The week following Shweta's meeting with Vaibhav had been quiet and rightfully so. It seemed like a well-deserved break; the quietude that followed after the explosions that had happened consequently. Seema has been trying to not come across as overbearing but the fight she had with Shweta still sits with her. It was disrespectful, she feels. The silence however does not feel as hostile and Cold War-like as it was.
Shweta, for her part, is concerned with the new development in her life; while simultaneously musing over Shruti's words. The fight with Riddhi is sitting uncomfortably on her conscience and she knows that she needs to make amends sooner or later. While Vaibhav was a wonderful addition in her life, she only realized how much it made her miss Riddhi and how much she had taken Riddhi for granted.
Nani had returned but not without preparing a stack of powders ranging from crushed alive seeds, ground dalchini, turmeric, and all possible spices that are found in the Indian Household. Shweta had been obediently taking a bit of the powder and mixing it with water and drinking it. While it had not done anything other than bombarding her tongue with sensations of different kinds and her period still was nowhere near in sight.
"You don't understand." You could make out the slightly high-pitched voice speaking as you rounded your way up the spiral staircase that led to the terrace.
"That's just stupid." This followed by a giggle. Shweta walking upwards towards the terrace raised her eyebrows. What was Shruti up to? It sounded like a phone-call; one that Shruti wouldn't want to be interrupted. But according to the Younger Sister Code of Conduct, Shweta decided that if her sister didn't want to be interrupted, it was only more reason to interrupt her.
Shruti, phone in hand and a cigarette in another, her back against the terrace as she laughed animatedly, was not what Shweta had expected to see. Alright, it was only the cigarette that surprised her.
With reflexes that would make a cat jealous, Shruti scrambled off her comfortable seat, and her face that had only been holding a smile before drooped downwards, an awkward grimace tracing her features.
"Whoa," Shweta says and the utterance of that little word is enough to make Shruti cringe. There is something so humiliating about the inevitable shift in our persona when being caught doing something we aren't supposed to.
The shift to defend oneself irrespective of the action is something that is so deeply rooted in the human character. And humane as she was, Shruti felt her nerves rise as she defended herself.
"What? I'm a free-thinking, grown woman. I can do what I want."
"I didn't say anything," Shweta says, raising her hands but the unerasable look of curiosity and judgment is present in equal amounts in her eyes.
"I know you didn't," Shruti says, rolling her eyes. "But wipe that goddamn annoying look off your face."
"You're a free-thinking, grown woman, Shruti. If you want to damage your lungs, it's entirely up to you." Shweta says, surprisingly condescending.
"What happened to all your modernism?" Shruti asks, her tone a bit snarky unable to hold off the comment.
"Modernism and all is fine. But voluntarily walking towards cancer? No thank-you." She remarks.
"You sound like Dadi," Shruti says, still stung by the condescending way in which Shweta was addressing her. This might be the way in which she had expected some aunty off the streets to have spoken about it, but not her sister.
"I might," Shweta says, shrugging the comment off. "Why are you smoking anyway?"
The casual, accusatory manner in which Shweta says makes Shruti itch with irritation. But she manages to not let the irritation seep into her voice.
"Because I want to. Because I'm stressed out." She says, putting in the last statement out of the frustration she felt at being the only one in the family who ever knew things.
"College stress?" Shweta asks, now looking a bit worried.
"Yeah. Kinda, sometimes." Shruti says, not meeting her sister's eyes and instead of turning around to look towards the view. Lifting the cigarette, she takes a puff and Shweta scurries next to her.
"Aren't you going to throw it?" She asks, with surprising innocence and a bit of condescension for a girl who claimed to wage a war against patriarchy. Annoyed with Shweta, she mentions it to her causing the latter to be silent for a while.
"You know that was their marketing tactic, don't you?" Shweta asks, after a while. "The cigarette company in America tapped into and infiltrated the women's market with this very idea."
"What do you mean?" Shruti asks, her eyebrows rising in inquisition.
"The cigarette company in America was unable to make women smoke. It was frowned upon, looked down upon as something bad. It was something that women didn't do, particularly women of good families. This was the time when the feminist movement was gaining momentum and women were out on the streets demanding freedom of expression and equality. But no matter what the companies did, they never seemed to be able to get women to smoke. And this was a huge loss for them; there was half a population, possibly double the income generated, not smoking simply because it was bad for their image." Shweta says, looking at Shruti meaningfully and the latter keeps the cigarette away for a while.
"So, they marketed them to it as a mark of what women wanted: freedom. They shot flattering images of women with cigarettes, all of the pictures screaming of independence and rebellion against patriarchy. Against the image of the traditional, submissive wife and mother they were expected to be. The images showed authority, dominance, and a woman who wouldn't be challenged. And then, women flocked to markets. The cigarette sales increased, the companies profited immensely and lung cancer gender demographics are on its way to becoming equal." Shweta finishes her story and Shruti looks at her with grudging respect.
"Okay." She says. "I get your point," Shruti says.
"Cigarettes have just become an icon of equality; something that it was marketed as. And now we have you, basing your discussions on feminism on it." Shweta says.
"I get it. I'm not going to smoke, okay! Equal opportunity lung cancer isn't cool, I get it." Shruti says and Shweta laughs.
"But that's not why you were smoking were you?" Shweta asks, "For, equal opportunity lung cancer?"
