Chapter 2 - The Dark Night

The story continues here. For new readers or for a quick refresher, start here - scroll to the bottom and work your way up)

Chapter 2. Now.

And he hadn’t. He trembled as he got up and used the wall for support as he walked towards their bedroom. Surely he was mistaken. Shalini wouldn’t do this. She wouldn’t be in there.  He willed her not to. He could hardly breathe as he reached the bedroom door. It was ajar. Neither open nor close. What did that mean? Was that how it was everyday? Why couldn’t he remember simple everyday details that had probably remained the same for the past 3 years and more? Trembling, he pushed it open and with a sudden burst of adrenaline, he flicked on the lights, his eyes glued to where he knew their bed was. It was empty. His heart was drumming like crazy and he felt faint with relief as he drank the scene in. The bed was slept in. So she’d slept here last night. Or at least she’d gone to sleep here. He sank down to the floor as this fact washed over him.

Had she made the bed yesterday morning? He couldn’t remember. The bed was always made when he went to sleep at night. As a creature of habit he supposed it was reasonable to assume that she had gone to sleep here. So why hadn’t she made the bed this morning? Was it because she hadn’t slept all night?  After what seemed like eternity, he realized that he was still clutching on to the ridiculous note in his right hand. He re-read it for what seemed like the 100th time. But no, there was no secret clue emerging from those meaningless words inked in. Half-crumbling it, he got up abruptly and put the note on her side of the nightstand. And that's when he saw it.

The shut bathroom door beyond the length of the bedroom.

His pitiful heart that had just slowed down started drumming again. Could it be? The bathtub? His razors? Kitchen knife? He walked slowly, willing all the mental images away as he walked to the door and paused for a microsecond. And while his mind struggled to banish those images, he realized that the bathroom light was on. His heart stopped and then renewed its beating with crazy vengeance as he kicked the door open. He felt faint as he looked wildly around the onyx-tiled master bath. It was empty.

“Shalini – where are you???” he whispered to the air.

He had to get a grip and do things methodically.  He realized he was behaving like a madman. Or perhaps he was just behaving like a man who realized that his wife may have been driven over the edge. The clock on the dresser glowed 18:57 in large green digits. He had been home just over a half hour and he had already almost lost his mind. He had to be logical if he had to get to the bottom of this. It was too soon to start thinking of calling the police. There was no premise and he had to cover his bases if he had to be reporting anything. He pushed these ominous thoughts to the back of his mind. He hadn’t even done the first thing he had to do logically to find out where his wife was. He hadn’t even called her office yet and he was ready to pee in his pants from a note that made no sense whatsoever. He had to check the rest of the house. He quickly went around opening doors to all the rooms in their 1750 square feet apartment. After about five minutes, he was sure that Shalini was surely not in the house.

He quickly walked to the living room. And it surprised him that the TV was still on. He’d forgotten all about it. Watching the news felt like 24 hours ago. He ruefully wished it was 24 hours ago. He wouldn’t be dealing with this turmoil then.  He reached for their phonebook near the landline. Since most of their numbers were on their cell phones these days they’d contemplated even having a phonebook at home. It had been his decision finally. And that too for his parents who often stayed with them. They preferred the old-school ways of keeping in touch. Hoisting the small book onto his lap, he flipped it over where a huge PostIt had been stuck on the back flap.  Shalini had scribbled both their work numbers and cell phone numbers for his parents’ ease of use. He picked up the receiver and fervently dialed her office number concentrating all his willpower in urging her to pick up. He counted the rings upto 8 before he hung up. He waited 30 seconds and dialed again. This time it was picked on the second ring.

“Shalini?” He began without waiting to hear the voice on the other end.

“I am sorry. This is Mekala. Shalini isn’t here today. May I help you with something?” her colleague asked.

Bharath barely heard anything after “Shalini isn’t here today”.

“Oh? Is something wrong with her? Didn’t she come in today?” he asked urgently.

“I’m sorry, Sir. She took a personal day off this morning. May I know who’s calling and how I may..”

