Someone to Love Page 9

  Atharv’s daughter?

  ‘Hey,’ said Surya Aunty, gently nudging her granddaughter, ‘do you want to meet someone?’

  Koyal watched with some amazement as a little hand came towards her, the face still buried in Surya’s shoulder.

  ‘Hello,’ came a tiny voice from under layers of thick hair.

  ‘Hello,’ Koyal replied, her voice hesitant, her brain buzzing.

  Slowly, the little girl turned around. Koyal found herself staring into large, wise eyes fanned by the longest lashes Koyal had ever seen. Nili and Atharv were both visible on the face.

  ‘Who are you?’ she asked, clutching on to her grandmother’s hand.

  ‘I am Koyal.’

  ‘I’m Mansha. Dadi knows you?’

  ‘Hi Mansha. Yes, Dadi has known me since I was three!’

  The girl gasped and looked at her grandmother who smiled encouragingly.

  Koyal was wondering what she was supposed to say next when Atharv cleared his throat. The softness that had surrounded him a few moments back was now lost, replaced instead by a halo of anger.

  ‘Should I try putting her to bed?’ he asked his mother pointedly and Koyal flinched. Surya Aunty glowered at him but he did not budge.

  ‘It’s way past her bedtime,’ he said acidly and picked up his daughter who did not seem to want to leave her grandmother.

  ‘Let her be,’ Surya Aunty tried. ‘I’ll take her to bed in a bit.’

  ‘Bedtime, you have to be up in time for school tomorrow, let’s go,’ he said to Mansha, ignoring his mother, and walked off without as much as a glance at Koyal’s direction, dragging a reluctant Mansha with him.

  ‘I am sorry … Atharv must be tired,’ muttered Surya Aunty, red with embarrassment.

  Friendships fade. Friends disappear. Feelings change. This is life, and as sad as it may be, you just have to keep on going.

  ‘It’s okay,’ said Koyal softly, putting a hand on Surya Aunty’s.

  The friendship was dead and buried.

  And no good comes out of digging a grave.

  22

  Like a gorgeous woman getting ready to go out, as the end of the year approaches, London gently, subtly, suddenly becomes even more beautiful. The air becomes lighter. Houses become cozier. People smile more. Office-goers begin to lose their stiff upper lips. The fairy lights come out. The markets open up. There is mulled wine. And there is laughter. And Christmas.

  Huddled in their warm coats, woollen mufflers wrapped around their necks, the little company wandered through Winter Wonderland, the annual Christmas market in Hyde Park. They linked arms, stopped by the little wooden shops, sipped wine and got on rides.

  Koyal. Surya. Hema.

  And Mansha.

  Ma, and Ma alone, could have done something so devious. Seeing how terribly her daughter was missing her, Ma had sent not one, but two motherly women swooping down into Koyal’s lonely life. Hema and Surya. Turned out that not only was Atharv friends with the Chandras, Hema and Surya were also very close.

  Neither had a daughter and Koyal, with her warm smile, easy charm and eagerness for affection, easily filled the void. It had started with little chats over steaming cups of coffee after work and had now reached a point where hardly a week went by without the trio meeting. While they had heart-to-heart discussions on almost every topic under the sun, as if by some tacit agreement, some things were never mentioned. Koyal’s past and what had transpired between Atharv and Koyal were out of bounds and never brought up.

  Of late, and much to Koyal’s initial chagrin, Mansha had begun to join them. In the beginning, she tagged along with Surya after being picked up from an after-school activity, with Surya apologizing profusely for the additional guest. However, soon, she began to come more often because she wanted to spend time with Hema who doted on the little girl.

  Koyal, on the other hand, kept a safe distance from her.

  She didn’t quite know what to do with Mansha. Did she like her because she was Atharv’s daughter? Did she dislike her because she was Atharv’s daughter? Did she dislike her because she was Nili’s daughter? Did she like her because she’d promised herself that she no longer bore any grudge towards Nili? Did she dislike her because she was indirectly associated with Nili’s death – an event that must have brought immense grief to Atharv? Or, did she dislike her because Atharv had made it very clear that he wanted Mansha to have nothing to do with her?

