To Kiss An Idol

60 The Flashback – The Possession

From that day, there was a strain in our relationship. I could not talk freely in front of him as even the slightest of things would trigger him. I didn’t want him to run away again.

He would just sit in our home in front of the laptop, would open a word document on the side and keep watching a movie or series. He even stopped researching for his book. And I never asked him about it. I was tired of fighting with him.

His mood would be bad and spoiled all day. He would call me multiple times to ask what I was doing in the office and if he would hear a male voice near me, he would sulk and then I had to assure him that I only love him. He would be happy only during nights after we would have our dinner and were ready for bed. I guess you can understand, why?

Life went on. Slowly he stopped helping me with chores. I was cooking, cleaning, going to the office, coming back, and again cooking for him. It was like I had a baby, and I was taking care of him. We started having fights because of that.

Then he suggested that he would rent a small room for himself where he could go and write his book. I was nagging him too much and he was falling behind in his project. He said that I was the reason he had not been able to write a single word. I cried the whole night.

Now it was routine for me, to cry myself to sleep. He was rude, arrogant, and sexist. He would say things like cooking and cleaning is a woman’s job and he was the man of the household. We would again fight for his sexist remark. One day I even said that if he was not contributing financially, why did he always use the word “man of the household”?

That day I felt as if he was ready to hit me. But he just walked away and didn’t return for the night. That night I didn’t go after him, I didn’t care if he returned. I just went to bed without eating and cried myself to sleep.

Early morning, he came crawling back and the first thing he did was eat last night’s food. He came back because he was hungry. He didn’t care or even asked if I had eaten anything. He didn’t even apologise for last night’s remarks. He just ate, said goodbye to me and went to sleep.

I went to work somehow. The whole day I was not myself. I had no focus. I made multiple mistakes and was reprimanded by my boss. When I reached home, he again apologised. I was by now tired of this making mistake and apologising cycle.

.....

I didn’t say a single word and without eating, went to bed.

Maybe he felt bad or something. So, the next day before I woke up, he cooked breakfast for me and apologised again. My smile returned. I thought I got my old Ritvik back. And again, I was wrong.

Happily, I went to the office and as usual, he called me during lunch. What he said made me realise what was the reason behind his change in behaviour. He asked me for money for his rent. He found a small space to write in. He needed a new table and a chair, and an internet connection and he needed money for all that.

As his savings were all used up, he wanted my help. He pleaded and begged. Grudgingly, I said yes to all his demands. I almost emptied my bank account for him.

He would spend every now and then in his writing den and when asked about his book, he would just say that he was working on it.

But because of his staying away, we fought less, and I cried less.

Then came New Year. There was a year-end party in my office. As my boyfriend I invited him. Every year I used to go to the party with my family, but they were still not talking to me. I would run into my mother during one or two grocery trips, but she would completely ignore me. My heart would ache with immense pain.

We all were enjoying the party when a few of my colleagues complimented me that I was looking good. Mind you, not only men but a few women too said that. But Ritvik fixated on the words of my male colleagues. He turned the happy environment into a tragic one. He sulked and pouted all night.

It was almost midnight when the new year cake was brought out. Our boss cut the cake but instead of feeding each other, we all started playing with the cake. Every face was smeared with cream. No one was spared. That was the only moment I had fun at that party.

After dinner, we reached home. The moment he entered he chided me.

“Why didn’t you stop anyone from touching you? How much attention do you want for yourself?” he shouted at me even before I could take my shoes off.

“Excuse me!” I shouted back at him. I was appalled by his words.

“Everyone kept touching you and you never stopped them,” he complained.

And I had enough of his rude and childish behaviour. “So what? They are my friends. They were not touching me with any wrong intentions. We all smeared cakes on each other. What is wrong with that?”

“You don’t know men. They need an excuse to touch a girl,” he educated me.

That boiled my blood. Why was he painting all the men with the same brush? “Is that what you think?” I shouted at him.

“Every man in your office wants to have sex with you. That’s why they are jealous of me. That’s why no one paid any attention to me at the party,” he barked.

“No one paid any attention to you because you were standing in a corner sulking and pouting like a child. Mommy, mommy, pay attention to me!” I mocked him.

That hurt his ego. “Nivritti!” he screamed.

“Is that what this is about? You want attention? Have I not been paying you enough attention? What more do you want? Do I leave my job and stay at home with you, do everything for you, feed you, clean your clothes, clean this house? Or should I keep sitting at your feet the whole day? I fought with my family for you, you have not even talked about me with them. I can not talk with my family, you talk with your family every day. I gave you everything you asked for, what more do you want? Just tell me and as always, I will give it to you. Because you know, I am a fool,” I broke down and sat on the couch with a thud.

Seeing me cry he groaned, “again with the crying. Just talk to me like you used to.” But I never said a word. I refuse to look at him and tears kept falling from my eyes. He sighed and approached me and said, “hey, hey, hey! I didn’t mean that. Just imagine Ritz, you have a beautiful, cute giant teddy bear. How will you feel when someone picks it up without your permission and smears cake on its face? How will you feel? They destroyed your teddy, won’t you sulk then?” he wiped my tears and made me look at him.

His analogy at that time made me smile. Like a moron, I instantly forgave him and kissed him.

Now, when I think back, I realise that he thought of me as an inanimate object, a thing that he could possess. People would need his permission to touch me as if I was his prized possession. You must be thinking, how big of a fool I was. How was I surviving then, being so foolish? But after years I realise that I was immature and a big idiot.

Now every month, I would pay rent for two places, food for two places and internet connection for two places. He would do some freelance writing and would get a small amount of money that he would spend on expensive stationery that he would never use.

Then one day I woke up with a slight fever. I thought of it as something seasonal and went to the office. The whole day I was tired, exhausted, and feverish. I told him and he advised me to take a pill and drink lots of water.

The next day it was the same condition. I took a pill and went to the office. After two more days, I stopped feeling feverish, but a feeling of uneasiness was always with me. I talked to him about it, and he advised me to go to a doctor and instantly walked out of the house to go to his writing den.

My face fell. He didn’t care about me at all. But after that day, I was okay. There was no fever, so I didn’t go to the doctor.

One night we were having dinner when I gasped and ran to check the calendar. He came after me, worried.

“What happened? Are you okay? Are you feverish again? I told you to go to the doctor,” he rebuked me. But I could not speak. I just looked at him.

“What, Ritz?” he asked, worried.

“I am late. I am 10 days late,” I whispered.

“You are late? What does that mean?”

“My period, it’s 10 days late,” somehow I blurted out.