I am done packing. We have our flight back to India in some time; me and my husband. It had been just one year at this place and I have been attached to it as if I belonged here. The independence, the air, the lifestyle and this house, they are all imbibed in me. I walked to the little garden outside. I had to start from the scratch, from a single rose plant to the countless of them. May be it is so typical of me but I still find roses to be the most romantic of all. I glanced at them for the last time and locked the back door. The room at the right of the kitchen, the store room was left to be locked. I left it for the last. The room had been a waste for Prajwal, my husband, and logically to some extent to me too. It was filled with belongings of the previous owner in cartons, bags, metal boxes and rags. It was piled in the room sucking every bit of oxygen out of it. Cleaning the room had never been to our agenda, as we had hardly anything to pile.

Truthfully I had tried cleaning it once. I removed the rags from the top and started dusting the cartons to put it down; the candle light revealed something, a kind of marking. I got the bulb from the kitchen to fit it into the holder to find a poster drawn on the wall. Removing the other rags from the side revealed it completely. It was a damsel, beautiful and deep eyes, a mystique on the face which did not express her sentiments; it looked sad and the other time elegant and poised. The beautiful curls if the hair were been blown by the winds but her face was clean and clear, untouched by the chaos of her curls which made her look serene. Perfectly carved eyes and lips for a moment excited the spark of typical female jealousy which died down as spontaneously as it arose. Her hands covered her breast and going below, the poster seemed to have given up to its age which nullified the rest of it. I kept the rags back to its place and put the bulb back to kitchen. But then on, I often went to the store room when I was alone, mostly with candles as it was not tough for me to comprehend the poster any more. I sometimes believed her hair moved but I was wrong. Her stare was constant and unruffled. Her hair never crossed her face. I removed the rags permanently from there as Prajwal would never bother to enter there. It was surprising as all these months of my discovery I never felt like telling him about the poster. It was like a possession to me which I did not wish to share. Stupid as stupid I could think myself for such a childish behaviour but never seemed to overcome the possessive attitude.

I lit the candle and walked into the store room. I had a look and closed the door. Prajwal is on his way back from office. He has been a darling to me all these days. Oh! I forgot to tell; I am 6 months pregnant now. Though I do not look so much out of shape as yet the reflection of pregnancy have not shown up clearly on my body, Prajwal has been watchful regarding my health and comforts. Something which blew me over was his straight-cut ‘no’ while I asked whether he would like to know if it is a boy or girl. Being from a bit conservative family his openness to any child was a relief to me.

I do wish Prajwal had the same sort of openness to few other things too. After we were decided to go to India for my delivery, he kept on reminding that I must cook good dishes and keep her family happy. He knows that I am not a kitchen-lover and he wanted to make sure I do not reveal it there. Living with my in-laws has not been a pleasure. Everything about me seems to be wrong to my mother-in-law and my sister-in-law (who is younger to me), starting from the way I wear my saree to the way I walk and talk. Prajwal behaves entirely different in front of her mom as if he does not know me. At nights when I ask the reason for his silence he places a bigger silence. On saying that I shall handle things in my way he warns in a rude tone to be quiet.

My feelings have been lacerated countless times but I am not supposed to be looking hurt. It has not only slashed my confidence to face them but also a fear has crept within; a fear that a student at his age faces in the class of a very ruthless teacher and he knows he has not done his homework. I tried to breathe slowly and sat on the couch. The mobile vibrated on the table.

“One message from Ryan”

It brought a smile and calmness spread quickly all over me till it was disrupted by the door bell.

“Honey, I am back”

Prajwal is back. I quickly opened the message but did not read it to make sure Prajwal does not sees Ryan’s name. He is not supposed to know him ever. I put a smile on my face and straightened my hair.

“Just a moment” and I walked to open the door.

{Siya, Diary dated - 30th July,2009}

To be continued...