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Back at home she took long breaths in the dampness of the basement to stamp that fragile, threatened essence on her mind. She stood at the two shining steel racks and ran her hands along the plastic-covered suits. She looked into the account book, and saw how neatly Pooja had kept all the expenses, here and there was her mother’s hand. She had not intended to run a family business when she started Nisha’s Creations, but now the relatives had seeped in, and she could not be there to plug the leaks.

Her body again decided her fate. Within a month of her marriage she missed a period. A couple of weeks more and she was toying with her breakfast, morning nausea added to the queasy feeling at dinnertime.

She only had to do this once before her mother-in-law announced cryptically, ‘Beti, tomorrow you have an appointment at Dr Mehra’s in the evening.’ Nisha gazed at the folds her pink nightie made over her flat stomach and blushed. In one area of her life at least she had performed as expected.

The pregnancy test was positive. The doctor was encouraging. Normal healthy foetus, seven weeks, due date 6 January, iron, vitamin, and calcium supplements to be taken, normal activities to be followed, none of this eating for two business, exercise a must.

Next morning her mother-in-law produced the almonds that were going to be part of her daily diet for the next year.

It turned out that the mother-in-law was very insistent about rest. ‘You must not get tired,’ she said, hovering around Nisha anxiously. ‘No going here and there. It is a big strain, something might happen, then you will regret it for the rest of your life.’

Nisha talked to her husband. ‘I have to go to Karol Bagh. You know I do. Even the doctor said I should lead a normal life.’

Arvind put his hand on hers for a brief encounter. ‘Amma gets very worried. She has waited so long, it is natural.’

‘I know, but I will suffocate if I have to stay here the whole time. The mind also needs to be active.’

He did talk to his mother, but in the case of pregnancy his mother was not willing to budge: what do you know, you are a man, we have to be careful, very careful.

She talked to her parents. ‘They are not letting me come.’

It was a question of someone else’s child, what could her parents do? Should anything happen they would be the ones blamed and this was not a risk they could take.

Even Rupa Masi, businesswoman, sided with them. ‘You have your whole life ahead of you – what is there? It is out of love that she says all this, you are a very lucky girl. Some families do not let their daughters-in-law stop working the entire pregnancy.’

‘I would rather work,’ said Nisha sullenly.

‘Nishu, it is a question of attitude. Are you determined to be unhappy? Should anything happen, you will be the first to cry. What is making suits compared to a baby? Suits will always be there, you think the market is running away?’

‘Pooja is running away with my business.’

‘You are the clever one, you can always start again. There is a time and a place for everything. Now is the time for you to have children and enjoy them. If your mind is always somewhere else, you will be irritable. If you do too many things, you will be exhausted and create tension.’

‘I told everybody I wanted to keep on working,’ cried Nisha into the wilderness, ‘and nobody is letting me.’ Tears began to fall. They were bad for the baby. A compromise was reached.

It was arranged that Mohseen Khan would visit her every day, while Pooja manned the home front. ‘Don’t worry, Didi, everything will be all right, I am here, nah?’

However, Mohseen Bhai did not like commuting between Daryaganj and Karol Bagh. He demanded seven hundred rupees a month extra for transport costs. ‘Mohseen Bhai,’ Nisha cajoled as she tried to negotiate him down to four hundred, ‘this is just for a few months. I cannot afford so much. Please bear with me.’

But Mohseen was busy with his own complaints. It was not easy working for Nisha’s Creations, so much interference from so many different people, the tailors also didn’t like it. With the per suit incentive Nisha had started they were all affected when demand fell. They had their families to think of.

Nisha could negotiate no more, she had no choice. But seven hundred extra in overheads meant she had to price her suits that much higher. And to top it all Mohseen Khan was now permanently dissatisfied.

In frustration she turned on her husband. He didn’t really notice her unless she made a fuss.

‘How will I retain my clients if I do not provide them with suits?’ she wailed softly, rocking back and forth. ‘Before the wedding I was making two hundred and seventy, now even a hundred is difficult.’ Managing her affairs now seemed a hopeless dream. Sitting in Daryaganj, she wasn’t able to look after a business in Karol Bagh, let alone sustain its growth.

