Ordinary World: Stories from Worlds Wide and Small

Wake (excerpt)

We say many things in our youth which we do not really mean, and I have had my share of those. But everything I had told you; everything I had promised you – I meant them all. For most of our lives, we are actually asleep – trapped in our dreams and even when we wake those dreams dominate our lives even when we don't really remember them. For the longest time, those dreams of mine, were dreams of us. Many things have changed in the years after we broke apart, but shadows of that one dream which had rooted itself firmly in my mind are still there, and sometimes I mistake them not for shadows, but for real, tangible things.

You might have forgotten about us, but my heart remembers those feelings. They have ebbed and flowed in me through the years, but they were always there, like one's shadow which shrinks or grows depending on the time of the day.

Once I saw you in the midst of the crowd of women crying all over themselves beside your husband's casket, while you remained dry-eyed, all my doubts about coming here vanished like the smoke from the candles on the makeshift altar of your husband's ancestral home. The tears of the people around you flowed like rivers from eyes that did not see, or refused to see the truth about your husband, but your face remained stolid as when the day I first met you. And as if you sensed me, you stood and looked around, looked past the faces that crowded your massive living room, looked past the bodies that your mother-in-law had packed into the house not only for them to witness the injustice done to her son, but the misery that had befallen her.

And you saw me.

For just a second, I could see the smile tugging at the corners of your lips. The very same smile you gave me years ago when I had dared touch your hand during the university fair. And with that secret smile, the years fell from your face, the darkness receded, the coldness blew away - and for the first time in a long while, I saw you again.

You tried to go to me. You started gently pushing aside those in your way. But they kept stopping you, giving you their condolences, talking about how they had adored your husband – his generosity, his tenacity. And I could see the irritation on your face blooming like the first rays of the morning sun and how you often glanced my way to make sure that I was still there. I simply nodded, encouraging you to take your time. It has always been that way with us – glances could mean sentences; coughs could construct entire paragraphs; single nods meant entire discourses. Even the silence between us were not gaps but worlds pregnant with possibilities. That was the time when our souls had melded, so that our minds had no choice but to think as one.

It's just the second night of your husband's wake. And with his mother now seeking the attention that she had lost when he married you, proclaiming that his body will be on display for five more days, there would be more and more mourners who would come and commiserate with you. On this night, the second of your newfound liberation, you have all the time in the world.

I took a seat at the back, away from the maddening crowd. I didn't want them to see me. To talk to me. To ask me why I was there and how I knew the deceased. I didn't want to answer those questions, because the answers would terrify them. I came, only for you. Because I knew that you needed to see a friendly face again. Because when you had married him, you lost everything that you had valued. You had lost all the friends you thought you would get to keep. But you didn't lose me.

My phone buzzed and I looked at the screen. It was my boss and I knew what he was calling about. And frankly, I didn't want to talk to him right now. I ignored the call.

As you continued to half-listen to the well-wishers, half-watch me, I took out an envelope from my jacket. I lifted the flap to make sure that the money was there. I really didn't know how much I had stuffed in it. All that mattered was that I give it to you later, and you alone. Because after this show is over, you would need it. Your mother-in-law would kick you out of the house because you had failed to give her any grandchildren through five years of marriage; add that to the fact that she hated you ever since you took her baby boy away from her clutches. Even now, I could see her stealing glances at you, her eyes always filled with malicious hatred. If she only knew the truth about her son's death, she would do everything in her power to erase you from the world. Such is the hubris of the rich – they always believe that money will solve anything. At the same time, your parents will no longer take you back, not after you married him. They weren't there on your wedding day. It was your brother who showed up to give you away. How could you have married the man your father had long suspected was responsible for the ruination of your family business? How could you have fallen for a man whose mother had publicly humiliated yours? But you did. It remains a mystery to many of us. But the heart wants what the heart wants.