Translated from the Hindi by Ayushee Arora

I was about to meet my father’s enchanting mistress, and I was preparing myself for it. My heart was pounding loudly, as if someone was hitting it. The impact of that hit reached my ears. I pressed my ears with both hands and tried to control my breath. This was big news, shaking all the progressiveness within me, challenging my feminist stance. In front of me were two women: one, my mother, and the other, my retired father’s mistress, who had been living with my father as his wife for the past seven years and promoting herself as such.

I wanted to meet her before telling my mother and brother about it. As soon as I took the initiative to meet her, various anxieties overwhelmed me. I had seen my friends dealing with their husbands’ mistresses, resolving their issues, but this time, it was different. My father and his mistress were in front of me. What should I talk to her about? What should I say to her? What should I ask her? How will she react? Will she run away somewhere? Will she cry? If I hug her, how will I manage to push her away? What will she be like, my age or closer to my elder sister’s age? Is she also eager to meet me?…… Why is she signaling me repeatedly? That is just a signal, right? Why does a girl keep peeking at my almost inactive Facebook profile every day? Why does she follow me? What does she want from me? Does she want to tell me something?

I couldn’t understand anything. Until now, I hadn’t told my mother anything, who had been spending her days in Chennai with her only son for the past seven years, without a complaint. This also surprised me. A wife who had been with her husband for so many years, suddenly abandoned by him, accepting it without a fuss, living a normal life—how was this possible? My mother never tried to find him, nor did she ever ask us to inquire about him. She used to say that if she wanted to find him, she could locate him even from the depths of the earth. A person like him couldn’t hide for long. Wherever he lived, he did something that made people start to know him. He wasn’t among those who remain strangers. I had so many questions swirling around in my head.

I thought, before meeting the mistress, I should meet mother once, tell her everything, and understand her reaction so that it would be easier for me to talk later. Then I was a bit afraid of how mother would take this news. Maybe she would forbid me from going. It’s possible that she already knows all this. Perhaps dad hasn’t told her anything. That’s why she hasn’t returned to Lucknow for seven years.

After retirement, dad left, and mother went to Chennai. Both went in different directions, and we, two siblings, were already living our lives in our ways. Dad hadn’t asked us for seven years what was going on in our lives. Are you happy? Any problems? The love between grandparents and grandchildren also could not bring him back. The relationship with mother was so cold; we didn’t even know about it. Such a decision could not have been made overnight that after retirement, dad would leave without delay, and mother wouldn’t even bother to stop him.

When dad was leaving, only one thing was heard – “Now I want to live the rest of my life on my terms. I fulfilled my family responsibilities. I worked hard in my job… Now, in the future, I want to live life on my terms, on my conditions.” Dad left. Mother remained silent. She didn’t even come to the door to say farewell. I thought he must be angry about something, and he would come back. How could one leave home at this age? Mother left with her son after a few days, and I returned to Delhi, busy with my family and work. During dad’s retirement, he had called everyone to be with him. He threw a party, gave gifts. While doing this, he looked at all of us with strange eyes, as if he was about to embrace asceticism. His face was completely devoid of all expression. No one could guess what was going on inside him. And then, after finishing all the work one day, dad left home. No commotion occurred. It seemed as if everyone was prepared for this day. My brother went to Chennai with mother. I became engrossed in my own world in Delhi.

There comes a time when one’s life starts to seem the most important, and there are no worries about anyone else. I was going through that phase, a cool phase of life. In that phase, I used to call mother, but I had no clue about dad. Nobody knew where he was, or what he was doing. After leaving home, the first thing dad did was change his mobile number. Not only that, he gave us the wrong city as well. He told us he was in Haldwani, but a few days ago, when I saw his name as the publisher of a newspaper, I was shocked. He was in a different city. This revelation happened suddenly. I went to my cousin’s house, and there I saw an attractive magazine. I looked at it upside down. When I saw the name of the publisher, I was surprised. Di saw the change in my expression and asked, “What’s the matter?” I said, “Nothing… just like that. Something came to my mind.” Di told me about the magazine, mentioning that she knew the second wife of its publisher, R.P. Tiwari. She had met them. They were associated with the world of advertising. She used to work for a newspaper before, and then, working with that magazine. The name of the publisher was familiar to me. I wanted to find out. The name of Tiwari Ji could match several people. I wanted to find out. The name was bothering me. Who was this Tiwari Ji? I had seen him working for years, I knew his style, his likes, and dislikes. I knew that there was a strong likelihood that this man was my father. Still, I decided to find out.

