshana. When you talk about

leaving me, I can feel the darkness engulfing me. What
happened to all your promises? You are the one who had
once written, ‘I can accept you as are—doesn’t matter if you
are lame or blind or anything else.’ Have you forgotten your
promises so fast?

How can I convince you that I am not a cheat?

You mean the world to me. Honestly!”

“Rokshana,
Rokshana,
First, I apologize
For the way I have been
These last few days;
My insecurities
Got the better of me.
Please don’t run away.
As I lie here in the dark,
Silence fills the air;
I wonder why did not notice
Just how much you care.
This lifetime is not over,
Yet I feel it frozen in place;
I need to hold you;

73
 I need to touch your face.
I know that what I did
Must have really hurt a lot,
But it was not done on purpose.
It was no conspiracy.
I am sorry; please forgive me.
Many, many apologies.
I am sorry; please forgive me.
I can’t live without your love,
Your smile and your touch.”

Safiq had sounded like a contrite adolescent. She

read as one mesmerized and felt her anger recede. She felt
better now. As if she could spy a new dawn bordering the
clouds on the horizon. She tried opening the photographs
again and touching them up using Adobe Photoshop. She
tried all the available options. She tried to see how the man
in the picture would look when he got old.

Those rosy lips were now looking a little pale. Those

brown eyes. The eyebrows had thinned. She added a few
wrinkles here and there. Same chin. Without the
moustache, the face looked totally different. A little less
hair and one could hardly recognize him.

Kuki used the computer program to paint on a

moustache—the kind the man in the first picture sported.
Scrutinizing the two photographs, she realized the two
individuals were actually one. The man was not lying to her.
She realized her mistake. Safiq must think her a very
suspicious woman. He must be thinking, ‘To me, she is an
angel, and for her, I am a cheat? I worship her as a
goddess, but she is no different from the other 52.’

What could she write? Kuki was at a loss for words.

Should she write she was sorry? For some unknown reason,
her fingers were reluctant to move over the keyboard. If
Safiq could apologize without committing any wrong, why
couldn’t she? Acknowledging one’s mistake never hurts a
person. “Sorry,” she wrote finally, “It wasn’t meant to hurt
you. The photographs are so different that anybody would
be perplexed. If you had sent the recent snap right at the
beginning, these problems would not have cropped up. I

74
have never met you; I have only imagined you. I have to
love this appearance of yours; I hope you understand my
predicament.”

After sending the e-mail, she felt disturbed. What if

Safiq had imagined her as a beautiful damsel and she did
not meet his expectations? Would she cease to be the
object of Safiq’s fascination? She, too, had changed
considerably with the passage of time. Would he perhaps
complain, “Such a difficult climb, all for such paltry rewards”
when they finally met?

75
76
 CHAPTER 10

Such a difficult climb; all for such paltry rewards!

Kuki sat thinking as Aniket slept at her side. How cute and
innocent he looked. His face looked almost divinely
peaceful, devoid of all worries.

After the peaceful slumber, his body will be ready to

take on new challenges again. His mind will also rev up and
begin to control all his dreams and aspirations, prodding
him to fight; urging him to lead and conquer.

Only a couple of hours ago, the doctor had

prescribed medicine for Aniket and asked him to sleep with
a warning for him not to be wake up until he woke up by
himself. The doctor had warned that he needed to cut down
on stress.

What could Kuki say? In today’s world, there were a

thousand reasons for stress. In ancient times, when people
lived hand-to-mouth, one’s wants were limited. There was
less stress then. Today, life had become a rat race.
Everybody was competing against everybody else. And
amidst this chaos, she did know what she herself wanted.

Kuki still could not understand why Aniket had got so

stressed out that his blood pressure had reached 230. She
had tried to make him see sense. She had told him, “Not all
children can be brilliant. Not everybody can be top of the
class. Nowadays there are many private engineering
colleges. If you spend money, you can have a good
education even if you cannot make it into the elite
institutions.”

Aniket had been stunned. “What makes you think I

am not willing to spend money? The problem is that the
boy has gone astray. If he had studied hard, he would have
gotten a seat in one of the government colleges. You don’t
understand—there is a world of difference in the status of a
private college and a government college. What will you
say to people? That your son is studying at some private

77
college? Okay, if not any IIT, then at least a government
institute…”

“Don’t worry,” Kuki had said. “God has created

everybody; He must have made some provision for each of
us to survive.”

Aniket got angry. “Like mother, like son. Both

stupid!”

“What?”

“A foolish mother and a foolish son. You were a

second-rate student! So what if you have an MA! Arts—
that doesn’t count!”

Aniket made fun of her like this. He would often

insult her and belittle her achievements. Sometimes Kuki
wondered what had impressed Aniket that he had proposed
to her. All his love for her had vanished. It was as if all that
were things of her previous birth and she was living a
different life with Aniket now.

Desperate to avoid a confrontation so early in the

morning, Kuki had ignored his remarks. The discussion had
stopped at that. What was bothering him so much? How
could she fathom the deep undercurrents playing
themselves out in complicated eddies deep in the recesses
of Aniket’s mind? Kuki found it difficult these days to
understand what Aniket really wanted. He had been
stressed out about his promotion over the last two years.
But now that he had got the promotion, was he happy? No.
Had it made any difference to their lifestyle? His salary
became forty-two thousand from thirty-five thousand. Did it
matter? He used to be in the head office; now he was in the
field. He had been craving for field work while he had an
office posting. Now that he was in the field and was obliged
to attend to customer calls any time of the day or night, he
was pining away for office work. An office posting meant
you could at least sit comfortably in an air-conditioned
chamber. You could doze off whenever you wanted to.
That is human nature—it always seems greener on the

78
other side of the pasture. And was that why there was so
much stress and dissatisfaction all around?

“You are never happy,” Kuki had remarked. “Once

you get what you want, you begin craving something else.
Surely, you realize you can’t have everything your way;
what would happen to the others if you got everything?”

Aniket had become angry. “Of course, it’s easy for

you to make such comments. You don’t have to go out and
work. You just do a little bit of cooking and then make
merry, watching Ekta Kapoor serials.”

Kuki never shouted at Aniket lest the neighbors

should hear. But Aniket had always been very short-
tempered. Was Aniket worried about the house? A ruffian
had occupied their flat in Bhubaneswar. He had paid some
money initially, but had now stopped paying the rent
altogether. He was misbehaving with them, thereby trying
to discourage anyone from going back to him to ask for the
rent again.

So, no relative was willing to go to him to ask for the

rent. Such a beautiful duplex house. Aniket had spent
seven or eight lakhs on that house. Aniket’s younger
brother had somehow fallen into that ruffian’s trap; he had
failed to gauge the person properly. He had handed over
the keys of the house to him. The man had said he was
building his own house and would move out as soon as it
was ready. But that was eight years ago; the man had still
not vacated the house.

Whenever Aniket went to him, the man went into

hiding. His beautiful wife would cajole Aniket with her sweet
talk and say they would vacate the flat very soon. Her
husband’s prawn company was running at a loss—that was
why there had been a gap in the payment of rent. Next
month they would pay it in full. Aniket would get convinced
every time only to be disappointed the next month when
the rent failed to reach him.

Kuki did not like going there. She had gone to meet
the man once. The man came out, but not his wife. He had

79
said, “Madam, please sit and have a cup of tea. My wife has
gone to the neighbors; she’ll be back soon.” Seeing his red
eyes, Kuki had felt scared. She had just asked, “When you
are vacating the house?”

“I can’t vacate whenever you tell me,” the man had

answered in a grim voice. I’ll have to make some
alternative arrangement first. True, I have not paid the rent
for one-and-a-half years. Come next week; I will pay it in
full.”

“Next week. I will be in Mumbai next week.”

“No problem. I’ll send you a demand draft then.”

Kuki hadn’t felt like talking to him any further. The

hooligan! They could go to court. But that was another
headache. Who would manage all that? They had
considered filing a complaint to the police. But what
guarantee was there that the police would help them?

Kuki had returned home. Seeing her face, her

nephew, who had come to see her off at the railway station,
had said, “Aunty, don’t worry. I will remove the nail with
the help of another nail. I’ll hire some other hooligans.”

“Are you sure that’s safe?” Kuki had questioned. But

the prospect of the protracted legal process was also very
depressing.

Her nephew had called a few days back and said he

had gone to the man with some hooligans. But they had
turned out to be old friends of the man. They had had tea
at his house and said, “Anil, brother, don’t worry; he will
vacate soon. We will talk to him.”

Aniket came to know from Anil that the man worked

in the security department of the Blue Prawn Company.
There was some tension between the villagers and the
company. So the company had appointed this man to
protect its interests there. It was only out of fear of this
man that the villagers had kept quiet till now.

80
 Putting down the receiver, Aniket had cradled his
head in his hands.

The house was lost now; it must be worth at least

twenty lakh at the present market rates.

Kuki also felt sad and intimidated by the prospect of

having to build another house. She scolded Aniket’s brother
mildly for his foolishness.

Even at this moment of crisis, Aniket stood by his

brother and quarreled with Kuki. Finally, Kuki had tried to
console Aniket, saying that they had never deliberately
caused harm to anybody else; so therefore, she believed no
harm would come to them either.

But Aniket’s face still looked very grim. Still Kuki

continued. “Forget the house. It was never ours as such;
we have never stayed in that house barring that one single
night. It’s impossible for us to feel any real attachment for
that house. Perhaps it was just not destined for us. In any
case, we’ll spend our whole lives moving from one city to
another. The children will grow up and settle in some other
city. Who knows how long we will live after retirement—so
why worry about the house? I have always dreamt of going
to the Himalayas and making a permanent shelter out of a
cave there. You’ll find me in the Himalayas one day.”

“How can you harbour such romantic thoughts now?

Aniket rebuked her. “How can you be so romantic instead
of looking after this household properly? You don’t even
know the meaning of the word ‘duty.’ Have you ever
thought of anything beyond the children? Do you know how
much EMI we are paying for the house that is going to be
someone else’s? Do you know how much bank balance we
have? How much I get in hand? Have you ever thought of
sharing all these burdens with Aniket? You just sit in the
confines of the house and dream all kinds of romantic
dreams.”

Kuki felt like crying. A terrible fear also gripped her.

Had Aniket somehow got an inkling of the tumult in her
heart? No, that was impossible. He would not have taken

81
things so lightly if he had the faintest of inklings. The fact
that Aniket was scolding her and highlighting all her
weaknesses made her feel like crying, particularly because
it was Aniket who doubted her abilities and never shared
anything with her.

He got a sense of satisfaction doing everything on

his own. That was why he had freed her from these
responsibilities. It was difficult to say what was behind this
—Kuki’s disinterest or Aniket’s lack of confidence in Kuki’s
abilities. However, the truth was that Kuki was not
concerned with these things at all.

Perhaps that was why she was indulging herself with

the romantic relationship with Safiq, dreaming of flying
away like a bird from the confines of the home in which she
presently lived. And a tired Aniket had been shouldering
the burden of the household all this time.

Aniket was in a deep sleep -- free from worries about

the children, free from thoughts of promotions, free from
the anxieties of losing his property. Kuki scolded herself.
Had she really been an equal partner, she thought to
herself, wouldn’t she have taken half the responsibilities? If
the responsibilities had been shared, Aniket would not have
slept like a log now.

If something happened to Aniket suddenly, what

would she do? She knew nothing. She had no idea of his
monthly salary, his loan repayments, his investments in
shares, his insurance premiums. She knew nothing of how
food came to the house, how the monthly budget was
prepared. Would her children accept this innocent, foolish
mother?

Aniket sometimes made fun of her, calling her a

white elephant. He said that she was similar to rearing a
white elephant; of no use, really, but the expenditure ran
into the thousands.

Safiq had once written:

82
 “If you are truly mine, I will put you on top of my
most valuable goods, my antiques, my diamonds, my pearls
and all my riches. I will put you in the glass showcase and
polish you everyday; keep you glittering. And I will honor
you, cherish you, squeeze you, and hold you tight all night.
I will let you carry me and place me on your pillow right by
your side, kiss you good night, and hold you all through the
night.”

83
84
 CHAPTER 11

“If you are truly mine, I will put you on top of my

most valuable goods, my antiques, my diamonds, my pearls
and all my riches. I will put you in the glass showcase and
polish you everyday; keep you glittering. And I will honor
you, cherish you, squeeze you, and hold you tight all night.
I will let you carry me and place me on your pillow right by
your side, kiss you good night and hold you all through the
night.”

That was what Safiq had written. Was Kuki an

object? A showpiece? An owner’s pride and neighbor’s
envy?

Didn’t Kuki have an identity of her own? What was

she—a white elephant? Was she just a possession to be
showed off by whoever ‘owned’ her?

“I am very happy today Rokshana,” Safiq had

written, “I can’t wait to share my happiness with you. My
para-thesis has been accepted by Columbia University. I
have an interview scheduled for the end of this month in
Paris. Ninety para-theses have been accepted but there are
only three posts. The competition is intense. Who knows if
I’ll make it or not? All this hard work and perseverance—all
this is only for you. You are my angel; I can do anything I
want if I have your blessings. Will you bless me?”

No sooner had she finished reading the mail than her

telephone started ringing. “Hello Rokshana,” a quiet voice
from the other side murmured.

Kuki had begun to accept the name as her own by

now. The very name sent the blood rushing through her
veins. “Safiq?” She couldn’t control her happiness. But a
terrible fear also surged in. “Why did you call me? I asked
you not to. It’s so risky; the animosity between our
countries is at its peak now.”

“I know. But I just wanted to hear your sweet voice.

85
Couldn’t help myself.”

“I was just reading your mail. So your para-thesis

has been nominated?”

“It was all because of you. Otherwise, how did my

paper get selected from such a crowd? You are a goddess.
You are part of Allah himself.

“You idiot! What kind of things you say!”

“I am telling you the truth. Subhanakalla humma

vabhi hamdika, wata baarakasmuka va ta-ala jadduka, wa
laa-ilaha ghairuk. Bismillah hi rehmaanir raheem.”

“What are you blabbering? I can’t understand any of

it,” Kuki muttered.

“You are my God Almighty. I just called to tell you

this. I want to offer namaz to you.”

Safiq was talking freely, without a care in the world.

But Kuki felt very nervous. It was not easy for her to control
the crazy Safiq. Safiq had convinced himself that anything
nice that was happening to him was all because of
Rokshana-Kuki. Kuki came into his life and the case against
him was withdrawn. Kuki came into his life and his name
had begun to be discussed in the international arena. Such
a long list of good things had begun happening to him after
he had come across Kuki.

