The Out of Print Workshop at Kala Ghoda: PRIYA SOOD

The Spare Room 

Priya Sood

 

‘No. I'm not giving the room to a hippie or whatever they call themselves these days.’ I disconnected the call. 

 

I stretched my neck up and looked around my cubicle. Incessant chatter, phone calls and the occasional shout from the big boss were the usual at Insurance Best. I sat back in my chair.

 

‘All well, Mr. Tyagi?’ Her chirpy voice startled me.

 

‘Yes, Ms Sudha. Thank you.’ I cleared my throat.

 

She popped her head over our common cubicle wall. Her bangles brushed against the short divider.

 

‘I didn't mean to eavesdrop, though you did make it difficult not to,’ she chuckled. She wore rimless spectacles and her hair was always tied up in a bun. ‘I need a place till my house gets renovated. I am not a hippie, but I do enjoy a little disco music.’ 

 

‘I don't know,’ my throat dried up. I cursed myself for handling my personal work at the office. ‘You see we also work together and…'

 

‘And so, you know me. That should be an advantage. Message me the details.’ She ordered as she bounced back in her seat. I preferred male tenants who I could understand and who didn't ask for favours. Previously, while showing the room, a female had asked if I could install a bigger kitchen counter. Shortly after, she handed me a list of other renovations. Men, on the other hand, were messy but low maintenance.

*

Sunday afternoon, I was just about to take my nap when my phone buzzed. I'm in the neighbourhood. Thought I can take a look. Be there in 20? – Sudha.

 

I decided I would tell her the room is no longer available.

 

She arrived on a red scooter. Her face was tomato red from the blazing sun, but she smiled joyfully. As if the sun had recharged her like a solar panel.

 

‘So why is this place still available after two months?’ She asked. ‘Ah, don't bother telling me. Mr Claim Sanction couldn't approve a candidate.’ She laughed.

 

‘Ms Sudha, who all are there in your family?’ 

 

With a gentle yet tired smile, she told me that her husband died of cancer ten years ago. Her son lived with his wife but visited her frequently.

 

Never had I expected Ms. Sudha to have undergone such a tragedy – a woman who was so cheerful and would always organise pot luck lunches. No one would have ever guessed that behind that laugh was well-guarded sorrow. 

 

She moved in with just a couple of suitcases and a few boxes. That day was the first of the many Sundays that messed up my weekend rituals. It had not even been two hours since I handed over the keys when she returned to my doorstep.

 

She wanted help hanging her wall paintings. I had to agree. When I entered, I was surprised to see how colourful and charming she had made the spare room. She worked fast. I thought for a single room there would be one or two paintings to be hung. Once again, she surprised me. She had two medium-sized paintings to be placed above the bed and several smaller ones all over the room, including photo frames. It probably took me longer to hang the paintings than the painter took to paint them. She was so fickle minded. As soon as I would raise my arm to hammer in the nail she would stop me to rethink the position. I just stared at her from the ladder resisting the temptation to ‘accidentally’ drop one from her collection. 

 

On returning from work one day, she waved to me like a child greeting a long-lost friend. 

 

‘Mr Tyagi, come on up for dinner. You must be tired.’ She yelled. 

 

Fearing that she would continue to shout till our neighbours came out, I hurried on up the stairs.

 

The appetising aroma of biryani filled the room. The kitchen counter did seem fairly small but she never once complained. 

 

‘Mr Tyagi, I think it's about time you told me your story,’ she said, ‘Wife, children, criminal record etc.’

 

I hesitated to answer. I didn't know what to share and where to begin. Very soon I realised how eager I was to confide. I had not done that in a very long time. I told her about my modest upbringing in a small family in Saharanpur.

 

‘I never married.’ 

 

She raised her eyebrows.

 

‘I met Anita in college. She was sort of a rebel in our times. When women would study Home Economics, she was determined to study Accountancy with the men. She was quite extraordinary. We fell in love and committed ourselves to each other. I just could not imagine myself to be with anyone else.’ I choked up.

 

‘Where is she, Mr Tyagi?’

 

‘Perhaps having a similar conversation up there with your partner.’ I tried to smile. ‘I lost her to jaundice before we could marry.’

 

We talked for hours into the night losing track of time and ourselves. I felt as if a boulder was lifted from my shoulders.

 

Over the months we spent more time with each other. She helped fix my garden and we grew our own tomatoes and lemons. On weekends, we would make plans to go to the theatre and eat ice cream. I also invited her to my home for dinners. Nothing extravagant. Just the simple sambhar dosa.

 

Once during winter, I was running a fever. Despite my insisting against it, she stayed and took care of me. She made me hot soup and put a soaked cloth on my forehead, waiting on me tirelessly. Finally, she fell asleep on the sofa. 

 

During a Sunday breakfast together, we talked about our past travels. She told me about her snorkelling adventures in the Andamans and the hike she had been on in Kasauli. She was taken aback when I told her I hadn't travelled much.

 

‘You should take the Voluntary Retirement Scheme from the company and travel more.’ I suggested.

 

‘I enjoy working and meeting people. I still have some years left. But you, Mr. Tyagi … you haven't lived your life!’ she insisted. ‘The thrill of playing with the snow in Manali, the scenic backwaters of Kerala, the glee of Goa, and the camel rides in the dunes of Rajasthan. Have you not been?’

 

She buried her head in her palms. Suddenly she sprang up like bread from the toaster. 

 

‘Get ready we leave in half an hour.’ She left in a hurry.

