by Ram Govardhan
The foetus was thirteen weeks old and Sarah was still thinking. Should she do away with it? Or stick it out? Didn’t people look down on kids born out of wedlock? What about the lecherous vultures that hovered to scavenge single motherhood? From any angle, right or acute, abortion seemed a safe bet. But how soon was safe? Must she do it all by herself? Or should she go to the witch who doubled as an OBGYN?
Watching the barista brewing her second mug, biting her polished nails to the quick, Sarah resolved to abort. Sometime later, holding on to the last sip of the third coffee, reminding herself that abortion was an abominable crime in Catholicism, Sarah shook her head, resolving not to.
Between cramps and backaches, being a girl of slender build, the bump was bellying out and there wasn’t even a live-in thing to claim legitimacy. And the blame went to…! Wait a minute. Could it be the tech giants who knew that graveyard shifts were highly combustible? Surrounded by shade and seclusion, didn’t such conditions fire hearts up? Given all the new-age drugs and devices, one should have been safer than sorry. Of course, but when young and raring, who on earth has a minute to spare? The thing was, it was all over before you knew.
Rebecca, her mother, had declared Sarah bonkers long ago; Sarah was crazy enough to attend high mass in mustard-yellow pants and maddened Rebecca no end with her incessant double Dutch.
Rebecca’s ideal daughter was one who would love flowers in her plaits, who would be home an hour before every nightfall and who would hold her fire until they unearthed a boy with unyielding Catholic tolerance.
Sarah was also nutty enough to ask, out of the blue, why Elton John was with Navratilova. Or why a Nobel laureate like Hemmingway shot himself in the head. But her crazy mind wouldn’t tell her why Harish always insisted on kissproof lipstick or why he always sought her in the dead of night at the workplace.
Her longing for him was not wholly unjustified, for Harish was a charming assassin. His ways were wild, fleeting and surreal. He was all mouth and all action and could hoodwink gravity to make an apple go up. His simple touch shut her nervous system down, his prolonged kisses left her numb and delved deep into her heart, taking it to hypnotic highs, while she levitated.
Even if in Delhi for over a month now on work, wasn’t it still a miracle that Sarah had kept the thing from her mother’s prying eyes? Or the probing questions over the phone? Ah, given Sarah’s perfect constitution, how precisely Rebecca counted up her daughter’s monthly flows to the day!
Was it fair to blame Harish when he had to relocate to Seattle just before she knew of the gravidity? He was always asleep when she called and on rare occasions when he answered, he was too slumberous to take a call. Suddenly a tweet said he was moving to Toronto and then, like MH370, he simply vanished. He also flickered out of the radars of social sites where his hourly witticisms had amused many, generating endless likes.
She decided to be supersonic, taking on crocodilian covertness. Even if a bit late, procedures were said to be safe, but it simply meant killing. Although Sarah’s killer instinct was strong, she felt this needed a different sort of temperament, a barbarian disposition or a demonic approach.
She racked her brains all night in her hotel room. With the rising sun, she was ecstatic to have found a sure-fire way, one unlikely to boomerang.
Her fingers trembled while dialling Anand, her former colleague, after three years. He was more than surprised. He had loved her like mad, held her as someone miraculously sent to him by heavens. He couldn’t imagine a life without her, while she had on him what was just a bit more than a crush.
What caused the breakup was his innocuous wish: a kiss. Back then, Anand didn’t know what he meant was of a French variety, which, in her book of words, was taboo.
‘I can see your true colours, Anand, don’t see me again, ever…’ she had said. He was too stunned to express regret, which hurt Sarah the most, more than his wish.
That was then, whereas now, given her jaunty, liberated spirit, it was impossible to believe that Sarah used to swear by nunnish chastity.
The very day she reached Chennai, while Sarah insisted that he sit next to her, Anand sat across the table. He could see her eyes appraising him with a different intent. In place of lanky looks, having gained weight, he looked too dishy and her average looks paled beside his stunning elegance. Even if of her age, he still seemed to be stuck in his boyish outlook, while she had moved on to adult terrain. And to her delight, unscathed was his innocence as well, whereas she had become tough, and now, callous. That was great, because, in this bloodthirsty world, if both were naive, marriage was an unviable proposition. Anyway, coming back to the issue, was he in a relationship, betrothed or married?
