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‘If I rent a bigger house, we can stay together in South Delhi,’ said Raman, valiantly trying to do his duty.

  This possibility seduced his father for a moment, but only a moment. A pretty daughter-in-law, the son dancing attendance on her, an angry disappointed mother, such a situation would lead to daily tension. Perhaps it was better to change his expectations of their joint family life right now. Not every couple were Rohini and Nandan, so willing to adjust.

  ‘Beta, your uncle has helped me so much with this flat, thinking we will all be together. How much we have planned and dreamt. Once Swarg Nivas is ready we should live there,’ he said slowly. ‘But perhaps you are right. It is not good to start your marriage caught between wife and mother. All we want is your happiness.’

  Raman looked at the slight man before him, his heavy glasses, his thin grey hair. It was quite apparent he had altered his own ideas to accommodate the conflicting interests of those he loved. He bent to touch his father’s feet. ‘May we always have your blessings, Papa, that is all we want.’

  Mrs Kaushik was devastated when it became clear that her separation from her son was to be permanent.

  ‘Why won’t they come to Swarg Nivas? What about my grandchildren?’ she wailed.

  ‘When they come, we will see,’ said her husband sternly. ‘In the mean time you will have plenty to occupy you with Rohini’s children.’

  A niece-in-law’s children could never be like her own, though she was not allowed to think so, her husband expecting a saintliness of which she was not capable. To her grief after all these years he always seemed to be engaging with some quite other person.

  Forced into being a spectator of her son’s life, Mrs Kaushik had to make a virtue of necessity. Soon everybody knew how they did not believe in hanging around their child’s neck, though actually that was all she had ever wanted to do.

  Raman insisted on a weekly visit to his parents. Shagun was always careful to demonstrate daughter-in-law devotion. From time to time she complained to her husband, ‘Your mother hates me,’ but this was only because she wanted him to see how magnanimous she was. Raman did not respond to her comments. He knew his mother expected respect, deference and love from her daughter-in-law plus an undisputed supremacy in her little grandson’s heart, all of which she was never going to get.

  In 1991, the Swarg Nivas Co-operative Housing Society complex was finally ready. Nandan had a flat of his own across from his parents. The elder Kaushiks put a grille across the passage, black granite tiles on the walls and floor of their section of the corridor and hung a small chandelier with dangling crystal pendants in the middle. The door between their two flats was kept open all day long. The children dashed from room to room; Rohini declared she thought she was living in a palace, her new home was so grand, leading her mother-in-law to quickly circle her head with a green chilli and put it in the fire to counter the effect of the evil eye.

  The happy togetherness in her brother-in-law’s family showed Raman’s mother how much she was missing and she took this knowledge badly, blaming her daughter-in-law for the loneliness she felt.

  V

  Mrs Sabharwal, Shagun’s mother, got along excellently with Raman. For twelve years he had been more son than son-in-law. Shagun sometimes said you two are like lovebirds, making the mother uncomfortable at her daughter’s understanding of the tenderness between them.

  After all these years she still remembered the instinctive sense of relief that came upon her when she first saw him. Ami had already declared Raman steady, sober, an excellent wage earner, Punjabi and twenty-seven. In appearance he was good-looking, complexion wheatish, a lovely open smile, handsome white teeth, medium height with just the tiniest paunch and a head of thinning hair. She hoped Shagun was not going to fuss about that. Sensitive from the start, he had put her at ease, voluntarily supplying all the information a mother might need, carrying out his own interview as it were.

  IIT – Delhi, IIM – Ahmedabad, graduated in ’84, been recruited on campus for this job with IndiaThinkTank, India’s number-one advertising agency, 5 lakhs had been the starting salary, the annual bonus handsome. He was responsible for ensuring customers remained satisfied, converting even the uncertain into the firm’s loyal clients. As Raman talked, Mrs Sabharwal’s understanding skipped away from his words and made straight for his heart. Clearly he was a sincere company worker, hard-working, ambitious, obviously talented. The man radiated dependability.

  The more she got to know Raman, the more secure she felt. He was punctual to the minute, coming over with fruit, chocolate, biscuits, cake, cheeses, just small things, he claimed, but she knew how much time and effort they must have cost, especially since he preferred foreign brands. When he took Shagun to see a film he always bought a ticket for her as well, to assure her that she was not losing a daughter, but gaining a son. His words were backed by actions that shone in her imagination as large as he had intended.

  Once the couple were engaged, Raman became even more indispensable. ‘Now you have me,’ he told Mrs Sabharwal, as he took care of her bills, as he dealt with recalcitrant plumbers and electricians, as he replaced her carpenter with a better one, as he helped with the wedding arrangements, talked to the caterer, talked to the pandit, beat the prices down. Everything he did was an indication of the great joys to come once he was properly part of the family.

  The years of struggle and misery that had followed Mr Sabharwal’s death were drawing to a close. A man was coming into the house, he would be the buffer between them and the world.

  ‘Beta, such a good match,’ the mother couldn’t help repeating, ‘so reliable he is, you will never have to worry about a thing. Your life will be comfortable, secure and safe.’

