Sudha

“Hey dear! How are you?”

Sudha’s message flashed on my phone screen.

“Hello! Just reached the University.” My eager fingers typed. 

“What did you have for breakfast?” She asked.

“Bread Toast.” 

“Ugh! Again? When will you try something new?”

“The day you will send me your photo.” I bantered.

She always got upset when I asked for her photo. I was tired of looking at the coral blue, double-story house in her display picture. She had purchased it on her own and I could understand the attachment but she never changed it and that galled me, at times. 

“Come on, I didn’t mean to upset you. Where are you? I tried to assuage her.

“Heading off to saree shopping. Will you help me choose?”

“How can a 50-something man know which saree would suit an office girl?”

“I will send you photos of the short-listed pieces. Is that fine?”

“Well, okay.” A guilty smile danced on my lips. 

I never participated in Jyoti’s shopping spree. I was disinterested in her Bone China collection and meticulously designed Zen corners. She was a splendid companion but that’s all she was, even after twelve years of marriage.

Our marriage was negotiated after a thorough inspection of our horoscopes. I had already earned my PhD in Sociology before we got married. Jyoti was a college dropout, but such differences were not important in those days. We had a simple wedding in a relative’s house. There were just twenty guests. I had not invited my university colleagues. Everything seemed awkward to me.

‘What if they judged me for marrying too early?’

‘Will she be able to exchange pleasantries with them?’ My mind was thronged with an array of imaginary situations.

I by no means found her unattractive. In fact, her deep brown eyes had bewitched me on our wedding night, but it was attraction, not love. I am sure it was not love. She reminded me to pay the bills and never let me go to work without a lunch pack, but I barely had a deep conversation with her.

I remember asking her one day, “Why do you think people marry?”

She looked at me and giggled. “What else should they do?”

“That’s no answer,” I said in disappointment.

She shrugged her shoulders and replied casually, “Our appa and amma married too. I wonder if they thought about it like you.”

“And love?” I demanded.

“What love? Don’t talk like those blockheads in the movies. Real life is different.” 

It was a point of bitter realization. Marriage for her was copying her parents’ model. That’s all. I wanted love to mature into marriage, but she did not feel like that. I shuddered at the thought of her not even knowing how loathed the whole arrangement.

I felt trapped.

Let me tell you, being trapped is worse than dying. You die once but enclosures kill you every day. Your mind screams and revolts, but you cannot escape.

I came up with an idea. I decided to try everything to fall in love with my own wife.

Odd, right?

“Would you like to do those young-couple things?” I shot the question, one day.

“What?” She raised her eyebrows.

“Like reading together, coffee dates and stuff.” What was I saying? I thought to myself.

As we grow up, we carry baggage, so many of them. Job, savings, security! There are just no moments of peace and self-care. I wanted me and Jyoti to shrug off those burdens. I wanted us to laugh and explore the hidden corners of our souls.

I was confident that I would find love. I will break the trap. I will be free.

I could sense the change in our equation, but God had his own plan. I lost her to cholera three years ago.

A grim loneliness gnawed on me every second. Then, I met Sudha. I have known her for ten months, now.

After Jyoti’s death, my colleagues asked me to create a social media account. I made one but my online presence was limited to reading other people’s updates. It helped me pass the time. I never wrote anything until that day.

It was 18 August; Jyoti’s death anniversary and I wrote on my timeline for the first time.

It was a quote by Rumi, “When love is not accepted move on; when love is not appreciated walk away; hopefully time will teach what true love is.”   

Somebody commented on my status with another set of lines by Rumi, “Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.”

Drops of sweat began to trickle from my forehead. I was trembling with fear.

Was I too busy cursing my life to have not seen Jyoti’s love?

I was chasing love as if it were something that could be held in the palm. Why did I not see it in the little things she did for me? I had chained myself and kept blaming her. She would have felt hurt by my words. My silence would have broken her, but she never complained.

What else is love? I had been so cold. This girl had explained to me what I could not understand even after reading a hundred books.

I read her name again, ‘Sudha Murthy’. I sent her a friend request and we started chatting.

Sudha was in her early thirties. She worked in an IT company in Chengalpattu. We liked the same authors and TV shows. I told her everything about myself and how she helped me change my thoughts. She told me that her parents did not like her much. 

She lived all alone. Her parents rarely visited her. I think they never did.

*Beep*

My phone rang. Sudha had sent three photos.

There was a crimson saree with a broad golden border, a pale green with a peacock motif, and a grey one with an interlocked weft pattern.

The crimson one was my instantaneous choice.

“Are you sure?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Okay. I am buying it.”

“Shall I ask you something?” I quivered.

“Yes”

“Why do you always ask for my approval?”

“Because we are friends.”

“Is that all? Just friends?” My heart began to pound as I pressed the send button.

She didn’t reply.

I became crazy in desperation. Had I crossed the line? I began to pace up and down. My throat was parched even after drinking liters of water.

A message popped up on my mobile screen after five long hours. 

“I know you like talking to me. I like it too, but your question has knocked me off. You clearly want to take our camaraderie to the next level, but I don’t. Before you drain yourself into thinking that I like someone else, please know, that is not true. I just fear conformity. My parents wanted me to live my life their way. I felt suffocated so I ran away. Who can understand that feeling better than you? I am not against love, but there can be no such emotion between us. I am deactivating my account. I hope you get over it. Goodbye.”