The girl who had been stalking my profile for the past few days, what did I know that my relationship with her would turn out to be so close. Some lost people will be found. Some mysteries will be revealed. New forms of relationships will come to light. The meeting with the mistress was going to happen through my cousin, Rumjhum. She would introduce us, and then she would disappear. She didn’t want to be in the middle of all this. Clouds of doubt were brewing inside me. I was afraid of an explosion within myself. I started questioning myself. What would I do with that girl? I had put myself in a dilemma.

The dates and places of the meeting were fixed. Rumjhum just said this much – ‘I can understand the condition of your heart, Sindoori… just remember that she is also a woman and divorced, the mother of two adolescent children. Talk to her with respect while preserving her dignity. We women judge women first, consider men innocent, thinking that women must have trapped them… This myth has weighed heavily on us, which we have heard since childhood that don’t send men to Bengal and Assam, women there know black magic, turn them into sheep, goats… In the beginning, many married men went there and stayed there, but they never returned… This misconception became firmly established that women there know magic and sorcery… Men are very innocent there…’ Runjum didi had chortled loudly after saying that. I observed her carefully when she laughed. The half-smile on her face had started to fade away. The radiance on her face was disappearing, and her eyes seemed to be searching for something in the void. Even in her cotton salwar kameez, she still looked smart. While talking, her eyes used to sparkle, now they seemed desolate. There was some pain in her heart, evident in her eyes, indicated by her words.

Softly holding her delicate fingers, I promised, ‘Di, I won’t attack him at all. I just want to ask a few questions calmly. I want to understand why she chose an elderly man as a lover or husband. Since when has it been going on? And how can she declare my father as her husband to the world? My mother is alive, and we, their children, are still here. Even if he left, does that mean that his relationship with my mother has ended?’ She continued speaking in a low tone, “Tales burden us women heavily sometimes because society has been taunting us for centuries. Women like us, single and rebellious, face many unwarranted criticisms. Be mindful; don’t always blame the woman. She may be facing inner turmoil.” I held her fragile fingers and assured her, “Calm down, Gadadhari Bhima… Calm down!”

“It’s a very sensitive matter; you can handle it diplomatically, not in haste.”, she advised. I expressed a bit of disagreement, “Women are not always right, are they? How could she not think about the consequences when getting involved with an elderly man, staying in sin with him in a live-in relationship? Didn’t she want to know about his family? She couldn’t be that oblivious, right? I understand both are at fault, Di. I’m not against the love of other women, but I want to break the trap of those men who put one woman against another. Women become easy prey, and they lack discernment, don’t they?”

“In that case, you should meet your father before meeting her. What will happen by meeting this girl? If she gives a somewhat evasive answer, what will you do? Your father might get upset separately too. The matter could get even more complicated…”

Rumjhum’s words were making sense to me. While negotiating and finalizing the details of our meeting, Rumjhum had said something else, which was lingering in my mind, “Don’t forget that she will be in love… I don’t know about your father, but I understand the minds of women. Without love present, she cannot hold the hand of that aged person… That too with a teenage daughter and son. It’s a risky task… These children don’t consider the outsiders fathers. They consider them as equals to fathers… They know the hardships of their mothers… that’s why they are adjusting. It may be that they are each other’s support… Some relationships arise from circumstances. Maybe they are not destined to cover a long distance… It has been seven years, quite a bit… I don’t think this will last long. You understand…”

Rumjhum Di said, “Look, Sindoori, you have every right to ask questions. Just don’t disrespect her. Don’t react like those typical women who shatter at the sight of a rival.” The way Rumjhum Di was explaining things, and understanding me, the bubbling lava of my inner turmoil was slowly cooling down. The frenzy inside me was subsiding, and the heat was diminishing. I was surprised at how understanding Rumjhum Di, with her traditional mindset, could be in Palomi’s case. The internal chaos was dissipating, and I was no longer boiling with rage. I had cooled down, but the confusion remained. How had Rumjhum Di, with such traditional thinking, become so compassionate in Palomi’s case? There was no similarity in their personalities. How had such empathy crept in? Was proximity removing our narrow-mindedness? These thoughts lingered as Rumjhum Di continued to speak.

On my mobile, I kept seeing pictures of Papa’s lover, Palomi Singh. She looked like a big sister to me—big, fashionable eyes, a stylish girl standing at the crossroads of her forties. Her hair was stylishly cut, and her fingers sparkled with golden nail polish. She seemed fond of photography. Various pictures showed her in different poses. In one picture, she sat with her feet dangling in the water by the river. Her face was turned the other way.

She hadn’t posted pictures of her children, maybe to keep family details private or out of a habit of maintaining secrecy. I gauged that she was fond of fashionable attire and different poses, which was strangely endearing to me. There was a glow on her face. I took out a picture of my father and began comparing the two. No match whatsoever. Why did this attractive girl choose my elderly father? She must have been even more youthful seven years ago. Why him?

