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“Yes, he is,” Aksh replies. “He hasn’t come out much. All his meals have been sent to his room, although Devika has been insisting that he join us. Even Vishnu hasn’t returned home since that day. I am going to message him now that you are here. Let’s hope he comes back.” He pulls out his phone to message while I decide to go upstairs and speak to Dad. But then, since Ayaan is also here, I turn towards him. He gives me an assuring smile to go ahead. Aksh bhai notices that.
“Stop worrying about your husband. The Walia family knows how to take care of their son-in-law. You don’t have to worry about him. He’ll survive just fine with us,” he teases.
Ayaan’s disapproving eye-roll at Aksh bhai’s comment about him fitting in here makes me chuckle. Though they’ve never been close, it’s apparent that the dynamics between them are shifting. I turn to Devika bhabhi, and my expression clearly conveys that she should manage the two men and ensure they don’t engage in any verbal sparring.
With that matter settled, I finally head upstairs to see my father. Every step feels heavy with a mix of emotions I can’t explain. I don’t bother knocking on the door as my father typically doesn’t lock his room unless he’s going to bed at night. I simply push it open. The room is dimly lit, with faint light seeping in through the creases in the drawn curtains. Dad is seated on his favourite rocking chair, the one I gifted him on his 50th birthday. After a long day, he often sought solace in this chair, rocking away his worries. The sight of him seated there, gazing at my mother’s photo frame on his lap, weighs heavily on my heart. I close the door and approach him. It’s only when I get closer that he realises my presence in his room.
“Meher?” he exclaims, visibly surprised to see me here.
I sit down at his feet, taking Maa’s photo from his hand carefully.
“What were you doing with this picture?” I inquire in a soft voice, my emotions palpable. “Were you talking to Mom, complaining about how I don’t listen to you nowadays? That I argue with you and expect you to follow my orders?”
Dad shakes his head, gently taking the picture back from me and placing it on the side table. “No, I wasn’t complaining to her. I was just telling her how much you remind me of her. You possess the same qualities as Meera. That day, you expressed your anger just like she did,” he reminisces, his voice strained. “Meera had a unique grace, tenderness and humility that held the family together. But if someone did something wrong, she wouldn’t hesitate to demand justice right away. That’s who she was. And I see her in you, Meher. You share so much with your mother. You resemble her not just in your looks but in morals and values too. You are Meera’s copy inside out, and I’m glad for that.”
My eyes glisten with tears as I hear his words. It’s a matter of pride for a daughter to be compared to her mother. Although I didn’t get the opportunity to spend much time with my mom, I know I can never truly become the woman she was.
“That day when the truth unfolded, and you demanded justice for Vishnu, insisting that I publicly acknowledge him as my son, I saw Meera in you. You reminded me of her.”
“If you loved her so much, then why didn’t you tell Mom about Vandita aunty and Vishnu?” I inquire. “Even if she was your past, why didn’t you confide in Mom?”
Dad tenses up, taking a few moments to gather his thoughts before he begins explaining his past.
“I met Vandita during the early days of my political career. She was working as my secretary. Her intelligence and dedication to her job could bewitch any man. Over time, the boundaries of professionalism blurred, and she became the confidante I needed. She celebrated my achievements, no matter how small they were. When I felt overwhelmed by politics and considered giving it up, she guided me during those tough times and always stood by me. These qualities drew me towards her, and I fell in love with her, Meher. I even planned to marry her.”
Dad’s voice is filled with emotion as he continues.
“But then, suddenly, one fine day, she vanished without informing anyone. I didn’t know why or where she went; she simply disappeared. I searched everywhere for her. For months, I scoured every possible lead, but to no avail. I couldn’t understand what had gone wrong and why she would leave me. It broke my heart, Meher.”
Tears flow down his cheeks as he recounts this, and I instinctively wipe them away. My own tears flow unchecked as I witness my father’s pain as he opens up about his past.
“She was gone for four long years. For a long time, I couldn’t stop thinking that something terrible might have happened to her, which is why she disappeared suddenly. I wasn’t even sure if she was still alive. Vandita and I were inseparable, and it was unusual for her to have no contact with me. I struggled to live without her and was lost and helpless for four years, unable to move on from the grief of her absence,” he hiccups. I immediately go to his bedside table and fill a glass of water, handing it to him. He nods at me and continues.
