White Spaces

(1)

I call my aunt to ask why she’d called me seven times. It rings three times before she picks up the call. We don’t talk a word for a while. Then she tells me to catch the next flight, 8:00 AM, and come home.

(2)

Mother had first swallowed pills, but that didn’t work. So in the end, she slit her left wrist, hit her head on the toilet, and fell unconscious in her bathroom.

(3)

Rohan and Siya drop me at the airport in Andheri the next day. The flight is delayed because of the rain. I regret coming in the leather jacket (the one Siya gifted me) because of the humidity. We stand outside the entrance in silence and let the noise of the passengers bustling and the announcements fill in. Siya doesn’t look at me. Before I go in, I wave Rohan and Siya ‘Bye’. Siya smiles at me sadly and I smile at her and I go in. I keep turning back to see them. Their figures blur, then a line, then a dot until the dot vanishes.

(4)

On the flight, I try to sit still, but can’t, so I go to the washroom thrice. One of the air hostesses asks if I am okay. I say I am. I dream about my mother. Head shaved, shoulders slouched. When she smiles, her teeth are stained. After a while, I am woken up by the woman next to me to know that I’ve landed in Delhi.

(5)

On the way back home, to a rented house in West Delhi, I keep looking at the rear mirror on my side. I look very pale, like I’ve lost something within me. Then I realise I haven’t cried at all, not even a drop, after the news.

(6)

I pay the driver and he leaves. Nothing has changed except for a Hyundai I-10 that stands in the garage to my left. The reddish-maroon gate has rusted in its hinges and I have to give some extra force to open it. The little grass that grows in the spaces between the stone pavements is not cut. My mother’s scooter sits in the garage. I open the door. The paint of the wall is crumbling and the concrete is visible. I walk past and go to the living room where my aunt is. Her eyes are glued to the TV. And then, they blink. Tears come out of her eyes, and she catches me standing there, looking at her. She is wearing a green salwar kameez, my mother’s, walks towards me and hugs me. Oh jaanu, she says and sobs and kisses my cheeks. I step back. I try to smile and look down. As if on cue, she lifts my suitcase and my bag and goes to my room.

(7)

She takes my clothes out and arranges them on my bed. I clear my throat and sit down on the edge of the bed. She stops doing what she is doing. How did it happen? I ask. Silence. Only the sound of us breathing. How, I ask again. I don’t know jaanu, she says. When did it happen? I ask. Yesterday evening. When I called– No. I think it was a while before that. I don’t say anything. Why? I ask. She shakes her head. I nod. We tried to do everything we could. People from her work came to help too. When we found her, she was lying unconscious. Imagine, on the bathroom, blood on the floor, from her hands. Her voice breaks. And? I ask. And– And then what? We took her to the hospital and she was like that for a while. I meet her eyes. Her face looks hollow, dark circles under her eyes. She continues to arrange my clothes and fold them. I get up and the cold warmth of the tiles prick my feet and go and sit next to her. She moves beside to make more space and places her hands on her laps. Come here, she says. I comply, for this is not new to the both of us, and place the back of my head on her thighs. She closes her thighs to make my head rest comfortably and scratches my scalp softly and pulls streaks of my hair back and forth and sings the song she always sang to put me to sleep.

(8)

After I wake up, I take a hot shower. Shreds of hair from my head fall and fill the sink and a growing sense of discomfort rises within me and I look away from the hair.

(9)

Rohan texted me asking if everything is OK. That was an hour ago. Siya called me at around 12:00 in the afternoon. I call her back. The call goes dead after 4 rings.

(10)

We go to the hospital to visit mother. While we’re going, it strikes me that I haven’t seen my mother after I’ve come, and I try to use that reason to make me want to cry, but this doesn’t work.