As I thought about it, deep lines of grief appeared on my face. I compared both pictures. Papa looked like her father. Did he ever stop to consider that he was romantically involved with a girl who was the same age as his eldest daughter? Didn’t he realize that Palomi’s age was the same as our elder sister’s? Did his heart never tremble even for a moment? Did his steps never falter? Even for a split second, did he not think about mother and all of us? Even if he was angry with us… mother had faithfully been fulfilling all her marital duties. It’s a different matter that we never paid attention to what was going on between our parents. Children fail to observe their parents to understand what’s happening in their lives until their differences surface.

Some husbands and wives, trying to show their ease with each other, live double lives in front of their children. They try to present a facade, living a life of imitation and superficial relationships. My mind started to wander, thinking about various relationships, couples, and the intricacies of life. As my mind wandered, I thought of how Rumjhum Di becomes strange in front of her husband. She takes on the role of a dutiful woman, like a poetic and somewhat eccentric woman transforming into a duty-bound wife in front of her husband. As if the family is an institution that should be run smoothly, and the husband should face no difficulties. She shouldn’t shout in front of the children. How does she tolerate all this? I reflected on myself—marriage, two children, and now the coldness. Routine life. So peaceful that there is no interference in each other’s decisions, no disturbance in work. That’s why everything is going well. Both of us are so career-oriented that there is no complaint about each other. The children are studying in a prestigious school in Noida, and a skilled caretaker is arranged for them. Both of us are running like mad behind our work, fitting into a machine, rotating on our own axes. Have we all gotten lost in the space of relationships? Has our spaceship of love gone missing? We are lost people. No one can find us… We have to find ourselves. Has Papa also disappeared into the space of relationships? Was Mother lost, wandering silently on her path throughout her life? Papa set out to find himself, but then he again entangled himself in the web of relationships, knowing that what they were doing was socially incorrect. He was a married man, and he and his mistress could easily face societal challenges anytime. Mother’s silence had saved him. Maybe Mother also didn’t want liberation, seeing how she let her husband of many years leave without a single word or objection. Was there not even a thread of love left between the two?

Oh, what was I thinking? Everything felt so cold and cruel.

Shaking off these thoughts, I headed towards the address given by Rumjhum Di. Filled with various anxieties and questions—I would ask this, ask that… I would say this. The car was still on the highway when Rumjhum di called.

“Sindoori… the meeting has to be cancelled… she’s not coming.”

“Oh… what happened Di, has she found out that I’m coming to meet her?”

“No, no… not at all… she has no idea. The thing is, she had a terrible fight with your father. These two have been on the verge of separation for two years… Palomi often runs away to other cities. Both children were kept in the hostel for this reason.”

“What happened now… how?”

“What should I say… she told me on the phone openly for the first time today. Your father was entirely dependent on her. He contributed his talent to the magazine, took care of the editorial responsibilities, and Palomi handled all the finances. The house was also hers… there has been a dispute over some money. She was crying a lot… she feels that your father has done financial maneuvering… both are suspicious of each other now. Papa is worried… Palomi has gone to Bareilly, from there, she is finally packing up and coming to Greater Noida. Everything is over.”

“Now…?”

My questions remained hanging in the air.

What will happen after meeting her now? I can’t demand seven years of an account. What right do I have to meet her, what do I ask in such drastically changed circumstances…

Rumjhum had disconnected the phone. I was heading home. Now, I wanted to talk openly with my mother. My focus had shifted. I now wanted to ask my mother questions. I also wanted to ask my father if they would come back home. Would our family be reunited? Would my parents, after seven years, ask me, “Sindoori, how is everything between you and Rahul? How are the children?”

Tears welled up in my eyes. A lump of ice formed in my chest, now melting from the warmth of emotions. I wanted to talk to my father… Then I wanted to tell everything to my mother. Somehow, I felt a shock. With trembling hands, I dialed my brother’s number, and what I heard from the other end turned the ice in my chest into stone.

The doors there were closed for my father. A wife cannot forgive a husband in such a situation; it’s not possible now. It shouldn’t be done either; husbands don’t forgive either. I am a daughter… I will always have forgiveness for my hero.

I opened the door of my flat and left it open. I didn’t want to close it. The air was lovely on the seventh floor. I opened the balcony doors. The rainy breeze was refreshing. The sound of the moist, swaying air felt good.

Who knows, one day, like a sudden gust of wind, my father might come looking for us… In the last days of life, there should be a door left open where, despite one’s unforgivable sins, they can enter.

Also, read “LADIES COMPARTMENT— YASHODHARA RAY CHAUDHURI TRANSLATED FROM THE BENGALI BY CHIRAYATA CHAKRABORTY”, and published in The Antonym:

Ladies Compartment— Yashodhara Ray Chaudhuri

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