Hippos Amidst the Palms

He’d been here before or so he thought. This sort of thing happened to him from time to time. A glimpse of memory or a flash of imagination served to disorient his mind. Especially in moments when the utter tedium of existence overcame him. His mind returned furtively to the meeting at hand. The man across from him droned on about the priorities of this year’s budget cycle or some such. His attention was not required he concluded and gave into the reverie.

A field arose in front of him. Again the thought that he’d been here before. The sun high overhead infused him with heat - no in fact it was tremendously hot. Stupefying. You needed to squint to make out the rows of palm trees surrounding the brown earth below his feet. Water ran in channels at marked intervals. He could hear it flow from the river nearby aided by a noisy pump. A father and son were just out of hearing distance. Through his squinted eyes he could see them working the land following a bull pulling some mechanical implement.

He heard his name called in the meeting.

The gray walls of the conference room appeared amidst the fields. Carpeting replaced the earth beneath his feat. The heat receded. Translucent lights and a feeling of cool conditioned air flowed into his conditioned life. He let the image go with the thought that he had to find that place. Somehow.

For now, he returned fully to where he was, and directed everybody’s attention to Annex 4 of the documents in front of them all. Dutifully, he began to describe the facts and figures there and their implications with requisite competence allowing one or two others at the table to indulge their own reveries though, he was sure, theirs looked nothing like his.

As the years went by, he began to look forward to those moments when he could visit this place so vividly painted by his imagination. He would recall the basic scene, but each time, he’d hear something, see something or touch something new. In awake moments, he’d would see a still image though he could manipulate it like a photograph choosing to focus on certain areas, look at it from different angles.

But in his dreams. Oh in his dreams. It all moved.

The sun could set for instance. Or some days, there would be rain. The father and sun would get done with their work and walk off together toward some village in the distance. Others would come and tend to their own lands. Buses would rumble through on a nearby road. Cows would come. And sometimes, he’d imagine ridiculous things. Because it was a dream after all. Once he imagined giant daffodils growing amidst the palms, and another time a great hippo lapping up the water by the river surrounded by the palms. The hippo was entirely out of place of course. This was not an African savanna. Yet, in that moment, amidst his dream, the hippo belonged. It looked as if there was no place that it would rather be.

As happens to those advanced in years, Akhil began to collect memories of those who are no longer here. His grandmother, his aunt, the unfortunate boy who used to play football with him in grammar school. Sometimes, one also collects memories of those he had never known to live at all. The news of his wife’s Uncle Mukesh’s death was one such instance.

“He’s gone.” she said putting down the phone. “I can’t believe it.”

“Who?” he inquired with concern less for the dead man but for his wife.

“Uncle Mukesh. Oh he was such a lovely man -” she trailed off.

“I don’t think you’ve ever mentioned him to me honey, was he somebody important to you?”

“I hadn’t thought of him in years …” she lingered on the thought and told him about Uncle Mukesh the head master at her school. How he was the first one to believe in her now obvious promise. How he’d encouraged her father to let her stay in school. How he payed for her hostel when she’d earned a scholarship in the city.

“I must go,” she said with some finality.

“Go where?”

“To his shraddha ceremony, his funeral services.” And she paused, “you have to come.”

It was not convenient. Funerals never were of course. Death apparently did not schedule appointments with any consideration for what else might be on the calendar already. Tennis with Subhash on Wednesday morning for one thing - he had been looking forward to a rematch after his embarrassing loss last week. Subhash had in fact been admitted to their tennis group for the sole purpose of guaranteeing everybody else a taste of victory. But, as he looked into her teary puppy eyes, the ones that they’d both agreed would be reserved for special occasions only, he knew that his taste of victory would elude him this week.

Expensive, last minute tickets were bought. Scarce holiday leave was requested. Ceaser, their dog, was discharged to the responsibility of Mr. Ramaswamy next door. Mr. Ramaswamy made a point of reminding them what a gem he was for being at their service. But he knew, and so did Mr. Ramaswamy, that he delighted in having Ceasar around. Also, the septuagenarian ex-diplomat had little else to occupy his time.

The flight from Bangalore to Calcutta was covered in the usual 2 hours accompanied by the requisite discomfort of being in the middle seat of three and feeling a compulsion to eat peanuts and soda (since they were freely offered). Sheila, his wife, had graciously slid into the window seat to get out of the way so he could place their bags into the overhead bin. Also, she passed over her peanuts in a show of discipline and charity. He had neither and so, needed to order a second glass of soda to wash down the second packed of peanuts. This was not easy since the aisle seat was occupied by a rotund man, who, from the perspective of the flight attendant seemed to be the sole passenger in the whole row. Akhil – which how people called he who saw fields in conference room – was thirsty and would not be denied. He resorted to the service button, and was soon rewarded with his second glass of ThumbsUp.

