The Good Girl

Beep!

Kalpana’s eyes flew open. She reached for the phone, too sleepy to realize that it was not the alarm but an SMS.

“Report uploaded,” she read. “Why is this idiot messaging at midnight?” she thought crossly. Then she saw the time, it was already 4 a.m. “Oh great!” she muttered, putting the phone back on the nightstand. Now she had only one more hour of sleep left.

Briiiing, the alarm shrieked and was promptly swiped shut by Kalpana before it could make more noise and disturb her husband.

She sat on the edge of the bed for a few minutes to pull herself together. The 4 o clock SMS had disturbed the few hours of rest that she got in a day. “Hardworking girl,” she thought about her assistant, “but I really must explain work etiquette to her.”

5:10 am was the maximum time she could delay. Any more time wasted and she knew she could not meet her tight schedule. She leaped out of bed, ran to the bathroom for exactly 2 minutes and then to the kitchen with her face still wet. Water on her face helped keep her alert for some time till her first sip of coffee. Then the caffeine took over.

She put the coffee on to brew and then took out the chicken she had defrosted last night and the beans and cauliflower that she had asked the maid to chop after dinner. Quickly chopping and stir frying onions and tomatoes and adding the necessary spices, she placed each item in a separate pressure cooker. Pulling out a fourth one, she measured and added dal and spices. And finally she cooked the rice in a 5th pressure cooker.

“What would I do without pressure cookers!” she often laughed to her colleagues.

While everything was cooking, she quickly made atta for parathas, 3 for her husband, 3 for her maid, 2 for her school going son and 1 for her little toddler. Nothing for herself. After all this hectic activity she didn’t feel like looking at her food again. Instead she ordered something from the building canteen when at work. Her husband avoided canteens as far as possible. “Home food is the best,” he always insisted.

She rolled out 9 parathas, made omelettes for breakfast, and sipped her coffee as she cooked the parathas on the skillet.

“Make parathas the night before,” her colleague had suggested. “Warm them up and pack them. As long as you don’t tell them, they’ll never know the difference.”

“I must try that,” she thought, wondering if she could get away with it.

At 6:30 she woke up her 6 year old and rushed him through the morning ritual of brush, potty, uniform, shoes, cheerfully responding to his whines with, “Come on come, it’s a bright and cheery day” and “be a big boy, let’s see how fast you can get ready.”

While he ate his omelette, she packed his tiffin of parathas and chicken (no vegetables for him, only meat or sandwiches for tiffin) and jumped into jeans and t-shirt and ran a comb through her hair.

She looked at the hall clock. It was 7:05.

“Come on Dhruv, let’s go!” she shouted. She dashed in to her younger son’s bedroom, woke the ayah sleeping there, and then rushed back to the dining table, caught Dhruv by the hand and pulled him along to the little parking area in front of the house, she started the Scooty, and as soon as Dhruv had securely wrapped his arms around her, drove off down the block and reached the bus stop at 7:09. “Perfect timing!” she thought. The bus would arrive anytime between 7:10 and 7:15, so she left him firmly holding another bus stop mother’s hand and zipped back to the house.

7:15 and she was back in the house, in time to cuddle the little one while the ayah got ready. The ayah was an elderly lady who could not do much housework, but she could be trusted absolutely with the children. She was kind and patient and responsible and good humoured - and the children loved her. In the afternoon a young maid would come to the house to do the heavy work of washing and swabbing.

After 20 minutes she handed the toddler over to the ayah and placed her husband’s breakfast, tiffin carrier, and coffee next to the microwave. Then by 8 o clock, she was ready and on her Scooty, off to work.

Her husband woke up an hour later since he worked in a government job and his office opened later, at 10 o’ clock.

“Thank God tomorrow is Saturday,” she thought as she crashed that night at 10 p.m.

Saturday was her rest day. The children’s ayah would manage the 2 boys and cook something basic like eggs and khichdi, and then take the children to an indoor play area across the road for a few hours. Even if her husband had to go to office, he would just have eggs and tea and pack the khichdi if he thought he may get held back with work.

This morning though, he did not pack the khichdi. He had to check in to office only for an hour or so to test his presentation in the conference room. A VIP was visiting on Monday, and he didn’t want any last minute glitches or surprises.

Kalpana got out of bed at 10 a.m. and sipped tea, just sitting quietly on the sofa, enjoying the aloneness and the peace of a man/boy free house. She didn’t read newspapers or watch TV. She just sat quietly, making her mind blank, washing the stress out of her body, pushing away angry thoughts, exasperated feelings, frustrations – strengthening herself for the week to come.

At 12 o’clock, when she had just finished eating an egg and slice of bread she received a call from her husband.

“Hello Deepak,” she said cheerfully. “Looks like you got a lot of work today?”

