Read Online The Lilac House by Anita Nair - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Anita Nair
Tags: Fiction, General, Domestic Fiction, Contemporary Women, Cultural Heritage, Widows, College teachers, Bangalore (India)
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She calls him. But there is no response. Either Giri is ignoring her or he is not being allowed to access the phone. Meera’s hand goes to her mouth. Has he been kidnapped?
The papers are full of such stories. Of men robbed at knife point on their way home. Of missing ‘techies’ and murdered businessmen. Was Giri… Meera races to the computer.
Meera.
Her heart pauses.
In its very baldness is a statement of intent. Meera speed reads the letter, unable to believe what she is reading. Then she reads it again, slowly, so that each syllable brands itself on her mind.
Meera, I know you must be worried by my disappearance. Furious even. I am sorry if I have caused you some anxiety over this. Please believe me, I didn’t plan to do it this way. I wanted us to sit down and discuss it. If I told you how I was feeling, I knew you would understand. That our life together weighed on me.
But I didn’t think it would come to this. That I would find the courage to just up and leave. I woke up this morning in Chennai asking myself, what am I doing away from you and the children? Then I felt a sense of relief. I don’t know how to explain it.
I tried, I want you to know that I tried, but I can’t go on like this any more. We have just one life to lead and I can’t waste it.
I need to be more clear in my head about what I want to do. I will be in touch. Bear with me, Meera. Bear with me until then.
Bear with me until then. Meera reads the line over and over again. Until when, Giri, until when?
Meera looks at her hands. Shouldn’t they be shaking? Shouldn’t her mouth wobble and her eyes well up? But for a moment she feels nothing. Then a pulse in her forehead begins throbbing and in the pit of her abdomen, she knows a heaviness. A heaviness that envelops her in a chill. What is she to understand of this?
Has he left her? Or is he coming back? Is this an interim phase, a temporary madness, or is he never coming back? What does he mean by ‘our life together weighed on me’?
Outside the windows, the sky heaves. The blue skies of September have turned. Dense grey clouds pile up, swamping the light and air. The room closes in on her, a giant beast squeezing the confines of space with its gargantuan paws. Thunder growls. Meera sits staring at the computer screen unseeingly. She knows she ought to get up and switch off the computer, pull out the plugs of all the electrical appliances. The electrician had warned her about the faulty wiring. ‘Madam, we need to redo the wiring entirely. It can’t take the load. Until then I suggest that you pull out the plugs during the rains. Or there could be a short somewhere.’
It begins as a hiss. Then sheets of rain. Meera looks out of the window. Nikhil will be soaking wet by the time he reaches home. Again she feels unable to rouse herself.
Meera gropes within herself, searching for some clue that will tell her how to react. Grief. Betrayal. Anger. Fear. Loss. Resentment. Hatred. What is she to feel?
She sits there, not knowing what to do. It would come to her soon, the knowledge of how to decipher the significance of this moment. It would reveal itself and take precedence over the hammering in her forehead that demanded with every throb: But what are you going to do? What are you going to do now?
VIII
W hat are you going to do? Meera asks herself, putting the phone back on the hook gently.
He was here for the day, Giri said. And he wanted to meet. ‘Not there,’ he said. She noticed that he balked at using the word home. Our home. The home he had fled. ‘Not with those old bats listening to every word and interfering.’
Meera flinched. Her mother and grandmother were not easy to live with. But she couldn’t bear for Giri to reprimand or ridicule them. The first time he jeered at them, Meera had recoiled as if kicked in the chest by his harshness, his irritability with them. She turned on him furiously. If he found fault with them, it was
She calls him. But there is no response. Either Giri is ignoring her or he is not being allowed to access the phone. Meera’s hand goes to her mouth. Has he been kidnapped?
The papers are full of such stories. Of men robbed at knife point on their way home. Of missing ‘techies’ and murdered businessmen. Was Giri… Meera races to the computer.
Meera.
Her heart pauses.
In its very baldness is a statement of intent. Meera speed reads the letter, unable to believe what she is reading. Then she reads it again, slowly, so that each syllable brands itself on her mind.
Meera, I know you must be worried by my disappearance. Furious even. I am sorry if I have caused you some anxiety over this. Please believe me, I didn’t plan to do it this way. I wanted us to sit down and discuss it. If I told you how I was feeling, I knew you would understand. That our life together weighed on me.
But I didn’t think it would come to this. That I would find the courage to just up and leave. I woke up this morning in Chennai asking myself, what am I doing away from you and the children? Then I felt a sense of relief. I don’t know how to explain it.
I tried, I want you to know that I tried, but I can’t go on like this any more. We have just one life to lead and I can’t waste it.
I need to be more clear in my head about what I want to do. I will be in touch. Bear with me, Meera. Bear with me until then.
Bear with me until then. Meera reads the line over and over again. Until when, Giri, until when?
Meera looks at her hands. Shouldn’t they be shaking? Shouldn’t her mouth wobble and her eyes well up? But for a moment she feels nothing. Then a pulse in her forehead begins throbbing and in the pit of her abdomen, she knows a heaviness. A heaviness that envelops her in a chill. What is she to understand of this?
Has he left her? Or is he coming back? Is this an interim phase, a temporary madness, or is he never coming back? What does he mean by ‘our life together weighed on me’?
Outside the windows, the sky heaves. The blue skies of September have turned. Dense grey clouds pile up, swamping the light and air. The room closes in on her, a giant beast squeezing the confines of space with its gargantuan paws. Thunder growls. Meera sits staring at the computer screen unseeingly. She knows she ought to get up and switch off the computer, pull out the plugs of all the electrical appliances. The electrician had warned her about the faulty wiring. ‘Madam, we need to redo the wiring entirely. It can’t take the load. Until then I suggest that you pull out the plugs during the rains. Or there could be a short somewhere.’
It begins as a hiss. Then sheets of rain. Meera looks out of the window. Nikhil will be soaking wet by the time he reaches home. Again she feels unable to rouse herself.
Meera gropes within herself, searching for some clue that will tell her how to react. Grief. Betrayal. Anger. Fear. Loss. Resentment. Hatred. What is she to feel?
She sits there, not knowing what to do. It would come to her soon, the knowledge of how to decipher the significance of this moment. It would reveal itself and take precedence over the hammering in her forehead that demanded with every throb: But what are you going to do? What are you going to do now?
VIII
W hat are you going to do? Meera asks herself, putting the phone back on the hook gently.
He was here for the day, Giri said. And he wanted to meet. ‘Not there,’ he said. She noticed that he balked at using the word home. Our home. The home he had fled. ‘Not with those old bats listening to every word and interfering.’
Meera flinched. Her mother and grandmother were not easy to live with. But she couldn’t bear for Giri to reprimand or ridicule them. The first time he jeered at them, Meera had recoiled as if kicked in the chest by his harshness, his irritability with them. She turned on him furiously. If he found fault with them, it was
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