  Shagun smiled prettily, happy to be the cause of so much solicitude. She graduated from Jesus and Mary College and put away her books with relief. She hadn’t really liked studying though she had done reasonably well. She was looking forward to the freedom marriage would provide.

  *

  During her eleven years of marriage, many men had looked at Shagun, looked and looked, but none had ventured across the boundary line of matrimony. She had a settled air about her, weighed down as she was by her home, her son and eventually her daughter.

  Later she decided she must have been unhappier than she realised. She had been brought up to marry, to be wife, mother and daughter-in-law. She had never questioned this destiny, it was the one pursued by everyone she knew.

  Soon after she met Ashok Khanna she grew certain that he was trying to seduce her. It was when she told her first lie, a lie of omission concerning the cup of coffee, that she became complicit in those efforts. From then on, a curtain was drawn between her normal life and another secret one, more charged than anything she had previously known.

  In the beginning it was wonderful, her sense of power experienced differently now that she was thirty-two. She was the mature one, he the child, helpless with passion.

  ‘Why do you want me?’ she asked at times, puzzled by his certainty when things were so complicated.

  ‘Don’t ask, I just do.’

  ‘Is it that simple?’

  His fingers twisted the lock of hair falling over her cheek, his arm circled her body. She felt more real to him than any woman he had known; why that was, he could not say, but she was his other half, the half he had been seeking all his adult life.

  ‘That’s what happens when you don’t marry till middle age,’ she teased. ‘You’ll get over it – just like you got over all the others.’

  ‘Never.’

  She half wished he wasn’t so sure.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ he asked, trying to penetrate the gaze that went beyond him.

  Of Roo.

  He was jealous. He tried to participate in all her concerns, but his experience with children was negligible and he could offer little of substance.

  What about Roo?

  I know it’s a bit early, but it will be easier for me to meet you if I admit he
r in playschool. There is one in our neighbourhood. It will do her good to learn some independence. Unfortunately her father is bound to object.

  She had stopped using her husband’s name. It seemed too intrusive.

  Follow your instincts, darling, I am sure whatever you do will be right.

  Umm.

  *

  Raman did object. His wife must be out of her mind. The child was only one and a half. He didn’t think any school would take her. Also it was the middle of winter. Young children fell sick easily when exposed to groups.

  Their paediatrician always said such sicknesses increased immunity, his wife pointed out. Children can’t be protected like that. Besides, this wasn’t a regular school but one especially designed for very young children. Just two hours a day. Playing. That is all they do.

  Why couldn’t she play at home?

  She needed to get along with other kids. She was very clingy.

  At her age surely that was to be expected? She needed her mother. Enough time for independence when she grew.

  And Raman would not budge from his position.

  What happened about Roo’s school? asked the lover.

  He is not agreeing. Fussing about winter. Colds, infections, that kind of stuff.

  How old did you say she was?

  One and a half. Her birthday’s in June.

  They fell silent. Ashok out of ignorance, Shagun because of having to remind Ashok how old her daughter was. This caused her a very brief insight – which she quickly ignored – as to what it would be like to live with a man who was not the biological father of her children.

  School is not the only solution. There are others. You have to think out of the box, said Ashok finally.

  *

  Ever since Ashok Khanna had taken an interest in Mang-oh! Raman’s performance had improved. Together they had worked out an increase of the non-CSD (carbonated soft drink) profits by at least 1 per cent.

  Untapped markets had a lot of potential, said Shagun knowledgeably, when Raman told her of these projected figures.

  Did she know what 1 per cent represented? he asked, surprised at her commercial turn of speech.

  Whatever it represented, she was absolutely sure he could do it.

  When he returned from his tours, prettiness flowed from her, generously, like a replenished mountain stream after the snow has melted in summer. And he, of course, delighted in the attempts she made to please him. It was a point of honour that she should never feel he took her for granted.

  The reward for all the hard work was going to be the bonus that would make their projected England World Cup trip as special as it could possibly be. He would fly both of them business class, he would give her an unlimited shopping allowance. His absence would be compensated.

  Eight couples were going to travel together, and there was much to decide: which matches to buy tickets for, which places needed to be seen, which relatives to venture towards.

  The Mang-oh! ad had been dubbed into several Indian languages, and offers were coming for Shagun to act in other films.

  ‘I have to go to Bombay,’ she told Raman. ‘To do a screen test for Nestlé.’

  He looked at her, bright, restless and reaching beyond the home.

  ‘I’ll come with you.’

  ‘What about the children? No, I will manage.’

  When she came back, Raman asked how it had gone, but she could not answer satisfactorily. Apparently she had had to wait for a long time, she had been paired with a child she instinctively disliked, her screen test had been disappointingly short, and they had given no immediate assurances.

  What she really needed was a portfolio.

  ‘What about the children?’

  ‘What has that got to do with anything?’

  Nothing, but one thing could lead to another. He didn’t trust the world when it came to his wife.

  ‘You don’t wish me to have a life of my own?’

  ‘I never interfere in anything you want to do.’

  ‘All these years there was nothing I particularly cared for.’

  ‘Shagu, what are you saying?’