(11)

Mother is on the bed, with a nebulizer. She seems dead already, but then when I go closer, she opens her eyes slightly. She smiles. I smile at her. I take the chair and sit. I peer at the small window attached to the door, to my side, and look for my aunt, but she’s not there. The nurse comes in and says I only have limited time to talk. She looks at her watch and leaves. Mother touches my jacket. I look down. Why did you do it ma? I ask my mother, after the door is closed, but she doesn’t say anything. We continue to look at each other and I notice a tear trickle out of her eye and she tries to raise her hand to wipe it, but she can’t, so I wipe the tear away. I tell her about my college, about Rohan, and about my studies, that my studies are going fine. She tries to say something, and I grow my ear closer to her, and she faintly utters Siya’s name. What about her? I ask but she doesn’t say anything, she just stares at me. I laugh to reduce the pressure creeping between us. Siya and I are not a thing anymore ma, I say. She turns away from me. I place my hand on hers. The door opens and the nurse tells me it’s time for me to leave. I get up and see my aunt standing out, a strange smile in her face, that calms me. Before I leave, I look at my mother. I’ll be back tomorrow, I say, but she doesn’t even care to look at me or even try to nod.

(12)

On the way home, Madhu says that nothing can be said as of now and just to hope for the best.

After we reach home, Madhu says she has to go out somewhere, when I ask where she says she’ll be back in an hour or two and I say OK, getting inside the house without looking back. I close the door and stand by to hear the sound of the car starting, Madhu taking the car in reverse, the sound slowly fading away, until I can hear no more of it.

(13)

What time is it? I get up and walk to the dining room to drink water. Outside, it’s still dark. I open my phone. 12:12 AM. After I drink some cold water, my throat becomes wet and quickly dries, so I drink some more, and go to my room. On the way, I glance at the photo frame, mother holding me, her arms on my shoulders, both of us younger. I walk faster, taking my eyes off it. I go to my room and wear the leather jacket and leave my house.

(14)

For the longest time, I just walk aimlessly.

(15)

The sweat kills me. Open my phone and call Siya. After 6 rings, when I expect it to be busy, she picks up the call. I don’t say anything. What do you want P, she asks. I ask her why she had called me. She sighs. I ask her why she came to drop me at the airport. After some time, she lets out a low yawn. Do you even care? I ask. Yes, she says. Just not in the way you think. What do you mean, I ask. What, she asks. I ask her if she’s mocking me. No, why would I do that, she says. I cut her off and say, You know something Siya? She asks what. You just want to sleep with guys like me and have fun and leave them after it’s over, because you’re–

She hangs up but I continue to yell at the dead call until the face of my mother surfaces in my vision.

(16)

My mouth is dry and reeks of alcohol. Get out of my bed and walk to the bathroom and stand in front of the mirror. I look like a stranger. I step inside the shower with my clothes on, don’t mind if it gets wet, turn on the shower, and stand still. I keep looking down at the water falling. Then some strands of hair, then some more, then more, then I look at the floor, the water flowing to the sink, my hair goes along with it, my body stiffens when I look at more hair, think about my mother, lying in the hospital, tell myself that I’m a bastard, and stand under the shower for a very long time.

(17)

I enter mother’s room. The room looks pale. Aunt’s clothes on the bed. Or mother’s? I’m not sure. The window is stained with bird’s pee. The room reeks of pills. The fan looks like it might fall anytime, hanging with the wires pulled out. I go near the shelf and open the drawers. A brown comb with long hair strangled together. For a moment I think of using the comb but I don’t. In the middle one I find some bills from a pharmacy. Anti-depressants. Sleeping pills. I stare at the bills before I keep it down. In the other drawer, there’s no sign of pills. Pictures. Pictures of father and mother, together. There are seven pictures and in each one mother’s face looks different, almost as if one could foresee what would happen to her. I’m not there in any of the pictures. Maybe I never wanted to be in the picture with them, together. Behind one of the photos, where they are sitting on a bench, is written ‘Love, Mahesh’. So he sent it to her, or maybe he wrote it down after printing it, or maybe mother wrote it down? Could that be possible? Maybe mother saw him with someone else? But– No, the last I heard of him, mother told me he’d gone to Interlaken. I use all my strength to tear down the picture in my hand, the edges hurt my fingers, my fingers turn red, the picture folds and then tears slowly, my fingers are full red now, and then I can take no more, look at myself in the mirror, and see that I’m crying.