“No yaar,” whined Deepak, “the work got over, but then I got a call from head office. A senior chap from Kolkata – Mr. Jayant – you don’t know him – was here on some work and he had a heart attack.”

“Oh my god! What happened, is he ok?” exclaimed Kalpana.

“No, no, he had a heart attack and died! I am going to the hospital to see if I can help. So I won’t be back for lunch – I hope I can pick up something decent to eat,” replied Deepak.

“Ok then, let me know when you’ll be back, when you have a better idea of the situation.”

With that Kalpana put down the phone and looked at his mess in the bedroom – towels, vests, undies, t-shirts, socks, bed side magazines and newspapers, and some post-it notes pulled out of his pockets and thrown on the nightstand. She was sorely tempted to roll it all up and throw it in laundry or trash instead of sorting it out and putting it all in its proper place.

Then she consciously corrected her behaviour with optimistic thoughts. “Oh he’s coming late, I don’t have to pick up that mess now,” she thought cheerfully. “Time for one more quiet cup of tea.”

But the second cup of tea was not destined to be as peaceful as the first.

“Kalpu, I don’t have access to wifi here,” explained Deepak. “Can you get on the computer to check the flights to Kolkata tomorrow? I want to buy tickets for Mrs. Jayant and her son.”

“Ok, just a minute while I log in,” said Kalpana as she set the phone on speaker mode. “Is her son here too?”

“Yep, he flew in this morning when Mrs. Jayant told him that his father was not doing well,” Deepak explained.

“But then why didn’t he go to the hospital? Heart attacks are so preventable!” she exclaimed in surprise.

“Poor Mrs Jayant keeps crying,” said Deepak with some distress in his voice “She says she kept telling him to go to the hospital but he just shouted at her that he has too much work to do. I’ve heard he always shouts at her.”

“Poor thing,” clucked Kalpana compassionately. “And what is this too much work! It’s a government job, not private sector,” she continued a bit crossly. “Ah here you go, there are flights in the morning. If you want a convenient time, how about Indigo at 11a.m. or Jet Airways at 11:30? That way even if they start off from the hospital at 8 in the morning they will make the flight. Should I book the tickets?”

“Thanks, no, no. First I will discuss with Mrs. Jayant. I also called my secretary so he’ll carry it forward. Thanks Kalpu.”

Mrs. Jayant and her son sat quietly next to Mr. Jayant’s body on the hospital bed. They could not bear to look at him. As Deepak entered the room to discuss plane tickets, he had the feeling that in the midst of sadness there was an air of relief about them. He paused for a moment to absorb the strangeness of that feeling and then dismissed it so that he could go about his work.

“Naveen,” he said, addressing the son, “can you step outside for a minute?”

“Sir, yes sir,” said Naveen, feeling and looking flustered as he jumped up to accompany him.

“No need to call me sir,” Deepak replied gently. “Now, can you give me some idea of your plans so I can work out how best to help you?”

“Sir, I don’t know. What plans? What should we do? And I have to get back to work. I can’t take many days off,” Naveen replied, confused and agitated.

“It’s ok, don’t worry,” replied Deepak soothingly. “Let me speak to your mother.”

“Oh yes sir,” Naveen said with relief and called his mother. She came rushing out of the hospital room and looked at Deepak anxiously.

“Mrs. Jayant, I hate to bother you with questions, but if you could tell me how you wish to proceed.”

“I don’t know sir. What should I do?” she said, distressed. “What should we do,” she said pleadingly to her son.”

Seeing that his politeness was only confusing them further, Deepak phrased his question more directly, “Would you like to cremate your husband here and then go back to Kolkata, or would you like the cremation to be in Kolkata?”

“Oh sir, I don’t know,” she said, twisting her hands anxiously.

Flummoxed by the reply, he tried to clarify the situation. “Are there family members in Kolkata who would like to attend the funeral?”

“Oh yes, yes, he has two brothers.”

“In that case shall we have your husband moved to Kolkata for the cremation?”

“Oh yes, yes, thank you sir,” she replied, gratefully.

Deepak sighed. There were too many ‘sirs’ for him to digest. “Maybe,” he thought, “I should have asked Kalpana to help me.” He turned to Naveen and asked him to inquire with the hospital administration on transporting the body to Kolkata. “They are sure to know the procedure.”

As Naveen wandered off hesitantly to the inquiry counter, Deepak saw his secretary walking briskly towards him. He heaved a sigh of relief.

“Prabhu, good you came. We have to arrange for Mr. Jayant’s body to be flown to Kolkata. I’ve asked his son Naveen to find out the procedure from the hospital administration. He is there by the reception in the blue t-shirt. Can you follow it up with him?” Turning to Mrs Jayant, he said, “Shall we book your tickets to Kolkata for tomorrow morning?”

