by Anupama Krishnakumar
As a hot summer day unfolds, life unravels in mysterious ways for four people. Anupama Krishnakumar writes a story filled with sugar, chilli, pepper and salt flavoured moments.
#Sugar
On a hot summer afternoon in late March, Karthik reverses his royal-blue sedan in haste from the basement car park of his office building. It’s about two o clock, a very unusual time for him to leave his workplace, but a phone call that he had received ten minutes back is the reason Karthik is seen pulling his car out with tension writ large on his face.
‘Karthik…I need to speak to you. It’s urgent. Can you come over immediately?’ the caller had told him a small voice, almost a whisper.
Within two minutes, Karthik has turned into the busy main road. The slow-moving Bangalore traffic at 2 pm annoys him. He wonders how and why so many in the city took to the road when the sun was beating down on their backs mercilessly. Sitting in the cool comfort of his car, he pities the motorcyclists with their sweaty backs and imagines what a horror it should be to wear a black helmet on an extremely hot afternoon. He ups the AC and puts his sunglasses on as he waits impatiently for the signal to turn green. After what feels like eternity, he enters a smaller road, and is relieved to find long rows of big trees on either side. The sight comes as a welcome relief to the unrelenting heat. And then he spots them – ripe, juicy, yellow mangoes, heaped artistically on a pushcart.
The mangoes bring back memories and makes him sigh deeply. Memories of those sweet, succulent ones that he had unlimited access to in his grandfather’s orchard as a child. Mangoes that introduced him to Meera when both of them were barely twelve. Mangoes that they would heartily sink their teeth into, with the sugary sweet juice dripping off their lips and fingers that they would greedily lap up. Karthik smiles thinking of the laughter of the many summers spent with Meera, when he visited his grandparents and she visited hers – they were summer-vacation neighbours who rejoiced mangoes and bonded over the tasty fruit. It was in the presence of a hot summer sun and mounds and mounds of mangoes that they held their hands together for the first time: at eighteen, when they couldn’t think of anyone else to spend the rest of their lives with.
#Chilli
Meera sits in the balcony of her two-bedroom apartment, sipping a glass of mango milkshake and lost in thought about a past that seems like a distant dream now. Finishing off the milkshake and licking its last traces off her lips, Meera suddenly craves for raw mango. She is reminded of her visits to the beaches of Madras as a spirited child and an enthusiastic teenager during the summers with her cousins. She thinks of the raw mango slices sprinkled with chilli powder that they would feast on and relish with true joy even as the salty see breeze would rustle their hair, encouraging them to enjoy every moment. And then she thinks of her visits to her grandparents’ house, Karthik and their tryst with mangoes.
With a nagging headache and the fatigue that has seized her over the last few months, Meera had felt such displeasure about everything around her in the morning that she decided to bunk office. Now she stares hard at the scorching sun that glares at her from above. The stifling stillness in the air compounds her irritation and Meera shifts uncomfortably in her lounge chair. She watches a big eagle swoop down effortlessly, pick its prey from the garden below and glide up with majestic grace. To her, everything about her existence seems meaningless today. She feels distressed and hopeless, and when she thinks of her future, it all looks bleak to her.
Meera isn’t exactly able to put a finger on when things changed between her and Karthik. Their wedding was a dream come true for them. The whole affair got through without the slightest glitch. Little Tara who had arrived into their lives five years ago made their union picture perfect. Wasn’t their story supposed to have been the flawless fairy tale? Yet, ten years into their marriage, the cracks began to appear. Over seemingly trivial things. Disagreements, unfair expectations from both sides, an emptiness that always seemed to hang in the air, a bitterness that clung to their conversations and the miscarriage two years after Tara’s birth that had pushed Meera into a shell.
Meera remembers their trip to Goa last summer. They made it in a sincere attempt to rediscover the spark of love that had deserted them, the spark that they were desperate to bring back into their lives. ‘Like clothes, do we outgrow relationships, too, Karthik?’ she had asked her husband during the trip in an emotionless voice, as she rocked Tara to sleep. In response, Karthik had looked at her with a confused expression. He didn’t know the answer.
From then on, things had only worsened, but this morning, she had encountered the biggest shock of her life.
The clock chimes and Meera realises it’s 3 pm. She jumps off her chair, picks her car keys and rushes out the door. She drives down to Tara’s school to pick her up.
#Pepper
At 35, Isha is a successful digital marketer, having started-up about a year ago. For her, Bangalore has been home since her birth and a hot summer day like this makes her wonder what has become of her dear Garden City. From the paradise that it used to be, it had turned into hell. She desperately tries to beat the heat with relaxing showers, tender coconut water and watermelon and cucumber slices – sprinkled with pepper.