Bharath hung up. Personal day? Shalini had never once taken a personal day on the whim ever since he’d known her. Every vacation day was accounted for weeks in advance. He planned all their vacations together and would give her explicit instructions on which days she had to be off if their plans indeed included non-holiday working days. On the bright side, someone who was going to commit suicide would hardly call the office to request a “personal” day. It seemed pretty unlikely. Thanking his logical soul, Bharath brightened a bit for a moment. But just as suddenly there was another dark thought. What if it had just started with wanting to take the day off and then aggravated into a moment of weakness? He had no explanation. The first thing he had to do was to see if her car was still in the garage. As he walked to the doorway, he glanced at the entrance cubby. Were her keys there? No they weren’t. Fresh hope fueling him, he grabbed his own house keys and looked back at the vast empty house. Everything looked so normal and he hoped they stayed that way. He reached for his chappals just as the doorbell rang. His mind went numb for a split second. Shalini? He wondered.  Then it struck him. She had her keys and she wouldn’t be ringing the bell. He threw the door open instantly and didn’t see anyone out there. Perplexed, he looked around till he saw the small bundle of jasmine flowers strung into 3 mozhams and wrapped in a lotus leaf left on their door latch by the young poo-kari. That’s right. Tuesdays were poo days. He slammed the door shut and made his way to the parking.

To be continued........

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Until next Friday then. Opinions welcomed as always.

Chapter 1 – The Dark Night

Here's my Diwali gift to all of you.. the continuation of the story...

If you haven't read the prologue, read it here.

The story continues below...

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Chapter 1. Then.

“Where’s the groom di? Yengayen onna ditch panitaara?” Priya teased Shalini as she dipped a piece of loose cotton in the lemon and sugar mix and dabbed it on the elaborate mehendi pattern drawn by the experts on Shalini’s right arm. This kept the pattern “wet” and ideally potent to really colour the skin a deep red tattoo of sorts. The mehendi artistes were now working on Shalini’s feet. Mehendi or henna was a huge part of the bridal look in Indian weddings. And Bharath and Shalini’s wedding was no different. Though it wasn’t a traditional part of south-Indian weddings, Shalini was hugely fond of it and had insisted on having a small gathering of close friends and family to share the occasion with her. And so the mehendi function in which the bride, her friends and family wore the henna to celebrate the impeding wedding was 2 days before the actual festivites of the elaborate 3-day Brahmin wedding started. The terrace of Shalini’s home in Chennai was alight with shamiyana pandals and colorfully dressed women relatives and kids scattered around with their arms spread out as the henna in green decorated their palms. The bride was the only one who got her arms and legs decorated. The men were in the cordoned-off corner that served the food for the guests. The husbands lovingly fed their wives, the dads fed their daughters and all in all it was a loud, memorable, cacophony of sounds. The groom’s party was yet-to-arrive. And somewhere in the elaborate, random scattered loops of lovely designs, feathers of peacocks, flowers and leaves on Shalini’s hands was hidden Bharath’s name. And as the tradition demanded, he couldn’t marry his wife-to-be till he found his own name hidden in her mehendi.

“Who knows? I said 4 pm to him. What time is it?” Shalini asked, pretending to be nonchalant  while clearly failing, looked at the back of her hand to see the design.

“It’s close to 5.” Gitanjali answered while directing Priya to a spot on Shalini’s mehendi where the green paste had flaked off to reveal the glow of the orange beneath. Another folklore dictated that the “darker” the bride’s mehendi the more she was going to be loved and nurtured by her in-laws. Actually it had to do with the heat of one’s body. In which case Shalini had no doubt that hers was going to be super dark red.

Just then there was a commotion at the doorway to the terrace. The groom’s party had arrived. The attention had shifted to the narrow entranceway as Shalini’s parents hurried over to welcome Bharath and his family to the terrace. Bharath greeted everyone politely and this was his first exposure to many of Shalini’s relatives who had come in for the wedding festivities from different parts of the world. Shalini’s father was busy introducing his mappillai to all, but the groom’s eyes immediately sought Shalini in the crowd. Which was hardly difficult at all. She was the cynosure of the gathering and looked quite lovely in a beautifully embroidered ghagra-choli that she’d specially bought for the occasion. She was busy pretending not to notice that her groom had arrived looking particularly appealing himself in a crisp new maroon kurtha pyjama. After exchanging pleasantries with everyone, Bharath excused himself and walked over to Shalini. Her friends instantly retreated, giving them the illusion of privacy while being in enough proximity to tease.

