Custody Read online

  We are thinking of renting a little cottage on a lake in New England for a month in the summer when the children come next. You will love it, Mama! There is so much beauty in America.

  Ashok says he will go canoeing with Arjun. I will teach Roo how to swim. High time she learned. She tends to be timid but once I introduce her to sports she will improve.

  Look at me! It is only January, and I am already talking of the next visit. Ashok is a great believer in planning. Plan A, then Plan B – the back-up plan. Do you know what the back-up plan was if I did not get a divorce? Relocate in India! Imagine – when he has lived most of his life abroad! Do you think I should believe him?

  Your loving daughter,

  Shagun

  XXV

  Back from Dehradun, one of the first things Raman did was go over to Swarg Nivas and see Ishita.

  ‘How are you?’ she started, polite and careful.

  Raman could hear the hurt, justified from a certain perspective.

  ‘I hope your new year went well?’ she went on valiantly in the face of his silence.

  Fine, considering the circumstances. A month ago his children had returned from their trip to their mother in America, and from then on they had been difficult to deal with. Roo tended to whine and fuss, Arjun’s behaviour was unpredictable. He could not give them glamour, but he could give them stability and love, and he had spent the past month trying to do just that.

  ‘I am sorry,’ said Ishita, slightly flummoxed.

  ‘What for? Nothing in this is your fault.’

  ‘Yes, but you are such a good man, such a caring father that it is upsetting to see you miserable.’

  Raman sighed. Such insights into his character were very welcome. Dropping Arjun to DPA always left him a residue of pain to deal with, he said.

  Didn’t he think that was the right place for his son?

  ‘Oh, it might be for all I know. Ashok got him into this place, and along with other factors, I feel my son growing away from me and I don’t know how to stop it, that’s all.’

  A weight lifted from Ishita’s heart. This is what she had hoped for, that there were problems; that Raman wasn’t so happy with his children that their presence obliterated her. More confidently she now said, ‘I was hoping to meet Arjun.’

  ‘I was also hoping. But things have changed. Now I feel there is a reporter lurking in my son, he sees things through his mother’s eyes. He is too young to be doing this. It makes him judgemental and as a result he can seem older than he is.’

  ‘It’s hard,’ observed Ishita invitingly.

  ‘And then it is tricky between him and Roo. He understands more of what is going on, resents our divorce, takes it out on his sister, but she is just a baby.’

  ‘Indeed, she is.’

  ‘Yet if I scold him all the time, he will obviously mind.’

  ‘There is that danger, yes.’

  ‘When I am alone with him, it’s fine. But when Roo is there, he just lashes out, I don’t know why, though I imagine it has to do with the divorce. I can only trust it won’t cause any lasting damage.’

  ‘Um.’

  ‘Sorry to bore you.’

  He was not boring her, she was just wondering how to help. Actually, children were enormously resilient. If he could just see her slum kids, abused from morning to night, yet they had this pliancy, this optimism – they were so different from adults – it was working with them that made her want to adopt—

  Oh really? She had wanted to adopt?

  Yes, but hadn’t done it yet. Her parents had asked her to wait a year, hoping no doubt she would get married. But now that time was almost over. She did want the experience of being a full-time mother. Take Roohi, whenever she went away she felt sad, nobody’s fault of course, but she felt sad nonetheless.

  Raman looked thoughtful.

  And so the ball rolled between them.

  It took a few more months, a few more casual meetings, and many hours of prayer on the part of their mothers, but it became as natural for Raman to meet Ishita once he was in Swarg Nivas as it was for him to meet his parents. He would dial the number of her flat on the intercom the minute he came.

  Would she like to come over? He was here with Roohi.

  The fact that it was always Roohi was fine with Ishita. Her pleasure in the child’s company was unambiguous, while Roohi herself was forthcoming with the many things she wanted to show Auntie. Her Barbie, her books, her new hair clips, a print of her hands she had made in art class, a clay blob, which she said was a bird.