Kuki didn’t take Safiq’s contentions seriously at all; if

she had brought good fortune to Safiq, then why not to
Aniket? Why had he not been able to lead a happy life in
spite of earning such a handsome salary?

Sometimes, he called her an angel, sometimes, a

goddess.

“Every night I dream of heaven. I dream that they

are looking for an angel—one that went missing the very
day you stepped into my life. The day all my sorrows
vanished and I took a step into a different realm, crossing

86
the boundary between the natural and the supernatural.”

“Oh God, if only that had been true,” Kuki thought.

“If only I had possessed such a magical charm that brought
good luck to people who crossed my path, making them all
happy and prosperous. I would have ordered the two
countries to erase their animosity and things would have
been all right at once.”

“Nagma’s marriage has been fixed,” Safiq wrote.

“The boy is a software professional in the USA. I hope she
gets married before I leave for Paris. What do you say?
Tabassum wants me to talk to Nissar, my first wife and
Nagma’s mother. But I don’t want her to know about all
this. What do you think the right thing to do would be?
Please let me know.”

Kuki couldn’t figure out what to write. What was the

importance of her opinion? She had seen neither Safiq nor
Tabassum; neither Nissar nor Nagma; neither their house in
the village nor the mansion in Lahore. She had no idea why
Safiq did not like his first wife, even though he looked after
the two daughters. What could she write? She didn’t even
know anything about how Nagma got along with her
mother. But, the mother’s opinion must be taken into
account in any case. She is the biological mother after all.
Nissar’s rights on Nagma were more organic than
Tabassum’s.

“I have no idea why you don’t get along with Nissar,

Safiq,” Kuki had written. “Why is there so much bitterness
between you two? Why did you marry her and what
prompted the breakup? Why do you dislike her so much?

Still, I think you should ask her at least once; she is

Nagma’s mother, after all. It’s her daughter’s marriage, you
know.”

“Yes, I hate Nissar,” Safiq had written. “There are a

million reasons behind it. She is uneducated. She is frigid.
She doesn’t like my perversion. She is quarrelsome and a
nag. I got married to Nissar when I was still a student. She
is a very complex lady. I thoroughly detest her.”

87
 The e-mail made Kuki feel sad for Nissar. It was not
her fault that she had not been given an education. Frigid?
What exactly did Safiq mean? Most women are termed
frigid because of their bashfulness. An open enunciation of
sexual desire was not encouraged by society, particularly on
the part of women. Of course, things had become slightly
better with the passage of time. ‘Beautiful’ and ‘sexy’ had
become synonyms. Regarding perversions, what wife would
want her husband to be a pervert? Kuki suddenly realized
that her world was in no way any different from Nissar’s.

She couldn’t help praising Tabassum’s tolerance.

She had been patient with Safiq’s lifestyle for a long time
now. At least she understood the importance of seeking
Nissar’s opinion on Nagma’s marriage. She was sensitive
enough for that.

After taking Kuki’s and Tabassum’s opinions, Safiq

was thus forced to go to his village. He was sad because it
would keep him away from Kuki for three days. Whenever
he left the city, he felt weighed down by the fact that he
would be disconnected from Kuki. It was as if he was going
far, far away. His study-cum-studio was like a bedroom for
him and Kuki. He would not allow anybody to come in; not
even Tabassum. He had reserved the room for Kuki. After
his work got over, he would write to Kuki saying that he had
returned into her arms. “Bind me with your smiles and
laughter and your chicanery and magic.”

Kuki, too, had got used to this kind of thing. Thus,

she soon began to feel restless. It was as if she had become
a drug addict! During those three days of Safiq’s absence,
she had opened all the e-mails sent by Safiq and read them
again. She dreamt of Paris, the unseen land where Safiq
had promised to take her. Paris, with its beautiful women,
sophisticated wines, and stunning fashion! Would she ever
be able to go to Paris? Would she ever be able to see Paris
from the Eiffel Tower?

Immediately after returning to Lahore, Safiq had

written:

“I was telling you about that complex, insane

88
woman, Nissar. She wants the marriage to take place in the
village. Nobody agrees to this proposal. I was telling you all
but none of you listened. Tabassum and you are
responsible for this. I went to talk to that woman only at
your behest. I knew from the very beginning that
something like this would happen. Tabassum and Nagma
don’t want the marriage to take place in the village. So I
have decided that I will conduct the marriage ceremony
secretly in Lahore and will not inform Nissar.”

What could Kuki say in their family matter? But she

also thought it would be better if the ceremony was
conducted in Lahore. All their friends, relatives and
acquaintances were in Lahore, after all. So Lahore was a
logical choice. But finally Nissar won and it was decided
that the marriage would take place in the village.

“You know, I am not a family man. I don’t know

anything about what kind of things need to be bought and
what needs to be done. What will I do there? But Tabassum
is insisting that I should be there. I would be very bored in
the village. I’d have nothing to do. Still, as the father of the
bride, I should be there to offer her hand to the groom.

I was very angry with Allah today, Rokshana. Why is

he keeping my Rokshana away from me? You know you are
everything to me! How long do I have to stand the pains of
this separation?

You know, Nagma wants her Indiawali mother to

come and attend her marriage. I have tried to make her
understand—how is that possible? With the relationship
between the two nations the way they are, how can her
Indiawali mum come to Lahore?

The thought of having to be away from you again

makes me sad, Rokshana. But I have no option this time—it
is for our daughter. Won’t you bless her?”

Guddu, Kuki’s younger son, was suffering from

jaundice at that time. Kuki was very nervous. The doctor
had reassured them saying there was nothing to worry
about. The medicine was having its desired effect and he

89
would recover soon. Aniket was on leave for two days. But
he would not allow the child to sleep in peace. Sitting
beside him, he had kept asking, “Tell me the truth. Did you
drink water from the school tap? Did you have ice-cream
from the roadside vendor? You must have had some street
food! If you had asked me, wouldn’t I have brought ice-
cream for you? Look at your condition now.”

Kuki was getting irritated. If this went on, the child

would not be able to sleep. It wasn’t as if he would get well
any sooner if he admitted his mistake. Still, Kuki had
remained silent. No point quarrelling in front of the sick
child. At night, Aniket declared that the younger son would
sleep in his bed and the older one in Kuki’s. Kuki felt very
sad. She felt humiliated by Aniket’s declaration; it was as if
he did not think she was concerned or competent enough.

It was nothing new. She remembered an incident

from way back. Their eldest son was just eight years old
then. Aniket was returning from Chennai for the Puja
holidays. They had not been able to manage first-class or
A.C. reservations. With great difficulty, they had somehow
wrangled two seats in second class. Kuki had taken the
lower berth, and Aniket the side upper berth. In spite of
Kuki’s dissent, Aniket had taken his son to the upper birth
and was trying to make him sleep on his chest. It was an
old habit of his. Kuki had observed them for a long time.
But she had not realized when they had fallen asleep.
Suddenly, the sound of the boy’s cries woke up the whole
compartment. Kuki had taken her son on her lap before
Aniket could come down. The onlookers all blamed Kuki for
being irresponsible enough to let her husband take the child
to the upper berth.

Everybody had stared at Kuki. She had unbuttoned

her blouse to feed her baby, forgetting that she had stopped
breastfeeding him some time ago following the traditional
ritual.

Aniket believed that Kuki always craved for comfort

and enjoyed sleeping more than anything else. So, he
would allow Kuki to sleep peacefully and sometimes make
unsavory comments about it. It was as if he could not

90
forget the first few days of their conjugal life. Once, Kuki
had fallen asleep while the forbidden act was midway.
Aniket was heartbroken and insulted. For a long time, he
had kept his anger suppressed deep in his mind.

During her son’s jaundice, too, she had not been able
to keep herself awake. She just couldn’t help sleeping. But
she had wanted to hold her son while sleeping. Just to keep
her hands on his body. She had felt hurt by Aniket’s
decision. How could she sleep separately leaving her sick
and suffering child in a separate place? Not surprisingly,
she couldn’t sleep at all that night. Stray thoughts kept
invading her mind.

Nagma’s Indiawali mummy jaan. Indiawali mum.

Why did all these incidents happen to her? For Safiq, she
was not just a human being; she was a goddess. With her
blessings, anything was possible. Safiq wanted her
company throughout his life.

Once Safiq had written:

“Love me when I am old and wrinkled;

Peel off my elastic stockings
Swing me from the chandeliers
Let’s be randy old deer.
Hold me safe through the night
When my hairs will have turned white.
Believe me when I say it’s true
I have waited all my life for you.”

Aniket would go back to the office the next day.

Guddu had no fever now; he was just feeling weak. She had
to send an e-mail to Safiq, blessing Nagma and wishing her
good luck. Kuki came out of her room to see Guddu. He
was sleeping peacefully. Aniket was snoring, one hand on
his son. Kuki returned to her room. Could she go to sleep
with her hand on her sick child? She felt like crying. She
felt like screaming, “Who does this life belong to -- herself or
Aniket?”

91
92
93
 CHAPTER 12

“Who does this life belong to?” Herself, or Aniket?

Safiq would seek Kuki’s opinion in every matter. Both
literally and figuratively, Kuki inhabited two worlds.

Aniket ignored her but Safiq craved for her. Safiq

wanted her to show him the right direction in every matter
and to solve all his problems.

But Aniket never let Kuki do that. He never offered

her that opportunity. Aniket needed her but not for his
decisions. Rather, he needed her to be there to open the
door when he returned from the office, to keep his tie in
position, and to take his shoes off.

Safiq needed her emotionally and psychologically;

Aniket needed her physically. Her importance to him was
only of a menial, physical nature rather than emotional or
psychological.

Mrs. Das was a socialite and a party animal. Mr. Das

was the one who made her breakfast in the morning.

“Why didn’t you marry Mr. Das?”

“I don’t go out every day. Why do you get so angry

if I go out once in a while? All right, I’ll play the watchman
from now on, saluting you whenever you come into the
house, okay?”

The comment stung Aniket to the hilt. “Remember

your limits,” he warned, “Saluting is not a bad thing.”

Were Kuki and Aniket drifting apart? Why all these

complaints? Why did she feel the need to vent all her anger
and squeeze out the poison that had remained suppressed
for ages? Had all this suddenly gushed to the surface with
the arrival of Safiq?

94
 Why this comparison? Aniket and Safiq; Safiq and
Aniket. Aniket had never played around with women. He
had been sincere and faithful to Kuki. And Safiq, too, had
not hidden anything; he had shared with her whatever had
happened in his life earlier. “I am not fake or a fraud. I am
like this. If you want me, hold on to me; if not, let me go.”

The comparison was inevitable even if she was

reluctant to indulge in comparisons. Each one suited his
role to perfection. Safiq was her smile now; her dreams.
Yes, he was the dream maker. He had showered her with
dreams. Life never ended; it sprouted again, anew, afresh.

Kuki had gone on from having half a life to enjoying a

full life. It was her destiny.

She was writing to Nagma and Tabassum for the first

time. Wishing them well and praying for them. Whatever
she knew about them, she had heard from Safiq. There had
never been any direct contact between them. What could
she write? Nagma was a girl she had never seen but who
loved her so much. She called Kuki her ‘Indiawali’ mother.
She wrote a few lines tentatively and felt suddenly relaxed.

Long ago, Safiq had written, “Our family is very

large. Half of it stays in India, and half of it in Pakistan. At
that time, Kuki had not paid attention to him.

She addressed Nagma in her e-mail and sent it to

Safiq’s inbox. She did not worry about whether Safiq would
convey her wishes to Nagma or not. Perhaps he would;
perhaps not. Safiq’s family may not quite have adopted her
after all. Who knew how Nagma would react after all?
Safiq would go to his village with his family early the next
morning. Then there would be silence for three or four
days. Life would seem to grind to a halt. Time would stand
still. Once, Kuki had gone out for four days and there was
an e-mail from Safiq, waiting to be read.

Four days pass

Ever the further apart
I miss you; somehow you crept quietly into my heart

95
 Your smile, oh god, how it’s stoked the flames of
longing in me.
This longing, this I got to have
This eternal fire to fill.
This emotional current raging as your lips touched
me.
As your hands, they stroked and they feel so divine
Rokshana you showered me with sunshine.
Bathed me with morning dew
Is it any wonder that I fell in love with you?
And if you go turning away from me,
My heart will bleed and my tears will roll free,
My life will be empty, you will take it from me.
I will only be a shell,
And I shall have no control
Over the breath I take.
So remember me when the wind blows with savage
force,
Think of me in the winter with nature’s seasonal
death.
Remember me when the sun no longer shines
Remember that once you were mine.

Kuki suddenly got a call from Safiq hardly two days

after he had gone to his village. Fortunately, Kuki was alone
at that time. “What happened? Why did you call me?” she
asked. “I have warned you not to call me. You don’t have
any sense; you’ll land us both in trouble!”

Safiq had no words of defense for himself. Kuki

scolded him but was secretly very excited and pleased. She
found herself taken over by the aroma of love and
excitement.

“I couldn’t wait,” Safiq said with a tinge of sadness.

“There are no cybercafés out here. I have finally got
through to you after trying frantically for the last four hours.
The booth owner is mad at me because I have blocked his
phone for such a long time. Let’s talk fast so that we can
say more. How are you? Do you miss me or not? Without
you life seems futile. I want to get back to Lahore as soon
as possible. Once I get back to Lahore, I will be back in your

96
arms. I have no role here, I am getting bored doing
nothing.”

“How come you don’t have any work? Is Nagma’s

engagement over?”

“She’s getting engaged today.”

“She’s getting engaged today and you spent four

hours in the telephone booth! Are you crazy?”

“Yes, I am crazy. Just the thought of hearing your

sweet voice drives me crazy.”

“Go home. Everybody must be waiting for you.”

Safiq had tried to say something more. But the line

got disconnected. Kuki waited a long time for him to call
again but it was all in vain.

Kuki was surprised by Safiq’s madness. She knew

that poets and artists were eccentric in their own ways, but
how could a person spend four hours in an STD booth on the
day of his daughter’s engagement?

But Safiq’s madness also filled Kuki with immense

pleasure. Was this love? She could feel Safiq more closely
than Aniket. It felt as if Safiq's breath warmed her chest
and his spirit moved inside the house.

Kuki felt disturbed after the call. Her conscience had

never wanted Safiq to call her. The relationship between
the two countries was not good; they could end up in deep
trouble for nothing. If something like that happened, how
could she face Aniket? What could she tell him? Her
children? Her parents? Neighbors? That it was all for love?
Nobody would believe her? Love, and that too at this age?
She would rather die than face such embarrassment. Did a
woman live only for herself? Only for her own selfish
desires? Could she suppress her nature and desire for her
family and state?

