My Family

Annoyance and Questions

"Mazedaar biryani from Armaan's kitchen," Armaan announced in a jolly voice as he entered their bedroom. He hoped his concern and growing anger were concealed under his jovial tone and care. But his demeanour considerably softened as Abhira softly smiled. He always did. Those cheeks resembled pufferfish, especially when she frowned; they were his weakness. Her presence was always going to be his biggest weakness and strength. The idea of her unsmiling and sick had the power to hurt Armaan, who was a resolute wall in the thirty-three years of his existence, not letting many emotions or memories—namely Shivani's—do anything that would dissuade Armaan from being the man he needed to be for his family.

Abhira laughed, looking at the tray with takeout from a nearby restaurant. She pinched Armaan's cheeks, playfully grinning, "You mean Bawarchi Dhaba?"

Armaan laughed, raising his hands in a guilty stance. He was not great at cooking, and he would not make his wife even sicker with his attempts. It was best he ordered well-made biryani, naan, curry, and raita from one of the few restaurants they visited when Armaan courted her.

"Sorry, Khadoosmaan," Abhira murmured as he opened the containers.

"Kis baat keliye?" Armaan looked confused at his wife. Abhira pouted. "For breaking the fast."

"Abhira," Armaan kissed her head. "If I was feeling weak and dizzy, would you be okay with me fasting?"

"No," Abhira said, picking at the mirror work embroidery of her purple sari.

"Exactly," Armaan said, adjusting his glasses. "Toh tum kyu apne health ke saath khilwad karke vrath rakhugi... guilty hone keliye kuch nahi hain, Abhira."

"Yeh toh wives rakthi hain, aur main yeh bhi nahi karpayi," She said, and Armaan made her look at him, his index finger raking over her cheeks. "There is next year, the year after. We have our entire lives together, Abhira. Ab tum khao!"

Armaan watched Abhira take the lemon slice and squeeze it over the biryani on her plate. Abhira loved spicy food, but she did not really love sour stuff, bar the lemon candy she would find at the stall across their office. It was odd, but Armaan chalked it up to be changing food choices.

"Wah," Abhira ate the biryani and sheepishly looked at him, "Kitna tasty hain!"

Caressing her hair lightly, Armaan continued watching her eat. How could she even feel bad for not fasting for him? The whole point of the fast was for his happiness and long life. If she was sick, how could he be healthy and happy? Sometimes, Abhira was stupid despite being one of the most intelligent people he met.

"Waise," Abhira said in between bites. "Charu is also fasting."

"For whom?" He asked dumbly, and Abhira hit his bicep. "Who else? Neeraj."

"They just met two days ago," Armaan said, and Abhira pondered too. "I also thought the same, but maine kuch nahi kaha."

"Aur kuch kehna bhi mat," He said, strictly eying his wife. Abhira had grown more silent and reclusive in these three to five months. It was his fault, and he would not let it continue. No matter what happened, someone blamed Abhira, and she took it. Whether it be his mother or now his aunt, she had become that thin line between people's anger and peace.

"Par," Abhira looked ready to protest, and Armaan interrupted her, "Abhira, I know you love everyone and want the best for everyone. But everyone blames you. Even if you are not at fault, everyone will scold you."

"Iska yeh matlab nahi hain ki hum donon ghar ke logon chhod dein," Abhira said, and Armaan wanted to laugh. When had they switched roles? Granted, Abhira always loved their family just as fiercely as him, but she had questioned him about stepping back and fighting for himself. She had meandered and discovered the unfairness with which he had been regarded and used. Now, that same woman was so spent in her loneliness that she could not see that everyone was colluding to treat her with the same regard Armaan was forced to comply with.