“Then, Meera, your mother, entered my life. She was like a breath of fresh air, a ray of hope. I never thought I’d fall in love again, but it happened, Meher. I fell in love with Meera’s simplicity, her kindness and her affection for me. I realised I was in love with Meera, and she felt the same way about me. I confided in her about Vandita, about how much I loved her, and how she suddenly left me. I didn’t keep it a secret. Meera accepted it, and at that point, Vandita became my past, and Meera became my present and future. We got married. Those early months of our married life were the best days of my life. I was happy once again. I knew that Meera was my forever; she came into my life when I had lost all hope, and now I’d give up anything for her.”
He removes a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his nose before continuing.
“But then, destiny played its hand once more. Just ten months after my marriage, I coincidentally met Vandita in a small village while attending a political rally. I was both shocked and relieved to see her alive, but I needed answers. I wanted to know why she left me, so I confronted her.”
He pauses again, inhaling deeply.
“She provided me with the reasons, and what were they? A trivial misunderstanding. It was her own fault for not communicating with me and making such a drastic decision to leave the town, me, and start a new life somewhere else with her mother,” he continues.
Misunderstanding?I’m eager to ask for clarification, but he keeps narrating the past, and I don’t want to interrupt him just yet.
“She apologised to me. Vandita had found out about my marriage from the news and was genuinely happy for me. She had realised that it was her own mistrust that led to her abrupt departure. However, we couldn’t reconcile as the misunderstanding had been resolved too late. I was already married to Meera, and I loved her. I could never betray your mother or break the vows of our marriage. Never. Vandita accepted that too. And then suddenly, as our conversation came to an end, a little boy, around four years old, came running to her and hugged her legs, calling her ‘Maa.’”
My heart pounds in my chest, observing my father’s expressions. It’s as though he’s reliving the past, and the horror on his face is evident as he continues.
“The moment I saw that child, I knew he was my son. His face, his smile, the way he looked at me—I just knew. Even though he resembled Vandita more, I could sense he was my son. Vandita should never have hidden such a significant truth about our lives. She had borne my son. When I confronted her, she explained that she wasn’t aware of her pregnancy when she left town. Once she discovered she was pregnant, her misconceptions about me led her to believe there was no point in returning. She then gave birth to our son while staying in a small village with her mother, concealing her true identity by pretending to be a widow and raising our son.”
My body trembles as I listen to Dad’s past, vividly imagining these events as he describes them.
“Even though our misunderstandings had been resolved, it was too late for us. Before I could even determine my next steps, she promised me that she would never come between Meera and me. She assured me that she had moved on and that Vishnu was solely her responsibility. Vandita understood my dedication to politics and the potential damage it could cause my career if it was discovered that Vishnu was my son, born of another woman, and not my wife, Meera. She made it clear that I must not reveal this information to the world under any circumstances.”
“But I was torn. I had a son, and I hadn’t even been aware of it. I was afraid of how Meera would react if I told her about Vishnu. Knowing Meera as I did, she might have insisted that I leave her and reunite with Vandita and my son. I didn’t want her to make life-altering decisions for me when I had no control over them. I was in a dilemma where I had to choose between doing justice to Meera or Vandita. And then there were political implications to consider as well. I was certain that this one truth could shatter my political career. Having a child outside of marriage wasn’t the kind of trait people wanted to see in their political leaders. Therefore, I took one step at a time. The first step was to relocate Vandita, her mother and Vishnu from that small village to a better place near Mumbai where I could at least care for them. Even though Vandita resisted, I didn’t give her a choice this time. I moved them to Ambegaon and took their responsibility. Despite that, Vandita remained resolute in her decision. She didn’t want to break Meera’s heart or our family. She didn’t want me to get close to Vishnu, as it could jeopardise my political career and my married life with Meera. That’s why she didn’t allow me to meet him for three long years. You were born during this time, and Vishnu was seven years old. It was only due to his persistent requests that Vandita finally agreed to let me meet my son.”
His eyes sparkle with admiration as he speaks.
