The Other Woman by Das Monica

Author:Das Monica
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-9-3511-6055-7
Publisher: HarperPerennial
Published: 2009-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

Translated from the Malayalam original by V. Abdulla.

The Sea Ahead

Suchitra Bhattacharya

Shraboni introduced the topic at dinner. ‘Tatar’s summer holidays have almost come to an end. Why don’t we go for a short vacation somewhere?’

Dhiman was devouring the TV serial as eagerly as the wholemeal bread. The heroine has got back after a rendezvous with her secret lover. She presses the calling bell but no one opens the door. She pushes the door and finds it ajar. Her husband lies on the drawing room sofa, dead. Clean shot! Dhiman cannot be expected to listen to Shraboni’s tantrums at a moment of such suspense.

And he doesn’t. But Tatar is not one to give up so easily. Not long back, Shraboni would put him to bed after an early dinner. Now, he keeps on sitting at the table with his parents even though he has eaten. He shakes Dhiman’s arms vigorously. ‘Yes Baba, lets go.’

‘Where to?’ Dhiman’s eyes do not budge from the television.

‘Like Ma says, let’s go somewhere!’

The police appear on the screen. Titles follow in a freeze-frame and the serial comes to an end. Dhiman looks at Tatar at long last, ‘Where did you say you want to go?’

Shraboni replies on his behalf, ‘Somewhere nearby. Just for two or three days. We haven’t been anywhere for so long.’

‘How can I go? I don’t have any leaves now.’

Shraboni had already provoked Tatar. She nods at him now. At once, his eyebrows come together in a frown. ‘Why Baba? The next weekend is a holiday.’

Yes, but Dhiman had other plans for those three days. He places his hands on Tatar’s head gently. ‘I have to go on an office tour at that time, Tatar.’

‘No, no! You can’t go on tour – we’ll have a holiday.’

‘That’s not possible, Tatar. Don’t be so insistent.’

Tatar is crestfallen. He is reduced to tears at his father’s slightest rebuke. His lips begin to pout.

Dhiman usually gives in to his son. He softens a bit. The boy is as obstinate as him. He pulls him close. ‘So tears have begun to fall already without any rhyme or reason? Okay dear, I will cancel the tour if I have to.’

‘Will you?’

‘Yes, I promise.’

Father and son shake hands like West Indian cricketers. Shraboni opens a bottle and gulps down the cold water. A victorious smile plays on her lips. Dhiman stands in front of the TV. The English news is on. He switches to a music channel, sits on the sofa and lights a cigarette.

‘So let’s go to Digha for a few days. What do you say?’

Shraboni gives a derisive laugh. ‘Not a bad idea! But then, instead of Digha, why not go to Gariahata or Shyambazaar… they are swarming with people, too.’

Dhiman is taken aback a bit. ‘Oh! So you don’t fancy Digha. Tatar, why don’t you say where you want to go?’

Tatar, of course, is pleased to go anywhere outside Calcutta. All unknown places are equally romantic to his imagination, be it Darjeeling or Lakhikantapur. He settles comfortably on his father’s lap.

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