Shweta's brown eyes could always be mistaken for black. The large, shapely eyes that she had inherited from her mother; the one feature that Shweta prided on. The rest of her, she wasn't very proud of; a firm mouth that had gotten her into more fiery arguments than she would've liked, an inquisitive nose that twitched and itched when she came across a questionable statement. These questionable statements were usually from the headmistress of her high-school, who had taken her inside the office and exclaimed in utter exasperation more than once. Shweta, this is not a correct way for a girl to behave! As far as Shweta was concerned, there was only one way for a girl to behave and that was exactly how she wanted to.
And that was what she had done.
Behaved exactly in the way she had wanted to without a single thought for the consequences that may follow. But now that the consequences were well upon her, she couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of regret at having done what she did. And the immediate guilt at having felt the regret.
This was only because, the jeans that fit her perfectly weren't as perfect today. Her stomach seemed to bulge out slightly, her thighs seemed larger than they ever had. The keenest observer wouldn't have noticed these differences but paranoia had distorted Shweta's assesment of her image.
Sweat glistens on her hairline and she looks at the mirror; panicking more with every passing second. Just three minutes ago she had been happy; just about as happy as a clam. But now precisely a hundred and eighty-one seconds later, nausea has gripped her and her face turns paler with every passing second. Was this nausea because of fear? Or was it because there was a possibility; a teeny, tiny possibility that she was pregnant? Seventeen, almost eighteen-year-old and soon to be a mother? What would her mother say?
Fear is gripping her, it's tentacles wrapping around her and convincing her that doomsday is not very far off. She looks down at her cellphone calendar, willing it to change the dates. To somehow miraculously align the dates so that she wouldn't be late. But the app stays the same, the pleasant green background with little daisies not even flinching at the slightest.
Late, the word haunted her so. She was three days late to her otherwise prompt and very punctual twenty-eight-day menstrual cycle. She was late and right now it felt as though very soon her own name might have the word 'late' attached to it if her family were to find out. Late Shweta, who was late. But she had to tell somebody or else she would lose her mind.
Only solution, she thinks as she looks at the phone.
She calls her best friend.
Of all the things that could interrupt her afternoon siesta at three-thirty, Riddhi hadn't imagined that it would be her hysterical best friend screaming about things that Riddhi couldn't believe was true. This better be a joke, Riddhi thinks as she scampers out of her bed and runs towards her steel almirah. It is a faded green steel almirah covered with stickers and temporary stick on tattoos that came free with the one-rupee toffees. But for now, Riddhi neither admires her artwork from when she was a twelve-year-old nor does she frown at it like she usually does. Not even the peeling, yellowed hello kitty sticker manages to make her cringe. She flings open the creaky old cupboard and grabs the first pair of jeans she gets. She almost falls over the pile of books on the floor, as she scrambles out of the room simultaneously trying to pull her hair into some semblance of a ponytail.
"Ma, I'm going to Shweta's house." She yells out; hoping her mother doesn't switch on her overprotective mode.
Luckily for her, her mother is too engaged (almost moved to tears) by the movie playing on the television screen. It's called Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gum (Literal Translation: Sometimes Happiness, Sometimes Sadness). Riddhi's mother is an otherwise practical and alert lawyer but today she has melted under the warm brown-eyed gaze of the Indian superstar Shah Rukh Khan on the television screen. It reminds her of the good old days, she says.
Riddhi would otherwise roll her eyes and say Maa! but today she's far too frantic. She grabs her worn out converse from the shoe rack and she dashes out into the street.
She runs across the street like a mad woman much to the surprise of her father who had been conversing with a neighbour at the local Galli shop. (Galli:street).
Luckily for Riddhi, Shweta's house isn't too far away. She reaches, huffing and puffing, her cheeks reddened by the exertion. Her legs, unused to exercise, feel a bit wobbly as she tries to stand up straight and knock the door.
"What?" She says, as soon as Shweta opens the door, but her best friend is far too much of a mess to register what shes said.
"Oh, Riddhi!" She says, bursting into the tears that she had been holding in for so long. Quite taken aback at the tears, for Riddhi was the crying best-friend on most occasions, she stands and awkwardly holds Shweta.
"Hey, you know its going to be okay." She says, fumbling for words. The first thought that had come to her had been her usual got-to when she came across a crying person who wasn't herself, do you want water? But even inside her head, the thought had seemed out of place and inappropriate.
Shweta looks at her best friend, her dark eyes widening and whispers in a terrified voice, "Oh, what am I going to do?"