(18)

Madhu is in the living room, looking at her phone. When she sees me she smiles and keeps the phone down, asking me if I’m okay. I ask her why. She says I look different. Different how? I ask. She smiles and clicks her lips, and tells me not to mind what she said and asks me to sit. I sit opposite her. Do you want some breakfast, she asks. I shake my head. We can go out if you want, she says. I don’t react. What’s wrong, she asks. I say I don’t want to go to a restaurant in the morning when my mother is in the hospital. Silence. I tap my fingers on the hands of the sofa. She notices this and then looks at me. Jaanu, she starts. I get up and walk past her and leave the door. Behind me she calls out for me and says we have to go to the hospital, to check on mother, the doctors called. I turn back, standing near the garage, she comes out, her face is red, and I shout at my aunt, why she didn’t tell me sooner, I tell her not to act like my mother, and I feel like crying, the guilt of what I say hit me sharply, like thin ice pricks. She looks at me as if I said something wrong and walks back inside and I see her walking back in, her back facing me, and I stand there, looking at the empty doorway and realise that I feel as if I’m in a void.

(19)

We drive in silence to the hospital, the silence almost unbearable to the point that I just want to crash the car somewhere. The doctors don’t let us enter the room where mother is. Was she even conscious? If conscious, what would she be thinking about? About me? About herself? About Siya leaving me? Is that what she would be thinking, right now? Or was she thinking about how much time she had left, if she had at all? Is she dead already? The doctor says that she is resting now and it would be for the best if nobody disturbed her. Is she alright? I ask. The other doctor beside him, the younger one, doesn’t talk but just nods to whatever the main doctor says. We’re monitoring the situation very closely, he says. Madhu cuts him short and asks the doctor what the hell the emergency was all about then and the doctor mumbles something which I don’t hear but pretend to anyway.

(20)

Madhu asks me to go to the restaurant we used to go to when I was a kid. From the side of my eye, I catch my aunt typing something on her phone and her phone vibrates here and there on the journey. I want to ask her who it is that she was texting right now, but I don’t.

The lights are dim. New tiles with diamond patterns. Everything about the place is brown. Aunt orders a thali platter and I order the same since I can’t make up my mind on what I want to eat. 10 minutes later, the food arrives.

(21)

The food is good, I say, eating. It is, she says, taking a piece of roti in her mouth. The doctors, I say, what did they tell? Didn’t you hear what they said? she asks. I shake my head. She chews her roti and swallows it. They said she’s stable now and that she’ll be discharged in 2-3 days. That’s nice, I say. It is, she says. I focus on eating my food. She says my name. I look at her. Yes? I ask. Nothing, she says. You like the food? she asks. I do, I say, even though I already did. Silence. A kid starts to wail. Tell me, Madhu, I say. She looks down. What? she asks. You were going to tell me something. She pretends to ignore me. Who was it on the phone? I ask. Raghav texted me, she says. About? I ask. You know, about your mother and all. OK? So I told him that your mother is alright, that she’s stable. Why are you looking at me like that? she asks. I look down and fiddle with the roti. She says my name again. You’re leaving, I say. She sighs. Say it, I say. It’s nothing like that jaanu, she says softly. What’s it then? I ask. I fiddle with the roti more and I spin it on the plate. It’s just time already that I went to my place now, she says. I nod. I tear the roti into bits and pieces. I think you’re right, I say. She doesn’t say anything but smiles sadly, her lips gleam in the light. We continue to eat and after she finishes eating, I tell her I’m done too, even though I don’t finish my platter.

(22)

It’s almost dusk when we reach home. We sit in the car for a while. I’ll miss you, she says. The image of mother in her bed surfaces. For a second, I think it’s best I tell Madhu about the photos, about how something was off with mother, and that she was suffering, but I don’t. After some time, she gets out of the car and starts to walk back in and I realise for the first time since I came home, actually, for months, I feel like crying. This sudden realization overwhelms me to the point that I want to sob uncontrollably while watching Madhu go inside, open the door, and close it. I pray for her to open the door and come running to me, but she doesn’t.

(23)

Later that evening, I stand in front of the mirror and look at my head. Apply some water and comb my hair and some streaks of hair come along with it. Turn on the trimmer and shave my head, as I watch lumps of hair fall in the sink, until there’s barely any hair left in my head.

Rohan calls me and I wait for it to ring fully before the call disconnects. After 2 minutes, he calls me again but I don’t pick up. Later that night, he texts me what the fuck is wrong with me and I open the message and type something – I don’t remember what – but I press delete and stare the icon deleting every character until it’s blank, and close my phone.