"No, I wasn't," Shruti says, her rebuttal to Shwetas discourse finally surfacing in her head. "But the thing is that- this isn't about equality or anything. I smoked because I wanted to; a personal choice that I am technically allowed to exert as an adult, irrespective of gender."
"Is it a good personal choice, though?" Shweta asks, refusing to budge from her stance.
"Not necessarily," Shruti says and Shweta raises her eyebrows. "Okay, okay!" Shruti exclaims, adding "It's not a good personal choice."
Shweta remains quiet, waiting for her sister to continue. "But sometimes, I just feel so... " She pauses, searching for the right word. "So self-destructive. Like I want to take every little part of me and un-build. Not die right away, but just take out a fragment piece by piece."
If Shweta is worried about the sudden dark turn of the conversation, she doesn't show it. Shruti rarely let her into the deepest parts of her head and it was nice to know what was going on inside her sister's head for once.
"But destruction, sometimes I wonder. I don't even have to do it. It happens on its own. It seems inevitable. And when the imminent destruction happens, I smoke. It gives me a sense of control, now that I think of it. I'm the one who is destroying herself, nobody gets to destroy me but myself, you know?" Shruti says and just as Shweta thinks she's done, she interjects.
"Come to think of it, when the destruction is so bad, it gives me a mental space I think. A soft, heady feeling that even when if I'm being destroyed, I don't have to feel it. I can choose to witness it, watch it instead. A sadistic, weird thing." Shruti says, shrugging as though talking about such vague concepts of destruction was the most normal thing.
And Shweta realized, with a chill, maybe it was. Maybe this was how the conversations and thoughts in her head were like so when she said them out loud, the air was nonchalant. Uncaring, as though this were the truth of things.
Shweta had never been able to understand how people said such deprecating things about themselves; the way in which they spoke about themselves. That manner of speech would have been unpardonable if it had been somebody other than them that saying that. She had always wondered how they said it with such ease, without flinching; the self-bullying at times difficult to witness. Maybe it was because they had normalized being their own bullies, normalized hating themselves that when they said it out loud; they were only repeating a conversation that had already taken place inside their heads.
"You don't have to destroy yourself, you know," Shweta says, softly not knowing what on earth Shruti's destruction meant but still knowing enough to keep herself from asking bluntly about it.
"And how do you know that?" Shruti asks, her green eyes hard and steely looking at Shweta, her question pressing into her uncomfortably. Now that the roles were reversed, Shweta felt awkward. Normally, it was she who asked Shruti questions. What was she supposed to answer with anyway? How did she know that Shruti didn't have to destroy herself? She didn't know, how. She just knew that Shruti didn't have to. That thing would be okay someday, whatever the things were. That was just the nature of life as far as she was concerned. She didn't know why or she didn't have any proof of it.
"I don't know," Shweta says, feeling like a child. "But it'll be okay. Things always are okay." She says.
Shruti looks at her, the answer obviously disappointing her and imperceptibly, the invisible, unreadable mask on her face is back.
"Why?" She asks sounding amused, not letting Shweta know what she was actually feeling.
"Because that's how things are," Shweta says, stubbornly and stamping her feet as if to prove her point.
"Because that's how things are?" Shruti asks, smirking; her usual demeanor returning already. It wasn't worth sharing things with anyone if they couldn't help her.
Shweta realizes this but unable to express it and slightly pissed off at her own self for having let her sister down. Why was it that Shruti could help her out with the exact words whereas she never seemed to be able to do that? It escaped her at the moment that perhaps this was more of Shruti's fault than her own. Shweta, when she shared something was always honest and transparent about it. There were never vague explanations thrown or metaphors used in circles. For her, it was what it was and that was how it had always been.
"Well, you know what I mean," Shweta says, petulantly unable to find the words to express her predicament.
Surprisingly enough, Shruti laughs. And in a rare moment of affection, she puts her arm around Shweta's shoulder drawing her into a side hug.
"Crazily enough, I know." She admits.
"You don't sound like you do," Shweta says, uncomfortably brushing away the hair strands that had fallen onto her face following Shruti's impromptu hug.
"I know." Shruti says. "Not all of us are born perfect." She grumbles.
"I'm not perfect," Shweta says, her accusation on Riddhi springing back to her and making her feel guilty about it.
"I know that," Shruti says, and points to the figure walking on the street. "You should apologize to her sometime now."
Riddhi was walking on the street, her hands hugging two large textbooks to her streets; most probably returning from her afternoon tuitions. Normally, Riddhi would have glanced upwards and when Shweta invited her in; they would spend hours discussing everything under the sun. But now, she doesn't glance up; it's hard to say if it is because she has seen Shweta and Shruti on the terrace earlier or because she cannot even bear to look at the house.
"You don't want to lose a friend like that," Shruti says and Shweta nods.
"I know. I'm going to apologize to her. Soon." She says, realizing how very much she missed Riddhi.
A/n: Three chapters without Vaibhav. But this conversation between the sisters needed to happen! He's coming soon! This isn't a typical romantic novel; I'd never really intended for it to become romantic. But it somehow did and I don't really regret it. I'm kind of proud of it.
Still, this book is more about the dynamics within Shweta's family and life and how a missing period wreaks havoc on them.
Thank you so much for reading! I hope you have a wonderful day ahead.
Much love,
shortgirlbigbook â¤ï¸.