Arvind looked concerned. ‘Don’t you have someone to help you?’

‘Pooja.’

‘Then?’

‘But it’s mine, not hers. My sales are falling.’

‘Arre, there is always ebb and flow in business. It grew, it will grow again. Right now you have to rest. Amma is worried about your health.’

‘And only I am worried about my business. You don’t care.’

‘I do, I do. The day you are ready, we will hire a workshop for you here. But let the baby come. See, even with not travelling, you are always tired.’

‘I am not.’

‘Then why are you crying? Amma won’t like it.’

Amma, Amma, always Amma. What about him? Though he was kind to her, she never felt any intimacy beyond fleeting moments in the dark. Did he like her at all? Was it her skin? Was the first one beautiful? She was sure she was.

That night she dreamt of Suresh. Suresh of the red mouth, unshaven look, gold chain, and hirsute chest, lean, slender, with liquid, loving eyes. He was lying on a sea of lotuses, mutely gazing at her. She couldn’t go to him, there was too much water in between, she could only look at his face and feel her loss. His features blurred, he grew larger, threatening, he was on the roof, he was chasing her, she woke terrified.

It was just a dream, she told herself, I am all right. I am all right. She stroked her husband’s back, he turned and took her in his arms.

Maybe feeling sad is part of life, whatever you get you are not happy. She had the respect of her husband, yet she was dreaming of Suresh. Her skin itched less now, but still she longed and was dissatisfied.

Every morning she threw up. The nausea lessened in the afternoon, only to come back at night. Even one small roti had to be forced down.

Despite all this, her husband was distant. The fuss made over her came from her mother-in-law. Once when the old woman was near she wondered out loud, lying tiredly on the bed, staring at damp marks on the ceiling, whether this was a child he wanted. And for the next hour the mother expounded on her son’s character. He is always like that, nothing he shares, even his business worries he keeps to himself, I tell him what do you have a family for, but he doesn’t listen, and ever since that happened, it has been worse, he has gone so inside himself, when his son comes he will be different, really he is too-too good. As she talked, Nisha remembered it was the mother who had been wanting him to marry, and if that was the way it was, what was she doing on this bed?

Arvind had returned home, taken off his shirt, and Nisha could smell the stale odour of his sweat. There had been no electricity for much of that day, and in the shop, the generator could not take the load of air-conditioners.

Now his skin glowed with a sallow, yellowish sheen, his eyes were red and weary. It must have been a hard day, she thought sympathetically.

‘Should I get your tea here? Do you want to lie down?’

He turned towards her. ‘Have you had yours?’

‘I was waiting for you.’ Had he forgotten she waited for him every day?

He nodded. ‘No, I’m not so tired. Bring it to where Amma is sitting.’

Amma, again Amma, never any thought for her. Never how have you been, is your back paining, has the baby started kicking yet? Anger began to tremble below her considerate exchanges. Why did he have to marry if he was to treat his wife to indifferent looks, she thought, sweeping aside the tenderness he showed at night. She wanted something in the day as well. Not this preoccupation, not this looking through, not this ignoring of their coming child. If he felt so little for her, she should go home to her tailors, why enact this farce here? Mohseen Bhai would love it, though no doubt he would refuse to let go of his transportation allowance.

She said nothing for the moment, going to the kitchen to make tea. When she returned, her husband was sitting silently with his mother. She could sense the bond between them.

She thought of how Pooja’s presence had weakened the link between her mother and brother, and wondered miserably at her fate. Restlessly she served them, restlessly she walked between the kitchen and the veranda.

That night, when her husband made his move towards her, she kept her back turned. She was operating on instinct now, and instinct told her he would not take his hand away.

‘What is it?’ he asked.

‘You don’t love me,’ she replied. ‘Why did you marry me?’

They were on delicate ground. The word love had not been used between them. She was shy, he was a widower. But now that she was going to be a mother, she could be more assertive.

‘You are being silly,’ he replied. ‘Can you complain of mistreatment?’

‘If you are never going to talk or share things with me, why don’t you take me back to my mother’s house? You have done your duty, married and made me pregnant. When the baby is born you can collect it.’

