*Fingers crossed*
I was ready before time, as usual. But I could not remove myself from the front of the mirror. I saw myself looking pale in the black shirt and black pants, no jewellery, no makeup. I had contemplated this look for far too long for the day I was about to have. After staring at myself (narcissist) for a couple of minutes more, I decided that I should AT LEAST put kajal. After one swipe on each eye, I also put on the tinted lip balm. This doesn’t count as dressing up… and should I be dressing up? Because technically this wasn’t a date… okay, it wasn’t a date at all.
We were meeting for clinical reasons, literally. And in such situations, it is better to be devoid of any emotions. I wasn’t sad, because it was the practical choice – necessary and well-thought out – like things in life should be – like things in my life had been.
But emotions have a way of clouding things and casting a shadow on plans and preparations. And so I decided to change out of the “emotion-less” and “sensible” shirt and wear my pink wraparound top with chumki embroidered along the neck. I also added hoop earrings to both my piercings and my everyday rings and bracelets. “It is a normal day… so let’s do normal things,” I said out loud. And maybe it wasn’t a date (okay, it really wasn’t), but I could still want to look good. And I was still meeting him – whatever the reason. So I did one last check before putting my hair in a bun and heading out.
*
I reached the market where the clinic was located, but Rudra had already been there, pacing up and down. He was wearing his khaki pants with a black-striped shirt and khaki shoes – what I had seen him wear to the office often. I felt conscious of the shining sitaras on my neck and moved my bag in front of me to cover my chest.
Rudra noticed me and we both started walking towards each other. We were still about 50 metres apart, that awkward distance when you do not know whether to say hello or look away. I also did not know what the appropriate greeting was for such a situation, but doing nothing seemed worse, so I waved at him with my pursed lips stretched wide to suggest a smile. He responded with an even more awkward (I did not know that was possible) wave back.
As soon as he was close enough for me to speak, I said, “I am sorry, I could not find a cab… hope you did not have to wait long.”
“No, but let us go because the appointment is at 12…”
It was 11.56 am. I wasn’t even late. He was early.
The clinic was on the fourth floor. There was an elevator. I could not understand from his demeanour whether he was upset, angry or nervous. But his unemotive response felt like I had just gulped down a block of lead and it had landed in my stomach.
I wiped off the tinted lip balm.
He had started walking towards the building that housed the clinic and I followed two paces behind him, not making an effort to catch up. He too must have assumed that I would be following him because he did not care to check.
It is weird and frankly rude that he is being brusque with me, I thought. When it was HIS idea to accompany me. I had just informed him. Maybe for some attention, because I could have done it alone. Okay, maybe for attention because we were coworkers at best, who hung out with each other in a group once or twice a month. But he had decided that we should go together and he had decided the place and the time, and now he was acting as if this was a burden, as if I was a burden. You know, I would rather die than be a burden. I cannot believe this.
I was so upset that I did not even say thanks to Rudra when he wedged a space for me in the already crowded elevator.
I should have just worn the black shirt and black pants as a way to mourn the end of whatever we were – coworkers, one-time fling, whatever it was in my head. Meant to be together, if only he liked me enough. I mean, I had never been able to tell. He had always been so nice to me, but maybe that was because of his people-pleasing personality and had nothing to do with me. Which was probably why all he cared about right now was not looking tardy in front of the gynaecologist, and not about…
“You feeling alright?” he asked me.
“Yes, yes… Looking forward,” I said to him with another awkward smile (Unnecessary), probably to overcompensate for the train of thought in my head. “Super fine.”
This had been my problem. He was four years younger than me. I had had one-on-one conversations with him fewer than 50 times in the last year and a half that I had known him, and then there was the one night we spent together.
He was always nice to me and seemed genuinely interested in talking to me. When we spoke, I felt like it was just the two of us. But we had never hung out outside work; he had never initiated it, neither had I. Since we were in different teams, we had very few common friends, and if a hangout overlapped, we would hang out; otherwise, no. There were days when we would not even see each other, but I would still wait for him to come to the office and feel sad when he did not – as if he should have told me beforehand.
I cannot find one reason to tell you why I was smitten by him. That he was decent, kind and cute-looking? Too superficial. That talking to him brought me joy? Was it infatuation or based on real emotions? I could never tell. I never spent enough time with him to find out, which was probably why whatever it was inside me ballooned every time we interacted. It was more special because of the sporadicness.
I often felt like the creepy older uncle who thinks the younger girl in the office loves him, but she is only being polite. Around Rudra, I was hardly ever a smart, educated, put-together career woman, an independent gworl. I was a bumbling college student whose crush waved at her. I would giggle and smile so much around him that I wanted to knock my teeth out just so I would be ashamed to open my mouth in front of him and have to stop.
He did not respond to my enthusiastic reply but slipped his hand into mine. I looked at him again, but he was looking straight ahead. I decided that the hand-holding was as much for him as it was for me and, for the first time since I had met him today, I let out an exhale.
We had reached the fourth floor, and I wanted to stop pretending that it wasn’t a little scary. We entered the clinic still holding each other’s hands.