  One evening found Roohi in Ishita’s lap, and such was the child’s insistence that she would not leave Auntie that Raman offered to take Ishita home and give her dinner if such a thing was acceptable.

  ‘Of course it is acceptable,’ said Mrs Kaushik.

  ‘I don’t know, Auntie,’ said Ishita, feeling shy. ‘Mummy is waiting for me.’

  ‘Arre, Uncle will tell your mother, don’t worry, beta.’

  Ishita looked at Mr Kaushik, and in that timid, hesitant look the man for the first time forgot the blue-green eyes of his erstwhile daughter-in-law. ‘Yes, yes, beta, I’ll tell them.’

  With Roohi cradled in her arms, Ishita sat in the front seat.

  ‘Is she heavy?’ enquired Raman tenderly.

  ‘Poor thing, she can never be heavy for me. You know how much I miss her.’

  ‘She has had so many upheavals in her life.’

  ‘Well, at least she has learned to cope. Does she talk about her mother a lot?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Today she drew a picture of a happy family – mother, father, brother, sister. My heart bled for her.’

  ‘Yeah. Nice dream. It was mine as well.’

  ‘Mine too.’

  ‘I can see you are very fond of children.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Your first husband did not want?’

  ‘He did. That was the whole problem, because I couldn’t have. Some childhood illness I didn’t know about. They accused me of marrying under false pretences. It was horrible.’

  ‘How long were you married?’

  ‘Four years and a bit.’

  ‘That’s nothing.’

  ‘True.’

  ‘If you are married for longer, the roots are deeper, there is more violence in plucking them out.’

  ‘I suppose. Never thought of it that way.’

  ‘Yes. Well.’

  ‘Listen, don’t worry about Roo. She is going to be fine.’

  ‘Nice fate. To live with whatever circumstances adults throw at her.’

  ‘At least they all love her. That’s one good thing.’

  Raman sighed. What was he thinking? wondered Ishita anxiously. Was he remembering another woman who sat next to him in all her exquisiteness?

  ‘She is very fond of you,’ remarked Raman after a while, thinking he hadn’t given Ishita her due.

  ‘It’s mutual,’ Ishita said in the long pause that followed. By now they had turned into the side road that led to Mor Vihar. They stopped outside the house and Raman ran around to help Ishita with the still-sleeping child.

  ‘Thank goodness I fed her, but she was very fussy with her food. I hope she is not falling sick,’ said Ishita as Raman carried his daughter indoors.

  ‘I hope not. I don’t know what I’ll do then.’

  ‘Send her to me,’ laughed Ishita.

  Why should he be surprised at the happiness he felt at this?

  *

  Ishita looked around. Instead of the spectacular living arrangements she had imagined, she saw a spacious flat, neat but bland, with ordinary furniture.

  Raman noticed her gaze. ‘I am afraid everything is a mess. Ganga and Ganesh tend to get a little lazy when there is no supervision. When I am home I prefer to spend all my time with Roohi rather than worrying about the house.’

  ‘Not at all. It is very nicely kept.’

  ‘It’s a company rental, not really my own.’

  ‘D
on’t your parents mind your living so far?’

  ‘In the early days I used to fall sick from staying in office late and commuting long hours. They were the ones to suggest I stay nearer work. Then after I married, well … it just continued … I don’t know.’

  ‘Umm.’

  ‘Would you like a drink?’

  ‘Love one.’

  ‘Beer?’

  ‘Vodka with lemon?’

  She sensed his surprise.

  ‘Mummy and Papa don’t know I drink, they would be horrified. We used to drink sometimes when we went to friends’ houses when the elders were not around.’

  He gathered she was talking of her old life. Angrily he thought of that spineless husband, pressurised into divorcing a wife just because she had a womb that didn’t function. He said as much.

  She gave a small smile. His was not the common thinking, she assured him. Even she felt they had reason. The family wanted a child, she couldn’t produce one. And they had paid for some expensive fertility treatments.

