We Three – Chapter 7

 

A Book of Accounts 

(Continued from  Chapter 6)

Rains came late to Pune this year. The summer, too, had been excruciatingly hot, with day temperatures crossing forty degrees on many occasions. Only now, with the second half of July upon them, had the weather turned normal. This was Pune's best season of the year.

Kshipra sat alone in the hall. Shripad had gone for his morning walk, and Srini, nursing a headache, was still in bed. Kshipra had already prepared ginger tea for everyone — no sugar for Srini and Shripad, double sugar for herself. Srini always scolded her for eating so much sugar, but the fact remained that she liked it.

"Even Sam liked it," she thought. After seventy, he had developed diabetes, and the doctors had cut down his sugar. Feeling bad for him, she too had stopped taking sugar — a fact Sam had frowned upon. He would keep telling her that she should not put restrictions on herself for his sake.

"Sam was, without doubt, an exception to the general belief that men are selfish," she thought. "But their first love is always their women. For women, the first priority is always the children. Men come afterward."

The doorbell rang. Shripad must have returned, she thought. While opening the door, she asked, "Want some hot ginger tea? Without sugar, of course!"

"Why without sugar?" he asked.

"Srini's orders," said Kshipra.

"That woman! She believes she is my mother even now," Shripad grumbled, but he drank the sugarless tea nevertheless.

Strange relationship these two have, Kshipra thought, smiling to herself. "Srini was upset that night you went to Mumbai," she added. "She is afraid of losing you."

"I know," Shripad said. "But I cannot offend my daughters now, when the deep divisions that have existed between us for all these years are just beginning to be bridged."

"Shri, here is what I think — if you tell her about this change in your relationship with your daughters, she might relent and reconcile."

"That's an excellent idea," Shripad agreed. "Let's do it today itself."

That evening, after the usual cup of hot tea, Shripad said, "Girls, I want to tell you the next part of my story, if you are not busy otherwise." Srini was not very pleased, but she did not object. Shripad began.

"I have already told you about Vedika, my daughters, and how we enjoyed our life in Jamshedpur. One day, when both girls were sleeping, Vedika told me she felt there was a lump in her right breast. Alarmed, I took her to a lady doctor. After examining her, the doctor recommended an immediate mammography. That was done the next day, and the result confirmed my worst fears.

"Vedika decided to go to Pune and stay at her mother's house. So we booked a flight from Kolkata to Mumbai. I took emergency leave, and we all left for Pune. I still remember Vedika walking around our house, touching every article, every utensil that had been part of her life there, before we left. Meanwhile, I also informed my mother about the situation.

"In Pune, more tests were done, and the decision was made to operate immediately. During the operation itself, it was discovered that the malignancy had spread far beyond the breast. I broke down completely when I heard this. If Vedika had told me earlier, she might have survived — but instead of telling me, she had told her mother and sister, who had asked her to wait.

"After her post-operative treatment began, I went back to Jamshedpur and met with the senior management of my company to explain the situation. Luckily, our company had a second plant in Pune, so I requested a transfer there. If that was not possible, I told them, I would have to resign. Fortunately, the management agreed, and I was sent on deputation to Pune almost immediately. I sent all our belongings to Pune by truck and moved there. I rented a three-room dwelling near Vedika's home and started living there alone. I would work all day at the company, and then spend every evening with Vedika.

"Strangely, my mother-in-law never once asked me to stay for dinner. Someone suggested a woman who delivered tiffins at home. I ate lunch in the company canteen, and this tiffin after returning from Vedika's home each evening.

"Despite all the treatments, Vedika's health kept deteriorating. Every evening she would cry and worry about our girls. I promised her not to worry — that I would provide for them until they became independent. Soon after, we lost her. That was the most horrific time of my life.

"My mother-in-law's behavior toward me grew stranger and stranger. She had developed a grudge, believing that Vedika was gone because of my negligence. She would not even speak to me. My sister-in-law and I arrived at an arrangement — I would pay her a certain amount each month, which she would pass on to her mother. Any extra expenses, I would cover separately.

"I waited almost two years, hoping things would return to normal and the girls would come back to live with me. But things only worsened. My contact with my daughters became minimal.

"Then a friend suggested that perhaps the girls might come back if I remarried and gave them a mother. I discussed this with my sister-in-law, who thought it was a good idea. She promised to speak with her mother and let me know. Later, she told me her mother, too, thought it was a good idea, and that I could go ahead.

"Aanandi came into my life after that. I found her to be an extremely mature person. She was a divorcee, with a pleasant appearance and a warm, smiling face. I told her plainly that I could not give her any children of her own, and that she would have to consider my daughters as hers. She readily agreed. I finally married her.

"Later, I took her to meet the girls, but the reception was extremely cool. The girls showed total indifference. We made many efforts, but they always failed. Finally, I gave up. I told my sister-in-law that I was helpless, though I continued the monthly money transfer regardless. Every rupee spent on the girls came from my pocket, as it always should have.