"Well." Riddhi says, her usually top-of-class brain failing her when she needed her most. But with Shweta looking at her like she's the goddamn Prime Minister, she strangles her brain for a logical answer.
"Well, we go out to buy a pregnancy test." She says, her brain choking and spluttering within.
"Of course." Shweta almost snarls, the sarcasm in her voice is poisonous. "Almost every medical store owner in the locality knows my mother. How do we get a pregnancy test without being ratted out?"
Shweta's mother was a gynaecologist. Indians and their obsession with the field of Engineering and Medicine had ensured that every single person in their locality knew that Shweta was Dr. Seema's younger daughter. Usually it resulted in people giving her a bit more respect than her peers but today it was just a nuisance. Dr. Seema's daughter buying a pregnancy test would be the greatest scandal in the locality and every single one of their neighbours would lap it up. A gynaecologist that too, they would joke about it for the next seventeen centuries.
"We'll have to go out into the city." Riddhi says and Shweta nods and they head upstairs into Shweta's room.
Shweta hastily combs through her short bob as she looks into the mirror in her bathroom. What have you done? She whispers as she stares at herself.
Her eyes go down to her belly and she wonders if its only going to be a matter of couple of weeks before it swells up. Was this what she would have to deal with? A pregnancy that she had hoped would happen only far ahead in her future, at least as far as ten years ahead. But now would she have a ten-year-old child, ten years from now? A fatherless child, nonetheless. Of course, there was the choice of abortion; but that wasn't without it's own share of complications. And who would perform the abortion? Her own mother, the grandmother of the phantom foetus? Before she can embark any further downward on the spiral staircase to madness, Riddhi bangs on the bathroom door.
"Are you asleep?" She yells out.
Shweta pulls on a pair of pants and runs her hand through her short hair. She then hurriedly unlatches the door.
Grabbing a sling bag and hurriedly stuffing some hundred rupee notes in her purse, Shweta and Riddhi head out.
The autorickshaw stands waiting for them and Riddhi directs him to take them to a pharmacy in the city. And it is inside the jangling and clanging, beaten up autorickshaw hitting one pothole after another, that Riddhi broaches the subject. The subject that had before then remained unspoken of since Shweta's frantic phone-call. The subject that had expanded and grown and become the elephant in the room, crushing them both in the tiny space of the three-wheeler.
"When was the last time you had sex?" Riddhi whispers rather uncomfortably. All those years of friendship but talking about sex was still a taboo. A line they wouldn't cross beyond giggling at the diagrams of the reproductive system in Riddhis Biology book. Sex was still something that had to be turned a blind eye to, the expanding population of the nation was because children grew on trees, not because adults had sex.
And sex for pleasure, for the simple carnal exultation of it, was unheard of. And if they did hear of it, it was always spoken of by aunties with lowered voices of loose girls with looser morals.
Riddhi had always been her 3 a.m. friend, the person who'd always listen to all of her woes, her partner in crime and so much more. They counted each other as family members and knew each others houses like the back of their palm. They knew each others' most embarrassing secrets, their codes when they gossiped, their ardent ambitions and worst nightmares. Shweta had always thought that when she'd get into a relationship, Riddhi would be the one that she would go scrambling to, for advice.
But what happened between her and Vaibhav had been so delicate that she hadn't even told Riddhi for the fear of disrupting it.
And also, a tiny bit of her felt, Riddhi wouldn't quite understand. As much as Shweta hated acknowledging the thought, Riddhi had always been a bit too much of a goody-two shoes. A bit too much of the perfect daughter, the model student and the ideal Indian girl. Beside Riddhi's perpetually shiny image, Shweta had always felt like bit of the rust that tarnished Riddhi's otherwise spotless picture. The bumbling, boisterous Shweta who had been labelled a bitch more than once because she didn't hesitate in letting people know what she thought of them.
And when Vaibhav had happened, it had simultaneously felt like it was the one good thing in her life and her undoing.
She wasn't even sure that what she had with Vaibhav fit the mould of what a relationship could be defined as. They were more of an uncertain situation-ship. Both of them had been desperately attracted to each other but not very eager to trap their young selves in a relationship. What they shared was something Shweta wasn't sure she herself, understood. They had shared a remarkable rapport with each other but committing had always been a grey area in their relationship, if you could call it that. It wasn't so much of a grey area as it wasn't even an area at all, Shweta suspected. There was chemistry, undeniable tension that sizzled and sparked every-time they were close.
When Shweta had lost her virginity, she chose to keep it a secret worrying that it would break their friendship. She hadn't just felt guilty for keeping a secret from her best friend but she was also worried that Riddhi would consider her a slut. Shweta and Riddhi had always been a bit too quick to gossip, a little bit more interested in the scandalous affairs their seniors had had.
