Flyaway hair, smeared lipstick, smudged mascara, staring at her reflection in the ornate golden mirror that she had up cycled herself, she found a beat up doppelgänger staring back at her. The stillness in the room was rhythmically disturbed by the pitter patter of the raindrops falling in her balcony. It was almost dawn, she didn't get any shut eye last night. Physically exhausted and hurt from the last night's fight with Nishant, creeping migraine was the last straw that turned her into a molotov cocktail. In a fit of rage, she picked up and threw the phone frame kept on the dresser next to the mirror on the floor. Shards of glass and ceramic flew everywhere in indiscernible pattern as the balls in the ball pit when a kid jumps in with no care. A few hit her feet and dots of crimson blood appeared, from afar one could mistake them for fading henna.
Pain forced her to look down and there in the debris of her outburst lay her and Nishant's wedding photograph. Despite being ravaged by time and wear and tear, it still came to life. They looked happy, excited and nervous, like most newly weds filled with dreams and hope.
Nauseated by looking at her naive young self, Nisha quickly moved away and sat down on the edge of the sofa.Not being able to have children, had always put a strain on their marriage but never was anyone blamed before. Words never said before were said and for the first time in eight years since they have been living in this beautiful sea racing flat in Bandra, Nisha felt she was inconsequential.
Beads of blood had turned into drops, she hurriedly brought out the first aid kit to fix the wounds one could see though the Irony of it was not lost on her. It probably was a momentary lapse in his judgement when Nishant accused her for prioritising herself over trying to get pregnant one more time. 2 miscarriages and a still born had push Nisha towards self preservation, she was not ready for another ride which had crashed thrice before. He knew, most days he understood for she was not alone. He was there every time, holding her as she pulled herself together whilst trying hard not to fall apart himself. It has been three years since.
Last evening on there way back from a friend's son's birthday, glazed by paternal haze, Nishant brought up the subject again. He wanted them to try one more time, the possibility of having a child of their own he thought, justified the pain that could come along. But she was not ready , it took her months last time to feel what she felt normal. She tried to explain him that but was not met by Nishant's usual understanding self.
Discussion escalated to accusation and accusation to vilification. The man she loved the most had pushed her against the wall and she stood there alone and confused. She did want children, of course she did. In there early years of their marriage they would lovingly think of names for their to be born children, she had insisted they buy a 3 bedroom apartment, big enough to raise 2 kids. But grief and self doubt can corrode the best of us, with each passing year laughs in their life were replaced by syncing ovulation cycles and vacations with trips to the hospital. When joy leaves you it leaves a vacuum in life which all of us fill differently. For Nisha this putty was self care; therapy, meditation and long walks were helping her find her centre. In a long while she felt content and not waiting for something to happen. She liked her happy self, Nishant could feel the difference and for a brief moment he had stepped on this happy train. They had almost spent a year in this gay abandon then suddenly last night Nishant pulled the breaks bringing their merry go round to a screeching halt.
He also spent the night awake, filled with guilt, tossing and turning replaying his last statement, "you have become used to this meaningless existence". He didn't mean that , he loved Nisha, she was one person he loved the most. Her presence , if nothing else gave meaning to his life, so how could it be meaningless?? They had each other but last night those ugly words slipped out of him, in that same moment he saw Nisha go numb. Without a word in return she left the room, he wanted to apologise but the moment had passed. Words would not heal the bruise he had caused. He was just trying to convince her but as the night faded he realised how wrong he was to accuse her for being happy. A lot of couples don't have children, are there lives incomplete? Do they have to live in a prison of sadness ? Can they not move forward without waiting to become parents?
His rumination was interrupted by shattering of the photo frame. He leaped out of the bed to go check in on Nisha. Standing at the bedroom door he saw Nisha absentmindedly picking out glass shards from her feet and then applying burn relief ointment to the wounds instead of antiseptic. It was her ghost, for she was not present. He will talk to her and set things right, he will make her favourite ginger tea, hug her and say sorry. He had a plan.
Just then from the corner of his eye he saw Nisha get up from the sofa , straighten her skirt, smooth her hair, go towards the door. In that split second, panic in him accelerated from 0-125. He felt he was done for, Nisha was leaving him, his venomous words to her have instead stung him. Nisha was almost out of the door when Nishant pulled her in by her shoulder, wanting for words he looked pleadingly into her eyes. But was met with confusion, unsure what he was doing Nisha asked him, " do you not want milk in tea today?". It was like a lorry was coming his way and he had closed his eyes in fear, only to realise just before the hit the other drivers had steered the vehicle away.
Nisha was not leaving him, she was just going out of the door to pick up the milk bottles, perhaps there was still hope for them. He will make that ginger tea, hell yeah .. may be rustle up an omelette on the side too.