11.01 am

I officially became Sonakshi Sippy on 11 December 2017. Yes, I changed my name and no, I didn't hyphenate it to the fashionable Sonakshi Rastogi-Sippy. I have no sentimental attachment to my maiden name. After all, it belonged to my father, who abandoned me when I was twelve years old, forcing me to grow up overnight. 

Having never experienced it, I don't know what the life of a normal child feels like. What I have experienced is wet towels on my stomach, that my mother used to occasionally substitute for dinner. What I have experienced is seeing my mother cry silently when she was forced to take me out of school because she couldn't afford my fees. What I have experienced is the treacherous world of television where I've had to step cautiously to avoid being taken advantage of. I don't know what a normal childhood is. I haven't known it since I was twelve.

My cleaning mission has taken me to the topmost shelves that line our built-in closets in the bedroom. These shelves are usually reserved for extra pillows, duvets, and empty suitcases. I'm making it my mission to wash and repack every one of these pillows and duvets and dust the suitcases. There are four of them on the shelf - two black ones, one blue one and another red one. 

I've cleaned and repacked the other three but am unable to get the red one down. It seems heavy and placed in a rather odd way. Standing precariously at the edge of the stool, I stretch my hands as far as I can to grab the suitcase's topmost handle. The stool slips from under my feet and I close my eyes awaiting the impact of my fall. But I don't fall. Instead, I feel breathing against my stomach. I open my eyes to see Rohit holding me.

When I look down, I still have my arms outstretched. It's funny. Suddenly the two of us burst out laughing. It's been a while since the two of us have laughed. We used to laugh so much together. We fell in love because of that. But lately... I brush my thoughts aside and continue to laugh. I don't want to ruin this moment.

Rohit scrunches his eyes as they begin to tear up. Laughing always did that to him. He then gently puts me down.

"You're home early." In the last two weeks, I've never seen him home at this time.

"I'm tired. I thought I should sleep for a bit before going back."

My hands immediately go to his forehead. I touch them with the back of my palm to see if he is running a temperature. He's not. It must be due to a lack of sleep. I don't know how much sleep he's been getting for the past two weeks. But if I had to guess, I would say not more than four hours a day. At this rate, he's going to burnout. Yes, I know what burnout is. I've burnt out many times.

I don't realize that my hand is still on his forehead. He gently moves it away and raises his eyebrows. I know what he wants to ask. I look up and point at the red suitcase. He moves me aside, stretches his hand, and without the aid of the step-stool brings it down. There are a few advantages of marrying a tall man, after all.

As I try to wheel it to the living room, I realize it's heavy. Once there, I lay it on its back and unzip it. It is full of memories - our memories. There are concert tickets, posters, clothes, albums, photographs. I pick up our wedding album and flip it open to a random page, only to land on a picture of my mother applying tilak to Rohit's forehead, as a welcome gesture. Both of them are laughing. There is so much love in her eyes. I've rarely seen that look on her. Rohit always had a special place in her heart.

I sense Rohit standing behind me. "She was very special." I know he's talking about my mother. But I don't turn around. I don't want him to see the tears that are collecting at the edge of my eyes. Before they spill out, I brush them away. "Yes, she was. She loved you." I want Rohit to know. He doesn't say anything. Instead, I see him crouching beside me. He reaches for the album and pulls the picture out. "When the lockdown is over, we'll have this enlarged and framed. It should go on our living room wall." I turn the pages of the album and pull out another one of his mom hugging me. "This should be enlarged and framed too, for our living room wall." He gives me a quizzical glance. He knows I don't share a great relationship with his mother. I don't answer. I might have not shared a good relationship with his mother until now, but I have every intention of changing that.

*****

2.07 pm

We're just sitting down for lunch. Considering he is home for lunch, I know he's not going to be home for dinner. So I've swapped the food schedule. I want to make the most of the few moments we get together. But I didn't always think like this.

"Sona, the samosas on your set are yummy."

"Uh..uh," I responded not paying attention to the man in front of me who'd traveled for an hour just to spend half an hour with me.

"Kaka, can you bring me my salad?" I shouted at the top of my voice. My personal attendant was nowhere in sight and I was feeling lazy to go get it myself. 

Rohit covered his ears with his hands, and gave me a resigned look before dunking his potato-filled fritter into the sweet and spicy tamarind sauce and taking another bite. A bit of the sauce trickled down his chin.

"There's something there," I said pointing to his chin, just as my assistant walked in with my salad.

