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Authors: Manju Kapur
‘Jijaji not home yet?’ asked Raju, delicately slurping at his cup.
‘He has to work very hard,’ sighed the mother. Too-too hard. Nobody to help him.’
Nisha waited. Why had Raju really come? ‘Everything all right at home?’ she repeated, to give him a lead.
‘Yes, everything is all right.’
‘Tell Pooja that soon I will take the business back.
He
was just saying we could move it here.’
‘Yes, yes, plenty of place here,’ lied the mother.
‘And Ammaji is willing to help,’ lied Nisha.
Raju drank his tea and went home.
Ultimately it was Rupa Masi who was deputed to make the delicate suggestion that Pooja thought it time she take over everything, the responsibilities, the liabilities, the interest, the good will, the profits, the sense of occupation, everything. Only because of Nisha’s circumstances, otherwise what was there? She wouldn’t even offer.
Nisha ignored the latter part of the speech. ‘Is this what everybody wants?’ she demanded bitterly.
‘Your father will not allow Pooja to take over unless you are happy about it.’
‘Without Papaji, they would not do even this much, I know.’
‘Well, he is insisting. So, beti, unless you agree nothing will happen.’
Nisha was silent. She didn’t tell her aunt of the immediate relief she felt as she heard the proposal. Just to let it all go and sleep, sleep, sleep. To not think of fashion, the latest designs, laces, fabrics, colour schemes, embroidery patterns, to not coordinate dyers, tailors, arri workers, to not have to try and placate Masterji, to concentrate on what was happening inside her body.
‘You know, beti, you can always restart a business. You have shown a flair for it. But this time with your baby, this will not come again.’ Rupa Masi choked and further words failed her.
‘You talk to your husband, see if he won’t agree with me,’ she finally said as she left.
Arvind did agree with Rupa Masi, as Nisha had known he would. ‘Let your sister-in-law have it, you can always start something again. We will hire a place near here, so it will not be difficult for you. Close to the shop, I can also keep an eye on the workers.’
He did care, there would be a future. But not at the moment. Why was she clutching on so? After so much time away it didn’t even feel completely hers. ‘All right,’ she sighed, ‘let it go.’
She stipulated that Pooja could not use the name Nisha’s Creations. That good will, that reputation was not transferable. One day she would resurrect it, one day it would be there, waiting for her.
By the time the next batch of suits were ready, they were labelled Pooja’s Creations with an alacrity that suggested the labels had been ordered before Nisha was even asked.
The months passed. At seven months, the gode bharaiye, the presents from Nisha’s parents’ house for the new child.
‘Beti, we will not display anything,’ said her mother-in-law. ‘Why attract the evil eye?’
By now the proprietary note in her voice had become so customary that Nisha took it for granted. Her concerns were her family’s concerns. There was safety and security in that.
From time to time she asked her husband, ‘Suppose the baby is a girl?’
‘It doesn’t matter, whatever it is, is God’s gift.’
Nisha could only suppose this attitude sprang from years of suspecting he might never be a father. She had not realised how lucky it would turn out to be, marrying an issueless widower.
She asked her mother-in-law.
‘The child should be healthy, that is all,’ she replied. ‘If it is a girl she will be ghar-ki-Lakshmi.’
Nisha knew that part of that Lakshmi would come from gifts her family would give, but still she felt reassured. She looked down at her belly. The skin was stretched, the eczema scars looked lighter. She hardly itched any more, and never to draw blood.
Night and day the baby kicked. What force there is in the child, she wondered, it had to be a boy, a girl could not be so vigorous.
This was something every relative unanimously concurred in. ‘It is a boy,’ said Amma confidently. ‘Look, all the weight is in the front, it is a boy.’
‘It is a boy,’ said her mother. ‘You are always eating sweet sweet things. Pooja ate so much sour, I knew she was carrying a girl. I don’t know why she is taking so long to conceive again. Raju says she is still young, but they may have to try two, three times for a boy, they should start now.’
Nisha didn’t say that Pooja’s Creations was probably occupying the space of a baby. Strange how distant she felt from it. Her workshop was a dream away; with the baby kicking inside her, she felt no regret, no sadness, only faint nostalgia mediated through the immensity of her belly.
