‘Some people would say it’s a massive green flag,’ she argues. ‘His podcast . . . is . . . sorry, not bad.’
Rajat has said the same thing about his podcast. Despite being on my side of the rink, the fact that they listen to it isn’t acceptable to me.
‘I’m not some people,’ I remind Vanita. ‘I don’t want the same things you guys want. And it wasn’t just that. There was Rabbani in the picture too. And his father was still recovering. How could I have wrapped myself up in the visions of his future? I mean, even now, Rabbani’s just nine. He was literally a father. Being with him would have meant being like a proxy mother to Rabbani who was like . . . six.’
‘He wouldn’t have asked you to do that.’
‘Who knows, Vanita? Who knows how boys turn out? All I know is that I should have stuck to my decision in that hotel manager’s office. But no, what did I do? I let him charm me into saying yes to being in a relationship and see what happened . . . do you not see it? I was back in a relationship within . . . like . . . twelve hours of ending one!’
‘Gaurav was telling me Daksh’s father’s now a VP in an engineering consulting firm,’ says Vanita.
‘Whatever, Vanita. I just don’t feel I’m mature enough to do anything other than take care of myself. Not a girlfriend, not a wife, not a mother any time soon. It seems like a burden. Even you being in this bridal outfit is insane to me. I can’t do it. I want to be alone.’
She looks at me as though it’s a sad thing to want. But why can’t I be happy on my own? Why should I have to want someone else to be completely happy? I truly am completely happy. I have freedom, I have a career, my parents are happy, my brother’s doing well. Why would I throw a guy in the mix—no matter how good—and spoil it all?
‘Don’t you feel like sharing your life with someone?’ she asks.
Every time I have been asked this question, the tone’s one of pity. As if I’m missing out on something.
‘I wake up, I make my tea, I spend some time with my parents, then go to work where I have the best time. I come back home or go out with office people or acquaintances, watch TV and go to sleep. I like this, Vanita. I know this is not your idea of happiness, but it’s mine. I like this uncomplicatedness.’
Vanita nods, like all committed people do. And I know for a fact that every committed person wonders what it would be like to be single again.
‘If that’s what you wish for,’ she says with a resigned sigh. ‘But don’t you think about how life would have been if, you know . . . you know . . .’
Vanita can’t even bring herself to say it. She, too, behaves like I’m a murderer of some kind. Like Daksh does, or I’m guessing even Amruta does. When push comes to shove, everyone’s minds are still stuck in the 1970s.
Even hard science won’t convince them that it was not murder.
That’s how I convinced myself that what I did was not only morally acceptable but also the best choice I could have made.
At thirty-five days, the only sign of a pregnancy is a 2 mm embryo inside you. It’s smaller than the length of the nail of my index finger. It’s a tube-like structure with blood flowing in it. It’s like an artery, one extra vessel of blood.
That’s it.
Even coronary arteries are bigger and thicker than this tube-like structure. I didn’t want this growth in me. On the thirty-fifth day, I took a tablet just four days after I missed my period. The medicine blocked progesterone, the lack of which broke down my uterus walls. A day later, I took another medicine that helped me expel the uterus lining. The pain and the blood were not more than or less than a period which I should have gotten five days ago. It was no less clinical than getting rid of a back pain.
It was not a baby. It was not even a foetus. It was not murder. It was science.
And yet Vanita can’t say it.
‘Had I not got the abortion done? Just say what it was,’ I tell Vanita irritably.
‘I—’
‘Don’t you understand that I would have been miserable? Married to Daksh, with a crying two-year-old who I would have hated, and a nine-year-old Rabbani. My career would have been destroyed. Why would I want a life like that?’
7.
Daksh Dey
‘I’m staying,’ I inform Gaurav as I turn away from the window in his room.
‘Are you serious, Bhaiya? Are you sure you’re going to be able to handle it?’
I glare at him.
‘Fine, fine, it’s just that it’s already a stressful environment with Vanita getting married and then my best friend and my sister—’