“Hi Shalini.” Bharath said.

After 2 moments of nothingness, she graced him from beneath her made-up eyes and long lashes.

“Hi..." A pause and then "You’re late.” Her voice betrayed the slightest tinge of annoyance.

“I know. But you know how it is." He paused and then added "You look amazing”, while drinking in all of her that he could just by looking at her.

This was followed by a few teasing coughs and giggles from the backdrop of her friends. And before she could respond, they were flocked by both sets of parents. Bharath’s mother came over to Shalini, greeted her and did a quick gesture to remove dhrishti or the evil eye from the young couple. She then presented her daughter-in-law to be with a lovely garnet necklace which she proceeded to add to Shalini’s already-bejeweled neck seeing as Shalini sat there with her arms outspread so as to not get the mehendi on her clothes or anything else in her proximity. Shalini smiled shyly and participated in the conversation in response to her to-be-mother-in-law’s question as to if she’d received her wedding sari’s blouses from the tailor.

“Oh yes, Amma. Finally I received them. These tailors these days are more important than the bride and groom during the wedding season. Orey tension. I hardly thought I would get everything on time. But luckily he got everything done very well.” Shalini said enthusiastically.

Bharath’s mother glowed at being addressed as “Amma” by her daughter-in-law to be. It was significant of the bond they were going to share in this relationship. She was like a second daughter to her, next to her own, Preethi. They were lucky to have found Shalini for Bharath this early in the matrimonial process. She was a beautiful, talented young girl and well suited to marry Bharath. But Bharath was a catch himself, Mrs Shankar reflected with reasonable pride. After all he was young, handsome, well-placed and had just invested in a flat on the brand-new multiplex in Gandhi Nagar. All before his 28th birthday. Mrs Shankar was very proud of her son as she should have been. And now as the elders steered the conversation into some other topics, she caught the young couple stealing glances at each other and it took her back to her own days of ponnu paakardhu, the formality where the boy’s family came to visit the girl. Back in her day she’d hardly dared to see her now-husband, Mr Shankar at all even as she’d served him and his entire family filter kaapi. And in those days the bride was expected to sing on cue, do namaskaram to the entire groom party and what not. These days it was relatively easy for these young girls. They were just as qualified and independent which gave them the liberty to draft their own rules and everything. Shalini was placed well at TCS as an IT programmer and she’d heard she was a Gold Medalist too. But she was also very well-behaved with no airs about her. Other than that the kids these days chose to live in separate apartments by themselves even if it was in the same city as their parents. This was unheard-of in her day and age. But that was how it was going to be for this generation anyway. Mrs Shankar could still remember how 3 months ago she had chanced upon Shalini's photo on Tamilmatrimony, she had prayed her kula deivam, Vaitheeswarar that Bharath and Shalini’s horoscopes matched and that she’d be able to fix her son up with this girl. And it had all gone very smoothly indeed. Mrs and Mr Shivaraman, Shalini’s parents were very nice people too and arranging the marriage had been a complete breeze. Mrs Shankar wiped the single tear that had formed at the corner of her eye with the edge of her pallu.

Bharath was examining Shalini’s right arm now. And he was taking his time. He was supposed to be finding his name on the patterns. He’d instantly spotted the “H”. He traced it along the curve of her arm with his eyes and found the rest of the letters. But he wasn’t going to be pointing them out anytime soon. He took pleasure in watching her anxious expression as he delicately held her arm while supposedly searching for the letters, twisting it gently this way and that.

“Come on, Anna! I can help you if you want! I see the “R”!” Preethi, his little sister urged.

“Oh Preethi!” Priya chided. “Can’t you see that your brother is enjoying himself in not finding the letters?” she teased.

Preethi turned bright red. Being 8 years younger than her brother meant she was pretty backward in the romance department. Shalini had turned pink too. And at that instant when Bharath was admiring his wife-to-be, she looked up and into his eyes and just as quickly, away. And Bharath knew he’d never forget this moment for as long as he lived.

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To be continued. Opinions welcomed.

The prologue – The dark night

This is a story I am working on. Needless to say, it's "copyrighted". :)
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Now. 6 :15pm.