97
 Kuki would sometimes get very frightened, thinking
such thoughts. But it was as if she was a slave of destiny; it
was as if she had no control over her actions.

After a few days, Safiq had written a letter. “I have

returned to my place, my studio. Whenever I close my
eyes, you dance on my wall. I can see you on the monitor
of the computer. Our relationship has weathered eight long
years. You are my life. Still you are fresh as a red rose
petal.

Eight long years? Reading that letter, Kuki had

stopped at the word ‘eight.’ It’s only been a year and Safiq
had written ‘eight long years.’ Had the mail been meant for
somebody else? Who had occupied his mind for the last
eight years? Not Kuki, of course. Someone else? Linda?
Could it be Linda Johnson?

His infatuation with Kuki—was it nothing but one big

lie then? Kuki had thought Safiq had left his past behind
him after encountering her. She had hoped he had
abandoned his flirtatious dispensation. But it seemed he
had not changed at all.

Kuki did not know why she felt so defeated and

insulted. She had been trapped by a veteran philanderer.
Not just Kuki. He must be flirting with so many women in
the cyber world. Kuki was the best but she was only one
among many.

Kuki felt jealous. She felt only she had a right over
Safiq. Nobody else could touch Safiq while she was alive.
She now understood Radha’s predicament as she wrestled
with her emotions for Krishna.

But she had never tried to leash Safiq in. She had
never asked him to change his lifestyle. She had never told
him he would have to steer away from all others if he
wanted to have her for his own. So, why was she so
disappointed now?

98
 Still, she was not convinced. She had never wanted
to offer herself to such a man. She felt jealous of Linda and
angry with Safiq.

After everybody had left the house, she vented all

her anger in an e-mail to Safiq.

“Our relationship is just a year old. Why did you

write eight years? Are you drunk? Or did you send me an
e-mail that was meant for someone else? How dare you? I
have no desire of talking to you about this; if possible, reply
immediately after reading this mail.”

Within an hour of sending the mail, she had got a

phone call from Safiq. He had sounded quite normal and
jovial. “I’d written ‘eight’ years in the mail,” he had said
and burst into laughter.

His laughter seemed to ignite a fire inside Kuki.

“How dare you offer me the rose meant for somebody else!”

Kuki’s harsh tone silenced Safiq. “You love Linda; I

don’t mind. You send her letters; I don’t object. You do
whatever you want to. Who am I to curb your freedom? But
why did you send me that mail that was meant for her? It
has hurt me a lot.”

He spoke very slowly, “I don’t have any relationship

with Linda, Rokshana. I don’t even know where she is now
or what she does. How can I clear your doubts? I really love
you, Rokshana!” She then heard him kissing into the
receiver.

“Are you still miffed with me? Why do you doubt me

time and again? Is it because I am a Pakistani? Because I
am not a Hindu?”

Kuki didn’t reply.

Safiq understood it was difficult to convince Kuki

over the phone. So he just said, “Will mail you soon” and
brought the receiver down.

99
 He wrote a five-page mail after that. It was choked
with emotion, but did not have a single sentence countering
Kuki’s charge. Kuki was his life, he wrote. She was
everything for him; without her, he couldn’t live a single
moment, he had written.

There was also a poem.

“Do I love you?
Don’t you know by now?
Do I love you?
Must I show you how?
Do I love you?
Beyond the shadow of doubt
As mighty river flows
As the meadow gale plays
With wind on summer days
Do I love you? Yes, in every way
As sacred as a hymn,
and the Bible full of prayers,
From whisper to a roar
Very much and even more.”

Kuki’s anger was now melting like magic and all her
hurt was dissolving away into nothingness. Within a couple
of days, everything was normal. Misunderstandings and
occasional quarrels in domestic life are just like the clouds
of autumn. There would be a sudden momentary shower
followed immediately by brilliant sunshine.

Safiq had called her again the next day. “What is it,
Safiq? Why don’t you listen to me? You’ll get me into
trouble. You know the Mumbai police! We will be harassed
unnecessarily.”

“Am I a terrorist, baby? You have kept me in that

league.”

Kuki had remained silent.

“I am calling from Islamabad, Rokshana. I have

come here for my visa. My interview for the visa to Paris is
scheduled for the 15th. Don’t know whether I will get it or
not. The embassy officials questioned me as if they don’t

100
have any faith in me. And told me to go back home. The
panel would decide and the news would be conveyed to me.
I think I’ll wait another couple of days, though. And yes, I
called you for two reasons. But you got so angry that I
couldn’t ask.”

“All right, tell me,” said Kuki.

“Will you accompany me to Paris this time? I am in a

real mess emotionally. I want to take you along this time
itself. We will roam around and have a lot of fun. But I’m
also worried that if you come with me now, you may not
agree to accompany me again later. I wish you could be at
my side throughout my whole life.

I’ll try to get a permanent job after staying there for

four years. But you know, the real problem is if I fail in the
interview, I will fail to get you too. You tell me Rokshana,
are you coming with me this time or do you want to join me
later?”

“Idiot!” Kuki had said. “And what was your second

reason?”
“Calling you and mailing you is not so easy from
Islamabad. But you didn’t answer my first question. Are
you coming with me this time?”

“You go there and come back after you’ve proved

yourself.”

“You tell me something. I am calling from outside,

so I can’t say anything.”

“What shall I say?”

“Silly!” He had kissed the receiver and said, “I’ll go

now, ok!”

Safiq really loved her a lot. Otherwise, he wouldn’t

have worried so much about her. Alas, how could she
possibly meet this lover? Was it at all possible? On one
side lay her dreams, and on the other, hard reality. Surely,
nobody else could be living this kind of a life?

101
102
 CHAPTER 13

Surely, nobody else could be living this kind of a life.

She had been living a totally different life in secret -- a life
without Aniket, without her children -- a life in which there
was no Bandra, no Mumbai, no relatives; invisible yet strong
enough to make somebody smile...and cry.

This life, too, would come to an end when Kuki died.

Aniket would never get a whiff of this life. The children
would never know that their mother was in a different world,
living in a different country.

Perhaps some day, the earthquake would shatter her

world. Everything would be crushed. Her relatives would
desert her. Her husband and children would refuse to look
at her. She would be alone and helpless. Nobody would be
there to show her sympathy. She had sinned and must pay
for her transgressions.

She felt sad the whole day but could not pinpoint the
cause of her sadness. She could not bring herself to write a
single e-mail the whole day. In the evening, when the kids
had gone to Pizza Corner, Kuki finally got down to it.
Perhaps it was anger; perhaps, sorrow. She was not in
control of her own self.

“I don’t know why, but I’m not exactly feeling

upbeat,” Kuki wrote. “I have a feeling something bad will
happen. It’s a matter of divine providence that we met up.
I can’t live without you, but continuing our relationship has
its own dangers. I hope you won’t misunderstand me; I am
very disturbed. Whatever I am writing today doesn’t
matter.”

The next paragraph was an expression of her love

and longing for him. By the time she had finished writing,
she saw that a new mail had arrived. She was surprised and
started reading through it, deciding to postpone sending her
own mail till later.

103
 The mail sounded terse but familiar. “I’m in a bad
mood today. I don’t want to stay in this country. To be
honest, had it not been for Tabassum and my children, I
would have settled in Paris with you forever.

You know Rokshana, they pelted stones at my house

today. The mullahs are really after me. That is why I
haven’t been able to write to you. My angel, I am feeling
very lonely today. I will write to you later.”

Was it telepathy? Was she feeling disturbed because

Safiq was facing a problem there on the other side of the
border?

His mail got her very upset. Her heartbeat went up.
What had happened?

Why the demonstrations? Had he been caught out

by the mullahs? Nothing was impossible. He was such a
reckless guy. She had been right in anticipating something
like this. What was the need to tell Tabassum and his
children everything about their relationship?

She felt disturbed. She felt her legs trembling. She

did not send him the letter she had already composed.
Instead, she wrote, “Why don’t you tell me what happened?
I am worried.”

No, Safiq did not call. The children returned home.

The noise arrived home. The children were munching on
popcorn while watching comedy serials. They were asking
why Kuki was not laughing.

She was sitting beside them, but she could not

garner any interest in the serials. She felt as if she was
running a temperature. Why had Safiq not called? What
had happened to him?

Seeing her pale face, Aniket had asked, “Are you

feeling unwell?”

“I have a headache,” Kuki had lied.

104
 “Must have taken a shower at the wrong time.”

“No, I haven’t washed my head today.”

“Then, maybe your bowels are not clear?”

“Perhaps. It’s a bad headache.”

“Have a cup of tea.”

“You finish off your puja first. We will drink

together.”

It was part of Aniket’s daily routine. After returning

from work, he would take a bath and then perform puja for
half an hour. Then he would have his tea. She was not as
keen on puja as he was. Aniket kept an account of where to
offer coconuts, where to offer food to the needy, and so on
and so forth in his diary.

Kuki also performed puja sometimes, but not as

spontaneously. She could not bring herself to ask God for
anything. She would remain absent-minded while
performing puja. Which of her sorrows would she ask God
to alleviate?

Today, though, there was something Kuki wanted to

ask for. She prayed to God for Safiq’s safety and well-being.

There were four telephone calls that evening. Two of

them were from Aniket’s office friends. Another one was
from the wife of the bank officer. The last call was from
Kuki’s younger sister.

Every time the phone rang, Kuki’s heart started

racing faster. Every time she thought it was Safiq. Kuki
hadn’t given him any fixed time. She had just told him to
call her after reading her mail. What if Safiq checked his
mail in the evening?

Kuki refrained from attending any of the calls. Her

elder son berated her once, asking why she was sitting near
the phone if she did not want to pick it up. “Somebody pick

105
up the phone,” Aniket bawled. But Kuki thought she would
have to say, “Wrong number!” if it was Safiq, and on
hearing her voice, Safiq might just refuse to hang up and
start talking instead.

Her worries about Safiq kept her up all night. She

only managed to go to sleep in the wee hours of the
morning. Even then, she found herself plagued by bad
dreams. In the morning, she felt bloated and sleepy.
Things didn’t improve even after she had her morning tea.

By ten, everybody had left home. She kept thinking

of Safiq now. How was he now? Why hadn’t he called? Had
something bad happened to him?

She was not able to suppress her anxiety. Suddenly

the much-awaited call came. “What happened? Why were
there demonstrations in front of your house?” A barrage of
questions flooded in.

“Why are you so scared, Rokshana? Nothing that

serious has happened.”

“No, you must tell me everything in detail.”

I had only said, “I don’t have any country. An artist

is not bound by any physical boundaries.”

“Whom did you say that to?”

“The press.”

“Press? You mean you called a press conference?

When did you convene a press conference?”

“You know I don’t believe in religion,” Safiq said.

“For me, Hindus, Christians, Muslims are all equal. But I do
believe in God. I believe in you. I love you. Your love is my
inspiration. You are everything to me. You are my goddess.
I have seen you nude so many times in my dreams,
Rokshana. I was in trouble in my country for my painting,
‘Goddess.’ You know Islam does not believe in goddesses.
There is only one God. So, they called me a ‘kafir.’ They

106
blamed me; they said I was an atheist and that I had
provided Hinduism a place in my painting. That was why I
had called a press conference; I declared, “I don’t have any
country. An artist has no country, no religion.” Now the
media’s made an unnecessary hue and cry over that
statement and that attracted the attention of the
fundamentalists.”

“Why do you do all these crazy things?” asked Kuki.

“Art is my passion. So you tell me, aren’t you my

goddess? Doesn’t an artist have the right to give shape to
his thoughts on canvas?”

“Safiq, I’m very scared about you. They won’t harm

you, will they?”

“Silly, there is no reason to be scared. What can

they do to me? Forget all that. My goddess, you come into
my arms. I want to feel you close to me.”

What could Kuki say to this mad artist? He had

reached a level where pleasure and liberation co-existed.
Kuki was sometimes a goddess, sometimes an object of
pleasure or inspiration for him.

Kuki found the Sanskrit verses from Kundalini

flashing across her mind.

Yatrasthi moksha na cha tatra bhoga

Yatarsthi bhoga na cha tatra mokshah

Shree sundaree sevana tatparanam bhogascha

mokshascha karasthanaiba.

Kuki knew that if she wrote the lines to Safiq, he

would ask, “What is Kundalini? Who is she?” Who would
explain all that to him? She did not care what form he gave
her in his imagination. But let him be safe and well and
smiling all the time.

107
 But how long could this continue? How long could
they keep the relationship going? There must be an end
somewhere. What was that end? Did Safiq know where this
life was leading them -- hell or heaven? Whatever it will be,
they had no option but to carry on…

108
109
110
 CHAPTER 14

“I have to carry on…” Safiq said on the phone. “I

have to carry on for you Rokshana. Otherwise, what was
the need for me to go for the interview at this age. What
was the need to go for the tiring para-thesis instead of my
painting? The acerbity between our two countries won’t
allow us to be together, so we must look for a third
country.”

“Nagma’s marriage is just ahead; do you think it’s

such a good idea?” Kuki questioned.

“What is my role in her marriage? Tabassum is

there. You know Rokshana, she is so busy that she has
stopped her dating and all that. Actually without Tabassum,
I would not have been able to run the household.”

“Still, you have to help her.”

“My job is to serve you.”

“From where are you calling? When are you going to

Paris?”

“I am now in Karachi. I have come here to get some

money from my elder sister. I’ll start for Paris day after
tomorrow. You didn’t give me an answer, Rokshana. I am
really heartbroken because I feel I have lost my chance to
get you. What if I can’t clear the interview? I don’t know
whether I will get you in this lifetime or not. I am calling
from outside, so I won’t be able to kiss you today. I will call
you from Paris. I only have a four-day visa; I’ll have to
return quickly. Nowadays, there are lots of restrictions.”

“Yeah, they’ve become extra careful because of the

terrorism problem.” Kuki tried to stop herself but it was too

111
late. What would Safiq think? But then, it was true, wasn’t
it?

But Safiq had ignored her words. Kissed her on the

receiver and kept it down.

Had he felt bad? Had he been hurt by her remarks?

In any case, didn’t she have this fear somewhere in her
mind? Safiq might actually be a member of a terrorist
outfit. One never knew. Was she getting entangled in
something dangerous?