  Just the day before, when the group was taking a long, leisurely and very cold walk in Richmond Park, Mansha had rushed towards Koyal.

  ‘Koyal Aunty!,’ Mansha had squealed happily, her hair flapping in the wind.

  ‘Oh, hi, yes,’ Koyal said, staring at the deer in the distance. Richmond Park with its peace and quiet, its green trees, verdant grass and noble deer was one of Koyal’s favourites. It made her think. It made her go back into her past. It made her wonder.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Mansha asked.

  I am wondering why all those years ago your father led me to believe in things that were not true. I am wondering why your father never valued our friendship when I thought it was the most important thing to him. I am wondering why the universe has brought us in front of each other again.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said dryly.

  ‘Come on, Daddy says we are always thinking of something, – just sometimes we don’t want to say what it is.’

  Koyal smiled and hoped that Mansha would go back to chattering with Hema Aunty. But Mansha stayed and soon Koyal felt a tiny gloved hand curl its fingers around hers.

  For a few moments, Koyal let it be and then gradually, slowly, she pulled her hand away.

  Stay away from anything that belongs to Atharv, her brain warned her.

  Koyal soon realized that the more she tried to stay away from Mansha, the more determinedly the little girl set about becoming friends with her and she wondered why.

  Mansha was a beautiful girl with impeccable manners and a sensitive heart. I will hurt her, Koyal thought to herself fearfully, wishing Mansha would stop bothering her. For your sake, stay away from me, little one.

  Surya and Mansha entered and the little girl ran straight to Koyal, clambered into her lap and put a gentle albeit cold hand on her cheek.

  ‘Your cheeks are so soft,’ she said, looking at Koyal with eyes full of wonder. Something about Mansha’s expression struck Koyal painfully in her heart. She knew that look only too well. It was the look she knew she had on her face from time to time. The look of longing. A longing that never quite goes way. A longing for the missing piece. A longing for Mum.

  Please like me, her big, beautiful eyes said to Koyal.

  Koyal smiled. And then suddenly stopped smiling.

  ‘I need to go to the ladies, please,’ she said and immediately put Mansha down. She didn’t look back because she knew Mansha’s eyes would have filled up with tears and she was not heartless enough yet to be able to watch that.

  Koyal gritted her teeth and persisted with her unfriendly behaviour with Mansha.

  And Mansha, for reasons only known to her, persisted harder with friendly overtures to Koyal. She inundated Koyal with innocent little gifts, handmade cards, a piece of cake, a little note … and Koyal, politely but firmly, refused all. And each time she said no, she found her heart breaking a little bit more.

  ‘Koyal Aunty,’ Mansha said one day, ‘will you share my ice cream?’

  Koyal looked at the little girl desperate to be friends with her.

  ‘No thanks, Mansha, I’m good.’

  And then, just like that, when the big, fat, silent tears appeared, Koyal took a deep breath. Enough was enough. There was no point in this madness – the hell with Atharv and what he wanted.

  And she walked up to the girl and wrapped her arms around her.

  ‘I am sorry, Mansha,’ she whispered, and when Mansha looked up she had on her face what was easily the widest smile Koyal had ever seen in her life.

  It was only four in the afterno
on, but dusk was already falling. As were wisps of snowflakes. South Bank was still crowded. Tourists, Londoners, street artists, all wrapped up and huddled into woollens, laughing, eating, drinking, cheering. The background – orange-grey skies framing the Westminister Abbey across the Thames – added to the beauty of the scene.

  But no act in the world, no sky in the universe could have torn away Surya’s attention at that moment from the little scene unfolding in front of her eyes.

  Two girls.

  A little girl and a big girl.

  The little girl was teaching the big girl ballet.

  The big girl was being silly, falling over repeatedly, and the little girl was giggling nonstop.

  And then, the little girl ran the short distance between them and hugged the big girl tight, burying her face in her legs.

  The big girl wrapped her arms around the little girl, picked her up, said something into her ear and they both started laughing.

  The dark skies.

  The snowflakes.

  The carousel.

  The little girl and the big girl.

  Surya watched in silence, and when her eyes became wet, it took her but a minute to understand why. A passer-by would have looked at the two girls and taken them to be mother and daughter.

