A Matter of Time. Shashi Deshpande

carelessness that lies, like a thin overlay of dust, over our lives. And ease, too, there’s too much of it. There’s none of the tension that’s necessary to make us feel alive, to give us the excitement of living.

      What Sumi likes even less is that Aru is becoming conscious of the situation in the house, of the queer relationship between her grandparents. Sumi has never spoken to her daughters about this, but now, living in the house, in the midst of it, there is no getting away from it. Things have changed since Sumi’s childhood, Shripati is not the same to his granddaughters as he was to his own daughters, yet the oppression of his unseen self cannot but make itself felt. In this atmosphere, how can any of them, Aru especially, forget what Gopal has done, Sumi thinks.

      But Aru has no intention of forgetting, no intention of letting Sumi forget, either.

      ‘I think you should see a lawyer,’ she says to her mother.

      ‘You mean because of Gopal? Devi’s been saying that to me, too, she wants me to meet Murthy’s cousin who’s a lawyer. But I don’t see the point of it.’

      ‘The point? The point is you’ve got to do something.’

      ‘What? Get a divorce? I’m not interested.’

      ‘But he owes you, he owes all of us, yes, you especially, he owes you—’ lamely, ‘something. He can’t get away like this! He has to give us maintenance.’

      Sumi laughs, she seems genuinely amused. ‘Gopal has outsmarted the law. He’s given us all that he had. And he has nothing now, not even a proper job. I don’t think he’s getting more than a bare subsistence from Shankar’s press—so Ramesh tells me. So what can the law make him do?’

      ‘Sumi, you’re making it too easy for him, you’re letting him get away with it. He’s getting off scot-free. It’s not right, he must be made to realize what he’s done ....’

      ‘How? By punishing him? Do you want to punish him, Aru? I don’t. I’m not interested. I just want to get on with my life.’ She puts an arm around Aru’s shoulder. ‘Let him go, Aru, just let him go. This is not good for you.’

      But the feel of Aru’s body, rigid and unyielding, tells Sumi that Aru will not let go.

      ‘Let him go? As if he’s a—a mere acquaintance or somebody with whom we’ve had a small misunderstanding? He’s our father, Ma, he’s your husband. How can you dismiss it so lightly? I don’t understand you at all.’

      But Sumi understands what Aru is doing: she’s trying to reclaim, not her father, but a situation of which he was a part. I know she can never get it back, but she has to learn it herself. I can’t do anything more.

      Aru goes back to Gopal. He’s in the press this time, working, he seems unsurprised to see her.

      ‘This is a rush order, we’ve got to complete it today. It’ll take me some time to be free.’

      ‘I’ll wait.’

      When he comes to his room nearly an hour later, she is waiting for him. Shankar, following closely on his heels, is taken aback when he sees her. He looks awkwardly at the glass of coffee he is holding.

      ‘Please, sir, you take this, I’ll get another glass right away.’

      ‘No, Shankar, I don’t want any coffee. Aru, you ....?’

      Though she recognises his unspoken desire that she should refuse it, too, Aru takes the glass from Shankar. Gopal emphatically refuses one for himself and Shankar goes away leaving them alone.

      ‘Have some?’ Aru holds out her glass.

      Gopal smiles, shakes his head. Aru does not respond to the smile. She intends never to lose sight of the fact that he is an adversary. Accepting the coffee from Shankar was a blow struck at Gopal, and now, offering him some is also an act of hostility, not of friendship. Gopal recognises this.

      It is a bloodless duel this time, both of them are unimpassioned and restrained. She does not ask him any questions, she tells him—how it has been for them, the feeling of displacement, the questions and innuendoes they have to face, the sense of shame and disgrace. She speaks to him of Sumi, of the change in her, of Charu and her desperation, her feeling of having been let down. She is finding it hard to stay cool now, anger is slowly rising in her, but she still holds it on a leash. She calls him a callous father—‘it was Seema’s birthday, you know that, you could have sent her a letter, she was waiting, we could all see that’—a cruel husband, an unfeeling man.

      And then, finally, comes the question: Why did you get married at all, why did you have children?

      Her eyes are fixed on his face, a cold and dispassionate regard.

      There is a long pause, she can see he is deliberating his answer, finally deciding not to say anything at all.

      ‘It’s too late to think of that now, Aru. It serves no purpose arguing about these things.’

      When she is sure there is no more to come from him, she speaks. ‘I’m going to see a lawyer.’

      There is no doubt what this is intended to be: it is a threat.

      ‘It’s not important what you do to me now, Aru. It’s what you’re doing to yourself that’s wrong.’

      ‘It’s too late to think about me now, isn’t it? Too late to show your concern.’

      And on that little bit of childish spite she walks out. Both of them have been too engrossed in their conversation to notice that it has begun raining. Aru takes an angry pleasure in not wiping the seat of the scooter, in the discomfort of the wet seat. By the time she moves out of the small lane, the drizzle has become a downpour. She keeps going mechanically, her head down against the streaming rain, still in that world of hostility and pain. It takes her a while to realize that she has lost her way. Looking about, she finds herself in a place she has never seen, a lane lined by old-fashioned tiled houses that open straight on to the road. She makes a tentative turn and finds herself in equally unfamiliar territory. She comes to a crossroad and gets off her scooter, gasping slightly as the rain streams down her face, trying to find her bearings, to orient herself.

      A motorcycle stops by her. ‘Need any help?’ the rider asks her in English.

      She gives the person a wary look. But his visor is down and she can see nothing of his face.

      ‘Yes,’ she says, ‘I’m lost.’