The monsoon receded, the days grew less muggy, winter touched the air, but still Nisha felt hot all the time, each night she tossed and turned trying to find a position that was comfortable. ‘I’m so tired yet I can’t sleep,’ she moaned in order to wake her husband. ‘Oh when will this baby come? I can’t eat either, there is a sour feeling at the back of my throat.’
Arvind looked anxious. ‘Shall I call Amma?’ he asked, driving her to fury.
‘What can she do? Let her sleep in peace – go join her if you like.’
‘What rubbish you talk,’ he commented.
‘No – go.’
He sighed, and stroked her belly. She liked the feel of his hand on the tight, hard, dry skin. ‘Patience,’ he murmured, ‘patience. It is almost time.’
She lay there in the dark, her back hurting, feeling the motions of his hand ceasing slowly and his heavy breaths deepening into snores.
During the last trimester, Dr Mehra informed the mother-in-law that Nisha was carrying twins. Twins!
The mother-in-law’s joy knew no bounds. ‘The day I saw you I knew you would be good for my son. Truly we are blessed, after so long.’ Tears ran down her cheeks in the taxi.
And Arvind, how would he react?
That night he stroked her belly without her having to resort to tears. ‘My father would have been pleased,’ he murmured. ‘He loved children.’
‘Perhaps I have twins because he is being incarnated in our child. They say parents and children have bonds that never break,’ Nisha whispered back.
‘Maybe,’ he sighed. ‘You have made Amma very happy.’
‘And you?’ she asked sharply.
Without a pause, without the silence that used to mark every emotional exchange, he replied, ‘Me too.’
‘If they are both girls?’
‘Even then. They will bring prosperity into the house, enough to pay for their dowries. And the boy to come will have two sisters, he will not be lonely.’
Ten months after Nisha’s marriage, twins were born. One girl, one boy. Her duty was over – God had been kind, however hard it was to believe.
Forty days later, during the naming ceremony, Nisha sat in front of the havan, and through the smoke gazed at her tiny babies. Their colour was the way hers had been before blemishes had come upon her life. The mother-in-law sitting next to her held the fragile boy in her lap. Just like his grandfather; she murmured as she caressed his cheek, a statement she made every day, to the approval of all. The more robust girl lay balanced on her mother’s knees, eyes shut, cradle cap stuck to her scalp. Nisha clutched her daughter tightly to her breast. Her milk began to spurt and stain her blouse. She quickly adjusted her palla and looked up. Surrounding her were friends, relatives, husband, babies. All mine, she thought, all mine.
Acknowledgements
In my research I was helped by Uma Arora of Karol Bagh, the Walia household on Ramjas Road, Nidhi Dalmia, Vimla Kapur, Vijay Kapur, Anita Kapur, Anil Kapur and Prem Shankar Sehgal.
Ira Singh as usual had to read the manuscript with indefatigable patience many many times. Anuradha Marwah offered invaluable advice on both style and content. Ashok Chopra verified facts painstakingly. For the third time Julian Loose brought a sensitive understanding to my writing. I am grateful he is my editor.
About the Author
Manju Kapur taught English literature at Miranda House College at Delhi University for over twenty-five years. Her first novel,
Difficult Daughters
, was published in 1998 and won the Commonwealth Prize for best first novel, Eurasia region. Her second novel,
A Married Woman
, was published in 2002 and was shortlisted for the Encore Award; her third,
Home
, was nominated for the Hutch Crossword Book Award in 2006; and her fourth,
The Immigrant
(2008), was a finalist for the India Plaza Golden Quill Award and the DSC Prize of South Asian Literature. Her fifth novel,
Custody
(2011), has been optioned by Balaji Telefilms. Her work has been translated into numerous languages including German, Portuguese, Italian, Spanish, Hebrew, Greek, Marathi, and Hindi. She lives in New Delhi.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright 2006 by Manju Kapur
Cover design by Mauricio Diaz
ISBN: 978-1-4804-8454-2
This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
345 Hudson Street
New York, NY 10014
EBOOKS BY MANJU KAPUR
FROM OPEN ROAD MEDIA