  Raman fell silent. Who was he to hold the torch on someone else’s behalf, when the light in his own home was so feeble?

  They sipped their drinks.

  ‘Should we order a pizza?’ he asked after a while.

  ‘Doesn’t Ganesh cook for you?’

  ‘When I tell him to. If you prefer home food, Ganesh can make an omelette. He makes very good omelettes.’

  She wondered how often Ganesh’s cooking skills were employed.

  ‘Anything, I will take anything.’

  But it turned out there were no eggs, so pizza was ordered instead.

  ‘I can’t think how I forgot to order eggs. He is supposed to remind me.’

  ‘I love pizza too.’

  Raman turned to her. She smiled, the ice went tinkle tinkle in her glass, giving her a feeling of daring, enhanced when he switched off the lamp next to the sofa. His arms went around her, hesitantly she opened her mouth to him. Their vodka breaths mixed, he could taste the lemony alcohol on her tongue.

  The curtains were not yet drawn, the room was lit by the white neon lights of the street. Gently Raman pushed Ishita down on the sofa. Their bodies were new to each other, and he could sense her hesitation, feel the rigidity of her legs. Tentatively he explored her clothed breasts, kissed her face, whispered her name.

  Half an hour later the bell rang. It was the pizza delivery boy.

  The box was flung open, slices put on plates, and the hungry couple fell to. Such cosy domesticity made this a far more erotic moment for Ishita than any on the sofa.

  It had never been like this with SK. Never just the two of them, because always the whole family had to be considered. They couldn’t order pizza, because the parents-in-law didn’t eat it, and to leave them out was unthinkable.

  The last slice finished, the last gulp of Coke consumed, the vodka returned to the drinks cabinet and back to the sofa. It was now the smell of onions and tomato spices that mingled in their mouths as they kissed. The absence of servants made them less inhibited.

  Should they or shouldn’t they? If they did, would it arouse commitment expectations? Raman knew the girl was traditional and he wanted to cause no unhappiness.

  For Ishita, what were the implications? Perhaps he would not respect her afterwards, but equally it was time to filter such fears out of her head. Instinctively she knew he was not prepared to give much more than his body. She considered this – as dispassionately as two glasses of vodka would allow her – then turned to him, and this time she was the one who put out the light, she was the one who, a few minutes later, asked if a bed was available.

  Two hours later Ishita returned home. Her mother was waiting.

  ‘Why did you take so long? It’s late.’

  ‘So what? I am thirty-two.’

  ‘So? That is still young.’

  ‘Mummy, please, leave me alone.’

  That night Ishita couldn’t sleep. It had been five years since a man had touched her. Five years. She felt like a young girl. Her mother thought she should be careful, but for what? Had she not responded to Raman was there any guarantee that more happiness would come her way?

  This had been her second man. It made her feel worldly and sophisticated. Even if the relationship were to end tonight she would still be the richer. Not to mention all the love she had received from Roohi. She thought of the little arms around her neck, her weight on her lap, the smell of her breath, the smooth pink lips glistening with a sliver of drool, the baby-white teeth. For those moments in the car she had allowed herself to feel she was the child’s mother, with an intimate connection to the man sitting next to her.

  Well, everybody had to have their few moments in the sun. Those had been hers. She had given herself so easily to Raman to prolong the fantasy.

  Being with him was like having a taste of what every woman she was ever jealous of had. A man and a child. People to look after and care for, people who loved you in return. Among her acquaintances she was the sole childless divorcee. Even her ex-husband was now the proud father of two boys.

  She decided not to tell her mother. Though she would be pleased at the romantic turn her interaction with Raman had taken, she would immediately start fretting about marriage. Her mother didn’t understand courtship. Sex, romance, love had their place but only after the engagement had taken place and the wedding date fixed.

  Raman too couldn’t sleep. He found himself feeling protective of Ishita in a way he never had with Shagun. Even after years of marriage he had always been the supplicant, worshipping at the altar of her beauty, never ceasing to be grateful that she was his.