She could never understand the enmity that human

beings harbored against each other. Was religion the only
thing that fuelled terrorism? What about economic
exploitation? The developed countries refused to stop
exploiting the Third World countries and the latter refused
to put an end to terrorism. Whatever the reason, who was
suffering? The whole of mankind.

She had never brought up the subject of terrorism

with Safiq, nor the question of religion or of the political
relationship between the two countries. They had both
decided to keep these discussions at bay for the time being.
Kuki had never asked why Safiq’s people killed her people.

Rather, it was Safiq who would sometimes speak of

forging one country, somewhat like the merging of East and
West Berlin.

It was as if the two of them understood each other

perfectly while the rest of the world felt suffocated with all
the noise, bloodshed, explosion, acrid smoke and the dust
that filled their lungs. The two of them seemed immune to
everything. They seemed to live in another world. Ignoring
this conscious world, they were floating towards a wonderful
region of ecstasy. Kuki was like the Nairatma, that beautiful
heavenly being, Mokshya, who sits on the unreachable
distance of the top of hill? And the crazy Safiq is struggling
to reach the peak to unite with Nairatma, that beautiful
Mokshya. Conquering this hill was a most onerous task.
That beautiful woman, Nairatma, waited for her lover with a
peacock feather in her hair and colorful beads round her

112
neck. The soothing smell of her yoni (vagina) wafted in like
a breeze. They would unite, and their union would bless
them with a wonderful heavenly pleasure. That is when
they would take off their masks of this unreal world. They
would ultimately reach a state of egoless formless
nothingness. There would be no society, culture, or
civilization, not even nature herself, for them.

Kuki felt remorse over her outburst. Instead of

wishing him good luck, she had thrown a tantrum. She
should have wished him well. Anyway, it was no use crying
over spilt milk; she would e-mail him and wish him luck.

After writing to him, she felt relaxed; she even

started humming a song. Then came the call from Aniket’s
village—Kuki’s mother-in-law was ill. She has been
admitted to hospital. Kuki called up Aniket immediately.
They would have to go to their village. Getting a train
reservation was next to impossible, so they would have to
take a flight instead. Aniket was very nervous; Kuki
consoled him.

Once she reached the village, Kuki had hardly a

moment to spare. She almost forgot Safiq. Ten days had
now passed. Her mother-in-law was recovering. Because of
her hectic schedule, Kuki was getting so tired at the end of
the day that she was not even dreaming. She was sleeping
soundly.

Aniket suggested to his mother that she should

accompany him to Mumbai. This made Kuki very anxious;
what would happen to her secret world? It was nice to live
in two worlds, a real one and a virtual one, at the same
time.

True, her mother-in-law would not understand what

was happening on the computer, but would she be able to
sit in front of the computer when she was around? Could
she continue to look at Safiq’s photo in that lonely room for
hours on end? Could she feel his breath all over her?

Kuki was not at all happy with Aniket’s suggestion

but she couldn’t protest or disagree. How could she do

113
that? Aniket was only proposing to take his ill mother along
—it was the most natural thing to do. It wouldn’t look good
if he didn’t want her to take her along with him.

Who knew how long she would be in Mumbai? Could

the mad Safiq abstain from calling her? Perhaps it would
become impossible to continue their relationship. Perhaps
she had sent him her last mail when she had come to
Orissa. It wouldn’t be possible for her to send e-mails to
him any longer.

But just two days before their scheduled departure,

Kuki’s mother-in-law decided not to accompany them to
Mumbai. She couldn’t leave her village, she decided; she
wouldn’t feel comfortable in Mumbai. She wouldn’t have a
problem in the village; her nephews lived close by. Kuki
thanked God Almighty for solving the problem as soon as it
had surfaced.

After reaching Mumbai, Kuki checked her e-mail

scanning her inbox frantically for something from Safiq. She
found two long e-mails. Finishing all her chores, she sat
down in front of her computer.

“I’d called you from Paris,” Safiq had written. “But

nobody picked up the phone; perhaps your phone is out of
order. Or, maybe you didn’t expect me to call you from
Paris? But I couldn’t help it, Rokshana. The interview went
well. It seems Allah has listened to my prayers. You also
pray to your Lord Shiva so that I get the job. You’ll really
come and join me here and stay with me, won’t you?”

So Safiq had actually gone there. Would he get the

job? He was up against stiff competition. The western
world didn’t have a very good opinion of people from Safiq’s
part of the world. It would be touch and go.

Finishing the first one, Kuki opened Safiq’s second e-

mail. Safiq had written, “After reaching there, I extended
my stay by another three days. There was a surprise,
Rokshana. I met Linda there. She is not well at all. Her
drunkard husband does not treat her well at all. She has
filed for divorce. Once it is approved, they would go back to

114
the USA again. I stayed the last few days with her. Slept
with her and got caught unaware by base impulse. She is
really in great trouble. Are you angry with me for sleeping
with her? She needs me. She seeks my love. Incidentally, I
found myself taking your name even when I was enjoying
her. I realized at that moment that without you, my life
means nothing. I am incomplete without you.” The letter
left Kuki stunned. She just uttered one word weakly,
“Safiq…”

115
116
 CHAPTER 15

“Safiq, why…? Don’t you know that to achieve

something you have to focus, concentrate and concentrate?
If you waiver, you will slip up? Knowing everything, why did
you look back?”

This time, Kuki was not jealous of Linda. She could

think only of Safiq. He still had not mended his habits.
Pure? That is not a word Kuki used; rather, it was Safiq who
used to say, “You know Rokshana, I have to remain pure in
order to get you. I won’t get you until I become a
gentleman. You don’t know, but I perform Vazu before
writing to you. Do you know what that is? It is the ritual
bath one has to take before offering Namaz; one has to be
physically pure before one embarks on Namaz.” Why he
felt the need to come out pure was something Kuki had no
idea about. Neither had she any idea about why he had
such feelings of sin and guilt. Why did he think himself a
sinner?

The one-night stand with Linda might be an

accidental affair. Perhaps the grief of an old friend had
drawn him closer. Perhaps, but why did he need to tell her
about it? Didn’t he understand that it would hurt her?

Kuki spent the whole day wallowing in self-pity,

hunched in front of the computer, but she couldn’t bring
herself to compose a single e-mail.

Kuki had never tried to change Safiq. If he had tried

to change anything about himself, he had done so on his
own. But why was Safiq was trying to change? What for?
To get Kuki? But Kuki had accepted him the way he was
right from the beginning; she had always known everything
about him. So what was the point of his trying to reform
himself now?

Kuki had not sent Safiq any mail that day. But the
next day, an e-mail had arrived from Safiq. “What’s the
matter, Rokshana? Are you unwell? Didn’t you get my last

117
letter? How do I make you understand, Rokshana, how sad I
am—it is time for another bout of separation. I am so angry
with Allah: why is he giving us all this pain! But I have to go
for Nagma’s marriage. There is hardly any communication
with my village, so I have to go early to make some
arrangements. Three weeks apart from you is enough to
make me cry. I don’t even know if the village has ISD
connections. How can I stay there without you, Rokshana?

You know, Rokshana, Nagma wants her Indiawali

mother to attend her wedding. But I have explained to her
that it’s impossible. Just look at the relationship between
the two countries. If you came, I would introduce you to all
my friends and relatives.

I am very tired, Rokshana. Tabassum made me walk

all through the afternoon and evening as she went around
purchasing sarees and jewelry. Women don’t wear sarees
here as you know, but women from the aristocratic families
wear them at weddings. If you were here, I would have
selected a red saree for you.

A seven-lakh rupee meher has been finalized for

Nagma’s marriage. You know what meher is, right? If, for
some reason, her husband should give talaq to her, then he
has to pay back the meher. The actual marriage ceremony
lasts only an hour for us, but it is stretched to four hours to
make it more memorable. Before the ceremony, turmeric
paste is applied to the bride. There is music, singing and
dancing. I wish you were here for the ceremony.

I have forgotten myself amidst all this, Rokshana. I

have completely forgotten that I am an artist and I have my
own independent life. But I also want Nagma’s marriage to
be over before I leave for Paris. At least, I can spend two
years in Paris quietly. Rokshana, will you come with me?
Come on, baby, before going to village! I love you.” The
lines that followed were full of description of sexual
enjoyment. The letter ended with, “Just wait till I return.”

Safiq obviously had no idea that Kuki had not e-

mailed him out of sheer self-respect. She would wait a long
time now. She would not sit before the computer in her

118
leisure time. Would Safiq remember her in the bustle of the
marriage? Tabassum was the one who would do all the
work anyway.

What did Nagma look like? What was his village like?
She had seen neither Safiq nor Nagma. Still, she felt sad,
thinking that she couldn’t attend the wedding.

She could no longer visualize the bitterness now--or

the bloodshed. Nor could she smell the gunpowder. Why
did political boundaries usher in so many divisions, war, and
hatred? Love, hunger, pain, happiness, sex, sympathy—did
they have different colours in different human beings?

Would Nagma actually expect Kuki’s presence at her

marriage? Kuki wondered. The rituals seemed to be quite
similar. The turmeric and the mehndi that was applied
before a girl was married. The festive mood, with song,
music and dance were also the same. It wiped out
bitterness among human beings, turned foes into friends
and vice-versa sometimes.

During the three weeks of separation, Kuki immersed

herself in Aniket’s world. They visited the Siddhivinayak
temple in their new Santro car. For a few days, Kuki even
looked after her younger son’s homework. But Aniket was
not happy with her involvement in his children’s studies.

Safiq was not there. So there was nothing for her to

do now. After Aniket and the children left, the loneliness
would begin to seep into her bones. The very silence would
take on a threatening dimension. She tried to mingle with
the neighbors, spent time in small talk and kitty parties and
playing housie. Still, Safiq was always there like an absent
presence. She spent her time hoping against hope that
Safiq would call.

One day Kuki decided not to go to the housie

session. She waited for Safiq’s call, read some old letters
and generally enjoyed herself. When would Safiq return?
Why did he have to go so early? She felt irritated.
Suddenly, there was a call from Mrs. Malavya; she wanted
her for her kitty party. Kuki feigned illness. She repeated

119
this every time she got an invitation after this. Thus she
detached herself from the rest of the group.

Nagma’s wedding was just two or three days away.

Safiq’s call took Kuki by surprise. The wedding was just a
day away now. “Why did you return to Lahore so quickly?
Is everything okay?”

“Yes, everything is fine. The house is full of

relatives. I didn’t know we had so many relatives. You ask,
‘Is everything okay?’ What is okay? I am not happy at all. I
am missing you terribly here. It is a difficult time for me.
Another two days. I will come back to you as soon as
possible after the wedding ceremony.”

“Your village doesn’t have an ISD connection—how

are you calling me?” Kuki asked.

“O baby, I am calling you from a small town here.

This is thirty-five kilometers from my village.”

“Are you there for some work?”

“What work? Can’t I come here to talk to you?”

“That’s fine, but so far?”

“You are not in a good mood, Rokshana? You are not

happy that I called you?”

“I was waiting for your call,” said Kuki.

“Come, come to my arms, baby.”

A disturbance in the connection prevented the

conversation from going much further. The things Kuki had
wanted to say remained in her heart, demanding to be
nursed.

True to his words, Safiq returned to Lahore within

two days of the wedding ceremony. He was e-mailing Kuki
after a gap of fifteen or seventeen days. He was very
happy.

120
 “We have just arrived from our village. Tabassum is
busy cleaning the house. Samim is also helping her. You
know Samim, right? Her young boyfriend? I came to my
study straightaway. I’m yet to perform vazu. I’m feeling
very lonely. I had never imagined that bidding goodbye to
my daughter would be so difficult. I never knew that a
father’s heart feels so empty after his daughter leaves. It
was as if I was donating a piece of my body. I couldn't help
crying. If you were near me, I would have cried with my
head resting on your chest.

Everything remains in its place in the house. Her

books, her shoes, everything. But she is not there. She has
been here for twenty-two long years. Now she is no longer
in this house. Don’t get angry for this short e-mail,
Rokshana. I will write you a longer letter tonight.”

Kuki mailed him words of consolation. “Nagma must

be happy with her husband. Don’t worry; everything will be
all right. You will see, one day, Nagma will want to leave
your house on her own; she will crave to go back to her
husband’s place.”

Within days, Kuki and Safiq had returned to their old

ways. Tabassum was busy with her dates. After just ten or
twelve days, Safiq gave her the good news. He had got the
position at Columbia University. He was ecstatic. “I had
never imagined that this would be so easy, Rokshana,” he
had written. “I can’t believe that I’ll be going to Paris. I
have visited London and Paris many times before. But I
have never felt as excited as I am feeling now. Every time it
was about my career. But this time it’s something different.
It’s for you. It’s for your love. I am very thrilled, baby.
There are just a few more steps before I reach the moon,
where I will be with you and you will be with me.”

121
122
 CHAPTER 16

“...where I will be with you and you will be with me.

Nothing else in this world. Through sex, we will reach the
supernatural from the natural. That is Osho’s theory, isn’t
it, Rokshana?” asked Safiq. “Do you know anything about
Osho? I am very interested in his theories. Are sex and
Tantra related? Do people in your country regard Osho as
God?”

Till now they had had many intellectual discussions

on various topics but never on Osho and Tantra.

Why had Osho come into the picture all of a sudden?

Kuki had read a few books on Osho earlier. But she never
really had any interest. She had not found any of them
thought-provoking. She was at a loss about what to write to
Safiq.

She finally wrote: “I have read a little. His theories

sounded logical when I was reading them, but they failed to
have any lasting impact. Since time immemorial, our Hindu
tradition has given a lot of importance to yoga. Based on
that, the concept of Kundalini comes from the yogic
philosophy of ancient India and refers to the mother
intelligence behind yogic awakening and spiritual maturity.

You know, Safiq, our sages and saints have imagined

six points in the human body. Six points: the anus, gonads,
navel, heart, throat, and forehead. These are the chakras.
Each chakra presents us with the opportunity to establish a
root relationship and to satisfy a deep soul desire. And
Kundalini sits at the base of the spinal cord – at the anus.
When the worshipper gains control over his mind and
desires, the Kundalini automatically crosses all these six
charkas gradually. Our sages opine that the person doing
penance gets Moksha when the Kundalini reaches the
forehead, the ultimate destination, a lotus with a thousand
petals. Kundalini crosses all these six chakras. Osho has
modified the concept a bit and chosen sex as the medium to
enter into these chakras.