The clinic was as advertised and recommended – 4.8 stars on Google. In addition to being about half an hour away from both our houses, the clinic was also very airy and bright, with glass windows overlooking a park. One of the reasons I had said yes to the place was because I did not want to feel morose, and I thought the natural light would help with that.
We were asked to wait in the lobby and we sat – still holding hands. His hand was warm and gently heating my cold fingers, but I was very self-conscious about my palms being on the precipice of sweating. We sat on two separate sofas, our hands dangling between us.
We had never done this before – holding hands and getting an abortion.
I obviously did not know how to behave around him, and even though this was a nice feeling – him holding my hand, his thumb resting over our entwined fingers, keeping our hands firmly together – I still felt like he was playing a part. Because he is a decent guy. A decent guy who would not abandon a woman he had “knocked up”.
He was being decent – booking a fancy clinic rather than the local one I had suggested I could go to, regulating the schedule and workflow like a good coworker should.
And even though all of this was true, I decided that for the next two or three (maybe even four) hours, I was also going to play the part. That we were a team – not a professional team put together by external sources, but a “personal” team that had come together by choice.
While we sat waiting for my name to be called, I let myself get caught up in the delusion that he wanted to spend his Sunday like this, with me – terminating our child.
*
I remember little of the procedure except that the doctor was very comforting and non-judgemental, her presence calming. Rudra was attentive and caring (and as aforementioned, decent). I had no emotional attachment to the foetus and we were all very practical, thank you very much.
After a couple of hours, with a list of precautions and prescriptions, the clinic discharged me into the care of my guardian – Rudra – the role he had been playing since 11.56 am today.
I was back again in my pink top, the chumki now hurting my eyes with the smudged 24-hour intense black kajal. I had quickly changed and stepped out into the lobby, self-conscious about what people would think about my choice of clothing for an abortion. Well, not necessarily an abortion, but a meeting or a hang of sorts for the on-life-support friendship/relationship with my younger colleague. (I am sorry you think that 30-year-old women are supposed to always hold it together.)
I was holding my bag with both hands in front of me, and Rudra stood up to lead me out of the clinic. We walked the ten steps to the elevator without a word. I was thankful we were out of the clinic, but also sad that it meant we were no longer a “personal” team.
Rudra pressed the call button for the elevator and we waited in silence, the fan from the nearby shop and the metallic rumble of the lift rocketing towards the fourth floor giving us company.
My mind was blank but also abuzz with too many thoughts. The entire day had gone as planned. C-L-I-N-I-C-A-L-L-Y. Which was a good thing.
I also noticed that we were not holding hands anymore.
Was it a bad thing?
We entered the elevator in that stinging silence. The doors closed, the metallic surface reflecting our faces. I did not want to look at him, so I started looking at my feet, still clutching my bag in front of me.
“Are you feeling okay?” he asked softly.
He had asked me the same question when I had come out of the operation room as well. This was the third “are you okay” in five hours.
It bothered me.
“I am fine.”
I knew what he wanted to hear: that I was fine, that I would not bother him, that part of our deal was over. I am not an idiot. I know it was. But honestly, isn’t it selfish of him to make me communicate all this to him?
But I understood my role in the situation, and so I did communicate it to him and I was indeed fine.
He tried to take a step towards me, but I lifted the palm of my left hand and repeated, “I am fine.”
He stepped back, and the elevator sank four floors with Rudra leaning against the wall of the lift on the other side, looking at his shoes, and me standing with my arms cradling my bag, looking ahead.
As soon as the elevator stopped, I stepped out, walking towards the main road, determined to take the first auto out of this mess and most probably burn this stupid pink top.
Within a couple of seconds, Rudra caught up to me.
“Hey, where are you going?”
“Home.”
“We should eat something. Are you hungry?”
“I am tired. I want to go home.”
“Okay, let me book a cab for you…”
As soon as he said those words, the tears that had been sitting at the edge of my eyes fell. Big, hot tears streamed down my face.
“You don’t have to book a cab for me. I can go on my own. Didn’t I come on my own? You do not have to fulfil any responsibilities. I understand the situation. I hate this feeling of you having to do… Please stop. It is irritating and a little insulting.”
I wanted to stop myself from crying, from speaking, from existing even.
Rudra’s face was becoming more undecipherable with every punctuation in my speech. He put a hand on my shoulder and said, “Please, two minutes.”
He took out a water bottle from his backpack while I failed at collecting my snot and tears. He offered me a sip, which I declined.
“Ria, please, just… two minutes…”
Is this all he can say?
He reached out his hand to wipe my tears and I pulled away.
“I don’t think you should be alone today. Let me book a cab for you and I can come and spend some time with you… please.”
“We can talk and we can also not talk, whatever you want.”
His hand was still in front of my face, waiting for me to allow him to wipe my tears. I took the sleeve of my top and rubbed it across my face, probably smudging the no-smudge kajal further around my eyes and nose.
He put his hand down.
I could see that he was being decent and kind again – and it isn’t like he owes me anything. We were not even in the same team at work, so he did not have to go out of his way to avoid me; it happened pretty naturally. I understood that. I understood that he was doing the polite thing, and we were all adults, and this was all planned and prepared. Like things should be.