And now when the tables had turned and she, Shweta was on the other side, she was very unsure of what Riddhi would think of her. She had never thought of slut-shaming as a problem but now when she had slept with a guy, she could finally see for the first time how unfair it was. How unfair it was that she, as a female, was denied sexual expression but boys could go around treating sex as a conquest.
Society had shaped them, shamed them and inequality had been drilled into their subconscious. Both of them had been raised by educated mothers, but somewhere down the line, the inequalities with which their mothers were raised has shown and it has slowly begun accumulating in their subconscious bringing out subtle behaviour patterns.
Their mothers might have their own paycheck but they always waited/ had waited, for their husbands before eating dinner. Riddhi and Shweta- for as far as she remembers, will assert that they'd never seen their fathers wait for their wives. Their parents have provided them with their rightful education and have always taught them to put education over marriage. But these are the same parents that ask them to wear dresses that are below the knee.
There is a sense of empowerment that their parents have provided them with but they've been equally controlling in all other aspects. This is a nation that has known patriarchy since the beginning of time and it will take time to erase it completely and replace it with equality. It was this inequality inebriated in their manner of thought that prevented her from telling her best friend about her sex life. This was still a generation that treated sex as conquests for boys and virginity as sacred for girls.
Until she had almost lost her sanity about an hour ago and had had to spill all the beans over the phone. Riddhi's reaction had been nothing short of soothing and the way she'd jumped to her friend's rescue had made her feel that their friendship wasn't just based on family backgrounds and high school survival tactics. It was more than that.
"Three weeks ago." Shweta answers in a tiny voice, awkwardness laced in it.
"Well, according to Google, pregnancy tests start showing from second week onwards." Riddhi says rather matter-of-factly and Shweta cringes at the word 'pregnancy'.
"So there's a possibility that I'm carrying a three week old baby?" Shweta almost screams out the last part; the word baby feels very unfamiliar and out of place.
"It's only a possibility. Foetus, not baby." Riddhi hastens to assure her. "There are thousands of other reasons why you could be late. But did you guys use protection?"" She asks, concerned.
Shweta scoffs as she replies, "Of course we did." But then her tone turns less mocking as she says, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."
Riddhi turns around and grins at her friend, "I'm glad you didn't. I don't want to know what you and my cousin are up to." But the grin doesn't quite reach her eyes and her joke comes out half hearted.
Shweta had met Vaibhav about two and a half months ago. They had met at a puja held at Riddhi's house and lo and behold it had been unmistakable sexual tension under God's very altar. It was almost as though destiny had willed it. So taut, so evident that both she and Vaibhav had been surprised that nobody else could feel it. Shweta would've almost called it love.
Almost.
Riddhi had been busy with all the guests at her house and Shweta had taken it upon herself to make Vaibhav feel at home. A little too willingly. But Riddhi had been unsuspecting enough to let Vaibhav and Shweta form a good friendship within the first few days of the seven-day long puja. So, they'd sneaked of between bhajans (devotional songs) and not so subtly brushed hands when they walked beside each other in the dark alleys.
They would be conversing about something trivial one moment. The next, he would be staring at her intently and she could feel the heat pooling her lower abdomen. Thoughts of his hand gently grazing her thigh as they travelled higher and higher, would swirl in her head. Then he would smirk, his eyes glinting mischievously, making her wonder if he could read her mind.
Vaibhav was not an unattractive guy. Tall, with jet black hair that fell into his eyes. The eyes, a same shade of brown as Riddhis always had this dark emotion swirling within. A cloud, looming over even when he was joking around. He wanted to take up Mathematics honours and Shweta had heard about it, she'd given him a sly smile.
"I would've pegged you as the type whod take up some obscure subject and spend the rest of his life as a tortured artist." Shed grinned.
"Really, Shweta? Maybe if thats your type, I could change.." Hed drawled lazily, letting the words hang in the air. Only the, she had noticed his fingertips dancing at the edge of the door, lightly pushing it closed and then opening it again.
Following her gaze, he'd smirked and looked at her, "Shweta, you know there's a puja going on downstairs, don't you?"
And she had looked up, flustered and annoyed because he always seemed to be reading her expressions. And further annoyed because she secretly knew she liked it.
"Oh, shut up." Shed said, rudely before turning on her heel and walking away. When her face broke into a tell tale smile just as she turned her back to him, Shweta was only glad that Vaibhav could not see her.