123
 But Safiq, what are you interested in all this? You
have never wanted to be a saint. Never have you shown
any interest in becoming a guru. Our love is behind our
physical attraction. Our love will sustain us and will lead us
to sexual pleasure. Osho had a different take; he merged
sex with Yoga. He said, ‘Imagine that you are in deep
slumber during intercourse as if you don’t have any worry,
any rush. Gradually you begin to fell feel that your body
and your soul are not yours—at that moment, you will move
from consciousness to super-consciousness, that bliss, that
Siddhi.

And whoever told you we regard Osho as God? In

our country, every individual has the right to accept a point
of view or to reject it. Faith depends on individual priorities
and preferences. If one regards Osho as God, that doesn’t
mean that he or she would force others to accept the same.
In our country, there are so many sadhus that many people
take them as incarnations of God. But the theory has both
its advocates and its opponents. If you are so interested in
Osho, I will read more about him and reply to you.”

Safiq replied the next day. “Rokshana, after reading

your letter, I felt as if I was entering a whole new world.
When we meet, shall we try out Osho’s theory? And you
didn’t write about Tantra? Did you forget?”

In the next paragraph he had written, “Rokshana, as

my Paris trip draws near, I am getting more and more
excited. I have started dreaming about our future life, baby.
I hope you won’t say no to me.”

The last paragraph was again a description of their

future sexual union—something Kuki had got used to by
now. “I am soaking your lips. Give me your saliva, insert
your tongue into my mouth.”

Kuki found the mail disturbing. What would he get

by experimenting with sex? Safiq understands only sex,
nothing else. Love and emotion were of no significance for
him. What about his words then? “You are my everything;
without you, I am nothing.” Did all this have no meaning for

124
him at all? She was disgusted with his interest in sexual
experiments.

“No Safiq,” Kuki wrote back. “I cannot help you in

your attempt to experiment with Osho’s philosophy; I am an
ordinary woman. My needs are very human; I need only
love to live out this life. What will I get from yoga and
worship?

You can carry on your experiments with somebody

else, I won’t stop you. I just want to live happily. I don’t
want Moksha. I would prefer to be a silent spectator for
whom you would be running towards me time and again
braving all the obstacles. That’s what I desire.

You have asked about Tantra. There are divergent

views on this. For some, it is as a method of attaining
Moksha, and for others, it is black magic. You can perform
miracles with Tantra. But this very fact has also degraded
the reputation of Tantra. I have heard that for a small
mistake in pronunciation the punishment of Tantra is
damning. It can totally wipe out the man. Anyway, forget
it! How did we get here? Our path was the path of love.
Come back to it. What will we get from all this Sadhana and
Moksha? What is there in Moksha anyway?”

It was so difficult to satisfy Safiq, the mad artist, Kuki

thought after sending the mail. It was so difficult to
understand what he wanted. When evening came, Kuki’s
lifestyle would undergo a radical transformation with
Aniket’s arrival. While teaching his son, Aniket had pulled
his son’s ears so hard that they had begun to bleed. While
applying balm, Kuki had murmured something about Aniket
and that had triggered off a quarrel.

As a result, Kuki didn’t feel like having anything for

dinner. She was the one who had to adjust to every
situation that came up in the household. Suicide was not an
option for her, nor was going back to her father’s house; she
could not think of divorce either. Life continued as a matter
of inertia.

125
 The next morning, the tears of the previous night
were forgotten. Kuki sent everybody off after cooking for
them and serving them food. After the housemaid left, she
sat in front of the monitor again. Waiting for her was a mail
from Safiq.

Safiq had written, “You Hindus are very orthodox and

superstitious. Why did you say no to helping me in my
experiments with Osho’s theory? Are you angry at me?
Why have you asked me to look for another partner? Why
are you so orthodox, baby?”

Kuki was startled. “You Hindus?” What did Safiq

mean? When did the Hindu-Muslim thing come into their
relationship? Safiq had insulted her by calling her an
orthodox Hindu. Who had given him the right to label her
an orthodox fanatic? What did it mean? Was Safiq losing
interest in her?

What did identity mean for an individual? Religion,

culture—what was it that defined identity? How had religion
forced its way into their relationship? Kuki wasn’t
particularly concerned over the nature of God. Nor was she
very philosophical. She had never worried about Nirvana or
Moksha or salvation. She had just wanted to live her life to
the fullest. She had just wanted to be herself, to live every
moment of life. All this talk of Tantra and stuff like that was
meaningless for her. But the “You Hindus” bit had still hurt
her. Why? Where had this emotion hidden all these years?
She couldn’t close her eyes to it. The word ‘secular’
seemed so distant and hazy now.

Kuki couldn’t control herself. She mailed Safiq back

immediately. Copied and pasted the sentence, “You Hindus
are very orthodox and superstitious” and wrote, “This
sentence has really hurt me, Safiq. I am surprised at myself
thinking of my inability to discover this brutal complexity of
your mode of thought. If you think I am not suitable for you,
you can leave me. We are not made for each other. Leave
this Hindu lover. I know it’s difficult for me to forget you,
perhaps impossible. What about you? Yours Rokshana.”

126
 After every misunderstanding they had, Kuki used to
mail him and a sense of relief would flood her. But this time
was an exception. She tried to keep herself busy watching
TV and reading the newspaper but it was all in vain.
Perhaps she was waiting for Safiq’s phone call. Perhaps
Safiq would call and ask her, “Why do you get angry for
nothing? I’m sorry; I’ll never hurt you again.”

But that was not to be. Safiq did not call. Her
desperation gave way to anxiety. She logged in to check
her inbox again but there was no unread mail. Perhaps
Safiq hadn’t checked his mail, she tried to console herself.
But the phrase, “You Hindus,” still rankled her. They had
been marching ahead peacefully in total disregard to nation,
caste, religion, and language. From where had this phrase
crept in now?

The next day Kuki again opened her inbox. But there
was still no unread mail. She felt like calling Safiq. She felt
sorry. Was Safiq angry with her? She felt as if her world
had crashed. No, Safiq could not get angry at her. Even if
he was, he could not behave like this. He must have gone
somewhere; that was why he had not been able to check his
e-mail. But he usually wrote to her before going out
anywhere or at least called her after reaching wherever he
was traveling to. But why not this time?

Every time they had had a misunderstanding, they

had been able to put their differences into cold storage and
march on. None of their differences had made any
difference to their relationship. Had she sent the e-mail to a
wrong address? But how could she do that? She still waited
for the call. But the phone did not ring. She could control
herself no longer and wrote, “Didn’t you get my e-mail?
Why haven’t you replied? Are you really angry with me?
But, why? Which of my words have hurt you so much that
you want to bring our relationship to an end? I am really
worried. Please mail me.”

After a couple of hours, she checked her mailbox

again. No, there was no mail for her. How easily did this
man got angry. How cruel he was! He was the one who
had hurt her and now he was the one who was putting on

127
airs. Her anger had melted away by now. Instead, she was
absorbed in thoughts of losing Safiq. She was like an addict
who would die without the stuff. She could feel her frisson
and tried to control her shivering by holding her palms
together. The empty house unnerved her. She could not
share a single word with anyone. She kept her hand on the
wall and cried as if the wall could offer her consolation. How
could somebody get so angry?

How could somebody get so angry? All those words,

“You are my goddess; you are my very life,” was all of that
fake? She couldn’t sleep.

Next day, she logged on to the computer again with

trembling fingers. True to her fears, the mailbox had no
new mail. Was Safiq a cheat? Had he been playing games
with Kuki all along? Did Safiq want to cut off his relationship
with her before visiting Paris to leave himself free and
unfettered?

Without Safiq’s letters, life became meaningless for

her. A sense of terrible emptiness seemed to engulf her.
Whom could she communicate her mental turmoil to? Kuki
again wrote to Safiq. “Safiq, if you are angry with me,
please forgive me. I have tried my best to live without you
but I cannot. Till now, you have adored me as a goddess;
now it’s my turn. I bow my head in front of you. Please
write to me; please come back to me. Life is meaningless
without you. Yours, Helpless Angel.”

This time, Kuki thought, Safiq wouldn’t be able to

control himself. He would definitely reply to her. He was
infatuated with her after all. Perhaps he had just become a
little chauvinistic. Would he be able to resist the temptation
of comforting her if he came to know that Kuki was crying?

It was raining intermittently. Power cuts, too, had

become more frequent. Still, Kuki tried to log in as often as
she could. She missed Safiq a lot. She had already sent at
least fifteen e-mails to Safiq in these last few days. And she
had reconciled herself to the fact that Safiq would perhaps
never write to her again. But she kept returning to the
computer as a matter of habit. After fifteen days, she was

128
surprised to see an unread mail in her inbox. The sender’s
e-mail address had an air of unusual charm and familiarity
that day. She clicked on the mail with trembling fingers.
The screen went blank as it started to load, adding to her
impatience and restlessness. “Safiq, please hurry up,” she
muttered under her breath.

It was a short e-mail. “I have been arrested by the

police after the London bomb blast. According to London
police, one of my friends has links with this blast. And that
good friend of mine has been in regular touch with me. So I
am under the scanner. I am under heavy scrutiny. I was
allowed to come home for only an hour today. I read all
your letters. I have no idea when I will be able to get out of
this predicament. If I come out, we will talk again. Please
don’t misunderstand me. Safiq.”

Her heart began to beat faster. She had never

imagined this facet of Safiq’s personality. Was it the same
Safiq who had come into her life a year back as her dream
man and opened up a bag of dreams for her? Had he
camouflaged a bomb inside those dreams?

The person who had come as a creator one day, who

had planted a beautiful garden and brought a permanent
smile on the flowers, who had covered the field with a lush
green carpet of grass—could the same person have turned
a cruel destroyer? There was a mistake somewhere. Yes, it
was nothing but a blatant lie! He must have tried to run
away. But why had he taken such a stupid step? Wasn’t
silence the best policy for him?

Kuki found herself very tired now. What was the

meaning of this drama, this game? Perhaps none of this
had happened; perhaps it was all part of one big illusion.
But what about those e-mails? The expressions of love?
The lust? Kuki had saved one of his letters safely in the
folder. He had once written to her:

“Rokshana, do you know what it is like to imagine my

life without your love? Do you know what it is like to look up
in the velvet night sky and not be able to sight a single star?
Do you know what it is like to see the birds sing their sweet

129
song, and yet not hear their sound? Do you know what it is
like to feel your heart inside you and yet not feel it beat?
Do you know what it is like to be in a crowd of people
smiling, lunching, sharing their love together and yet be all
alone with no one with you? Do you know what it is like
when the light of your life has been extinguished and you
are left in absolute and complete darkness, frightened and
lonely? Do you know what it is like when the one you love
so deeply and dearly is so far away? Your heart cries out
her name and yet there is no reply. So what do you do at
such times? How do you keep your wits about you? How do
you maintain some semblance of normal life, when all you
can do is think about the person you are so much in love
with and whom you would do or give anything just to be
with? You feel lost somewhere between the cruel reality of
life and dream-like fairytale that you wish to live in.”

Kuki became restless. Did you know all this

beforehand, Safiq? Did you know that our relationship
would reach this point someday? Is that why you had once
written, “I don’t know why, but I feel that time is running in
the reverse direction. Every moment tends to increase the
distance between us. Time is taking you away and the time
will come when it will be impossible for me to get you. Had I
been an angel like you, I would have flown down to your
place. Reaching you, I would have defied the cruelty of
time. If I had two long hands, I would have stopped the
hands of the clocks and hold time to a standstill.”

Kuki searched her computer. Everywhere she felt

Safiq’s presence. In her password, in her own room. Safiq
was present everywhere. His paintings, his language, his
words and his poems. Safiq had once said, “What answer
can I give when you ask me why I love you so much? Not all
questions have answers. Perhaps Allah has chosen you to
come to my world, solving all my problems, making me
happy and pure and crystal clear. I love you because you
have made me realize my own worth. And you have taught
me those words based on which I can live a life with dignity.

Was Safiq involved in terrorism before he had come

into her life? He was willing to relinquish terrorism for sake
of Kuki’s love. But he was liable for punishment for all his

130
past wrongs. What if he approached Kuki again after
accepting his punishment? Could Kuki accept him as
before? She could not, irrespective of the intensity or purity
of his love. But how could Safiq be a terrorist? Could a man
who wielded guns hold a canvas; could such a man write
love poems? How could a man who got a kick out of seeing
pools of blood be as sensitive as that?

Doubts beset her lonely and daring soul. “I have no

nationality,” Safiq had said. “I follow no religion. An artist
doesn’t have any nation.” He was difficult to understand.
The expressions of love made over the last few days felt like
a hallucination. It was memorable but painful; painful, but
incredible. Tears rolled down her cheeks. To whom could
she express her feelings? Whom could she tell that she was
someone else as well; that she was Rokshana? She had lost
that identity.

Safiq had written, “With you, my Rokshana, I have

discovered eternity. I pray to Allah that the embers of our
relationship never cool down. I pray to Allah without
knowing whether my prayer will reach Him or not. I have no
idea whether Allah will accept my prayers or not.”

That was the Safiq she knew. She found it so difficult

to recognize today’s Safiq. Where was this Safiq? His
poetry, his longing, his madness? The way he used to call
her frantically while calling her from a public booth during
his daughter’s marriage. The Safiq of today seemed but a
shadow of his previous self, of the Safiq she knew and
loved.

Perhaps she was dreaming an endless dream. She

was slipping on her legs and somebody beside her was
picking her up and taking her towards a new land, a land
where there was no pain, no atrocity, no conflict; only love
and desire. Then she suddenly woke up to reality. The
darkness was everywhere; the heavy clouds covered
everything and flashes of lightening tore through them
every now and then. There was water everywhere. Her
younger son came up and said, “Mummy, mummy, there’s
so much water on the streets. The cars have also been
submerged. The water level is going up.”

131
 Kuki emerged out of her dreams. She looked out
through the window. There was a flood. Nature had
unleashed its fury on the city. The maximum city, Mumbai,
was now going to be submerged. She suddenly
remembered Aniket. Where was Aniket?

132
133
134
 CHAPTER 17

Where was Aniket? Who was knocking on the door

so furiously? Perhaps Aniket had returned and was
knocking on the door, she thought. Perhaps the rain had
stopped or it was just the wind, blowing intermittently and
making a knocking sound on the door. What time was it?
She felt as if somebody was calling her. Somebody’s
earnest calls disturbed her sleep. “Kuki, Kuki.”

She was groping in the dark for the door to the

bedroom. She followed the wall. Her forehead dashed
against the door of the almirah, but she still made her way
in the darkness to the main door.

Who could it be? Aniket? The face was unclear. She

felt disturbed when she found there was nobody at the door.
Who was knocking the door then? The wind? Or, was she
dreaming? Kuki shut the door properly and returned inside.