"I must, however, give full credit to my mother-in-law for raising my girls properly, just as Vedika would have wanted. Both of them are now well-disciplined, cultured women. The elder one is an architect, married to a medical doctor. The younger one is a physiotherapist — she married a Spanish man named Bill.

"Coming back to my own situation — after the girls refused to come stay with us, I fell into a deeply pessimistic mood. Then, one day, I came across a job advertisement for a position in Singapore. I was interviewed over the phone, and finally decided to take the risk and leave for Singapore. Aanandi joined me later, and we settled there.

"Our years in Singapore turned out to be the best of my life. Aanandi proved to be a wonderful woman, supporting me in every aspect of married life. So far she had to live a very restrictive life before and after marriage. In Singapore, she changed completely in the liberal  unrestrictive ecosystem of that country. 

She started trying new fashions, cooking new dishes and enjoyed in general, first world life of that country. Fortunately I was making good money and encouraged her to enjoy.

After thirteen years there, both of us grew homesick and decided to return. I bought a flat here in Pune, and we set up our house. It was, in a strange way, fortunate — because when Aanandi's time came, she did not live much longer, but at least she left me here, in Pune, and not in Singapore.

"I was alone again. I was still adjusting to my new life when a miracle happened. One morning, I received a call from my elder daughter, saying they had come to Pune and were staying at such-and-such hotel. When could they come and see me? I was so happy that for a few seconds, I could not utter a word. After some time, I gathered my courage and spoke with her, gave her my address, and told them they could come any time. Apparently, she already knew about Aanandi's passing.

"They came the very next day — all four of them. My daughter, my son-in-law, and my two grandchildren. The moment I saw my daughter, I became so emotional that I broke down and cried. She hugged me the way she used to when she was four years old, and called me 'Papa.' Then both of us wept together. My son-in-law and the children looked at us in amazement.

"I did not dare ask her about this sudden change, but eventually I learned the whole story. It seems Vedika's sister's son had gone to the US and met my elder daughter there. During their meeting, he handed her a thick account book, saying, 'Your father's name is in here, so I brought it as a gift.' Curiously, the book contained a record of all the payments I had made to Vedika's sister, right from the time of Vedika's death. My sister-in-law had always been a methodical woman — every entry had a date and an amount, received either in rupees or Singapore dollars.

"With her younger sister's help, they slowly traced the dates and events of their lives, and realized that every rupee spent on them, until they started earning, had been paid by their father — the very man they had so far considered a villain.

"My daughter then told me she wanted to talk and talk with me, until she knew everything that had happened in the years between. So we went to Goa together. I had no choice but to agree. The next day, we went to Goa and talked. She did not know how she could make amends for all the injustice done to her Papa. I told her, 'I am your father. I promised your mother I would see that the girls were looked after until they became independent. I have simply done my duty. I have received my reward today, in meeting you.'

"She then told me how she used to cry every night, alone, after Aai was gone, wanting to come live with me — but Aaji had been very strict. She also told me what Chhoti, the younger one, had said to her before leaving for India: 'Tai, somehow get Papa here. I don't remember him at all. He only lives in my dreams. I want to know everything about him, about Aai, about our other Aaji and Aajoba — our roots. I cannot go to India with these five monsters, kids and husband, hanging around my neck.'

"From that point onward, everything changed. Since I had lived in Singapore, I already had a passport. I applied for a US visa and received it, and then left for the US. I stayed there about four months. I met everyone — even Madhu, my younger brother. The girls had not even known they had an uncle living in the US. They are now in regular contact with him. All the misunderstandings have since been cleared. I told them about Aanandi as well, and how badly she had wanted to meet them.

"During that stay, my son-in-law told me about a scheme called EB-5, which grants a green card in exchange for certain investments made over two to three years. 'We have decided to apply for your green card before you leave the US,' he said. I made two or three more trips to the US after that, on my tourist visa.

"On my way back from the last trip, I met you two, and the rest you already know. I went to the US consulate two days ago regarding the green card application, which should come through any time now. But I have not yet decided when I shall leave."

Shripad stopped his long narrative. There was pin-drop silence. Then Srini spoke, with sudden vehemence. "Shri, I was a little apprehensive, but now I can tell you — go, you must. This is life's best reward for you. Don't run away from it now. Perhaps, after some time in the US, you can come back to India and stay with me. I myself, or Kshipra, would certainly look after you. But you have six grandchildren. They need you. Where else will they find the love of a grandparent? Go, you must."

Everyone fell silent for a few minutes. Then Kshipra said, "Mom, I am hungry."

"Me too," Srini joined in.

Everyone laughed. Srini got up to serve dinner, as usual.

(Continued to Chapter 8)

(All characters places except for geographical names events actions of people are fictional. Any similarity found is purely accidental. All images AI generated)