He had stood in the puja looking sullen and moody and she had thought it was because of her. But in between the puffs of cigarettes he took in the alley he told her, it was because he didn't believe in religion. Shweta wasn't sure where she stood on that; but it felt nice to have someone talk to her that way. Somebody who had an actual opinion, didn't matter what it was.
It had continued with flirty text messages and late-night conversations. They were both horribly attracted to each other but too stubborn to acknowledge it. She'd only kissed him once at the end of his week-long stay at Riddhi's house and that much physical contact had been enough to make them both yearn for more. He'd walked her home and almost as an impulse, she'd turned around and landed a kiss on him. He'd been taken aback but he had recovered quickly, smiling between the kiss; his arms threading around her waist and pulling her closer.
His voice on the phone, under the late summer skies, humming in her ear amused and attentive had made her feel emotions that made the Good Indian Girl within, blush.
Until he'd planned an impromptu visit to Riddhi's house three weeks ago and they'd both stripped each other bare; their sexual frustration over the months aching to be released. And that was when he'd told her, his admission vulnerable but his choice of words brazen; a paradox much like him.
"Do you know how fucking crazy it's driven me, hearing your goddamn soft voice in my ear like some sort of fucking angel?"
Nobody had ever, ever, said she had a goddamn soft voice.
What had begun as a casual relationship had morphed into something bigger. From a goddamn soft voice to pregnancy.
Shweta wasn't sure of what Vaibhav would have to say if it turned out that she was indeed, carrying his baby. Would he chicken out or would he accept his pregnant semi girlfriend? For someone who claimed to know Vaibhav as well as she did, the uncertainty left an uncomfortable feeling that she wasn't sure she wanted to acknowledge.
When she looked at Riddhi, she felt a surge of jealousy. Calm, unhurried and practical Riddhi. Always scoffing at the idea of love, always studying for sketching or doing something productive. She was certain that Riddhi's parents were very proud of her.
"Lucky you, Riddhi. How do you manage to stay away from drama?" She asks and her friend smiles at her.
"Oh, I don't think I'll ever find the type of drama I like." She muses thoughtfully.
The autorickshaw halts to a screeching stop in front of a medical store called Sunrise.
Its a busy, tiny store with an assortment of medicines all stacked one after another in an unorganised fashion. The owner is a lanky, skinny guy with spectacles that he keeps pushing upwards. He wears a bright orange cotton shirt that clashes horribly with his dark skin. His hair is a scrambled mess and he keeps yelling at his assistant 'chotu' to climb up to the top rack and throw down the medicines. Chotu, true to his name, is a small guy but he makes up for his small stature by his swiftness. Running from one corner of the shop to another, he hands paracetamol, aspirin, Eno acidity packs with an authority that a licensed pharmacist would lack.
Riddhi and Shweta manage to push their way into the crowd but it is only after most of the people are gone that they ask for a pregnancy test. They both don't want to risk the judgemental stares of unknown aunties and the lewd stares that some uncles give them. So, they stand pushed up against the counter until the crowd goes away and the shopkeeper notices them.
"What do you want?" He asks, rather crankily.
"Uh. Pregnancy test." Riddhi speaks for her friend who's suddenly gone mute.
"Actually, give me two from different companies." She says decidedly and Shweta looks at her in surprise. For someone who was as goody goody as Riddhi, she sure seemed awfully decisive about the pregnancy tests. Could it be possible that Riddhi was keeping secrets from her as well? Shweta thinks, as she chews her lip.
The man looks disdainfully at her and then at Shweta trying to figure out which one of them fitted the less sanskari stereotype. The one with the short hair, he decides and yells out at Chotu to get the pregnancy test. (Sanskari- well mannered).
Chotu scampers off and soon arrives with two packets with similar covers. A woman, holding her still small belly and giving the camera a huge smile. The large sindoor on the womens forehead seem almost apologetic, as though the company were trying to make amends for the fact that they'd made a pregnancy test. Look, the garish red mark seemed to say, at least shes married!
"Namaste doctor sahiba." They hear the surly shopkeeper's voice suddenly changing into a sweet tone. (Sahiba- denotes respect. Equivalent to ma'am. Except I haven't heard anyone use doctor ma'am in English).
"Namaste." They hear a familiar voice that sends chills up their spines.
The two packets of pregnancy tests now seemed to have increased in size, spreading over the glass counter, so distinct and loud.
"Thankyou."the Riddhi says with her back still turned to Dr. Seema who now looks at them curiously. The familiar behind of the girls making her tap one of them on the shoulder.
Wishing the earth would open up and swallow her, Shweta turns around to meet the gaze of her mother.
Author's Note: Don't forget to vote, comment and let me know what you think!