It was not a good sign. Kuki felt like crying. Was

Aniket in danger? Was he trying desperately to get back to
them? Whom could she ask for help? Everybody was in the
same situation. At least one person from each family had
been stranded in the rains the like of which they had never
seen before. Who would go out to look for Aniket? She had
last heard from Aniket the previous afternoon when he had
called her, saying, “It’s raining heavily, Kuki. I’ll come home
when it stops.” Then the telephone connection had
suddenly snapped, leaving Kuki in the lurch, with no clues
about his whereabouts. Since then, she has had no
information from Aniket. The telephone had gone dead.
And Aniket was yet to return.

She had a feeling that this calamity would not spare

anybody. It would drown everybody. It was still raining
heavily. The water level was climbing gradually. Mumbai
city would soon be submerged and would meet its watery
grave under the sea. So many addresses would be wiped
out. From so many souls, it would blow away ego and anger
alike. The floods would wash away so many dreams and

135
aspirations. In the stream of time, this moment was next to
nothing; it was of little significance. Perhaps tomorrow, she
wouldn’t be there; perhaps even Aniket would not be there.
All the unfulfilled desires and sorrows would remain
drowned under the watery rubble.

But life would continue. Every calamity was survived

by some seeds, some flowers, some feeble chirping of birds,
some fearful lives. And they would rebuild an egoless world
where there would be no bitterness or bloodshed.
Everybody would busy themselves with their reconstruction.
The seeds would appear as green paddy fields, flowers
would dot the beautiful garden, birds would fleck the sky
and fearful human beings would again start creating the
same bitterness and atom bombs.

Kuki switched on the light and saw that it was two in

the morning. It was raining cats and dogs outside. Turning
the light out, Kuki continued sitting in the darkness. She
had never felt so close to Aniket. Perhaps physical
proximity reduced the intensity of togetherness. Aniket was
there. But when he was there, he was nothing more than
another being. So near, yet so far. They had tea together.
Quarreled together. Deposited money in the joint passbook
for building the home, rearing the children. But had she
ever been crazy for Aniket? Had she ever craved for Aniket?

She remembered the lines: “You are my beautiful

widow and I am the skeleton of your husband.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks. Perhaps Aniket was

trying to find his way back home in neck-deep water and the
water level just kept growing. Perhaps he would drown
after some time. Kuki started sobbing, imagining the
possible predicament of Aniket. Were these tears of love or
of uncertainty? She had no idea where these tears had
hidden all these years.

Yes, she loved Aniket. Kuki’s life was reduced to half

without Aniket. So many things remained half-done. The
children were yet to stand on their own feet. “Aniket,
wherever you are, please come back. You are not Safiq that
you will run away dashing all my hopes. Please come back,

136
Aniket.”

She started feeling very insecure and started

questioning herself. Was all this punishment for her sins?
Would she have to lose Aniket for her transgressions? No,
Aniket could not go away, cheating her the way Safiq had
done!

Kuki’s younger son growled in his sleep. She

returned from the hall. She had got accustomed to the
darkness by now. Her younger son was whispering
something in his sleep.

“What is it? Are you dreaming? Go on; go back to

sleep; nothing has happened.” The children were very
frightened because Aniket had not returned that evening.
They had started bombarding Kuki with uncomfortable
questions.

“Why is papa not returning?”

“Why didn’t you urge papa to take the car?”

“Mummy, where is papa now?”

“He won’t get drowned, will he?”

“What will we do if papa never returns?”

“Will you shut up?” the elder one had ordered the
younger. Kuki had hugged the two children. She had tried
to hide her anxiety with words of sanity and wisdom.

“I am there, right. Why are you worried? Papa will

come back. After the rain stops, we will call Uncle. Nothing
will happen, you’ll see. Papa will call us once the rain stops.
Perhaps he is stuck somewhere because of the rain.”

Kuki had cooked something. But the children had

not wanted to eat. She, too, had skipped dinner. The mom
and her two children had gone to sleep, clinging to each
other and waiting for Aniket.

137
 It was a bad time for Kuki. No Safiq. No Aniket. Till
yesterday, she was building castles in the air. Till a few
days back, she could count on Aniket when she fell ill. And
now there was nobody. And Safiq was talking of taking her
to Paris.

She remembered the Picasso painting Safiq had sent

her once from Paris. ‘Le cocu magnifique.’ “Do you know,
Rokshana, what ‘Le cocu magnifique’ means? It means the
husband whose wife has illicit relations with some other
man.” The sketch was very strange. A woman was sleeping
on a four-wheeled vehicle, with her legs crossed. Her
genitals were wide open and exposed. A naked man
dragged the vehicle and a group of naked men were
enjoying the scene. On the left side was a girl in a frock, a
whip raised in her hand.

Kuki had found it difficult to understand the painting.

She was not an artist like Safiq. But why had this dark and
rainy night brought the painting back to Kuki’s mind? She
recalled the meaning again. ‘Le cocu magnifique’ meant
the husband whose wife had illicit relations with some other
man. A strange sense of guilt overwhelmed her. She had
never felt this way. Then, why today? “Oh Aniket, please
come back. Come home; you will see how desperate I am
and how my heart beats for you.”

She longingly looked towards the main door to the

home. Kuki’s eyes opened wide; was she hallucinating?
She could make out Aniket’s silhouette. Her hands tried to
reach Aniket and embrace and feel him.

138
139
140
 CHAPTER 18

Her hands tried to reach Aniket and embrace and

feel him. She could not believe her eyes; there was Aniket
standing outside the door. She wanted to hug him tight and
never let him go. “Life is meaningless without you. We
would have been nowhere without you.”

“Okay, let’s go in. Why all this drama outside?” So

saying, he entered the house as if nothing had happened in
the last forty-eight hours. As if he had just returned from
office as on any other day. The children woke up. “Papa
where were you? You know, a lot of people have been
washed away in this flood. We feared you might have been
washed away as well. Why didn’t you call us? Were you
caught in the water?”

“Why should I be caught in the water? I was at the

office. I had informed mummy.”

“When did you inform me? The connection died mid-

way through the conversation. And you have not called me
since.”

“So you were safe. Why mummy was crying so

much then?”

“That was just your mummy’s drama; I am not a

slum dweller that I will get washed away. I was safe inside
the office.”

Kuki got very irritated by Aniket’s comments.

“Natural calamity doesn’t differentiate between the rich and
the poor.”

“I know it doesn’t. But what is the need to cry in

front of the kids making them more nervous. The way you
hugged me, I can understand how nervous you must have
made the children. Why do you always have to behave like
an idiot?”

141
 “What IIT you have attended nobody knows—the
kind of pride you bask in. And your family, too, doesn’t
hesitate before making a display of it at the slightest
opportunity.

“Are we making a display of it using your father’s

money? Shall I talk about your family?”

“Oh, you please shut up! Not in the morning.

Doesn’t feel good.”

Before moving away, Kuki asked, “How about a cup

of coffee?” Even though she knew that Aniket wouldn’t
touch anything until he changed his clothes. First, he would
wash his clothes in the washing machine and then sit on the
sofa. His obsession with cleanliness could get on one’s
nerves.

Handing over a towel to Aniket, Kuki went to the

kitchen and suddenly realized that they were out of wheat
flour. Because of the heavy rain, the vendor, too, had not
delivered bread. She had given puffed rice to the children
the last two days. But Aniket didn’t like that. He would not
understand that it was impossible to go to the department
store because of the rain. He would complain that
everything in the household came to a standstill in his
absence. Finally, Kuki prepared some vermicelli.

While Aniket was busy bathing and worshipping the

gods, Kuki prepared the list of groceries that needed to be
bought immediately. Aniket spent not less than half an hour
over his puja. But Kuki was quite the opposite. It was as if
two people of opposite natures had come together.
Surprisingly, they had chosen each other and were in love.
Perhaps it was a case of opposites attracting. After
marriage, Kuki had realized that Aniket was practical and
rational; Aniket had realized that Kuki was the emotional
and sensitive type.

Aniket was still busy with his puja. Kuki walked out
to the balcony. One couldn’t quite see the whole of Mumbai
from here. But she could see the half-drenched and
drowned buildings of Mumbai. The road was waterlogged.

142
Water would have seeped into their house if they had still
been in their ground-floor house. This flat had seemed like
a jail for Kuki. She hadn’t liked the idea of leaving the
ground floor house with its own garden and lawn. There
was a special charm attached to it. The children had also
sided with Kuki. The elder one had planted a rose plant,
which had grown taller than him by now. For the younger
one, catching his school bus was easier from the ground
floor. One could run to the bus stop with one’s belt and
shoes clutched in hand the moment the school bus sounded
its horn. But if you lived in a flat, you had to be prepared
before the bus arrived.

“These houses are all old,” Aniket had said. “Water

has seeped in all around the walls. The doors have become
weak. Everybody wants to move to a brand new flat and
you still want to hold on to this place. Let’s go and check
out a modern flat. We need an extra room that can be
converted into a study. You should be modern. You are
clinging to the old garden, well, rose plant…what is the use
of this attachment?

They had had to agree to Aniket’s proposal and had

moved into this new flat. Whatever had happened had
worked out to their benefit. The rain and the flood had not
affected them so badly. If they had been on the ground
floor…

Aniket called for Kuki from the dining table. As she

served upma, Aniket said, “Not so much. Give me less.”

Kuki knew Aniket did not like upma. “Do you want
cornflakes instead?” she asked. “We’re out of flour, onions,
and bread.”

“I have just arrived and you have already started

telling me about what we don’t have.”

“It was raining so heavily that neither could I go to

the shop, nor could I send any of the children.”

After breakfast, Aniket started for the office, saying

“I could have taken a day’s leave today, but there’s some

143
urgent work pending at office. So, I’ll go to work today.
What a life we had these last two days inside the office. The
office bus was nowhere to be seen; it must have got stuck
somewhere. We survived on whatever was available in the
office canteen. I’d joined my table with Namdev’s and used
them as a bed.”

“Namdev?” asked Kuki.

“He’s a very panicky creature. He ran home in this

rain. His parents stay in Bandra. I don’t think he made it
home. His wife called me just after he had left.”

“Oh, that’s bad. His wife was pregnant.”

Aniket set off without another word. Before leaving,

he asked if it was okay if he brought the groceries in the
evening. After Aniket left, their elder son said he needed to
go out for Physics tuitions. The younger one decided he
would go to his friend’s place to check if his school was
open. Within an hour, the house was empty.

An eerie silence reigned in the house. And it was

this silence that reminded her of Safiq.

She had not thought of Safiq for a long time now.

Why? Because of hatred? Out of self-respect? Or, was it
because the situation had left her with no option? What was
Safiq doing now? Where was he? She wished the mind was
a blackboard from where she could erase all the things she
wanted to. The entire problem would have been solved.

Safiq, where are you? In jail? Or in your own house?

Or in your department, your old world or in group sex? Or
inside your theme?

Was he thinking of her? She still nursed a soft corner

in her heart for Safiq. She knew that Safiq wouldn’t return
like Aniket. Still, how could she erase Safiq from her mind?

“Where are you, Safiq? Life is as dry as a summer

afternoon without you. There is no chirping of birds on the
leafless tress. As if all the branches and twigs of the trees

144
are begging the skies for a drop of water. You, too, must
come back, the way Aniket did.

Come back as a poet, not as a terrorist. Come back

as a lover. Are you caged inside the big walls of the Central
Jail—is that why you are so silent? Do you still remember
your Rokshana? Or, have the ravages of time erased all
your memories? Have the probing questions of Interpol left
you exhausted? Does your body still carry the scars of
police atrocities? It pains me a lot. Why? So near, yet so
far? I wish I could cover you in my sari. You know, Safiq,
there is hardly any difference between you and me. Both
are caged and both are tortured.

Kuki sat in front of the computer. Her fingers had

not rolled over the keyboard for a long time. This place had
been so dear to her once. But now this place only
accentuated her sadness. The message, “You have zero
unread mails,” seemed to be mocking her. She could go no
further. Kuki returned to the kitchen.

Once more, Kuki switched the computer on. She

read the last letter where he had written, “I have been
arrested by the police after the London bomb blast.” A very
short mail. “Inshallah we will meet again”—the last
sentence. Still, a grain of hope lingered resolutely in some
corner of her heart.

Kuki opened some of the poems Safiq had written

her. She felt hypnotized by the sweet smell of love. She
seemed to be in a dream world. Opening Wordpad, Kuki
started keying in her own feeling and emotions.

Kuki was astonished. Till now Safiq had been writing

poetry. She had never tried her hand at poetry. Where had
this faint stream lain hidden inside her? How had it
suddenly erupted? Should she send the poem to Safiq? It
didn’t matter whether she got a reply or not. Could Safiq
come back after the interrogation? Would he be searching
for her? She kept hoping for a mail addressed to Rokshana.

Kuki logged onto the internet. She covered her face

with both her hands. No, she could not tolerate the blank

145
inbox. Through the gap between the fingers, she read the
familiar message, “You have zero unread messages.” A
terrible sadness overwhelmed her. But she couldn’t control
herself. Just typed, “Safiq. How are you? Your Rokshana,”
and sent the one-liner to the familiar e-mail address. No,
she didn’t send the poem. She couldn’t muster the courage
to do so.

After sending the mail, a sudden fear engulfed her.

What if Interpol tracked the e-mail down to her IP address?
What she would do? Who was this Safiq? What was her
relationship with him? Could she face her relatives, family,
and above all, her nation? She felt repentant but what else
could have been done?

146
147
148
 CHAPTER 19

But what else could have been done? Aniket said,

“It’s not in my hands. The order has come from above. If I
don’t go, somebody else will. But the company will never
send me abroad again. My colleagues have been waiting
eagerly for an opportunity like this and they will laugh at me
if I say no to the offer.

The air was heavy with silence.

Then Kuki said, “Abroad is fine, but at least it could

have been the USA or Canada, or even Thailand or Malaysia.
But Kuwait…!”

“Why? Don’t human beings live in Kuwait? What is

there to be so scared of?”

There was certainly reason for fear. “Two Indian

drivers had been abducted only a few days back,” Kuki
reminded Aniket.

“Do you think I am a driver?” Aniket just got irritated.

“A job is a job. You can’t be dramatic about it. I am paid for
doing my work. Even if my company sends me to hell, I
have to oblige. Otherwise, we will all have to starve to
death.”