But I also understood that I had resentment and anger towards him for not liking me back, or loving me even, for not thinking of me as much as I thought of him, for being kind and decent to me despite the fact that I knew he would much rather do anything else.
So instead of replying, “Okay,” I said, “No, thank you.”
“We decided we will meet here for… and then nothing after that. I want to go home. It was nice meeting you. See you in office.”
At this moment, Rudra held my wrist – my hands still crossed in front of my chest, my bag melting through the spaces between, on the brink of falling down and its contents scattering on the ground.
“I am booking a cab.”
With one hand operating his phone and the other holding my wrist, he walked us to the main road. I did not resist. I was still angry and resentful, but also tired.
I did not even ask if he knew what location to put in to reach my house. When the cab arrived, I sat and slid across the seat to the other side, rested my head against the window and shut my eyes.
*
A sudden sharp turn brought me back. I looked around and realised that we were reaching his house.
Unlike him, I knew where he stayed. It was also where he had spent the night that had necessitated the day that had just been.
I looked at him.
“Stay with me today… At least for some time.”
“I’ll drop you back whenever you want.”
“But my clothes…”
“We will manage.”
I stepped out and started climbing the three flights of stairs to reach his apartment while he paid the cab driver.
It was a little unsettling to be here again. I had only been here once, in May.
He caught up with me, a little out of breath from climbing the stairs quickly, and opened the lock.
His roommate was apparently not there and the living area looked unkempt. In the kitchen, I could see some unwashed dishes in the sink and utensils on the stove.
“I had to leave before didi could come,” he answered the question I had not asked.
He gestured towards his room and I stepped inside. His room was clean, like his personality. Every corner had been swept and the bookshelf and study table dusted. A blue air freshener was hanging from the lamp he had just lit. Sea Breeze, the name of the smell. It had been there that night as well. So had his light blue sheets, white pillow covers and red-and-black blanket.
He gestured again, this time towards his bed.
“You can rest.”
I slumped on the cool, tiled floor.
“No, I have come from the hospital. I won’t sit on the bed without changing or bathing.”
I had come this far, but I wasn’t going to let him decide what we would do or not do the entire time.
He came and sat in front of me and handed me his phone, Blinkit open.
“Order… You can find some trackpants and T-shirts here. Order clothes, take a bath, be comfortable. Do whatever you want.”
This calmness in the face of my aloofness stung me.
“I can buy stuff on my own. Listen, you have done enough… I don’t even see the point. Why you are… I mean, why am I here? I could have easily gone home and taken a bath and relaxed there. Why insert this step? What is this? What is the need to force this?”
He moved closer to me, our legs touching.
“Why are you being like this? I am not able to understand. I just… I thought it would be best if we could spend time together. I can take care of you. We had to do a difficult thing today.”
“WE did not have to do anything. I had to. You just had to go through the logistics. I had to go through with the abortion. I am sure you did not even want to be there. I am letting you off the hook. You have done enough. You don’t have to worry about it. You did way beyond your responsibility as a sperm…”
“Okay, stop it…” he said and took both my hands in his. “Please, I am sorry, but please stop this and talk. I am not able to understand, but I want to. Please, tell me.”
He lifted my face with one of his hands – still holding mine – to meet his eyes.
Maybe it was because I had started to repeat myself and I had no real argument, because he had actually done nothing wrong, that in the last “please” I heard some genuine concern. It gave me a flutter of hope, which brought with it the resentment, and I started to cry again.
Whatever restraint I had tried to show at the clinic stopped, and I collapsed into a heap of tears. Huge sobs, a mix of emotions, confused me. I definitely wasn’t upset about the child because keeping it was never an option. I was sad because the one thing that was supposed to be connecting us was no longer here. Not that there was anything between us, but maybe if there could have been anything, it was doomed.
But I could not say all this to him. What would he think? I am older than him. I am supposed to be the more collected and smarter one, and I am crying over a boy who is younger than me.
Rudra had probably expected a more acidic response rather than a full-blown breakdown because he looked confused. He let go of my hands and held my face in his hands.
“I am here, talk to me… I am sorry.”
His statement fuelled my resentment even more. In between sobs, I managed, “But you are not… and you won’t be, and that is fine. And I am sad about it… that it is over and that what we had, or could have had, has ended so soon. And I know that you want to go back to how things were – uncomplicated – but it hurts me that you have to pretend to be there to complete this ritual. I hate it.”
Rudra brought his face closer.
“Listen to me. I am here because I want to be and because I am sad that I had to put you through this physical stress… and that it is complicated. And I don’t know what will happen next, but I will be sad if this is the end.”
My tears had slowed a little and my sobs were more controlled. While making his impassioned speech, Rudra had filled both his hands with my face, and we were as close as we had been that night.
“I will be sad too…” I said. “And I am sorry that this happened.”
“I am not,” he said as he leaned closer.
I felt a mix of resentment and sadness and a little hope. I put my arms around his neck and pulled him towards me. He wrapped his arms around me, and we held each other there on the floo
procrastinatingtanya 