“Whatever you think is right sir,” she replied obediently.

“So then Prabhu,” he said briskly, putting his phone in his pocket to drown out the ring till he finished his sentence, “book her and her son’s tickets for tomorrow morning. A flight around 11 o’ clock should be convenient.”

“Right sir,” replied Prabhu as Deepak put his phone to his ear.

“Deepak, how’s it going?” said Kalpana.

“Are you busy? Do you think you could help?”

“Ohhkay, things are not good hun?” she replied reluctantly, rolling her eyes at the disruption of her Saturday.

Can you take an Uber to the guest house? I’ll meet you there,” he said urgently

“Why at guest house?” she said in surprise. “Not hospital?”

“Can’t tell you now. Need some help,” he replied peremptorily.

“Ok, will be there soon as I can,” Kalpana replied efficiently.

“Thanks yaar,” he said, the relief evident in his voice.

“Now Mrs. Jayant, let us go to the guest house while Naveen and Prabhu take care of everything.” He had decided it was safer to instruct rather than ask her what she needed. “Better than wading through a flood of ‘I don’t knows,’” he thought.

As he drove down to the office guest house, he explained that he had asked his wife to come and help.

“That’s very kind of you sir,” she replied in a small voice, her head covered by her sari pallu, eyes looking down.

Trying to make her feel more comfortable he explained further, “Kalpana will help you pack and help in any way you require.” He smiled broadly, although he felt he shouldn’t be smiling at such a time. But he couldn’t help himself, he felt very proud. “You will like my wife,” he continued cheerfully. “She is a very good girl. Even my mamaji who is very strict and old fashioned, is all praise for her. He loves visiting us because she makes him feel so comfortable and cooks all his favourite home food. He says today’s girls are not like her.”

His conversation drew her attention. She wiped her eyes with her pallu and said thoughtfully, “I hope I can find a nice girl for Naveen.”

“My wife is very nice,” Deepak continued proudly. “She is very modern but she is a very good girl.”

As Kalpana strode into the guest house, dressed in her weekend staple of black jeans and t-shirt, she made a stunning sight. Deepak beamed in pride. No one would have guessed she was the mother of two, her figure reduced to a size zero after extensive gymming and serious dieting.

She did a courteous namaste to Mrs. Jayant, “Namaste aunty!” Since it was a serious occasion, she did not smile, but inwardly she smiled at the memory of her aunt that Mrs Jayant evoked. Both were chubby, middle-aged ladies, wearing sarees in an old fashioned manner, covering their heads, and both had a slightly distraught air about them, as if they were permanently harried by life.

Deepak escorted his wife to Mrs. Jayant’s room and asked her to pack up their belongings. “She is feeling so lost, and handling her husband’s clothes may make her more confused.”

By that time Mrs Jayant had wandered into the room, looking like the lost soul that Deepak had described her as.

“Come, come aunty,” said Kalpana comfortingly, guiding her to a cozy armchair in a corner of the bedroom, waving Deepak out at the same time.

“Now you sit here while I pack things and tell me if I am doing anything wrong.” She went to the cupboard, and picked out a fresh saree, blouse and undergarments for the next day and a nightie. “Aunty you’ll need these to wear, right?”

Mrs Jayant nodded silently.

“Ok, now lean back and relax. I am going to pack everything else,” and so saying, she quickly sorted and folded the other clothes.

Watching her, Mrs Jayant found her voice, “I don’t know how I’ll manage on my own beta,” she said in a voice full of anxiety.

Moved, Kalpana, put down the clothes, and held her hands in her hands. “Aunty, you will do just fine,” she said kindly. “The pension is good and the office will help you move out of quarters.”

Mrs Jayant didn’t seem to hear her, “Once I did everything on my own, then they stopped me.”

Not knowing what to say, Kalpana continued to hold her hands and look at her comfortingly.

“My father-in-law said in his family women are taken care of properly. He and my husband did all the shopping. I never went out on my own. How will I go out on my own?”

She sat there trembling for some time, then she added, “I only did cooking and housework and looking after my baby. If I said anything, he shouted at me.”

As the tears streamed down her face, a flustered Kalpana sat on the side of the chair and put an arm around her. She tugged at the edge of Mrs Jayant’s pallu and wiped her tears.

Mrs. Jayant turned and looked wistfully at Kalpana, “I was like you beta.”

Kalpana was too confused and saddened by now to engage in conversation. She gave Mrs. Jayant another hug and quickly ran around the room putting her belongings in the suitcase and strolley.

She was silent all the way home. That night as she served up her husband’s favourite chicken biryani, she said, “poor Mrs. Jayant, just like my aunty, can’t break out of the patriarchal environment.”