She opened the door and there he stood, drunk. She had been doing this repeatedly for more than a few nights a week for two years now. She had stopped dreading what might follow. She had come to a stage where she knew it would happen. She had developed a resilient acceptance of her situation and of the state of their relationship. She had developed a resilient acceptance of what loving him meant. She had developed a resilient acceptance of the fact that she would take the next few years to make peace with the fact that she loved this man who stood there smiling, slightly guilty, a ticking bomb, her live-in partner, her drunk, alcoholic and toxic lover.
He walked in and asked her the usual question, “Have you eaten?” “No”, she said and walked into the kitchen of their two room apartment thinking to herself that he did ask everyday now. The fights were probably bringing a positive effect. She had managed to put him to practice basic decency. He no more came home and screamed that he never asked her to wait. He now just asked and accepted the answer that came his way. Acted accordingly.
Lately he ate at home even if he had had dinner outside.
Why the last couple of times he had even claimed to not have eaten at all. His friends had been very proudly telling her so too. She doubted it. She was sure he ate something with all that drinking and smoking up. She avoided the one question that would always creep into her mind and turned around to find him standing right behind her.
He held her in his arms. She tried to push away.
He held her tighter and said,
“Arre tumhe ghodi bulata hoon to kya mujh se panga le rahi ho? Mujhse darr lagna band ho gaya hai kya?”
“Kabhi nahi. Lagta hai darr mujhe…….tumse nahi tumhare liye lagta hai”, she said.
He laughed.
She couldn’t help but laugh with him. There was something so charming that she could not explain why she did what she did. She just did it. Every time he smiled, it lit up every cell in her body. She knew he was a good man but a lost child. She wanted to help to feel better, to feel in power and to have backed a genius like him. She did it as much for herself as for him.
“Chalo khaate hai”, he said.
She promptly went to the living cum bedroom, rolled the bed in one corner, laid out newspapers to save her the effort of having to wipe the floor after dinner. He was usually a messy eater, more so when drunk. She sometimes wondered how he could ride a bike no matter how drunk or stoned he was but couldn’t handle a morsel of food. His, such quirky and unique habits perplexed her and only pulled her deeper into the vortex of their toxic love.
She sat down for dinner knowing that something would precipitate through this exchange.
“Are you sure you are not mad at me?”
“No”, she said.
“To phir monosyllables me baat kyu kar rahi ho?”
“Because I am tired and I have to leave for work in the next 4 hours. I’d like to finish eating and go to sleep that’s all.” she said.
“Ufffff agar neend itni pyaari hai toh jaagti kyu ho raat raat bhar? Main thodi na kehta hoon.”
“Then who is going to open the door for you?” she asked, beginning to get slightly annoyed.
After two long years she knew exactly how tangential and unreasonable he could get, drunk or not. Initially there used to be a discomforting fear that enveloped her, churned her insides and made her weak in the body and mind. But not anymore, now she had learned to fight back and from the last fights she knew she had it in her to do so. Fight back not just verbally but physically as well. She knew where and how she could hurt him not to deter him but to at least keep him at bay for a few fleeting moments. She knew her way around this man’s joy and his anger. She’d learned to adapt and evolved to be a fighter of a new kind. What a waste of talent.
He quickly finishes eating, picks up his plate, takes it to the sink and scrubs it clean. She hears his actions and knows that this night the weaponry used will be emotional. She braced herself. He came out to where she still sat eating. Her head hanging low looking at her food with teary eyes and swallowing it while it hurt against the lump forming in her throat. She finishes eating and gets up.
He sits down on the rolled up bed and starts rolling a joint. By the time he gets done she clears the kitchen and waits for him to get off the bed.
He finishes rolling and sits at the designated smoking up spot in the house for the fear that the landlord might smell the weed and ask them to leave. They had to keep this place against all odds since they or anyone of them alone couldn’t afford anything more expensive than that house with one single window that always remained shut.
“Tum peeyogi”, he asks.
