Mistress by Anita Nair Page B

college with you. She is working for a multinational company. That’s how girls ought to be. Smart and independent. If you sit at home, all you do is sleep in the afternoon, watch TV and get fat. It is such a pity that you are wasting your time doing nothing.’
    I sucked my belly in and resolved not to nap in the afternoon.
    Later, it was to Uncle that I voiced my irritation. ‘She is obnoxious, she truly is. I made this chicken dish especially for her, the way she likes it. At dinner time, when we were seated at the table, my long-suffering brother-in-law said, “Rani, try some of the chicken, it’s cooked the way you like it. Marinated and deep fried over a wood fire.” And do you know what she did? She crinkled her nose as if I had offered her a dead rat and said, “Should I? It’s only chicken, after all.”

    ‘What was I expected to provide? An elephant’s egg, hardboiled?’
    Uncle laughed and laughed.
    I said, ‘You think it’s funny, do you? But I was hurt. If someone were to criticize her cooking, she would probably have a fit. All of us have to be careful what we say to her. My sister is so sensitive, Shyam says. Doesn’t he realize what a beastly woman she is?’
    I think now, I will have to prepare myself for her arrival. I will not let her wound me again.
    ‘Are you coming?’ Shyam asks, watching me toy with my breakfast.
    ‘No,’ I say.
    ‘Good. No need for you to be there every day,’ he says. ‘I intend going for just an hour. I’ll leave the car and driver here for you, and take the jeep. I suppose you are going to spend the whole morning at the beauty parlour.’
    I smile. Shyam likes to think of me prettying myself for him. He prefers a glossy, silly wife to a homely, practical one. Glossy, silly wives are malleable.
    He pauses on his way out and fondles my cheek. ‘Though I really don’t know why you need to go to the beauty parlour. You are ravishing the way you are.’
    Poor Shyam. He thinks exaggerated compliments will make me happy and ensure marital bliss. He tries so hard that at times it tires me. This morning, though, I feel sad. For him. For us. For our marriage. He deserves better.
    Shyam complains that I don’t show any real interest in his pursuits. That I don’t care enough. He speaks the truth.
    Shyam is ambitious, and I find his unwillingness to hide his ambition repulsive. Once, early in our marriage, I told him as much.
    ‘What’s wrong with wanting to make money? You don’t know what it is like to be poor. How would you anyway? You’ve always had money. Your family brought you up as a princess. Everything you wanted was made available. Not so for me. I know what it is to want something and not be able to have it because it is “beyond us”. My mother had a whole stock of sayings to explain this “beyond us” business. No point in crying for the moon! What is the point in a rabbit trying to shit as much as an elephant would, etc., etc. And all because I asked for a toy or a pen or some such trivial thing that had
caught my eye.’ Shyam’s face was contorted in a grimace. Then, as if he had wiped a hand over his features, it smoothened and he said in a cold but even voice, ‘I am yet to understand the meaning of the word “enough”. When I do, I promise I’ll stop this “frantic chasing to amass wealth” as you call it.’
    I didn’t ever bring it up again. As the years passed, one by one, we shunted away all the topics we could converse about. We couldn’t agree on anything, whether it was music or films, political parties or even the choice of plants in our garden. Now we have no conversation.
     
    This morning, I feel the need to make an effort, to redeem myself in Shyam’s eyes. Do penance for allowing this strange attraction I feel for Chris to root within me. I shall avoid the resort, I think. For there wait Chris and temptation.
    Shyam owns several businesses. But none of them need me for anything. They run on their own and don’t need me,