Kuki responded, “We would only be half alive if you

went away. You’d be gone for a year—neither can we
accompany you, nor can we go back to Orissa for that
period. The children’s education can’t be held up for one
whole year. Besides, it’s a crucial time for the elder one; he
has to decide on his career plans. If you go away at this
juncture, I really don’t know how to handle things.”

“Now you understand how difficult it is to run a

household,” Aniket smiled and continued, “You haven’t even
started discharging the responsibilities and you’re already
worried to death.”

149
 “Why, what’s wrong with that? Why shouldn’t I be
worried? Who else should be worried if not me?”

“That’s what I am pondering over. What can be done

about it? It’s true; you’ll face a lot of trouble this one year.”

“You are ready to leave and go so far away. What if

there is some problem tomorrow? Who would stand by
me?” Then she thought to herself, “ What if the police,
while investigating Safiq’s connections, reach my house?”
Kuki almost had blurted it out but managed to stop herself
at the last moment. “You know how often I fall ill,” she said
instead.

Aniket suddenly started scolding her in a fit of rage.

“Am I a watchman, employed to watch over you 24 hours a
day?”

“Why are you using foul language?”

“What did I say? You tell me—has there been a

single month when you haven’t fallen ill?”

“I haven’t fallen ill in the last eleven months,” Kuki

retorted.

“You haven’t been to the doctor in the last eleven

months, yes, but it’s not as if you haven’t fallen ill. If you
are so worried about your health, I’ll ask my mother to come
here and stay with you the whole year.”

“Oh my God! What an idea! I can still manage a

year alone with my children, but don’t talk of bringing your
mother here. She is old. Who will manage everything if she
falls ill?”

“You’re right,” Aniket concurred, “I don’t know what

to do. I don’t want to leave you all alone for a whole year,
but at the same time, I don’t want to miss this opportunity
either.”

The word “opportunity” suddenly reminded Kuki of

Safiq. He had been precisely in this dilemma while he had

150
gone for the interview. He also had said, “I can’t figure out
what to do, Rokshana. I can either take you there now or
after getting a permanent job after five or six months. Then
again, what if I don’t get the job? What if I flunk the
interview? I’ll lose the opportunity to make you mine then.”
Why did the old memories have to come back so strongly?

Memories were difficult to wipe out, even if you tried.

Aniket took them to Zaveri Market that day and

bought Kuki a mangalsutra. He also got jeans, T-shirts and
wallets for the children. They were very happy. Their father
was going abroad. But Aniket was still worried; he was
spending so much on the children in an attempt to allay
some of his fears before setting out.

Kuki communicated her decision to Aniket just before

going to bed: “You go on, Aniket. Time will fly. We know
this colony well. These people are old friends. Remember
that time when Mr. Joglekar donated blood for me?”

This is how things happen, Kuki thought. She had

wanted to fly away. But it was Aniket who was leaving the
nest. She had no option but to accept this hard reality. She
was also surprised at herself. At one point, she had wanted
undisturbed solitude in this flat so that she could roam the
skies with Safiq. And now, when Aniket was all set to leave
her alone and go abroad, it was not happiness but a sense
of emptiness that overwhelmed her.

What was the time now? Aniket and the children had
fallen off to sleep long ago. But she was still awake. She
felt restless. Aniket was leaving her for one year. How
would she live without him?

She brought out her diary to suppress her

restlessness. She had jotted down some of Safiq’s poetry
there. She had been very nervous after Safiq’s arrest and
had deleted all his e-mails out of fear. But before doing
that, she had jotted down some of his quoted poems.

She stumbled upon one poem in particular:

151
 “The candle flickers softly on a table set for two
There is no one on this planet tonight apart from me
and you.
A nice romantic dinner and a bottle of chilled wine
And we are here together in a moment stopped in
time
A love so few have ever known and this is its bright
night.
Alone within our little world, you and I and
candlelight.
So soon we will set free the feeling that we want to
share;
And I am held here spell bound by your laughter in
the air.
Thoughts of love, like falling leaves
Swinging in the autumn breeze,
Flow in our minds, in our eyes.
A tender look and longing sighs;
We touch and the fire starts—
The fire we have kindled in our hearts.
We kiss and hear the angels sing
As heaven’s gift to me you bring
And happily I would die for you
Here at this table set for two.”

A car made its way to the parking space breaking the

silence of the night. It must be Mrs. Sood. She usually
returned at this time after having dinner. Kuki switched the
table lamp off and went near the bed, where Aniket lay
stretched out in slumber. A long round pillow separated the
two. Kuki chuckled. Here they were, so close, yet so far,
choosing their own territories and marking out their own
boundaries.

Kuki did not feel like going to sleep. She just lay on
the cot silently. Aniket began to make funny growling
noises.

Shaking him awake, Kuki asked, “Did you have a bad

dream?”

“Horrible,” he said, turning towards her.

152
 “What?”

“I am not safe at all,” Aniket muttered before falling

off to sleep again.

153
154
155
 CHAPTER 20

“I am not safe at all,” Safiq had written. After so

many days of silence, she was not expecting a mail from
him. It was four months since he had last written to her.
Kuki no longer logged on to the internet very often. She
remembered Safiq sometimes, but that painful sense of
longing was a thing of the past. The time for Aniket’s
departure was drawing closer. She was busy with her kids
and family. She was trying to cope with the different
demands of her two children.

She didn’t know what happened to her. One day,

she just had an irresistible desire to log on to the internet.
She was surprised to see an e-mail waiting in her inbox.
She couldn’t wait to see the name of the sender. Perhaps it
was a virus. Perhaps an invitation to chat. Spam, perhaps.
But all her apprehensions proved wrong.

She read the name of the sender and her joy knew
no limits. Till that time, she had thought that Safiq must be
in jail; why else had he stopped mailing her? In any case,
she had had her doubts about his involvement in the web of
terrorism. Safiq’s mail put all her apprehensions to a rest.

The mail had been sent a whole week ago. And she
had not read it yet. What would Safiq be thinking? “I am
not safe at all,” he had written. “My e-mail and phone calls
are under scrutiny. I have lost my job and am ruined. I am
a victim of fate, baby. I have lost all hope in humankind,
baby. Samim, that boyfriend of Tabassum, has turned out
to be an informer.”

A tinge of sadness shrouded her. She had suspected

something like this when Safiq got arrested. Still, she felt
pity for him. “If possible, I’ll write a long letter,” he had
written. “But you shouldn’t write to me in the mean time. I
don’t want you to land in trouble because of me. You pray
to God, Rokshana; one day, we will meet. I don’t know if I’ll
be able to extricate myself from this military conspiracy.
They are hounding me from all sides. I don’t know what will

156
happen to me! Still, if God so wants, we will definitely meet
one day. Yours, Safiq.”

The mail left her heartbroken. She just wanted to fly

off to some distant land. To take Safiq’s head into her lap
and stroke his hair. To say, “I always knew you couldn’t be
a culprit. There must be a big conspiracy behind you. I still
have complete faith in you. I still believe you.” But she
couldn’t bring herself to write a single sentence.

Safiq had advised her not to write.

All her anger now turned towards Tabassum. She

was the real culprit. A bitch. It was because of her that
Safiq had landed in all this trouble. What was Safiq’s fault?
She had many boyfriends; the military officer would have
become the next one. What was the problem? What
difference would it have made to her if the military officer
gifted her to his superior? At least Safiq would have been
all right if she had agreed to the proposal.

There were a few things Kuki did not yet understand.

What made it so painful for Tabassum? Why had she gone
into depression for such a long time? Once a woman lost
her dignity, what right did she have to pick and choose?

What did Tabassum want? What sorrow did she

suffer from? What unfulfilled desires led girls like Tabassum
to indulge in flesh trade?

A strange affliction had gripped the Asian and African

nations. The attractions of the West and an abhorrence of
their supremacy had left them at the crossroads. There was
no longer any talk of socialism and capitalism. Nobody
bothered about the Cold War today. The whole world had
only one worry—terrorism. Terrorism had today become
international; it no longer respected any boundaries. It had
spread its tentacles all over the globe like a hydra. You
could not eliminate terrorism by eliminating a single
country.

A sense of unease haunted Kuki the whole day.

Safiq was probably out on bail. He had lost his job, his self-

157
respect; he was a vagabond today. Perhaps he had
retreated to a corner of his room like a defeated soldier. He
must be blaming his luck while thinking about the job in
Paris and the golden moments with Kuki. What were his
children and Tabassum doing?

The thought of Safiq’s children upset her. She could

not fathom how her heart cried out so intensely for these
people whom she had never met. What were his children
doing? Who was running the household? They must be
under severe financial and emotional pressure. So many
thoughts disturbed her.

She had only one consolation. Safiq was not a cheat.

He has not betrayed her. He was in trouble himself. The
knowledge that Safiq was not a terrorist and that he was in
no way related to any terrorist outfit kindled a ray of hope in
her heart. Had he been a terrorist, he wouldn’t have said he
was a victim of the military establishment.

He would have said he was a culprit before his fate.

The short letter was meant to resuscitate their relationship,
she thought. A new softness…

She had no idea what the rule of the land was on

that side of the border. What kind of a sentence would he
have to serve? Was Safiq an undertrial now, or had he been
arrested? What were the charges against him? From whom
could she find out about Safiq? Nagma was in the USA with
her husband after their marriage. She didn’t have Nagma’s
e-e-mail address. What would Tabassum be doing now?
Roaming around in her glitzy world or trying to arrange for
lawyers for Safiq?

“You know Rokshana,” Safiq had once written, “this

is not a new problem. I have been harassed because of my
truthfulness many times before.” He had written this in
response to Kuki’s queries regarding his painting, ‘Goddess.’
“I was a student of anthropology before completing my
diploma from the art school. During that period, I faced a
lot of flak for my paper. Do you know what my mistake
was? I wanted to investigate the origins of the Indus Valley

158
civilization in my paper and I wanted to show that India and
Pakistan shared common roots.

I have faced such problems right from my student

days, baby. The professor had called me to his chamber
and ridiculed me. He reprimanded me saying that writing
such a baseless paper had put him in trouble. If a correct
and unmotivated history is indispensable for the foundation
of a strong nation, then, why such double standards? You
will be surprised to know that here, history starts from the
seventh century. Arabic history is the history of our land.”

“There is a tussle over history in our country as

well,” Kuki had written. “Our history seems to change as
the ruling party changes. A person is projected either as a
hero or a villain depending on what party is in power. The
history that a father had read is totally different from the
history his son reads. Tell me, Safiq, when will history be
free from all this parochialism?”

This old conversation came to her mind. Had Safiq

been put under the legal scanner because of such
utterances? She was desperate to write to him and to find
out more about his predicament. But she controlled herself
with great difficulty as Safiq had warned her not to e-mail
him.

Kuki walked away from the computer. Safiq would

definitely write to her. He would write as soon as he freed
himself from this conspiracy. In a month, a year, five
years... She would wait for that day.

159
160
161
 CHAPTER 21

She would wait for that day. Alone. Was it difficult

for her to live without Aniket? Otherwise, why did she feel
so restless inside? Whenever Aniket went out for a week or
two, she would stop cooking fancy things. She would just
whip up something or other for the sake of feeding the
children. The children had complained that she would cheat
them like this whenever Aniket was not around. It was as if
all her make-up was for Aniket only. She had felt how proud
her father was of his son-in-law working for an MNC.

But inside the four walls of the house, their attitudes

did not match. They could not even to talk freely with each
other. Still, Aniket was someone she could depend on. If he
went abroad for a year, how would she manage the whole
household? She felt like an innocent kid observing the
world as a silent spectator. When you are caged, the mind
wants to go out and wander free, but when it is let open in
the vast open world, getting bearings becomes the most
difficult task.

A strange fear had gripped her but she tried not to

let it show. It was the same sense of fear she had
experienced at the time of Safiq’s success in the interview.
Safiq had asked, “Rokshana, you won’t say no at the
eleventh hour to coming with me, will you?” She didn’t
know if she would have succeeded in breaking free with
Safiq. But Safiq’s love for her was so strong that Kuki had
no doubt she would want to follow him to any corner of the
world.

Aniket’s reasons for leaving her might be totally

different from the reasons behind Kuki deserting Aniket.
But she had a feeling that either way, her household would
run into rough weather.

That evening, Aniket tried tutoring her about all her

responsibilities—he explained what things she would need
to do in his absence. Opening a small diary, he asked her to
go through each and every item carefully. He explained, “I

162
have written everything down. Just have a look while I’m
still around so that you don’t face any problem after I leave.
You are yet to try out these responsibilities. You could at
least have gone to the banks and lightened my burden. I
also have everything saved in the PC in different files. If
some files get corrupted, then this diary will come in
handy.”

Kuki praised Aniket silently. How careful he was!

These things came so easily to him. “See,” said Aniket, “the
recurring deposit has to be put into ICICI bank every month.
You must send a cheque of Rs 10,000 before the 31st of
March towards payment of the LIC premium. I have written
down the policy number and premium amount here. The
housing loan reimbursement will be automatically deducted
from my salary. So you need not worry about that. Three
certificates will mature this year. I have made out all the
papers; just call the office and encash them. I have talked
to a travel agent; if you need him, just give him a call and
he will be there to help you. You can go anywhere you
want. Remember not to drive when I am not around.”

This was a totally new experience for Kuki. Aniket

was going away entrusting her with all the responsibilities.
She had never taken any interest in the bank balance and
home loan and such things. Till today, Aniket had managed
all this the same way as he had managed the studies of the
children. One understood another’s importance only when
the ‘another’ was absent. One realized someone else’s
worth only when he was away.

Go, Aniket, go. Let your shadow overshadow you in

your absence.

Wouldn’t Tabassum face all these problems in

absence of Safiq? Perhaps not! Safiq had once written he
couldn’t manage his family. Tabassum looked after
everything. Kuki’s case was exactly the opposite. She
should have learnt to manage things on her own.

Aniket brought out all the prescriptions and went

through them with her—“These are your old prescriptions.
If your health deteriorates, show all these to Dr. Mehta. It’ll

163
help him to understand the problem if he acquaints himself
with your medical history.”

Kuki felt like crying. Love for her did exist then in
some corner of his heart. How much did Aniket care for her!
But she had only seen his harshness till now. Why are you
like this Aniket? Why don’t you ever talk sweetly? Once we
loved each other and sought each other, but after putting
your feet on the moon you realized only the roughness of its
surface. You know there is a lot of love hidden in the
address, “Baby”. Why don’t you call me like that just once!

Kuki’s eyes were full of tears. She was trembling

with some unknown emotion. She felt helpless.

