Tanhaiyan | neirohi

6. mess

"Honey loops or cornflakes?"

"How about Kachoris?"

"Khud bana lo. The kitchen is all yours."

"Honey loops will do," he sighed, shrinking back into his chair dejected. Watching the golden sugary loops fall into the ceramic bowl, he audibly let out a sigh. A month ago had someone told him that he would have to give up his precious Kachoris and Dal Bati Churmas, he would've laughed on their faces. Sulking, he forcefully pushed the sweet cereal down his throat.

Deciding to distract himself, he watched the woman sitting opposite to him. Tapping her phone, she was lost in her own world.

She was pretty alright.

"No hospital today?"

"Eager to kick me out?"

"There you go again," he muttered, slurping the milk. A month since he left Udaipur. He was proud to say that he survived. Sure, they would have their once in a blue moon moments when they cracked up together. Just tiny glimpses he got of a very different Aarohi. However, with the Aarohi at the moment though, it was not all that easy. He rarely got to see her around. And when he did, she wouldn't be in mood for a conversation. Like now.

Then again, one couldn't blame her. Most of the times she ended up sleeping at the hospital not cause she had something to do. Rather cause she felt dead—literally a living corpse—by the time she was done. And more often than not, she dozed of crouching on the floor next to the medicine cabinet in the hospital. She was not the only one. All the other senior residents, especially the ones involved with surgical specialities shared the same fate.

"I have an afternoon shift."

"Oh."

That got him to pause abruptly and stand still. He was surprised. A Monday morning and she had just an afternoon shift? Is the hospital closing down or something? Something which should've been a silent contemplation, ended up being loud enough for a certain pair of chipkali-like ears to catch onto.

"No, they are not closing down. My senior is back from her leave. Her husband had passed away last month. Also, some colleague complained to the board that we are being overworked. So they are trying to divide the work in a bit more organized manner I guess. I'm not sure how long it would last though."

"Chipakli... are you trying to say that you would be home more often? Waise bhi, you don't need to report to me. So chill."

"Ek baath bathao. What's your obsession with calling me chipkali, chamgadar?"

"I—"

Before he could start off, his foot went up in the air as he began to fall backwards. The bowl crashed but the impact did not come. But yes, the grip on his shoulder which steadied him but also got the long nails imprinted which did sting a bit now. The balance maintained, the doctor in her did a quick scan for injuries. Thankfully, not a scratch.

Inspecting the floor, the oil which made it greasy was unmissable. Her eyes traced the source. Someone had knocked down the oil bottle. The last person who entered the kitchen was the one who chose Honey loops. She patiently watched the last drop of oil trickle down the counter. Her eyes shifted to the broken ceramic pieces and proceeded on looking around the house.

The cusions were placed disorderly, the unwashed dishes in the sink, her books strewn all over the place, the television was on in spite of no one watching it. The floor was slippery and the furniture dusty. To say they both had a part in this mess would only be fair. A month. That's all it took.

When did her house become a zoo like this?

Was she always this busy or were things just weighing her down right now?

Slowly bending, she tried picking up the broken pieces. She never knew when her life became a mess. In every way possible. The tears which followed were spontaneous. When it seemed like she was never going to get up, she saw an outstretched hand. The vision was blurry.

The hand had reached out to lend a helping hand. Shocked was he to see the water drop which fell unintentionally. The girl who sat on the floor offered no explanations. Only the long breaths she took gave out that she was crying.

He settled on the wooden floor as well. The dark circles which he missed out were visible now. The slouch she had spoke for itself. She was exhausted. Physically, mentally, emotionally. Every way. She had never felt this defeated in life. Alone? Yes. Sad? Yes. But defeated? No. This was a new low for her.

Hospital, home. Home, hospital. She thought things would be better once she moved out of that city again. When were things ever meant to be better for her?

"Why did they do this with us?" her whisper cut through the testing silence.

The question was very vague.

Yet, he understood. He was the only one who did and who could.

Why was it them who were pushed into this marriage together? Why two people who never wanted to get married were forced into this? Why them?

Giving out a long sigh, he shut his eyes, crouching on the floor.

Taking hold of her arms, he helped her lift herself from the floor and steered her gently into the balcony. Busy wiping off the streaming tears with the back of her left palm, she did not bother pulling out the other one from his hold. The balcony was small but spacious enough for two people. Settling on the marble slab, he had her palm in his. She must've really been numb to not take her hand back. He had to make some things clear.

"I'm not giving up chipkali."

"How long?"

"Till the point I can say, I gave it all."

"This is a mess."

"Our mess. We pick it up, we sort it out."

She looked at him, surprised. How was he saying all this? As if it were a piece of cake? They were two contrasting people with absolutely no matching personalities. Yet, two people who seeked the same thing. Assurance, comfort and company. A way, a method, a solution to get rid of their loneliness. Surrounded by chaos, living in the chaos but the nothingness they felt on the inside. What to do about that?

Leaning against the railings, they continued sitting on the floor. Staying their till it was time for her to go. The thumb brushed her knuckles as the one who himself was seeking, was giving. One can't keep giving and the other can't keep taking.

She tightened her hold for few seconds. If he was giving her comfort, then she'll seal the deal with assurance from her side. Give and take, the way the world worked. As the worry lines disappeared, momentary relief did work. For both of them.

The broken ceramic did make her wary as she eyed it from the balcony. But more surprising was when it gave her a tiny hope. A little voice in the back of her head which pestered her.

A mess it was for sure.

Our mess.

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