One Foot In The Grave

I

Ahalya and Vishwa's New House, Hyderabad

Ahalya lies in the sofa, eyes open and head resting on its chubby, cushioned left arm. She's bored. She puckers her lips, watching the two people in front of the sofa, who have been lost in the pages of the book they've been reading for a few hours now. She wishes the book wouldn't make it to publishing. No matter how strong Vishwa's heart will be broken, she couldn't allow this story out into the world. Again, it's just her wishful thinking.

It's a typical summer day, the wind licking the surroundings with its desert tongue. Windows have stayed open. Clothes have become slaves to sweat, sticking to the skins. Television has remained off even with the release of Lucifer's new season. Not a typical, sleep-on-the-sofa and binge-watch kind of day. Ahalya has finished cooking early, choosing a lighter menu—Mango-Dal and ladyfinger fry. And she keeps pushing back the thought that she hates the editing process that's about to begin soon.

Reluctantly, she looks away to the sketch on the wall opposite the windows, shining in the sunlight. A smile sneaks onto her face without prior notice. Her Mahabarat sketch, depicting the beautiful tragedy of Ghatotkacha's death. Oh, how much she loves that one. She's done that a year and a half ago and it's her biggest achievement so far. She's lost count of the number of times she caught Vishwa stopping his work and staring at it, almost as if he's envious and glad of it.

Once the minutes' hand in the wall clock reaches one, she throws her legs off the sofa and says, "Pages down. It's lunchtime."

Bhumika, who's been leaning onto the glass table, turns back, startled. "What's wrong with you?"

"It's lunchtime," she repeats.

To their left, Vishwa unburdens himself from his massive, blue headphones, closes his manuscript and smiles at the way two girls are glaring at each other.

He asks, "So, what do you think?"

"I think your wife's a pain in the ass," Bhumika says.

Vishwa controls his giggle, watching his wife fold her hands and lean back into the sofa. "I mean, about the story."

"I think this is great. A lot of gore in the end, but the mixture of horror and thriller got me. I'll give you a final review once I finish it."

"How far have you come?"

"Ahalya just killed the doctor. I think there's another chapter left." A heartbeat later, she adds, "Are we final on this title?"

"Why?" Vishwa asks. "Don't you like it?"

"I like it. I just don't love it."

"Oh." Vishwa crumples in his chair, his eyes remain in the loop of repeated blinking. Ahalya could tell his head is already fishing for a new title.

"I love the first draft. The village setting: the temple, the nursery, the festival, Suvarna's house." Bhumika continues, leaning back to the sofa and placing her head in Ahalya's lap. "And, of course, the legendary Dwaraka, a little whodunit puzzle and a haunted house..."

Bhumika rambles on about other things, but the words don't register in Ahalya's mind. She keeps brushing Bhumika's hair while her concentration lurks on her best friend's rose-print, v-neck crop top, black jeans, perfect cheeks, and silky hair. She wonders when she has stopped being the pretty one. Envy gets the better of her. It's been ages since she has felt comfortable in her own body. Ever since they returned from Rayavaram, her mind's been struggling to stay stable. The nightmares have continued and Vishwa's been holding her in a bear embrace from shaking in her sleep. He is the husband a girl could ask for in times like these. Then, a question poses itself: what times are these?