“What’s the matter?” asked Aniket. “If you cry like

this, how you will manage the children when I am away?”
Aniket was biting his nails. He, too, felt like crying. But he
didn’t want to show his weakness.

“Why are you behaving like a rustic woman? Your

friend, Renu, has settled down in America all on her own.
Now, see this—this is the cheque for Union Bank. No need
to worry about the elder son. For the younger one, just sign
this cheque for the tuition fees. Their school has the cheque
system. This is our joint passbook. Tell me if I’ve forgotten
anything.”

“You are behaving as if you are leaving for good,”

Kuki stated.

“Who knows? What if the plane crashes? Or if I am

abducted? Or there is a bomb blast?”

This angered Kuki. “Oh, please shut up. Why are

you saying all that rubbish? Shut up!”

“Life’s like that! Who knows what will happen?”

Yes, that’s true. Till yesterday Safiq was busy with

wine and women, intent on just enjoying his life. He was
savoring the forbidden fruits of love with Kuki. Now, he was
suddenly a cursed animal.

164
 Aniket opened many files and rearranged them. He
spent around an hour or so in front of the computer. He
didn’t switch on the TV after dinner. He went straight to
bed instead. Kuki was not there. Aniket fell asleep as soon
as his head touched the pillow. He’d had a hard day. He
had just transferred charge of the office. Then there were
so many little things to do at home. She felt like kissing
Aniket, but she was scared he might wake up and scold her.
What if he asked, “Now, what drama is going on here?
Please let me sleep; I am tired.” Wouldn’t that hurt her?

She silently got up from the bed. She took out the
diary from the book rack and started reading one of the
poems Safiq had sent to her.

Kuki felt somebody was awake; perhaps Aniket was

calling her. She quickly closed the diary and went back to
the bedroom. Aniket was sleeping soundly. Kuki slowly
crawled back onto the bed.

Was Safiq a fantasy? Had she imagined a man who

did not really exist? Like the helpless captain who confuses
the pole star with some other star on a cloudy night during
his endless voyage on the vast sea? But how could she?
Safiq had proved himself so many times. She often heard
his voice, which turned her face pale with an unusual thrill.
She could smell his manly body every single moment. Even
now it felt as if he is standing beside her. Wasn’t it strange
how she and Aniket shared the same room but they were so
far apart? Oh God, why was life so difficult and so full of
disappointment?

Kuki quietly went down to the study and sat down

mechanically in front of the computer. She seemed to gain
a new courage. Before this, she had never sat at the
computer in Aniket’s presence. Her love had been
camouflaged inside this PC.

The PC made its familiar sound as it was switched

on, ripping the silence of the night to shreds. The sound
made her nervous. But she was already halfway through.
There was no question of backtracking. There would be

165
another sound if she tried to shut it down. She had no way
out now.

As Kuki switched the monitor on, Aniket roared from

behind her, “May I know what is going on at this ungodly
hour?”

“Just trying to read the newspaper on the internet.”

“Oh, this is the only time you get to read the

newspaper. You won’t let me sleep, will you? Moving
through the night like some sinister woman. And in the
morning, you’ll be complaining, saying your blood pressure
has shot up again and asking me to take you to the doctor.”

Oh, hell! She just tried to ignore his words. It was

this very Aniket who had created an email ID in her name,
saying “The world is moving at a furious pace; you’ve been
left far behind. Enter the cyber world; check it out for
yourself. The world has become a small place. And that
same Aniket was saying this now.

She shut the computer down and tried to sleep. How

long? How much longer would she have to tolerate this
terrorism? How much longer? How long would terrorism
have to be tolerated with the wink of one’s eyes?

166
167
 CHAPTER 22

How much longer? How long would terrorism have

to be tolerated with the wink of one’s eyes? Why would
some simple and unarmed, faultless folks have to die every
day for no reason at all? The dead remained frozen on
camera as the media focused on them. The ghastly incident
had shaken everybody; those ghastly inhuman scenes as
you switched the TV on. The mangled houses, scattered
limbless human beings, the pools of blood. The cries, the
speechless kids unable to fathom the gravity of the
situation.

The smell of gunpowder seemed to have drugged

and intoxicated Mankind. What wrong had the girl done—
the one who had come on an excursion from distant Assam
and had gone to market to purchase some gifts for her
friends and relatives? What was the fault of the young boy
who had come from some nondescript village in Bihar in
search of a job? What did the terrorists have to say to the
kid whose parents had left home promising to return with
sweets and balloons and to sit and watch television
together?

The kid didn’t know that there was a house loan of

lakhs of rupees now sitting on her shoulders. Perhaps, she
would be reduced to begging on the streets after a few
days!

Fraternity as a concept had been wiped out of the

lexicon. God seemed to have gone into deep slumber,
disgusted at the activities of those He had created. Was
Safiq involved in a conspiracy like this? There had been no
response from his side after the short mail highlighting his
innocence and blaming his luck.

Kuki was gradually losing faith in mankind. She was

feeling lost and had begun to seriously doubt Safiq.

The scene kept haunting her mind. Was Safiq

somehow related to these conspiracies? Today, there

168
seemed to be a bomb waiting to explode in every red rose
bouquet. The serial bomb blasts in Paharganj and
Sarojininagar had really marred the Diwali celebrations.
How could she say any longer that God’s creation was
beautiful?

Thick layers of smoke had engulfed the whole city.

Cries of the amputated victims resounded against the
concrete walls of the buildings all around. The market had
become a mortuary. If Safiq had been there under the open
sky, as usual reciting his love poetry, she would definitely
have asked him, how can you think of love amidst all these
ruins? Why don’t you capture this moment with a smack of
red paint on your canvas?

You were the one who familiarized me with the

paintings of Picasso. You were the one who told me that the
World War had brought a sea change over Picasso’s
paintings. Relinquishing the Cubist style, he had started to
paint perfect physique and posture of his model like a
classicist. No doubt, Picasso was influenced by Agren. At
that time, Mariterz Volatire was his model. But all of a
sudden, the World War changed his style. The faces of his
models were disfigured. Perhaps he was trying to reflect his
own sadness and helplessness in his art.

By the time the Second World War transpired, his

models had changed drastically, the faces and bodies taking
on surprising shapes. In one picture, he had displayed the
profile of both the front side and the back. He was using
this technique of disfigurement to highlight the deep pain
and anguish inside him.

Safiq, I want you to try and capture time. Display

the shape of human pain and helplessness in the larger
scheme of things. Just show the color and collage depicting
the ruthlessness of man.

Whichever news channel you switched to, it was the

same news you encountered; the same gruesome scenes.
Kuki switched the TV off.

169
 The children had left. Aniket had gone to his village
to visit his mother before going abroad. Kuki was left alone
in the sprawling house. She had serious misgivings about
Aniket’s visit to Kuwait. A collage of thoughts crowded her
mind. Couldn’t he refuse the offer? Mukherjee and Gupta
had bypassed the problem very cleverly. Surely, he could
have offered some excuse.

Life was like a drop of water on a lotus leaf. There

was no guarantee that you would come back safe.
Everyday, some people would be victims of terrorism. One
day, she was reading a Bengali newspaper—she couldn’t
remember exactly which one. Perhaps it was Pratham Alo
or Ittefak or Jugantar. Someone had quoted Kazi Najrul
Islam’s version, Mou-Lovi—Moulavi. Mou—lovi meant desire
for honey. He had mocked the fundamentalists and their
craze for heaven where they would like to live a luxurious
life with the Hur fairies after their death. They trained the
pupils of Koumi madrasa to believe that only through jihads
could reach heaven after death and could enjoy life with the
Hur fairy. One could become a good jehadi by killing a large
number of Kafirs. And as reward, he would enjoy more and
more fairies in Heaven after his death.

The article had surprised her. Was there any lack of

fairies in this world? Lack of love, happiness, conjugal bliss?
What was the point of risking one’s life for the sake of a
heaven nobody had seen, known or visited?

Was it true that the only objective of terrorists was to

be among the fairies? Perhaps not. Just ask the rich
countries! Ask why they had been busy for years exploiting
the simple people of the underdeveloped countries!

Ask America where the robots it had sent to evict the

USSR from Afghanistan would go. Where would they dump
all the arms and ammunition? How could they forget their
training? Arms always demanded blood and life.

The TV swamped the room with the horrendous

scenes. The rule of death. The whole day passed with the
tinge of sadness. She had so much leisure but she still did
not crave for Safiq’s mail. The bomb blast seemed to have

170
crippled her and turned her to lifeless stone. It was almost
as if the smoke had turned her mind and had made her
face similar to the paintings of Picasso: disfigured.

Someone had crushed the petals of the love-rose

beyond recognition. And to think that only a few days back,
she had been living in his love.

171
172
173
 CHAPTER 23

Only a few days back, she had been living in his love.
That love was still there, but now failed to make its
presence felt. She felt exactly like that after receiving the
call from Safiq. The phone rang suddenly in the morning as
she was entering the bathroom. Kuki came running in
anticipation of a call from Aniket. But the sound of Safiq’s
voice left her stunned. The stunned feeling gave way to
happiness within moments. The address, “Rokshana,” was
sufficient to bring her to tears. It was almost four months
since she had last heard his voice. The same alluring voice
now inquired, “Rokshana, how are you, baby?”

“Safiq, my God, I can’t believe this.” Her lips

quivered with pleasure. Her body shook in unprecedented
excitement. The music of his presence was singing a swift
melody in her blood.

“Baby, did you check my mail?”

“You’ve sent me an e-mail? No, I haven’t got it. I

haven’t checked my e-mail for some time now.”

“Open it right now and go through it. I have written

you everything. Rokshana, one thing I will ask—will you
speak the truth?”

“Ask.”

“Do you still love me? The way you used to?”

“Yes.”

“Your impression hasn’t changed?”

“No,” Kuki replied.

“Baby, I am calling you from outside. They are

tracking my mails and calls. I have come out on bail for two
days. I miss you, baby, I love you. Baby, I am hanging up.

174
You’ll know the rest from the mail.” He kissed the receiver
furtively.

Was it a dream? Or had she actually talked to Safiq?

The room seemed suddenly filled with the fragrance of love.
It seemed as if somebody was singing love songs. Oh, how
pleasant were those rhymes. How clear was the tone.

Instead of going to the bathroom, Kuki ran to the

computer. The internet connection was erratic. She began
to lose patience. She would log on to the cyber world and
Safiq would spread his arms, inviting her, uttering, “Come
baby, come.”

She logged in and immediately found an e-mail

waiting for her. But who was this Stephan? It was not from
Safiq. She became sad and disappointed. Where was
Safiq’s message? An unknown fear engulfed her.

Who was this Stephan? Someone who wanted to

chat with her? Kuki had never chatted with strangers. She
had no faith in those superficial relationships. Till now, she
had avoided these fake and fleeting relationships. She had
seen Aniket, too, chatting on some occasions. Her elder son
had also started going to a cybercafé to chat, she knew.
She had tried many times to dissuade him.

Kuki couldn’t decide whether to open the mail or not.

She finally thought, “Let me open it; I’ll decide later whether
to reply to it or not.” A surprise lay in store for her. It was
Safiq--“My sweet angel, Rokshana.” But why had he used a
fake name? Perhaps to avoid being detected by the military
junta? Perhaps in order to avoid landing Kuki in trouble.

“I don’t know how to start,” Safiq had written,

“because this is the beginning of the end of our relationship.
But I still have to take this risk today. Because if I cannot do
it today, I can never gather my courage to stand before you
and say that fate has a tragic drama written for me!

I have been serving as an undertrial. Not a single

charge has been framed against me. I am planning to file a

175
writ petition saying that I cannot be held like this without
any charge or witness till I am proved guilty.

You know, Rokshana, the nation becomes an enemy

of the individual where he has no means left with him.
Think of ‘K’ in Kafka’s The Trial. I feel like ‘K’ myself.

But what do we understand by the ‘nation?’ I still

believe a nation is nothing more than an individual. The
whole nation is administered by an individual’s moods and
wishes if not whims and fancies. And the ruler is just a
human being. Whatever the USA is doing is little more than
the personal agenda of George W. Bush? So, too, isn’t
Pakistan a puppet of Musharraf? Internal conflicts or
problems are actually conflicts between individuals or their
ideologies. Being in judicial custody now, I realize what
human fate is and how you can’t ignore it.”

This part of the mail made Kuki pensive. She

doubted if she had the courage to read the rest. The maid
was about leave, finishing her duties. She asked, “Madam,
you were going to take a bath.” Without replying, she
gestured for her to be silent. At the end of the mail was
attached another of Safiq’s poems. But she couldn’t
continue reading the mail. She felt like flying to Safiq and
saying, “Come, Safiq, come to the seashore, where there
wouldn’t be any rules and regulations binding human
relationships and emotions.”

Was she crying? Why were her cheeks wet?

Safiq’s last mail read: “Everything is okay now in my

family. For a few days, everybody was worried. But now
they have accepted it. My absence no more matters to
them. Tabassum is busy with her dating. But I am grateful
to her. Arranging lawyers for me, visiting me daily—she is
taking care of all this in spite of her busy life.”

Rokshana, will you wait for me? Till I get out of

custody? You mean everything to me, baby. Never ever
leave me.

176
 My biggest fear was seeing you leave
Seeing you move without me
I sit here and try to understand why
Fate left me here all alone
With a pain so strong
A pain of great loss,
The pain of a broken heart;
You healed my tiniest cuts
And made me see the bright star in the sky,
So why,
Why did you have to leave?
Leave me so broken and bruised
I make believe that you are here
It’s the only way I see clear
I am just so alone that I can’t share these feelings
with you.
I know it’s love.
So why can’t you see you are the only one for me
The only one who can touch the bottom of my soul
And break this pain with a love so whole
I need you now and always will.
So please just open your arms and take me in
I pray for you because it’s so cold.
I need that feeling of love
That feeling that I am never alone.
I loved you, I miss you, I love you still;
I swear this feeling will never get old.
This special love that you showed me
grows in my heart even if we are apart.
That love I miss when I am lonely;
It grows in my heart even if we are apart,
That love which makes you my one and only--
It grows in my heart even when we are apart.”

Kuki sat down and wiped the tears from her cheeks,
at a loss to fathom the depths and impossibilities of a
human relationship nipped in the bud by so many
unreasonable constraints. She would wait. For Safiq, for
her love, till all her hairs turned grey, till the wrinkles
conquered her face, and perhaps till the day she closed her
eyes for good. She would wait for the voice that once
charmed her ears and echoed with a subtle resonance in

177
her soul, a voice she had never told anyone about, then or
ever since.

178