“Haan”, she says and begins to set the bed.
“To aao naa”, he says.
She notices the softness of his tone and melts. She goes sits next to him.
Puff puff pass. Puff puff pass. Puff puff pass.
They had gotten used to the silence between them. It wasn’t necessary to talk anymore. They pretty much always knew about each other’s day.
She begins to tell him about her day at work nonetheless.
He nods for a couple of minutes and then asks in an irritated tone,
“Aise sab report kyu karti ho?”
“Matlab?”, she asked genuinely perplexed.
This ammo was new.
She didn’t even stop to think so at the time.
“Tumhe nahi to aur kisko bataungi?”, she asks, welling up once more.
“Uffff ab ye rona dhona mat shuru karo”
“I can’t help it. I am chumming. I tend to be emotional. It’s just my second day.”
“Tum aurat log ka na yahi problem hai. PMS is a myth. There is no medical proof for it.”
“Really?” she asks. “Then how is it that I feel so depressed and moody every month. There has to be some medical grounds for it. How would you know? You are not a girl, so there is no reason you should be telling me that so authoritatively.”
“Mein tumse theek se baat kar raha hoon tum bhi theek se karo. Aur ye sab rona dhona, PMS, TMS, mein kaisi abla naari hoon jaa ke apne poorane yaar dosto ko sunao. I don’t fall for this drama.”
“Fuck you bastard”
“Kya bola?”
“I said fuck you! You Male Chauvinist Pig”
“Male Chauvinist Pig. You think I am a Male Chauvinist Pig?”
And then followed what she knew would happen and which she had learned to brace herself for drunk or not. Periods or no periods. He slapped her. She looked at him and asked him to stop. Starting with a calm tone and then losing a degree of it with every blow of his words, hands or legs.
She finally lost control and snapped back and slapped him across his face.
“Aaah my ear” he shouted getting angrier than before.
“Eh bhai kaan chhod ke kuch bhi karna. Mujhe music banana hai. Baaki kuch tumhare purane yaaro ki tarah talent to nahi hai. Na mein gaa sakta hoon, naa mein guitar bajaa sakta hoon. Mere paas sirf sur sirf Arnav (name changed), Ajit (name changed) aur mere kaan hai. Samjhi kutttiiiyaaa” he said, slapping her for better effect.
Her plan of action was long ready. She knew exactly what kept him at bay for a few fleeting moments. Biting, pulling hair and twisting his ears. When he pinned her to the ground she firmly held onto his hair. She hit her head with his.
“Chhod kuttiya. Tu daayan hai. Meri zindagi kharab karke rahegi.”
“Tujh jaise nashedi aur bewde ki zindagi koi aur kya khaaraab karega be. You are doing enough to ruin your life.”
The fight continued all night. She kept defending herself with her planned spots. She made sure to never hurt him on his back knowing these monsoons must be already killing his rheumatoid arthritic joints. Despite his weakness she couldn’t help but amaze at his strength.
So they spent that night together pushing, shoving, kicking and throwing each other around their small one room kitchen.
If first the fear engulfed her and made her weak in the mind and body, now, the knowledge of this man’s mind map made her only stronger in her mind and body but at the cost of splintering a small piece of her soul every time. It didn’t make her sick anymore something deeper within her felt sick. It was deeper than bone deep. It was a pain beyond the physical and emotional. The physical pain she had learned to handle. She didn’t know where this other pain came from. A pain she could not handle. She was convinced it had to be her soul falling apart every time she planned a successful attack on the man she so dearly loved.
She had never felt so powerful and helpless at the same time ever in her life before. She felt the power of willingly trashing her life, body, surroundings and why even her soul for the love of this one man. But she felt equally helpless because she loved this man so deeply that it hurt. But he never saw the love in her eyes. All he saw what he believed to be true.