He replied in three of the shortest, sweetest words she had ever heard: no, no and no. Each no a manna from heaven and each no a resounding yes to every move of her unfolding scheme.
Of course, setting Anand up was utterly cruel but when lives, including the one inside, were on the line, didn’t moralist beliefs go to the dogs?
The three heavenly noes had made her day. They had coffee, cookies and parted, no one saying anything, not even on keeping in touch.
Dying to gather the degree of his desperation, she called the third day; her hypothesis met the facts. He sounded over the moon; unlike until last week, he said, he could focus better, had turned positive and every dish looked appetising. His reports were meticulous, he was mostly on-target and things were looking up. There was a zing in his steps, there was a song on his lips and there was a renewed hope in his life. And the song? Her favourite one too—Robert Kelly’sI Believe I Can Fly.
But she found tears on her lips. She felt like crying out loud. If this wasn’t unadulterated treachery, what was?
Rebecca knocked on the door; Sarah, wiping tears off, opened it after adjusting her dress to obscure the bump. Handing a jug of fruit-juice, Rebecca slumped into the sofa, balancing her jug. Despite noticing the bump, Rebecca was waiting to confront, suppressing her maternal feelings.
As Sarah was about to finish her jug, Rebecca slammed hers on the table and asked, ‘Who is he?’
Sarah, unable to gather herself adequately, answered with questions. ‘Who? What do you mean?’
‘I mean what the question means, I am nobody’s fool.’
Sarah was quiet. Her mother wasn’t this grave, ever.
‘You can’t keep the lid on forever, my precious, it’ll outwit every one of your stupid ideas,’said Rebecca. ‘Who is he?’
Now dodging her mother was impossible.
‘Your father is distraught,’ Rebecca said. ‘He has survived two strokes… the third one is always fatal… touch wood.’
‘How does he know?’ asked Sarah.
‘I told him all about my fears, and you have vindicated us now,’ said Rebecca.
Sarah was quiet. Older age could catch younger ones by surprise.
‘Who is he?’
‘Anand… my ex-colleague…’
Rebecca nodded and sought to see him at once. Getting him to meet wasn’t a big deal, but managing the pregnancy thing was. Sarah rang him but Anand was too hesitant despite her assurances.
They met in the same café at the same table. Sitting across, Anand looked excited and asked what was amiss. Without answering him, Sarah ordered their favourite coffees and cookies. She had numerous ideas to snare him and, while sipping, she conceived a few more. When in trouble, her creativity acquired the instantaneity impossible otherwise.
‘Mom wants to see you. She may ask irrelevant questions… just nod,’ said Sarah. ‘I’ll manage the rest.’
He was quiet; she was worried. However, after a silent while, he obliged.
‘What a sweet young man,’ felt Rebecca the moment she saw him.
‘This isn’t expected of people brought up in decent families, Anand,’ Rebecca said.
Anand was quiet, hands on knees and eyes staring at her feet.
‘There isn’t much time left, Anand. You must walk down the aisle within days?’
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘I take it that your parents know about the urgency… necessitated by the pregnancy.’
‘Yeah…’
Sarah was shocked and assumed that Anand was blindly following her instructions.
‘Have you told them about the three-month-old pregnancy?’ Rebecca restated. Having made mistakes after mistakes all her life, she needed to be sure of everything youngsters hinted at, said or didn’t say.
‘Yeah, they know all about it,’ said Anand.
‘Halleluiah,’ Rebecca said. ‘We will be at your place one of these days.’
Anand gulped his coffee, said goodbye with a handshake and walked downstairs.
Rushing behind, Sarah stopped him on the stairs, clasped his hands and looked into his eyes.
‘How…how did you know I’m pregnant?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, looking at the bump… I guessed it might be the case the day you met me. Your restiveness and the way you fidgeted bore out my hunch.’
‘You could have turned me away.’
‘I love you so much, Sarah, how could I say no to you?’
She hugged him and burst into deep sobs.
