Chapter 8: One Fine Monday

Kavita woke up and tied her hair into a knot. Sameer lay spread-eagled on his stomach like he always slept. 'It is my bed; no one can take it away' posture, she called it.

"Wake up, Sameer. Seven." She leaned over him. He wasn't asleep, she could see.

"Don't feel like office today," he said, his eyes shut.

She thought of Pari, who said that about school every day. Unusual though, coming from him. "Don't go then."

"Okay."

She smiled, surprised. "Will it be okay at the office?"

"They won't fire me for a day's absence." He shrugged.

Pari sneaked into the room and climbed in the bed on Sameer's side without a word. Sameer smiled and pulled her to him. She snuggled with him, her cheek on his.

"Do you have to go to school today?" Sameer asked.

"Me? Nooo," said Pari, lifting her head, alert to the possibility of escaping school, "Why? Are you skipping office?"

"Yes." He winked.

"There's nothing important. We're only revising."

"Liar, you've a test today." Kavita intervened before it got too far.

"Not important. And Daddy's not going."

"Pari! We're getting late!" Tania shouted from the dining room.

"Coming!" She made to get out of the bed, realizing the futility of her case.

Sameer held on to her.

"Let me go Daddy. Tania will get mad."

"Why are you scared of her?"

"Kya karoon? She's such a bully." He tickled her with his stubble, making her giggle, before letting her go.

Kavita rose to tend to the kids. The smell of eggs frying made it to her before she heard their crackle. Ammaji was making breakfast. Tania had finished her glass of milk. Pari pretended to drink hers.

She asked Pari, "Did you pack your bag?"

"No."

"Mom! She's gonna make us miss the bus again," Tania protested.

"Don't worry. She'll hurry," she said as she started running the hair brush through Pari's hair, "It rhymes. Don't worry, she'll hurry, our Pari."

They made it to the bus stop as the last two kids were boarding.

Every day.

She tiptoed back into the bedroom to take out her clothes. Sameer liked to sleep late on his off days. But he was awake. Lying on the bed, deep in thought.

She got into the bed besides him and stroked his arm. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

Not true.

They were eating breakfast, when he asked her, "What do you want to do today?"

"Me? It's your day off. Movie or lunch?"

"How about Dilli Haat?"

It had been the favorite haunt of their early years in Delhi. Strolling around under open skies, enjoying the unhurried pace of the place and experiencing the mélange of cultures.

They reached around eleven and walked together in the mild February sun, taking in colorful stalls selling handicrafts. Terracotta deities from Bengal to floral patterned bedspreads of Kashmir to Mysore's sandalwood carvings. There were puppets the king with moustaches all the way up to the ear, the queen with big wondrous eyes, Kolhapuri chappals and Jodhpuri juttis, rattan furniture from Tripura and saaz jewellery from Maharashtra. The entire country showcased in sixty-two stalls.

Sameer was content in following her, offering his opinion when asked. Unusually quiet. She bought a few things, a colorful skirt for Tania with Kutch embroidery, a small clay Ganesh ji and a madhubani painting of Radha-Krishna. Natural fruit and vegetable dyes were used to color these paintings and yet they were eye catching.

"You think Pari will like this?" She asked, fingering a bead necklace. Pari was into beads these days.

He was someplace else.

"Sameer?"

"Yes," he said looking at the necklace, "It's nice. Buy something for yourself too."

"I don't wear artificial jewellery."

"There's real too."

One moment he was far away, the next he over-compensated. She wished he would tell her what was playing on his mind.

The gentle warmth of the sun felt good. Another month and it would be too hot to be out. She didn't care much about Delhi weather. It was hot almost all the time. A short winter, when it got too cold, a spring and autumn you could miss in a blink. It was winter now but there was a certain fragrance, ripeness in the air that foretold the advent of spring.

Lunch was a difficult choice to make. The galauti kababs from UP, the masala crabs from Odisha and Uttarakhand thaali all looked appetizing. In the end, she chose nostalgia. Momos from Nagaland stall, their old favorite. As they sat eating on the stone benches in the shade, the spicy chutney making their eyes water, the Rajasthani dancers passed them. The men, with high pagdis and twinkling dark eyes and the women in colorful long skirts and bangles up to their shoulders. They had witnessed their joyous performance earlier. A white woman stopped them and struck a dance pose with them, as her friend clicked the camera.

He went to get ice cream for both of them and she continued strolling ahead. Her chappals crunched on the dried leaves that had danced their way down from the neem tree.

A man, swerving to avoid a child chasing a balloon, brushed against her.

"Sorry, Mataji."

Mataji? The guy must be in his thirties. Do I look that old? Maybe I should dye my hair.

She looked at Sameer approaching her with two choc bars in his hands. The years had been kinder to him. They had both put on weight but the weight hadn't done his looks much harm. Most important, his hair was black, even though he was beginning to grey at temples. Suddenly, she was self-consciousness of looking like an odd couple an ageing mataji cavorting with a younger good-looking man.

It was nice to be out with him. We should make time to do this more often. She realized they hadn't talked much the whole day and wondered if they didn't have anything to say to each other or just did not feel the need to.

She got up grudgingly when he showed her the watch. The kids would be home soon.

Payal, the neighbor next door, waylaid them as soon as they were out of the car. "Kavita ji, I made pudding. Low fat with yoghurt. Brought some for you," she said, handing Kavita a casserole.

They were all wary of Payal's culinary expeditions. Always low fat. Always horrible.

"Thank you, Payal. This is so nice of you."

God, no one was going to eat this.

"Sameer ji, please try some." She fluttered her lashes at him. For Payal, life was a never-ending reality show; hidden cameras recorded her every moment. She had to look her best. Always.

"Of course, he will. He loves your cooking."

The girls were home. Pari was fighting with Ammaji over the amount of gobhi she had to eat. Tania ate quietly, her face hidden behind a book. Pari jumped out of the chair to hug them as Tania continued reading after an unenthusiastic greeting. Sameer tried to make small talk with Tania, about her school, her friends but all he got back was uninterested short answers. So, he focused his attention on Pari, who was delighted to have him all for herself.

She went to her bedroom for a nap; she was tired. That happened a lot lately. A little walk was like climbing a hill. She needed to exercise. Pari and Sameer played Scrabble in the living room. She went to sleep with the sounds of their voices in her ears, still wondering what was bothering him.

Everyone hated Mondays. There were quotes she remembered.

'I hate Monday because Monday hates me.

'If Monday was a girl; it would be that fat girl who likes horses and tells the teacher when you cheat.'

'Monday is God's punishment for what you did during the weekend.'

She had loved her Monday.