(24)

That night I go a bar and drink. After a few sips, I leave the drink half finished and pay and go out. I stand against the wall out and see a mother carrying her child, begging for food. I look away and walk faster to my home.

(25)

I stare at the ceiling above me. Would my mother be awake now? Would she be staring at the ceiling like I was? What would Siya be doing? Would she be crying and telling Rohan and Rohan in turn consoling her? What would Madhu be–

I get up and get out and get near her room. If I open, then what? What if she got up? Would she be awake? What would I even say if I opened the door and she was awake? I open the door slowly. The room is dark and the windows open, the cold air hits my face, and before I can do anything, I hear my name. She’s awake. I stand there still, not knowing what to do. I hold on to the latch of the door and step outside but she tells me to come back in and sleep next to her. Come, she says, come here jaanu, the same words she told me the day I came. I get inside the blanket with her and stare at the ceiling. You look better, she says, and comes closer and turns over to my side, her warm breath breezing my face. Suddenly, I start crying. I keep telling her that I’m sorry and that I don’t want her to leave and stay for however long she can and I turn over to her side. I try to see her face, but can’t, and I try to bring my hands to wipe off my tears, can’t do that either, her face blurs in my vision, I keep crying, and she tells me it’s alright, that everything will become alright soon, jaanu, jaanu, jaanu, listening to her sedating voice, I fall asleep.

(26)

That night I dream about the photo I’d seen. I dreamed about Interlaken even though I’d never seen it. I dreamed about – I could literally feel it – taking the picture of mother and father. I think I even told my father’s name while I was sleeping. I don’t remember much of the dream now though. Even the bits and fragments are fading away.

(27)

We visited the hospital the next day. I stood outside while Madhu talked to mother, they were laughing. After some time, they called me in, and we talked and talked and talked before the nurse came in and told us that our visiting time was over and come the next day. Mother looked at my head but didn’t say anything. Madhu said bye to mother, to take care, they both looked at each other and cried, and while we were about to leave, Madhu took one last look at mother and we left. The day Madhu left, time went so quickly, that all I can remember now is Madhu and I going to the hospital and Madhu in her car, the window sliding down, calling me jaanu, telling me something which I didn’t hear, she waving ‘Bye’, and the car slowly slipping away from me.

(28)

Mother was discharged from the hospital. Mother looked like a bird that had been released from a cage. We didn’t go out much, as the doctors had advised, so we stayed home and watched some old Hindi movies, passed our time playing cards, games which she won each time.

(29)

Time passed. Mother and I, together all the time. Sometimes she would complain that her head ached in the back and sometimes in her crown, but it would be only for brief. Other than that, everything was fine.

(30)

A week later, I went back to college.

(31)

I tried talking to Siya, like everything was normal, but she wouldn’t. She told me it was over and that was it. I don’t think I was heartbroken but it did hurt me.

(32)

Sometimes I would look at her walking with her friends. I think she even dated a guy. But I didn’t feel anything.

(33)

That week I left the leather jacket in the library and never saw it after that.

(34)

Rohan and I met less frequently. I grew to like being alone and preferred this more than anything.

(35)

Mother’s headaches would become worse and sometimes she felt like someone was banging her head continuously. Once she even closed her eyes and I noticed a tear crawl out of her eye. Madhu would tell me this later. She would go to the doctors, multiple of them, and they would say it was to be expected and my mother would reluctantly accept that.

(36)

A month later, Madhu called me. This time I picked it up immediately.

(37)

Mother died while she was asleep.

(38)

The autopsy ruled it as Chronic Subdural Hematoma due to the blood loss and head injury. I met Madhu again, and some of our relatives too, who were completely shocked. The news shocked Madhu especially since she believed everything was fine. I thought of asking Madhu to at least let my father know but I didn’t say that. I slept in mother’s room (I tried to sleep but I couldn’t). Later that night, Madhu came inside the room. She asked me if I was okay. I said I was. She stared at me in disbelief and I kept looking at her.

(39)

We buried her next to her mother, which is where she wanted to be.

(40)

Time would fly fast. Now that I think about it, I think it was for the good. Not good. Maybe it was nothing at all. It just was. And I had to embrace it, that’s all.