The ambassadors heat and humidity welcomed them to Calcutta. Normally, the trip would have ended with a taxi ride into the center of the city where Sheila’s parents lived. But not today. Uncle Mukesh had lived and died in Sheila’s ancestral village. And she directed the taxi to Howrah station from where they’d take a train with several thousand of their fellow passengers toward Burdwan with even less space per passenger than the middle seat of the airplane. There were windows on this train he was told, but nothing, not light, not wind indicated their presence behind a wall of bodies. His body sweat in protest while his job was to keep an eye on their belongings so that they would not depart with some other passenger entirely by mistake.

What felt like several lifetimes to Akhil, they reached their country destination in the darkness. Sheila’s middle aunt, or Mejomashi, received them with her aging husband, Mejomesho. They then employed a modified bicycle rickshaw to cart their bodies and bags to a squat 2 story house a short distance from the station. After a few minutes of polite conversation over a late evening snack, they all agreed it had gotten quite late and was time for sleep. Quite rudely, the ambassadors heat and humidity insisted on sleeping in the same room and had to therefore be accommodated.

At some point in the night, Akhil gave up trying to sleep. The bed was too hard, it was too hot, and the roaring fan overhead was too distracting. Perhaps he could foretell that he would be getting an unexpected burst of sleep in the day ahead. Either way, he would doze in and out of a quasi sleep where he’d alternate between minutes of sleep and awakeness. He felt relieved when he saw glimmers of daybreak peak below the window curtains. He pulled up the mosquito net and stepped out of the bed with an envious glance at Sheila who was breathing in and out deeply in peaceful sleep. He knew her so well he thought, but still, he had no idea what her mundane day to day dreams were like. She’d tell him about the terrifying or fantastic ones, but even she would forget the everyday dreams much less share them with him.

He washed up and headed down a flight of stairs to the main living room. Mejomashi was already up, and nodded good morning. She motioned him to the plastic dining table and dutifully served him tea and biscuits. Mejomesho joined soon after. Akhil couldn’t think of anything to say to either of them so he concentrated on the familiar round Britannia biscuits that sparked childhood memories.

“Did you sleep well?” his aunt asked.

“Yes, yes, Mashi,” he lied He didn’t feel like complaining which was rare or being rude to his kind hosts. “I’m an early riser,” he added, which was also a lie, in case the fact that he was already awake would give away the first lie.“Do you all normally get up this early?”

“Yes about this time,” the uncle responded. “I usually go and check on the rice paddies and the cows. There is always something or other that requires my attention. Good laborers have become so difficult to find these days. And, I must constantly guide and supervise their work.”

Akhil knew little about rice paddies or cows other than maybe that he liked to eat rice and drink milk from time to time. But, like most Indians of his age, he’d grown up in a family that was at most one or two generations from being farmers like Mejomesho. He remembered his father’s exhortations to study hard in grade school lest he end up a farmer doing back breaking work in the burning sun for meager earnings and much risk from droughts and floods. He’d assumed his father had exaggerated to make a point. But, he didn’t doubt that it was pretty hard, thankless work. It must be, he thought, if people were heading to cities in droves to avoid farming in exchange for what looked like a pretty brutal life in the city doing construction or cleaning houses.

“How were the rains this year Mesho?” he asked.

Mesho moved his head side to side,“the monsoon was weak and the crops have suffered.” He sipped the last of hs tea and motioned to get up. “Well I’d better go and have a look.”

Akhil also finished his tea and felt his head ache from the lack of sleep. He thought about what he’d do now. Sheila was still asleep, Mesho would be off, and Mashi was clearly occupied with her morning chores and some preparations for Uncle Mukesh’s shraddha tomorrow. Well, there was always the backpack of work he’d brought with him. He could start putting his thoughts together on staffing on the new office project he was heading up. But, his head seemed to ache a bit more at the idea, and another one came up instead.

“Mesho, do you mind if I tag along with you as you make the rounds? I think I might enjoy the morning walk.”

Mesho looked surprised. “Why not. You can give me a hand with this bag.”

A strange sensation of deja vu and light headedness began to build in Akhil as soon as they set out. It had been totally dark when he’d arrived the night before, but now the sun was up, and he could take in his surroundings. The town seemed to spread out from the railroad station on both sides. They walked down a small country road wide enough for two way bicycle and foot traffic, but one car at a time. They passed between squat, stand-alone, uninspired cement homes and every so often a small shop that would sell everything from shampoo to tomatoes once it opened. It was still too early for that. The people he could see were at the banks of one or two small ponds doing laundry or bathing.