  Surya took a deep breath, pulled out her phone, dialled a number and asked for Mrs Verma.

  ‘She is here,’ she said into the phone.

  23

  Koyal had been staring at the door for an eternity now, expecting Atharv to show up each time it opened. But so far there had been no sign of him.

  Reluctant to come face to face with Atharv, Koyal had initially declined to attend Mansha’s birthday party but one look at the big, fat tears that appeared instantly and she had decided to put aside her apprehensions regarding Atharv.

  Her dread at meeting Atharv quickly turned to concern when the birthday cake, a ridiculously intricate confection, was being brought out and there was still no sign of the girl’s father.

  ‘Hema Aunty,’ Koyal whispered. ‘What about Atharv? Shouldn’t we wait for him to come?’

  ‘He is busy,’ Hema said, shaking her head, and Koyal couldn’t believe her ears.

  ‘He’s not coming?’ she asked, aghast. ‘Does Mansha know?’ Hema nodded. Koyal looked at Hema, confused. ‘Do you mean he has already wished his daughter and spent some time with her to make up for this?’

  ‘I stayed over last night, Koyal, and by the time I arrived, Atharv had already left for his thirty-six-hour duty. And no, I have not seen him call,’ Hema said gravely.

  ‘This is insane! What is wrong with him?’ Koyal exclaimed, staring at Mansha.

  ‘Don’t worry about Mansha, she is not expecting him to come.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘He never attends her birthday.’

  ‘Why?’ Koyal’s heart was already breaking, yet again, for the little girl.

  ‘I don’t know, Koyal, and not my place to ask,’ Hema said, a tinge of sadness in her voice.

  Koyal slumped into the sofa, a little distant from the madness that surrounded what was the most beautiful birthday cake she had ever seen. She looked around – it had to be one of the most lavish birthday parties she had ever been to.

  Yet, it was the saddest birthday party. How could any birthday party of a seven-year-old be complete without her only parent? How would that feel, Koyal wondered. Somewhere deep down, a little ball of anger – anger directed at Atharv for doing this to a girl she now dearly loved – began to take shape.

  ‘Is your daddy not going to come this year too?’ Koyal heard a girl ask Mansha and Koyal froze. The little ones, they can be the meanest sometimes, she thought ruefully.

  ‘He might come,’ ventured Mansha bravely, ‘but he is a very busy doctor, you see.’

  When Mansha turned and looked at Koyal, Koyal could easily see how difficult this was for her. Koyal kept an eye on the little girl the whole evening, and when most of the girls had left and the party was almost over, Koyal saw her sitting quietly on the stairs, her face resting in her hands, the little face sad and the usually happy eyes empty. Without another word, Koyal stepped forward and pulled the girl in a tight embrace.

  ‘Are you okay, darling?’ Koyal asked.

  Mansha shook her head.

  ‘Are you upset because of what your friend just asked you?’

  Mansha shook her head.

  ‘Then?’ Koyal asked, surprised.

  Mansha looked around and fiddled with her hand. That she wanted to say something was as obvious as was her unease about saying it.

  ‘Go on,’ Koyal gently prodded and walked with her into the hallway so that it would just be the two of them. From the corner of her eye she could see Surya Aunty’s eyes follow them.

  ‘Just us here, Mansha – you can tell me whatever is going on in your mind,’ Koyal nudged gently.

  Mnasha fiddled with her dress and then looked up at Koyal, her large eyes filled with tears.

  Why I am letting myself get so involved in this girl’s emotions, Koyal thought angrily, helplessly.

  ‘I don’t remember,’ Mansha whispered.

  What? ‘Remember what?’

  ‘Her,’ Mansha said.

  ‘Who, darling?’

  Mansha pointed a finger at Nili’s portrait hanging in the hallway. ‘Mummy,’ she said.

  Koyal froze. ‘You don’t remember your mummy?’

  ‘No,’ said Mansha. ‘What if…’ and here both Mansha’s voice and Koyal’s heart broke, ‘she has also forgotten me?’

  Oh, you poor little girl! ‘Mothers never forget their babies, no matter how many years pass or how many decades.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘My mummy died five years back and I know she hasn’t forgotten me.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Who else do you think sent you in my life? To brighten it all up, make me laugh and smile?’