  How many hours had he spent trying to decipher his wife’s thoughts? Was she in a good mood, was she dissatisfied or happy? He had wanted to know her inside out, but she had remained an enigma. She had taken all his youth, his passion, what was there left to give another woman? Take tonight – he and Ishita had made love, whereupon he proceeded to obsess about his ex-wife.

  Mrs Rajora also lay awake. She had recognised the withdrawn look on Ishita’s face, a look that suggested secrets. The nature of those had to be either romantic or sexual – both transgressive for a girl in Ishita’s position. If they continued to see each other, even with Roohi as ostensible chaperone, and it all came to nothing her daughter’s future would be ruined along with her reputation.

  In a few years Ishita’s 5 lakhs would have doubled to 10. She could never think of this sum, unperturbedly increasing as the days passed, without a frisson of excitement. But 10 lakhs was nothing for a man in a multinational. Richer divorcees were prowling the field.

  Her husband was no help; ‘I’m not asking anybody to take my girl. If the Kaushiks are keen they can come with a proposal.’

  That meant he was relying on them to fall in love.

  ‘Always taking the easy way out,’ she muttered.

  ‘Well, you tell me, what would you like me to do?’ he countered.

  ‘I want you to be concerned about your daughter’s future.’

  ‘You have worried about her future these past five years, what good did it do?’

  ‘I have also prayed for five years and it has made a boy like Raman see Ishita’s qualities.’

  Mr Rajora looked at his wife with weariness. If Ishita married, at least he would be spared the drama he was treated to so often.

  Her maternal antennae up, Mrs Rajora watched her daughter, watched the colour come into her face, watched the way the beauty parlour gave her a soft perm that added body and curl to her hair, watched the new clothes and the care taken over appearance.

  A mother’s love will dig in the stoniest of soils. Mrs Rajora waited for Ishita to be at work before she began. She opened her cupboard, felt under the clothes, her bathroom shelf, her drawers, looking, looking for something that would give her a clue.

  As she searched she wondered, where should her attention be focused? No birth control needed for her daughter, so none of that. Sexy underwear, that her daughter was
too good to indulge in – presents from Raman – a possibility. Maybe some note, a letter? A diary?

  No. Intimacy, imagined or otherwise, had not inspired the pen of either party.

  She fumbled beneath a pile of woollens, when she touched something hard. Nestling at the very back was a big bottle of J’Adore perfume still in its white box. Christian Dior. Expensive.

  Ishita could not afford to buy such things, therefore it had to be a present. A present without the ritual of showing, examining, assessing the price.

  The girl appeared in the late afternoon. The mother let her have her lunch. Then she let her have her nap. Then she let her have her tea, in fact she brought it with her own faithful hands.

  ‘I found a bottle of perfume in your cupboard. Looked costly.’

  ‘Why were you looking in my cupboard?’

  ‘The dhobi came. I had to put your clothes away, didn’t I?’

  ‘The perfume was in the back, under my shawls. You would not have found it unless you were looking.’

  ‘Beta, never mind that. I only want to be sure that you are not doing anything to harm yourself. Once we were friends, since when have we become enemies?’

  Ishita stirred the sugar in her tea.

  ‘Beta, say something. I have stood by you, suffered, and you keep secrets.’

  ‘Mummy, please. There is nothing to tell. I am not doing anything to ruin my life. I am thirty-two, Mummy, please.’

  Mrs Rajora looked wounded, while Ishita got up to leave as she always did in these circumstances. She made her way into the little park, to sit on a cement bench.

  Around her were the long dark dried leaves of the amaltas tree; another week and the branches would be completely bare. There was still a slight chill in the evening air, but Holi was around the corner, and after that the long unrelenting months of summer. She could see men and women taking their evening walk, briskly round and round the many apartment blocks of the society complex.

  How she hated every narrow-minded conservative individual around her. Swarg Nivas indeed, it was just hell, full of nosy people who made it their collective business to know what she was doing every day of her life.