Ladies Coupe by Anita Nair Read Free Book Online

When you get to a certain age, nothing matters but your serenity.
    After their wedding and honeymoon, Siddharth and Jaya came visiting. All day, Janaki felt Jaya’s eyes follow them, Prabhakar and her, as they went through the ballet of household chores. A synchronized performance that years of practice had fine-tuned to perfection. He chopped. She cooked. He washed the dishes. She dried and stacked them. She hung out the clothes to dry. He brought them in. She turned down the bedclothes. He switched off the lights.
    A couple of mornings later, as Janaki made dosas in the kitchen and Prabhakar sat at the dining table chopping vegetables for the sambar, Jaya sipped her tea and said, ‘Mummy, you are so lucky to have a man like Uncle for your husband. He helps you in just about every way he can, doesn’t he?’
    Janaki watched her husband beam and thought to herself that it was true. She couldn’t do a single thing around the house without his help.
    ‘Ever since Papa died, Mamma has had to do everything by herself. But she says that has made her a stronger woman than most.’ The pride in Jaya’s voice caught at Janaki’s throat. For some reason, it made her feel inadequate. Are you saying that I am a weak, helpless creature, she wanted to demand.
    Prabhakar looked up from the cutting board. He paused in the middle of slicing an onion and said, ‘Just because she needs me to open the mixer jar or chop onions for her, you mustn’t think Mummy is a weak woman.
    ‘When we were just married and I was stationed in a small town near Hyderabad, one afternoon, our neighbour Mrs Bhatt who was eight months pregnant went into labour. There was no one Mummy could call for help. There were no telephones then, no autorickshaws or taxis at every street corner. And the nearest hospital was five kilometres away. You know what she did … Mummy went to the main road and waved down a truck. The truck driver and Mummy took Mrs Bhatt to the hospital. If Mummy hadn’t done that, Mrs Bhatt would have died …
    ‘She might seem delicate and cosseted to you, but she is a strong woman. Mummy is very capable when she wants to be.’
    He told that story to everyone. He told that story with such pride that it made Janaki grit her teeth. He told that story as if it was the only worthwhile deed of her life. She wanted to fling down the spatula, upturn the bowl that held the dosa batter and slap his face till the pride crumbled in his eyes and scattered in the air. She wanted to scream, ‘Don’t call me Mummy. I’m not your mummy. I am your wife. Remember, you used to call me Janu once. Wife. Darling. Sweetheart. And if you find it hard saying those, call me woman, but don’t call me Mummy!’
    Janaki felt her daughter-in-law’s eyes on her and turned her face away. She didn’t want her to see the fury in her eyes. Janaki wanted Jaya to think of her as a composed and contented woman.
    Janaki switched on the bedside lamp. He had been in the bathroom for more than fifteen minutes. Where was he? She couldn’t hear the familiar comforting noises. Had he slipped and fallen? Had he felt a strange weakness overtake him as he slumped on the floor? She would wait for a few minutes more before she got up and went looking for him. She had never fussed over him. He would think it strange if she started doing so now.
    What did her mother feel when her father died? What would it be like when he was no more?
    Janaki refused to think of it. Siddharth brought it up in conversation every now and then:
    ‘Mummy, when Daddy is gone, how will you stay by yourself in that huge house?’
    ‘You will have to make your home with us one day or the other.’
    ‘My friend deals in real estate. When the time comes, I’ll mention it to him.’
    Janaki changed the subject every time Siddharth raised it. But there was no turning away in this room. What would it be like when every night stretched into the horizon?
    You could be the one to die first, a little voice