  Mansha looked at her friend and smiled. ‘Then maybe, my mummy sent you?’

  Koyal shrugged.

  ‘Maybe your mummy spoke to my mummy in heaven and they both sent us to each other?’

  ‘That’s a definite possibility,’ Koyal said, grinning.

  ‘Maybe our mummies are friends too,’ Mansha chirped, excited.

  ‘I bet they are.’

  And with that Mansha wrapped her small arms around Koyal in a tight, fierce hug.

  ‘Mansha,’ Koyal said as they hugged each other, ‘why don’t you ask Daddy to tell you more about Mummy?’

  ‘He won’t,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Would you like it if he does?’

  Mansha pulled back and looked at Koyal, her eyes shining brightly and a huge grin plastered across her face.

  ‘Yes!’

  Koyal grinned and pulled the smiling little girl back into a hug.

  It was close to 2 a.m. when the doorbell buzzed.

  Atharv.

  Finally.

  Koyal had stayed back after the party to help Hema and Surya tidy up, even though she knew they did not need help. She needed to talk to Atharv, talk to him, scream and shout at him. Who does this to their daughter, her heart screamed angrily.

  When Atharv appeared at the doorway, the anger that had been gaining momentum in Koyal’s heart with each passing hour crashed down with a thud.

  For it was the most exhausted and worn out looking Atharv she’d ever seen that appeared at the door. A stubble that somehow made his eyes look even more intelligent, the sleeves of his spotlessly white albeit crumpled shirt rolled up and wafting the hospital smell, he stood there, looking at his mother. A gentle warmth emanated from him – the kind of warmth Koyal knew his patients would find reassuring. And very sexy too, a cheeky little voice in her head ventured, but Koyal shushed it.

  Without a word, Surya Aunty rushed towards him and Koyal waited for her to reprimand Atharv for being such an irresponsibl
e parent. Yet, to her surprise, all Surya Aunty did was pull him into an embrace. Koyal stared at the two of them, taken aback by Surya Aunty’s behaviour.

  ‘Was the operation a success?’ Surya Aunty asked softly, a hand on her son’s arm.

  A small precious smile from Atharv that Koyal felt brightened the world around them. She shook her head, angry at the unwanted thoughts popping into her head.

  ‘I am so proud of you, Atharv,’ Surya Aunty was saying. ‘It was a tough case.’

  ‘He is alive, the tumour is out, well, most of it at least, and there has been no damage to the optical nerve – that’s all that matters,’ he said softly.

  ‘You didn’t sleep at all, did you?’ Surya Aunty asked gently.

  ‘Not much.’ He smiled a tired smile. A smile that Koyal could see melted Surya Aunty’s heart.

  ‘Come on, your bed is ready.’

  ‘Mansha?’ he asked finally.

  ‘Asleep,’ Surya Aunty replied.

  Nothing about her birthday party. Koyal stared at Surya Aunty, unable to understand her why she was behaving as if Atharv had done no wrong.

  The two were walking towards the reception room when Atharv’s eyes fell on Koyal and he stopped.

  They stared at each other. Koyal wondered if she’d caught a fleeting glimpse of joy in his eyes, a small spark of happiness perhaps? She couldn’t really tell because it went away as soon as it had appeared, replaced by an expressionless stare.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, ‘I wasn’t expecting you.’

  These were harmless words, right? Koyal wondered. And yet, coming from Atharv, they hurt.

  ‘I came for Mansha’s birthday,’ she said as if she owed him an explanation. ‘I’m leaving now…’

  Atharv said nothing.

  ‘I … um … wanted to speak with you.’

  ‘What about?’ Atharv looked surprised.

  ‘Mansha.’

  ‘Mmm-hmm?’

  ‘Okay, so you are Mansha’s parent and I probably have no right to say anything in any matter related to her, yet I don’t think I can keep shut here. It was her goddam birthday today, Atharv. She turned seven.’ Koyal was now gesticulating wildly with her hands. ‘All a little girl wants is for her father to be around. Why didn’t you turn up? Why couldn’t anyone else have done the surgery? Can you even imagine how Mansha must have felt?’