“What? How could he just walk away after thirty years of marriage?”… Without his wallet or belongings?

Mayuri sat surrounded by people, noises, and voices, yet nothing reached her. It was the fifth day since her world turned upside down.

Did they fight? Was the marriage strong? I thought they were happy.  Who knows what goes on in a marriage?

It was just like any other day. She had woken up at around 7 AM and walked into the kitchen. The saucepan and a single mug were washed and neatly placed on the draining board, just like every single day for the last thirty years.  Her husband had a penchant for waking up early and had his cup of tea before he started his day. In the early years of the marriage, the mornings were pretty hectic, and the arrival of children added to the chaos.

Retirement brought forth pleasant, if not earth-shattering, changes. He returned from his walk at around half-past seven, carrying a newspaper, just in time for Mayuri to walk onto the patio with their respective cups of tea, and they sat discussing the news. Though they held differing political opinions and debated endlessly, their exchanges were rarely acrimonious.

What about his children? Maybe he was depressed! Is it possible that the children are not coming to visit their parents? This is what happens when we send children away to a foreign land. Loneliness, maybe? Or mental health issues? How little we know of others!

“Listen, Mayuri! The children are happy living their own lives, just like they need to. They talk to us every day, and that makes you happy. Except during the pandemic, we make it a point to meet them every year. Get a life. Create a routine. Don’t mope around. You will make the children feel guilty.

Here comes the police! Anything you can add, madam? Did he leave a letter? You say you checked…but can you look again? What was he wearing? You didn’t notice, you say! Yes, yes, I agree we hardly notice what our spouses wear. Didn’t you lay out his clothes for him? Can you check his wardrobe and inform us? No? You don’t remember all his shirts and T-shirts. Did you not shop for him?

Thirty years back, “go and hand over this coffee to Madhav,” Mayuri was told. She stood by his side, pouring the coffee back and forth between the davara and tumbler the way she had seen the women in her family do. Madhav had looked quizzically at Mayuri and said, “Hover around me if you want my company, not otherwise! I hate lukewarm coffee!” The same was the case when she laid out his clothes or stood by his side. As time went by, she started to appreciate the self-sufficient man, unlike the men in her family who wanted their wives to mother them.

Such a nice man! Very helpful and not like my husband at all.  Yes, he helps around a lot. He makes his own coffee, you know? 

Only now, she realized that there were pockets of him that she could never reach. She didn’t know much about his finances. He provided well, but she had never bothered to ask about investments and other details, and now she didn’t even know about their financial health. A couple of times, she had asked him, and he had been vague, and she hadn’t persisted either.

Now, when she thought about it, she realized the strange thing about life and living together. You don’t know much about the other person. You remember some conversations, the pauses, even the expressions, but often enough cannot see them or put a finger on them.

Of late, he had immersed himself in philosophy and religion, territories into which she could never follow him. She had long dismissed it as part of his reticent nature, but she remembered a film in which even a rational man surrendered himself to a godman’s influence. Hadn’t Vinod Khanna once abandoned cinema for an ashram? She remembered the heartbreak she had felt then for her matinee idol. Now, she wondered. Had her own husband done the same—walked away into some spiritual retreat, leaving her behind? The guilt followed immediately.

The children had returned home as soon as they could, and together with friends, relatives, and neighbours, they searched everywhere for him. Hospitals, morgues, bus stands—every possibility was exhausted. Social media appeals brought sympathy but no answers. Each spell of rain and every chill evening wind filled her with dread.

Maybe some health issue? Dementia?

She sat, hearing voices around her, not getting the closure she deserved. Was his walking away deliberate, or was he a victim of foul play? As everyone searched for him, she sat among his belongings, neat, not a thing out of place, as she meticulously searched for answers.

As days went by, she scoured the pages of the newspaper for any possible leads. She looked at passers-by and beggars searching among them for a familiar face. Over time, she stopped running to the door each time it rang, but that didn’t prevent her heart from racing-part hope, part anger.  Over time, she stopped looking at her mobile phone to see if she had missed any calls.

And gradually, the world outside receded as she sat alone, becoming a recluse, living with her unanswered questions.

Perhaps the disappearance of a family member does that to you. Left with questions that have no answers.

 

This post is a part of ‘Fam Jam Blog Hop’ hosted by Manali Desai and Sukaina Majeed under #EveryConversationMatters blog hop series

Manali Desai to https://arusticmind88.wordpress.com

Sukaina Majeed https://thenightreader28.wordpress.com

#EveryConversationMatters to https://www.instagram.com/ecm_bloghopseries