‘Why are you talking such rubbish?’

But this was a question Nisha could not answer. ‘You are not interested,’ she repeated, turning her back on him. She heard him sighing, but she heard nothing else.

She lay awake, no doubt he did too, but her own misery was too large for her to pay attention to anything else. Her feelings settled themselves into the back of her neck, at the base of her head, where it embraced her shoulders, and shot little tentacles into her hair.

She was careful to keep still. The fact that her head was hurting was startling. All that was wrong with her life had so far flowed to the surface of her skin.

The next day she refused to get up.

‘What is the matter?’ asked her husband.

As though he cared. ‘Nothing,’ she said, face to the wall.

‘Should I call Amma?’

‘I don’t want Ammaji.’

‘What do you want then?’

She had never allowed herself to look at her wants. Whether it was love, importance, attention, it was all going to be denied.

‘Nothing.’

He stood there irresolute. ‘Come, get up,’ he said, stretching his hand towards her. Through her half-closed eyes she saw his brown hand, flat, hard palm, the edge of his white kurta crumpled from the night.

The throbbing pain at the base of her head made it easy to resist. ‘My head is hurting. I can’t get up.’

‘Do you need to go to a doctor?’

‘It is all right.’

Again the hesitation. Finally she heard him go to the bathroom. She waited for him to say something after he got ready. He stood next to her. Through her lashes she could see the crease in his brown trousers, the socks on his feet (he would not wear his shoes till he was in the outer room of the house), the gold watch her parents had given him on his wrist, his fingers drumming against his side.

‘Do you want anything to eat?’

She shook her head slightly.

‘Is it still hurting?’

To this she gave no reply. What did he think, she was doing this for fun?

The morning passed. Arvind must have said something to his mother because she was not disturbed. All day in bed and the house felt different. She put her hand under her nightie, and rested it on her stomach. She could feel the swell. Slowly she caressed herself, and the baby inside her. Her agitation ebbed. Whatever will happen, will happen, she thought. She had grown up listening to this fatalism, now she felt its consoling power. Whatever has to happen, will happen. She could not control events, she could not demand love. This had already been made clear, but now she was willing to accept it.

Next day was Sunday, the day the Daryaganj market closed. Her husband was free.

‘Let’s go out,’ he suggested.

Nisha was silent.

‘All right?’

‘Who all?’

‘Just you and me.’

‘Ammaji might mind.’

‘Nobody will mind. Now come on. We can have lunch at Connaught Place, wherever you feel like. Do you feel like anything?’

‘Chaat. I really want chaat – fried potato chaat, with lots of lemon, gol gappa, and dahi paapri. Ice-cream, I want sour orange ice-cream.’

He smiled at her. ‘You’re like a child.’

A day of roaming around Connaught Place. It wasn’t the things they bought so much as his hand under her elbow, her face turned towards him, the concern in his voice when he asked if she was tired, the buying of ice-cream cones from Nirulas, the being together, them two. No wonder Pooja minded so much when I came with her and Raju to India Gate, thought Nisha, that moment of being an unwelcome third, now lost in the mists of time, wondering how she could have been hurt by so small and natural a thing.

And Nisha’s Creations? Slowly, slowly it left her hands.

One day, to her surprise, Raju came to see her. Was something wrong? No, no, nothing. They made small talk, but how small can talk be? After many silences Raju mentioned the boutique.

‘Pooja has been managing nicely,’ he commented.

‘I started it – once you start a thing it is not so difficult to continue,’ replied Nisha smartly.

‘Of course, Didi, it is all because of you,’ agreed Raju hastily.

‘It is not easy doing business,’ interjected her mother-in-law.

‘After the baby it will be even more difficult, don’t you think?’ continued the brother chattily.

Nisha refused to be drawn into this useless conversation. ‘Do you want some more tea and pakoras?’ she asked.

‘Arre, why are you asking?’ demanded the mother-in-law. ‘Give, give.’

Nisha disappeared again into the kitchen to tell the maid to fry more pakoras and make another cup of tea. She knew how much Pooja fed her brother when he came home.