I stared at the salad, a scrawny excuse of half-rotten leaves with bits of apple in it, and looked at my assistant. "Next time, tell the producer I want to see my lunch before I start the shoot. If I'm not getting good food, I'm not shooting."

The poor man scurried away to inform the producer about my ultimatum while Rohit stared at me, once again, flabbergasted.

"What?" I barked at him, picking at my food. I cursed myself for not asking Mom to pack something for lunch.

"What was his fault?"

"That he's incompetent."

Rohit shook his head and continued to enjoy his samosas. Five minutes later, he got up while wiping his hands with a tissue paper. "I need to leave Sona," he said to no one in particular. "It will take me another hour to reach the hospital."

"If your work is so important, then why do you bother coming all the way here to spend time with me?" I was irritated and I took it out on him.

"Sona," he began but I was in no mood to listen. "Just go. Go to your patients. Clearly they're more important than me."

Rohit looked hurt, my jab was clearly unwanted. As he picked up his bag to make his way out of my dressing room, he looked me in the eye and said, "Yes they are."

That was the first time I lashed out at Rohit unreasonably. I wish that had been the last. He kept taking it and I kept giving it to him as if everything was always his fault. And then one day I lost him forever. I wish Rohit had said something, anything to put things in perspective during any of those times. It might have saved me. It might have saved my career. It might have saved my marriage.

Because rumor has it that the producer and the channel decided to pull the plug on the show due to the irresponsible behavior showcased by the lead pair. That's another reason why I haven't found work six months after Kahani Parvati Ki ended.

Our industry works on rumors. What people say about each other, who knows whom, who's worked with whom. And believe me, it's a lot harder for women. But that I suppose is true of anywhere.

*****

8.05 pm

Rohit left for the hospital at 7. Which means I probably won't see him until tomorrow morning. So I decided to read the Alchemist, although truth be told, I don't know why. I've already read the plot on Wikipedia. Even then. It's better to keep my mind occupied with something than dwell on the past. Ever since Rohit came back, my thoughts keep going to the past. There are times when I blame myself for being thoughtless and insensitive, and other times when I blame Rohit for staying silent.

Erratically memories of this afternoon flit through my mind and I begin to smile. That moment was magical.

"Sona, tell me in your TV serials, why do people's characters change in an instance?"

Sitting on the rocks near Marine Drive, staring at the sun setting on the Arabian Sea, I silently munched on my salted popcorn. Rohit, on the other hand, was feasting on a triple scoop caramel sundae.

When I didn't respond, he merely shrugged and continued his monologue. "And the storyline changes within the blink of an eye. When you start watching a show, it's a love story but halfway through it seems that the lead actress is actually a ghost? And then you continue watching some more and find out that she is not actually a ghost, but only pretending to be one."

I turned to look at him and popped another kernel in my mouth. He smiled and licked his sundae.

"And there are people who die and then come back to life and then die again, and then fake their death, and then turn into ghosts and back into human beings?"

"What's your point?" I asked him, clearly understanding that he had no intention to stop his tirade until I said something.

"My point my dear, is that, why don't you people make something that is sensible and doesn't drag on for zillions of years?"

The sky was filled with a hue that was part blue and part orange. The sun, peeking out of the horizon, was bidding adieu to the city of Mumbai. The moon was already visible in the bright blue sky, that was beginning to turn black.

Turning towards Rohit, I put a popcorn kernel into his mouth. He chewed on the kernel and then took a generous bite of his sundae.

"I don't know. But if you think the writers of the story have anything to do with it, it's not true. Stories of TV serials are drastically based on TRP's. Channels force us to adapt our scripts to what sells. And what sells is usually fantasy."

"Then why not create it as a fantasy? Why try and portray it as reality?"

"I guess, we all want to be superheroes and somewhere a little white lie doesn't hurt."

I wish that were true. White lies are harmful. They make you believe things about yourself and others that are completely untrue. They have the possibility of destroying relationships. I am a living breathing example of how important realism is in a person's life.

My eyes wander to the picture of Rohit and my Mom placed on top of the mantle. The two realistic people in my life, who kept me grounded. While I accepted the views of one, I outright rejected the views of the other. How I wish I could turn back time. I would ask my Mom how to deal with this. But I can't.

My eyes go back to the book, I've pinched between my palm. The shepherd boy finds the treasure in the ruined church he originally slept in. Maybe what I seek all along is right here. I just need to look more carefully.