I was numb. I could hear my heartbeat.

Did I not deserve a chance or a dignified closure, at least? Drops of moisture glistened in the corners of my eyes. I waited for two weeks in anticipation of her message, but there was no sign of it.   

Will I never be able to talk to her? I sighed. Suddenly, something struck me.

I ran towards my study table and grabbed a notebook and pen.

I had made up my mind ̶ to find her.

I began to jot down whatever I knew about her.

Name- Sudha Murthy 

Profession- IT Engineer 

Place of Work- Chengalpattu 

Residence- Somewhere near Martin Gospel Church. She had once told me that she liked walking down to the church every Sunday.

Yes, I also had the photo of her house on my phone. I did not know if these details were sufficient to find someone, but I did not care. My mind warned me against the potential risks but as I said, I did not care.  

I was fifty kilometers away from Chengalpattu. I decided to drive on my own. I started early the next morning. It was a Sunday and Sudha was most likely to be at home. My heart was brimming with hope. It is embarrassing but I purchased a bouquet of red roses for her. I crossed my fingers and reached the Church around midday. I asked everyone in and around the church if they knew someone called Sudha Murthy but everyone supplied NO for an answer along with a confused stare.

My stomach began to churn with hunger. I went to a nearby food stall. While munching on an onion dosa, I struck up a conversation with an old man who seemed to be a local.

I repeated her name and like others, he bluntly shook his head.

I showed him the picture of her house and asked, “Are there any duplex flats like this in the vicinity?” 

He took the phone from my hand. His bespectacled eyes surveyed the picture.

“Two places only, you can find such houses, Maraimalai and Varadharaja.”

After driving in the inner circle of Maraimalai for hours, I finally came across a lane that was lined with houses very similar to Sudha’s. I searched for her house in vain.

The roses were waiting. I felt a shooting pain inside me. Varadharaja was the last option. I asked almost every passerby in the town market about that house. Nobody knew exactly but some said that many young folks had purchased such houses in Kotikullam Lane. The affordable interest rate was the reason, they said.

 I was standing in the lane after fifteen minutes. There were many houses both big and small but not the one I was looking for. I cut into a sub-lane and walked till the end. Just when I was about to turn into another aisle, I saw something I could not believe.

The coral blue, double-story house in Sudha’s display picture was in front of my eyes. I checked my phone for reassurance. Yes, it was her house. The huge wooden door, wind chime at the entrance, everything was the same.

‘Oh my God’ I jumped with excitement.

I mentally charted a plan of action. I would meet and chide her for going away abruptly. I would then ask her to accompany me to the car and then present the bouquet. I will confess my love and tell her that I do not want to change anything about her.

I mustered courage and rang the bell. Nobody opened the door.  

I pressed it again.

I heard the click of the latch. My eyes were waiting to see her, but my smile faded by what I saw. A lanky young man with a semi-bearded oval face was looking at me coldly.

“How may I help you?” he inquired.

I cleared my throat, “Um, I am looking for my friend. Her name is Sudha Murthy. Do you know her?”

He nodded cordially. His disapproval turned into geniality.

“She is inside. Please come in, Professor Iyengar.”

Who was he and how did he know my name? She had no brother or a boyfriend. Also, she had never told me about any paying guests. I grew uncomfortable but followed him, quietly. 

Sudha’s house was decorated tastefully. The front wall had a life-size painting of a village scene. She had messaged me about her desire to buy one. Her love for greenery could be seen in the dainty planters placed in every corner of the house. I was so engrossed in admiring the place that I missed the boy looking at me.

“You like it?” he asked curiously.

“Yeah. It’s beautiful.”

“So, why have you come, Professor? Anything urgent?”

“Something personal. Is she coming?” I said in a dry tone so that he could sense that I was not interested in talking to him.

“Let me go and find out.”

He went to the room on the left side while I waited. He came after ten minutes and told me that she did not want to meet me.

“She cannot do that.” I lost my calm and called out her name like someone possessed.

“Sudha . . . Sudha . . . let me see you, once.” I tried to barge into the room, but the boy stopped me. 

“This behavior does not suit you. Sit down, I will call her.” The boy gaped in disbelief.

I stepped back and sat on the couch. I had never been so rough in my life. God alone knows what had overpowered me in that moment. I came so far just to get a glimpse of her, and I could not let anyone take it away.

I heard the soft tinkle of anklets in the background. My heart skipped a beat. I turned around.

The wait was over.

Clad in the crimson saree I had selected, he was standing in front of me. He was also wearing a red bindi. The rustling of the gold bangles on his wrist added music to the room. He fixed his kohl-smeared eyes on me as if waiting to be judged.

“What have you done to yourself? Where is Sudha?” I asked.  

“I am Sudha.”

“Are you joking?” I jabbered.

“I told you; it would be difficult for you to understand. Can you break the trap?” he asked boldly. 

I gasped for words, but they jumped into the pit of my belly. I walked towards the door and left the house without saying anything.

I had driven back almost five kilometers but then I stopped the car. The bouquet as red as her saree was still lying on the back seat. I threw it out of the window and decided to take a U-turn. 

I wanted to assure Sudha that I would be by her side, not as a lover but surely as a friend.