After seeing enough blood, bruises and bumps the fight subsides. This time she sits down to roll a joint. Fuming and empowered by the anger burning inside her. He lies on the bed taking long gasps of air, holding his chest. In between those gasps he says,
“Mein bhi peeonga”
She gives no response. Finishes rolling, folds and pushes the paper with left over weed under the bed and says,
“Chalo”
They both now exhausted, one emotionally the other physically. Both wounded within and without sit down to share a joint.
Puff Puff Pass. Puff Puff Pass. Puff Puff Pass.
While passing him the joint she notices the damage done in this episode while he looks down at the floor or stares at the shut window. She softly caresses his lustrous hair. Gets up, brings some oil. He asks her not to do that. She insists saying it will help the aching roots of his hair.
“Tum jaao pehle apna hoth dho lo, khoon aa raha hai.”
She wells up says it can wait and lightly begins to pour oil in his hair being careful not to hurt him. He finishes the joint and asks her to stop.
“Chalo sote hai”
They both limp toward the bed. Even the short distance has become quite a task for both.
Once lying down next to each other, he asks for her permission to cuddle. He tries to miss the bruises and hold her without hurting her. She digs her face into his bare chest and begins to weep. He holds her tighter. She does the same and apologises. She begins to press his back.
“Arre nahi theek hai, so jaao chalo ab. Office to waise bhi nahi jaa sakti aisa thobda leke.” he says.
He caresses her hair.
“I don’t hate you. If there is any woman who has understood me, it has been you. You are very smart for your age. You are very mature. I love you. I don’t want to do these things. I don’t like doing this. Ro lo, mann halka ho jayega.”
Her sobs turn to a loud cry. He comforts her just as well as he hurt her. Feeling secure she falls asleep in the arms of the same man who is the reason for her misery. They both wake up in the afternoon, stiff, sore and battered. They both sit down to assess each other’s bruises. Each taking turns to use Neosporin, moov or bandaging as required. They both help each other soothe their pain. They roll a joint, play some Pink Floyd. Puff puff pass. Puff puff pass. Puff puff pass.
“Neeche se mutton biryani mangaye? Tum paneer me kya khaaogi? Nahi to chicken khaa lo tumhe taakat ki zaroorat hai.” he says.
She asks for a veg biryani.
They both sit down to eat and discuss what story can be made this time. While he doctors the details her heart falls into her stomach thinking what has her life has come to. However, she helps to improvise and make the story realistic. Then they both decide to watch a movie from all the pirated DVDs they keep buying off the footpaths.
“Eh lekin joint ke bina maja nahi aayega. Banaogi please? Main Pink Floyd lagata hoon”
She agrees and sits down to roll. He tells her about all the time he spent with his friends last night and she listens with honest interest. They both listen to Pink Floyd and can’t stop raving about how awesome they are. He thanks her for bringing so much Pink Floyd into his life all over again. She smiles.
They get the DVD running. Laugh about how stupid it is that the DVD remote control that barely works has all the controls and not the player.
They finally settle down in each other’s arms on the same bed that was a war site a few hours ago. He plays the movie and she lights the joint.
Puff puff pass. Puff puff pass. Puff puff pass
But now she stands here in a time and place where she has managed to put herself far away from him. She has a new and independent life in a different city with new strangers who have come to mean, family. Strangers who helped her through her painful separation from the man she equally loathed and loved. Here she stands alone. She has no one who will hold her and let her cry without question or without wanting to comfort her. No one who will not want to help her to cope with her pain and misery but just let her exist in it. Just leave her to taste it, feel it, experience it. Let her be so much so that she may even just see herself crying and add a crowded third to the twosome.
She grapples hard with her reality now. She sometimes even thinks she was better off being miserable then than being miserable now. She still has marks on her body that are fast vanishing into oblivion. She stares in the mirror every once in a while and inspects the fading marks. She sometimes even feels sad about them going away. A sadness that astonishes, embarrasses and pains her all at once.
She cannot forget him but she has. But he keeps coming back. Walks right into her thoughts, uninvited. He lingers the corridors of her mind with arrogant authority.