The steel-grey Maruti Suzuki Swift pulled into the parking space 1312A in the underground parking of the multiplex at Gandhi Nagar, Chennai.  Bharath killed the headlights and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, reluctant to leave the comfort of his car and go home to his 13th floor apartment. Shalini and he had had their worst fight yet. It was the first time in over 3 years of marriage that they’d gone to bed angry and without making up. When he’d gotten up in the morning she was gone. She was the one to make up with him usually, no matter what and no matter whose fault it was. And it surprised him that she hadn’t called him all of today. What was worse was that she hadn’t answered his calls either. He felt unsettled. He knew to deal with the part of his wife that he knew – the part that yelled and screamed. He was a lot less sure when she clammed up. And she had hardly ever left anything unsaid. Audibly cursing the day he decided to get married, he reached for his briefcase that was thrown carelessly on the passenger seat and reassured himself. It was going to be okay. They always got through this kind of stuff. They had their share of infractions in the whole marital bliss package and he wondered briefly what the neighbours might’ve heard and if that changed the way they perceived them as a couple. But who were they to judge? Everyone fought. It was like the global vein of similarity in every marriage. And last night’s fight was downright stupid now that he reflected on it. Shalini had interrupted him for a second during one of the key moments of the foreign movie on TV that he’d followed for the better part of 2 hours. And he’d flown off the handle and yelled at her, blaming her impetuousness and her disregard for other’s preoccupations. He was just caught up in the moment and typical as it was, she just wouldn’t let it go. She screamed and ranted her side of the injustice of it all and it’d blown completely out of proportion ending with him slamming the front door of their apartment on her and leaving to get a smoke and some silence. When he’d returned, the lights were turned out and she’d retired to the bedroom. He himself had slept in the guest bedroom, not wanting to share a room with her that night. Now that he thought about it, it was downright stupid and he couldn’t wait to go back home and make up. There wasn't much a hug and kisses couldn't accomplish. Well, at least between married couples. He reached over to the backseat and picked up a single slightly shriveled red rose that had been carefully cellophane-wrapped by the flower-wala, which he had had the forethought to buy just outside the front gates of their apartment complex.  Small penance. He swore to himself to try to keep his temper under check thereafter. But he knew it was easier said than done. Hindsight was 20/20.

The ride to the 13th floor from the basement parking by the lift took just over a 50 seconds. He remembered timing it with Shalini once when she had remarked that it was lucky that neither of them was claustrophobic. A wry smile appeared at the corner of his mouth. And suddenly he regretted spending the night in the guest bedroom without so much as a goodnight to his wife. He supposed she was pissed off because of that and would be unforgiving for a while just to punish him. Ah well, tonight would be a better night. He’d make sure of it.  The lift doors eased open on the 13th floor, jolting him out of his reverie. He walked down the right-side hallway towards their apartment.

1312. Their home. Bharath & Shalini, the wooden name board proclaimed. It had been a wedding gift from one of her friends. He reached for his keys and unlocked the door. It was all quiet and dark in there. There were no cooking sounds or smells, typical of Shalini wielding her exceptional skill at the stove.

“Shalini?” He called out tentatively. No answer. Ah well, she was probably out at the Nilgiris nearby buying vegetables and such. Was her car in the garage? He hadn’t noticed. Or maybe she was working late to avoid him. She would come around. She always did. He turned on the lights in the hallway and the hall, ditched his briefcase on the sofa while reaching for the TV remote to turn the TV on.  While the evening news blared on, he washed his face, hands and feet and went back to the sofa. He missed the hot cup of chai that Shalini usually had ready for him when he got home. He went to the kitchen to make some for the both of them. It would be a pleasant surprise. He busied himself for a few minutes hunting for the ingredients while marveling at how his wife, who worked full-time as an IT programmer additionally nurturing hopes as a writer also found time to cook every evening, stock the supplies for their house and keep everything so organized and spic and span (with the help of a once-a-week maid, but nonetheless). As the tea brewed, he went to check the answering machine on their landline. No new messages. Sighing audibly now he went back and filtered the tea into two freshly washed mugs. And suddenly he got a bit restless. This whole incident was completely out of character for her. To not keep in touch the entire day. No email. No SMS. No calls. Nothing. When she was too pissed off to talk with him she usually SMS-ed or IM-ed him. And regardless of what disagreements they had those SMS messages reminded him that she cared and that it would soon be ok. He settled on the sofa and set his tea mug on the settee. He reached over for the Time Magazine issue that had arrived in the weekend and mindlessly flipped pages while lending an ear to the news. Just as he was reaching back for the mug of tea, the landline next to it rang.

