Wipers

The wipers try to keep pace with the downpour which is falling hard and fast. For a split second, I can see the road ahead and think they have finally won.

I turn my face to the man sitting next to me. The black of his beard is starting to appear on his skin.

“Was Rakesh okay with the proposal?”

I see his dark brows rise, as a sigh escapes his chapped lips.

“He needs some changes. I’ll get to them after dinner.”

After dinner. His nights kept getting longer with each passing day.

When he first started his job and he had to work till late, I would sit by his side as he typed away, reading a book, or watching repeat episodes on mute. But that was before the cracks appeared; when he used to pause every now and then to smile at me, when he would lean over and kiss my lips without warning or instinctively reach out to rub my hand; as if he couldn’t wait another moment without my touch.

I gaze out of the window, waiting for the prick of tears, which I would blink away into oblivion, but they never come.

“Anyway, why is Preeti celebrating her graduation with us? Shouldn’t she be out partying with her friends?”

Since the past few months, I had found myself getting increasingly irritated at everything he had to say. This was another one of those moments. “I told you earlier itself that you didn’t need to come. I would have told them you were busy at work.”

“When did I say I don’t want to go? I just asked you a question.”

I take a deep breath and try to erase my annoyance. He had missed enough gatherings in the past few months. I didn’t want my family to see us fighting at the one he was finally attending.

“I’m sorry”, I mutter under my breath and pat his left hand that lay on the gear. It brings back memories of road trips when my hand wouldn’t leave that position, intertwined with his.

He offers me a curt nod and my hand instantly recoils. I can feel the calm swiftly dissipating, and I once again look out at the blurry vision passing by as he manoeuvres the car around the traffic.

It’s not like I hadn’t tried to revive what we had lost. Countless trips had been planned. Some had even been executed. But never the way that I had hoped. There would always be some important phone call to attend to, or a crucial document to mail out, which would steal away at my patience. One time we had to cut our stay short just because the Wi-Fi at the hotel was not adequate. After that, I had stopped trying. And he had stopped long ago.

I wonder if it wouldn’t have felt so sad if I didn’t still remember our first trip together. It had been a short excursion to a hill station, and we had picked the worst time to go. The weather had been horrid and didn’t provide us any opportunity to step out of our room. But it was all that we had wanted. The time of the day didn’t matter as we slept, ate, and drank without a second thought. Calls had gone unanswered, and I haven’t tasted a sweeter drink as on those two days. The richer rum of today couldn’t even compare. Oddly, the getaway had ended in a fight because I had refused to extend our trip by another day.

I can’t help but smile at the irony of it all.

***

The silence within grows deeper as we both sit without. The shattering of the rain is the only sound that keeps it remotely comfortable. I am reminded of how my mother used to say that a relationship is dead if memories are the only thing keeping it alive. It makes me think about how the most visited pictures are also the most faded ones.

I look back at the face I had loved for so long and try hard to find the image of the man I had loved for so long, but he was quietly disappearing into someone I can no longer recognise.

It feels weird to mourn someone sitting right next to you. I find myself thinking about old memories and wonder if they were ever that special, or simply brighter in comparison to today.

“Did you get my coat from Ahmed?”

His voice interrupts my thoughts. I look up and see him on his phone. I can see the never-ending checklist before him, sure that this dinner is one of the items on it.

I pry my eyes away. They land on the traffic signal, counting down; 44. 43. 42.

“He hadn’t cleaned it yet,” I respond without emotion.

“What? Didn’t you remind him yesterday?” Irritation poured out of his every word. “I told you I needed it packed for tomorrow!”

In no mood to indulge him further, I stay silent. My mind is racing. The urgency I had felt in pangs for the last few months comes alive again. I can feel my heart pounding faster than the situation warrants. 24, 23…

“It is a big tour for me, you know that! Why can’t you do the one thing I asked of you!?”

18. 17.

All I need is one clear thought to silence my hurling mind. And it comes to me simply and clearly. As it has time and again. Only this time I decide to voice it.

It comes out in a whisper. And in his tide of rants, it drowns.

I repeat. This time louder. “I don’t want this.”

He sees my lips move and finally pauses. “What?”

My body turns towards him even before I realise. I know this episode of relief will be submerged under a whirl of sadness when I replay this scene to myself later. But in this moment, the only thought reining in my mind is escape. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

I expect to see confusion wrap around his face. Instead, his eyes relax with comprehension. “You don’t want to be with me.” It is phrased as a question, yet I hear the period at the end.

I hesitate.

“I can’t. Not anymore.”

3. 2. 1

***

They release me. Her words.

A sharp horn breaks the thought that was just beginning to form in my mind. The light has turned green. I take control of the car instinctively. It offers me a nice excuse to keep silent and contemplate as I operate us out of the congestion.

Though I feel a sigh of relief building within, I am afraid to let it out, fearful that it will somehow legitimize my feelings, the ones I am not sure about. Do I really want this to end? I know it has been bad for some time. And yes, we have drifted apart, but it hadn’t always been like this. There was also a time when we enjoyed each other’s company. When we could sit at home, days on end, doing nothing but watching idiotic comedies and bickering over who would cook dinner.

But there was no way we could go back to it.

Maybe, she was right.