 

We drove for hours and I simply followed Google Maps. Surprisingly, I enjoyed the spontaneity and suspense. It was a cloudy day. I don't know how she managed to make cheese and cucumber sandwiches, neatly stacked in a tiffin box. How I relished the hot tea she poured from her steel flask. As I said earlier, she worked fast.

 

‘Mr Tyagi, here we are Chauki Dhaani!’ She was so eager. As if a child just reached Disneyland. 

 

A man, dressed in traditional attire, greeted us and put red tika on our foreheads. I entered the gate to see a large village with various activities happening in every corner. There were Rajasthani folk song and dance, shadow puppetry and carnival games. I got a nice oil massage for my head by the Champiwala sitting under the tree.

 

‘Tyagiji and Ms. Sudha?’ Said a familiar voice.

 

We both looked back to see one of our office colleagues with his family. He looked at us with surprise.

 

‘Can you believe Mr Tyagi has never been to Rajasthan? The day was lovely, so we made the most of it.’ 

 

‘Why not? Lovely ambience, lovely weather and a lovely lady. How romantic.’ He jeered.

 

 ‘What rubbish, Anil!’ I grunted.

 

I was in no mood for an altercation in public. The man had no decency. His perverted eyes frisked Ms Sudha. She didn't say a word the entire way home. 

 

I thought that things could not get worse, but I never learn. It was Monday morning and Ms Sudha had already left for office.

 

‘Is everything ok?’ I asked.

 

 ‘Yes, I just had some work to finish.’ She said curtly.

 

I sensed a few unusual glances in the corridors. I saw Anil in the pantry. I heard him speaking about how he caught us both red-handed on a romantic date. He went silent as soon as he saw me. Shameless creature.

 

‘Stop this nonsense, you good for nothing!’ I ordered. 

 

Murmurs rapidly spread beyond the pantry. Fingers were pointed. Suddenly, I was the host to a judgemental audience. 

 

A scene was created, and I had done more damage. When I returned to my seat Sudha was missing from her desk. I went straight to her room at home.

 

‘Are you alright? You cannot let scoundrels affect you like this.’ I said.

 

‘We are not teenagers. We should have known that people will talk like this.’ For the first time, I saw tears in her eyes.

 

‘But you love your work and being with people. There is nothing between us, then why should we fear?’

 

‘Mr Tyagi, I can’t deal with this. I will be joining my son and daughter in law after all. Take care of yourself and thank you.’ She said as she opened the door for me to leave. 

 

And just like that, she left. She left the spare room in my house and as corny as it may sound, a spare room in my heart as well. 

 

It has been three full months since she left and her absence still pinches. I am back to being the lonely man I was before I got to know her. No, I am worse.

 

Was I in love with her? It had been so long that I forgot how love felt. I felt things that I couldn’t quite understand. Things like a silly eagerness to see her and tell her every small detail of my day. A nervousness of losing her and not being able to hear her contagious laugh.

 

At our age, it is not that simple. How do I go about this? In my days we approached the parents or wrote letters. Would I send roses? Would that work at sixty? 

 

She would feel insulted if I approached her. She was after all a widow and had a grown-up son. Gosh, what would the son do to me if he found out that I was in love with his aged mother?

 

‘Mr Tyagi, where is your lady friend?’ Our neighbour asked one Saturday while I was attempting to fix the garden.

 

‘You mean Sudha? The one who helped you bake your son’s birthday cake and redecorate your living room?’ I snapped as I continued digging a hole in the grass. My mind was finally made. I had to express my feelings to her.

 

Our company’s Human Resource manager is a close friend of Sudha. When I was honest and explained my situation, she happily gave me the contact of her son. Sudha had suddenly taken Voluntary Retirement.

 

I took my chances and gave her son a call. We agreed to meet at Café Coffee Day on Alwar Street. It was as if I was about to meet the parents of my girlfriend.

 

When I got there he was already waiting. He stood up to greet me. I could see a slight hint of Sudha’s looks in him especially when he smiled.

 

‘I beg of you not to misunderstand.’ I started off. ‘I am a respectable man and my only wish is to know of Sudha’s wellbeing. She has changed her number. I assure you I mean no trouble to her.’

 

‘Mr Tyagi, I appreciate your honesty. I would like to know your … intentions.’ He sipped his glass of water.

 

He looked at me intently.

 

I looked back. ‘I care about your mother’s happiness, perhaps more than my own. I don’t know if it is honourable to fall in love at my age. But my feelings for your mother are undoubtedly resolute.’

 

We sit in his car. I am no longer nervous, just excited to see her after all these days. Why should I lose this precious feeling yet again? 

 

‘Is this where you live?’ I ask as we stop in front of a small white house. 

 

‘No, Mamma is still living at her place.’

 

Imagine, all this time I pined to see her, and she was just eight kilometres away. I get out of the car and admire her beautifully blossoming garden. I walk to the house and ring the doorbell. I hear the sound of her bangles as she makes her way to the door.

 

 She opens it and I see her eyes sparkle from behind her rimless spectacles.

 

‘My house has some major repair work going on.’ I said

 

‘Really?’ She responds with a smirk. 

 

‘Do you have a spare room?’ I have on a childish grin.

 

‘What took you so long?’ She asks, ‘We have to see the world together.’

*

Priya Sood is an enthusiastic learner, whose life changed after the birth of her child. After an extended career in banking, she is now involved in community management and manages multiple women centric communities across South East Asian countries.

Her  published stories include ‘Dreadful Droplets’ in the anthology The Best Asian Crime Fiction, 2020, ‘Where is IronMan?’ in the anthology Born too Soon and ‘Was it Hopscotch or Hide and Seek?’ on Amazon.