“Shalini?” he asked as he picked up the phone eagerly.

“Hi. No, this is her friend, Gitanjali. Hi Bharath, how are you?”

“Oh hi Gitu. I am fine. How’re you?” Bharath said mechanically, his spirits deflating.

“I am doing good! I am guessing Shalini isn’t home yet. She isn’t answering her cell phone either. Could you have her call me when she gets back? I don’t know if she knows yet but Priya had a baby boy today!”

“Oh that’s great! I’ll let her know when she’s back and have her call you.” Bharath said hanging up.

Babies. Sure Shalini and he had talked about it. But with his MBA aspirations and her wanting to change careers, they’d decided to put it away for a couple of years. And suddenly he was irritated with his wife. He had called her 4-5 times to try to make up although grudgingly after lunch (he’d expected her to call by then) and she hadn’t bothered to answer. Granted he was wrong, but weren’t they supposed to put this behind them now and just carry on? They were happy in general, he figured and which marriage didn’t have its hiccups? He pulled out his Blackberry and checked for missed calls. There were none. She probably wanted him to grovel. He sighed and speed dialed her once more, willing her to pick up. To his surprise, he heard the phone ringing on the little cubby in the front hallway, where they typically left their keys and stacked their mail. Oh. That explained it. Picking up his chai he walked over to get her phone. It was one of those old fashioned flip phones. He’d begged her to get a more savvy phone but she firmly shot him down each time. He could hear her voice echoing in his head even now– Why do I need a fancy phone? All I do is make calls and receive them. And the most I do is text. This is more than enough for all that. Besides if I get an all-in-one something, how will I use the ipod that you got me or the camera that Appa got me?

The phone was battered almost beyond recognition and the ‘Samsung’ was barely visible under the scratches and dents from the thousand drops and the brushes with all the junk in her handbag. Shaking his head with disbelief, he flipped it open. Sure enough -

8 Missed Calls

He clicked on ‘List’ and saw his own name listed 6 times with the various times that he had called. Gitanjali was the seventh. And Priya was the eighth. He sighed. His temporary surge of anger at her not answering the calls was now unreasonable, he realized. She’d just forgotten her cell phone at home. And with her memory, or the lack of it, for phone numbers in particular, she probably didn’t have his number memorized to make a call even if she’d wanted to. She could’ve emailed, he supposed, but he would let that be.  He left her phone right where he found it. His eye caught a stack of yesterday’s mail. He figured he should check the mailbox today. But that was 13 floors down and normally Shalini brought in the day’s mail. As he reached to stack the sloping pile of bills and general junk, a paper with a scrawl of his wife’s handwriting caught his eye. It was among the bills and some other papers, not hidden but neither particularly visible and was tucked underneath a framed wedding picture of theirs. He tugged at the leaf and it came out loose. He got an ominous feeling as he shook it straight to read it. It was a note. It was brief. It had no date. It had no signature.

It’s been good but I don’t think I can take it anymore. This isn’t about you. It’s me. I am the weak one. I am sorry.

What was this? What was the meaning of this piece of paper? Bharath was hardly breathing. When had she written this? Was it a suicide note? Or was it just goodbye? Was it meant to be found or had she changed her mind after writing it? Suddenly he felt very weak. There were too many questions and as unlikely as any scenario was, here he was but where was she? He held on to the wall for support and sank into the single faux-leather chair in the hallway. Where he wore his shoes. The chair she picked out from Kalpadruma after painstakingly verifying that it wasn’t real leather. Because she was against animal cruelty amongst her many other principles. But she was ok with killing herself? And suddenly his mind wandered to last night. After he’d slammed the door on her and left the house, he had no idea what had really happened back at the apartment. He had assumed that she’d gone to bed when he returned. He had assumed that she was still in the house. He’d never checked. He’d not even said goodnight. He’d not even walked near their bedroom. What if she was still… in there?


To be continued.........

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Opinions welcomed.