  Her face twisted, and she turned her head away. ‘Oh, forget it.’

  Raman did not know what to think. When things were not right between Shagun and himself it felt as though the centre of his world was hollow. Yet the demands of his work forced him to be away long hours, thinning the connection between them.

  He turned to his parents.

  ‘I’ll be travelling more than usual in the next few months.’

  ‘Hai Ram,’ said his mother. ‘What do they want? Your life’s blood? These days you are looking so tired. If you fall sick then who will be there for you?’

  Raman refused to rise to this bait, dangled over him these past twelve years, of an uncaring wife and him a self-sacrificing overworked provider.

  ‘Ma, don’t you understand? I am involved in a very important campaign.’

  The mother, being the mother, persisted with unworkable solutions.

  ‘Why don’t you go for a holiday, beta? Let someone else do the work. Is there no one in that whole organisation but you?’

  ‘I am the Mang-oh! man, you know that. How can anyone else take my brief?’

  The father said, ‘Do not worry, beta. We will look after Shagun and the children. What are parents for, after all?’

  Later, they commented on how drawn and pale their son looked. He was so reluctant to worry them, it was impossible to ever figure out what the matter was. They could only suffer anxiety as they guessed at his life.

  Helping out their daughter-in-law while her husband was away was easier said than done. They did appear at her doorstep unannounced as he had suggested, but he had also suggested a warm welcome. This was not forthcoming.

  ‘Beta, Raman said it is hard for you to manage alone,’ they offered in explanation, ‘in fact he was very insistent we come.’

  ‘It was unnecessary for Raman to put you to so much trouble; I have always managed alone.’

  ‘He even fixed this evening time. Said you would be home with the children.’

  ‘Then he fixed it without informing me. I would have made other plans if I had known. Just now I am going out. My mother is waiting at Priya.’

  ‘Priya? The movie hall?’

  ‘Yes. The children are very keen to see a film.’

  ‘Where are they?’

  ‘With her.’

  The thought of Mrs Sabharwal waiting with her grandchildren in a cinema complex, while Shagun was for some reason at home, was a strange one. Equally strange that their daughter-in-law, instead of including them in the expedition, should be ushering them politely out. They had travelled across Delhi for nothing and the car AC wasn’t even working. Dispirited, they drove back.

  ‘Imagine – he told his parents to check on me.’

  ‘Poor bugger, he must be sensing something.’

  ‘He likes to feel he is very sensitive.’

  ‘And he isn’t?’

  ‘Why are you taking his side? Do you want me to stay with him?’

  He tried to gather her in his arms but she pulled away and looked at him uncertainly.

  ‘You know what I want,’ he said.

  ‘How do I know you are not lying?’

  ‘Try me. This situation is not good for anybody.’

  By now she had understood that he was a man of narrow and intense passions, one who lived, slept and ate business. For the first time in his life he claimed he had found someone to put above his work. A bottle of Mang-oh! and thou, that were Paradise enow, he said.

  What was ‘enow’?

  Archaic English for enough. Learned it in school.

  You were taught about Paradise enow?

  Yup.

  And you remember?

  Everything I learnt.

  She traced the silvering hair at his temples with her finger. ‘And what are you learning now – here – with me? How to make a married woman love you?’

>   ‘How to get the married woman to follow her heart as quickly as possible.’

  ‘You know that’s not going to happen.’

  ‘I know no such thing. Why is it so unthinkable?’

  ‘I can’t just leave, I can’t – don’t ask me – go if you like, but please don’t ask me.’

  ‘Darling, we have to talk about this.’

  ‘Why? Why can’t we just go on as we are?’

  ‘Because I want you with me for ever, not just while I am in India.’

  She cupped her hands around his face, and drew the full mouth to her own. ‘You should have thought of that earlier,’ she murmured.

  ‘Yes, I should have. But who can think when you are around?’

  She loved the hoarseness of his voice that came after they kissed, the closed eyes, the tense brow, the broad white hands that pressed her close.

  ‘So? Who is asking you to think?’

  ‘I wish it wasn’t necessary, but this situation is not going to improve on its own.’

  He was impatient with any problem – worrying it till a solution emerged. She knew that of him by now.

  When she turned inwards where her life was waiting to be examined, she blamed Raman for her predicament, thinking of the years she had been satisfied with his lovemaking, tender, attentive, pedestrian, as so much wasted time.

  Through her twenties she had presumed herself content, knowing she had much to be thankful for, healthy children, comfort, money.

  Now the destroyer was in her heart, threatening what she had once held dear. All her energy was spent in keeping secrets. She had to be constantly vigilant, continuously invent excuses, convincingly justify absences from home, phone calls, even a preoccupied expression.

  Ashok too was thoughtful. Many times he wished that he and her husband were not working in the same company. It was an obvious conflict of interest, and it needed to be resolved. He wanted Shagun and he wanted to clear the hell out of Delhi. Maybe relocate in Gurgaon – or go to Bombay.

  He hated subterfuge of any kind, the feeling that he had something to hide made him vulnerable. His position would be hard to explain once it came out into the open, as it inevitably would.