“I think you are right.” I pause and try to gauge her reaction. As in all times of confrontation, her hair is now dangling by her face, screening it from me. “This is not working anymore.” I finish.

She turns to look at me. Her eyes are dry, just like mine. Is it weird that we aren’t tearing up right now? She, who could cry at the very mention of Hachiko, and me, who would weep for hours after a silly breakup. It felt weirdly calm ending this nine-year-old relationship.

I break my eyes away from her and focus on seeing past the shooting rain.

Looking back, we should have known how badly it would go with our starkly different upbringings and opposing family values. I think we were hoping our marriage would be the magical solution to all our problems. When in reality, they just became bigger and more prominent till the only thing left between us was an unbridgeable distance.

An old rage begins to boil inside me as I hit the accelerator, mindlessly speeding us to the last place I wanted to be.

I sense her stiffen with the sudden change in pace.

“Let’s go home and talk about it.” She speaks softly, possibly detecting my anger. Her hands pause midway to mine, faltering for a second. “We shouldn’t go like this.”

She always did worry more about appearances.

“I’m not cancelling last minute. It’ll just give them another reason to complain about me.” As if that should even matter to me anymore.

I hear her heave a sigh, a sound I have become much too familiar with.

“Listen, I’ll tell them I’m not feeling well. I’m sure Preeti won’t mind.”

That’s what she cares about? If Preeti will mind or not!?

the resentment inside me boils over, “If you are worried about me blurting the news of our separation, don’t be. I’ll keep shut about it.”

I regret the words as soon as they are out of my mouth. One word in particular. She winces for a second and I see her eyes moisten. All of a sudden it hits me as I feel my stomach drop - I had just designated our situation to a point of no return.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to -”

“No, it’s okay” she sniffles and opens the glove compartment, “Let’s just call it like it is.”

I curse myself for the second time in under a minute. This time for forgetting to refill the tissue box that sits empty before her.

I see her wipe at her face with the sleeve of her kurta and turn away from me. The conversation is over. I keep driving, hating the silence, but dreading another discussion. The rains continue to patter before us, unstoppable.

***

I can’t stop the tears from flowing. Months of practice and still a failure.

They cloud over my eyes like the streaming rain on glass. I wipe at them but to no avail. I just can’t seem to win against this downpour.

It was his easy acceptance that had hurt the most. As if he himself had been waiting to call it off. And he didn’t even want to discuss it further. He wants me to go and sit and eat dinner, and pretend that everything is great between us, just so a roomful of people don’t think badly of him.

I switch on the radio, anything to distract me from these thoughts. Anything to stop the tears.

From the corner of my eye, I can see his face, impassive, staring out into the distance.

I turn to fetch my purse from the backseat, and see the roses in the corner, looking fresh yet wilting inside.

***

Her hand brushes against my elbow and I see her reach for her bag and retrieve a handkerchief. And just like that, I sense my heart sink.

Suddenly, I want to turn the car around and drive home. I want to sit her down and tell her about all that I am feeling. I want her to cry her fears out and wipe them away as they fall. I want to tell her that I love her. Because I do. But it is too late for that. Months of anguish and bitterness lie between us.

The lump in my throat sits there, reminding me of a guilt that I thought I had let go of long ago.

***

I try to wipe my face as discreetly as I can, unwilling to show my grief to him who hasn’t shed a single tear.

The radio blasts out a sound that I can only consider noise, piercing my ears and almost drowning the destructive thoughts. Almost.

***

I wait for her to change the channel, but she sits there quietly, staring out the window.

I click the buttons till I hear a much sober song fill the air between us. I’m not familiar with it, but by the way she turns to look at me, I know she recognises it. I give her a weak smile but she looks away.

I look away too. The rain isn’t slowing down. I increase the speed of the wipers and see them attempt to make a clearing. Except they are slower than the rain even at their fastest setting.

***

They look like two well-coordinated dancers, swinging in the rain. Going left and right, but never meeting each other. I barely hear the words but they come to me clearly.

Dream a little dream of me...

I can’t help but smile at the irony of the situation. I had cried to this song on many a sleepless nights. Somewhere along the years, it had slipped away from me, yet here it was again.

I have an unexpected urge to hold his hand. Not in forgiveness or hope, I tell myself. Simply to touch him before it all goes away.

***

I blank out for a second as she touches my hand. Not knowing how to respond, I try and focus on driving in the pouring rain. She gently entwines our hands together.

I’m afraid to look, fearful that any movement will drive her away. I fight the array of emotions bubbling inside me and remind myself… what do I remind myself of?

It has been years since I have been so emotionally confused. I tell myself, again and again, this is over. It is only her way of gaining closure. But I can’t help it and lightly press her hand in acknowledgement. We sit like that in silence, both contemplating. All I know is I’m way in over my head.

***

He stops the car outside the bungalow. I wait a little longer and then break my hand away from his. I see a ghost of emotion ride through his face and disappear.

As I begin to pull at the handle, I unexpectedly find myself being engulfed by him in an awkward side hug. I don’t move. I just sit there as he wraps me into him for a minute, or a second, I don’t know. He lets go of me and slides out without a second glance.

I look at him walk away and for the first-time notice that the rain has stopped. The glass is smooth and clean and the wipers, motionless.

I fetch the bouquet, pick up my purse, and check my reflection for the final time. Another battle awaits inside.

*****