Would it have been any different had we been living in India? Without any dollars to exchange, how could have dad pestered Rahul to invest? Given the taboo, where was the question of my man getting into the kitchen for it would have shamed us both? Wouldn’t I have taken to the Indian ways of a working wife? Probably, besides, isn’t the air over there more conducive for couples to cling on to each other regardless, though I hear it’s steadily getting worse on that count? Whatever, with our flanks covered somehow, wouldn’t have that devil stayed put in her place? Surely she would have, and it could’ve been a different story to write home about; well, it’s neither here or there.
Why suddenly this nauseating feeling? Why couldn’t it be morning sickness? When did I last have my periods? Whatever was the turmoil, how could I’ve missed the count? Oh, how he loves children; surely more than any man I’ve ever known. How thrilled he would have been at the prospect of my carrying. With the sprouting of his seed right within me, wouldn’t have his love for me had had a rebirth? How eager was he initially to tend me when I’m in the family way. Haven’t I overheard the bitch branding me barren to her son that was as she gave me enough hints that she was glad I didn’t bear to pollute her high clan with my low blood? Wouldn’t she have played upon his craving for an offspring to nudge him into a fresh nuptial? Surely she would have for that could be her game plan.
Now that so much psychic muck had flowed under our marital bridge, could his child in me make him change his mind? But then, who knows what fate has in the offing, and a trial too costs nothing. Why not I ring him up, no, I’ll personally tell him so that I could sink into his arms.
Sprung from the sofa, I dashed to the door, counting aloud, “One, two, three, four.”
Aswin Sanghi’s prompt [*] for “Write India Campaign of Times of India” 2015