This afternoon, on a day when she has chosen to work from home, she is standing at the door of her tastefully-built villa, located in one of the quieter lanes in a posh locality in North Bangalore. Anxiety is apparent in her large brown eyes, much against her wishes to stay calm. Within five minutes, Karthik pulls up in front of her house.
He walks in, looking nervous and agitated, wiping beads of sweat off his forehead. Karthik looks at his wife’s friend and she can see the questions on his face. As he enters the house, she quickly closes the door.
Still single, Isha struggles to classify her relationship with her friend’s husband. Isha and Meera had been colleagues for eight years before Isha had quit a year ago. She had known Karthik from the time she had met Meera but over the past year or so, the dynamics had changed. While it was understandable that Meera was opening up to her about the troubles in their relationship, much to her surprise, she saw that Karthik was reaching out to her too.
Karthik wonders what he wants from Isha. He asks himself why he wants to be with her often. She isn’t just a friend and a confidant; he feels deep inside that there’s something more to it, or why would he hide it from his wife? He realises that Isha’s presence is a whiff of fresh air in his lacklustre marital life. He often thinks he is selfish to be doing this when he has a family back home. Isha, too, for her part, feels drawn to this man, in spite of herself and all that she knows is transpiring between him and her friend. She wants to let go but she isn’t able to.
‘Why did you call me, Isha?’ Karthik asks her suddenly, ‘What is it? Is something wrong?’
‘Meera had called at 11,’ Isha says, ‘…and she broke down. She said she was feeling numb with fear. She was rambling uncontrollably, Karthik…sounding helpless and desolate. She wept like a child. I felt terrible…I didn’t know how to console her…it has been a nightmare.’
Karthik holds his breath.
‘She knows about the tumour in her brain, Karthik. She knows about the impending surgery. She discovered the reports in your cupboard.’
‘Oh damn,’ Karthik sinks further into the plush sofa, with his head in his hands.
‘Didn’t you tell her yesterday? What are you going to do?’ she asks him.
‘I…’ he pauses to clear his throat, ‘I…I don’t know. I am shocked, Isha. Did you tell her you know?’
‘I didn’t say anything,’ Isha replies, slightly annoyed that this detail mattered to Karthik so much.
‘I’ll speak to her tomorrow. We will go for a second opinion. I don’t know where it’s all headed,’ he says, looking lost.
Where are we headed, Isha wants to ask him but stops herself. The question had to wait.
# Salt
Meera feels her insides churn. Why didn’t Karthik tell me that the reports had arrived yesterday? Surgery, chemo sessions, a barrage of tests, hospital visits…and on top of that, her almost dead marriage…her head is reeling. What does the future hold for me, she thinks bitterly. What will Tara do? The sun dazzles her vision as she turns into one of the narrow by-lanes in the neighbourhood and stops in front of a colourful building from which bouts of laughter emerge. Children, such joy. Where is my little star, Meera thinks, and out comes Tara, with a bright smile adorning her perfectly round face. She runs into her mother’s arms and wraps her in the most comforting hug.
In the night, Karthik realises how summers are excruciating. He tosses and turns in his bed. The AC is on, yet, the unnatural chill in the air is perturbing. Even the house seems restless and shifty. The wooden doors don’t shut easily. The windows gather too much dust. Vinyl sheets peel off cupboards, unable to bear the excess heat.
Karthik’s mind is experiencing a deluge of emotions at the moment. He doesn’t know how to confront Meera on the diagnosis. He doesn’t know what the future holds in store for them. He feels ashamed and wants to beat himself for feeling relieved that Meera doesn’t know yet of his clandestine meetings with Isha. He looks at Meera’s face and feels a rush of guilt, despair and helplessness. He weeps silently. He reaches out to hold her hands and Meera, wide awake, turns around and buries her face in his chest and weeps uncontrollably. Sleep eludes them all night.
The next morning, Tara comes running to Meera, all pale and shaking with fright. ‘Amma, Amma,’ she gasps.
Meera seizes her little daughter into her arms and asks her, stroking her head, ‘What’s it, Tara?’ ‘Calm down, darling,’ she tells her.
‘I had a bad dream,’ Tara says, unable to hold her tears, even as Meera hugs her tight, ‘I saw a giant octopus. It caught hold of you and refused to let you go. I begged with it to leave you… but it just took you away. And I felt lonely, scared and helpless. I don’t like this dream, Amma,’ she cries. Salty tears stream down Meera’s cheeks and they merge with her daughter’s as she holds her close. Doesn’t Summer spare even a child’s dreams of its harshness, Meera thinks wistfully, as Karthik watches his wife and daughter, worried where this summer was heading to.
Anupama Krishnakumar is an engineer-turned-journalist. She co-edits Spark and is also the author of two books, ‘Fragments of the Whole’, a flash fiction collection and ‘Ways Around Grief & Other Stories’, a short-story collection. Her website is www.anupamakrishnakumar.com.