Soon, the houses and stores dropped away and they were walking down a pitch road past people waiting for local buses. The strange sensation he was feeling grew stronger as he took in the scenery on either side of the road. Green and brown fields separated by dirt roads of varying sizes. Some wide enough to pass a small vehicle. Others only sufficient for a person. The now turned down one of the wider roads and began to walk towards Mesho’s fields.

Akhil notice the palms off in the distance and felt a light breeze. And, the sensation grew with each step. The sun rose higher in the morning sky. He felt unsteady. More people appeared. There he noticed a man and a younger boy walking amidst a field of green. A woman there walking with a bull or cow - he didn’t know the difference - and a mechanical implement. His head started to spin.

He had seen all of this at various points in his life of course. So had any Indian who have done any travel outside of the major cities. Though he was always surprised how many of his friends never did leave the major metro areas, flying from one to the other. Still, the strange sensation grew stronger, and the place of his imagination began to intrude into his reality. There were the palms at a distance, and some dwellings further ahead.

As they neared Mesho’s fields, the sensation was all that was there. He could hardly hear Mesho point to the fields adjacent to his and say, “this is Uncle Mukesh’s land.” Akhil could barely manage to look over. There was the sound of water flowing and the little irrigation channels. This was too much. He started to wonder if he had in fact never gotten out of bed at all. His head began to swirl at the thought. And what was that? The hippo! Except not just one - there were two. Two hippos were lapping up the water from one of the channels below a set of palm trees at the edge of Uncle Mukesh’s field. Akhil grasped at Mesho’s sleeves as his knees buckled and everything went dark.

Akhil’s eyes opened to a look of panic on Mesho’s face as he furiously worked his small mobile phone. Akhil noticed that his own face was wet neck were soaked. Mesho had poured  out his water bottle to try and revive him. He had also propped Akhil up  against one of the palm trees. He looked around. No hippos this time, but still, the strangely familiar scene of his daydreams.

“Yes, yes. Come quickly,” Mesho was saying into the phone as he noticed Akhil open his eyes. “He’s coming to” he shouted into his phone. “Let me check on him.”

“Akhil! Are you alright? How are you feeling?” he asked in a flurry. “Here, have some water.”

“I think I’m ok Mesho. It must have been the heat and travel- ”

“You fell over just like that,” Mesho interrupted. “Don’t try to do move. Mashi is bringing Sheila over just now. I’ve just called the Doctor-babu. He’s coming.”

Feeling his uncle’s anxiety, Akhil checked himself over. And he seemed to be feeling fine. Better than fine maybe. The headache was gone, and he felt relaxed even. In fact, he only really felt embarrassment at having caused such a commotion.

“Seriously, Mesho, I’m alright. The heat got to me that’s all. No need for everybody to rush over. I can go and see the Doctor - Babu myself later today to make sure if I begin to feel unwell again. But, really I’m ok now.” Mesho did not look convinced. Akhil then called a frantic Sheila and told her not to worry, that there was no need for them to walk over. “Don’t move,” she ordered.

Seemingly at everyone’s behest, he leaned back against the tree and waited for Sheila and Mejomashi to come. Meanwhile, Mejomesho had started to speak with a laborer in the adjacent field, but kept shooting him furtive glances in case he decided fall over again.

Akhil surveyed the scene, and felt calmer than ever. He had always been a bit of an panic vampire. The more anxious and panicked people were around him, the calmer he felt. Still, this was different somehow. The scenery around him had a relaxing effect on his mind. It’s possible that I’ve trained myself to feel this way he thought and remembered all those years where he’d conjure up this scene in moments of boredom and anxiety. It was his happy place except now it was real. Why fight it he asked himself.

Sheila and Mejomashi appeared shortly in a rushed panic. There was little he could say or do to really relax either of them. “Has this ever happened?” Mashi asked. “How are you feeling now?” Then to herself, “walking around in this heat after a such a long journey yesterday! Even I would fall sick.” Sheila mercifully suggested that they start to walk home to get him out of the sun. Akhil thought to say that he was actually happy to just sit as he was, but thought better of it; he’d caused enough concern for a day. With a few more reassurances to Mesho, the trio headed back  home. There, Mashi prepared some lime water for him and ordered him to go to bed where Akhil now felt quite comfortable in a way that he hadn’t the night before and dozed off to sleep.

“Babe” Akhil didn’t respond. Sheila tried again, this time with a prod of Akhil’s shoulders. “Babe, how you feeling? You’ve slept right through lunch and then some.

“Huh,” Akhil mumbled still groggy with sleep. “What time is it?”

“It’s almost four babe. How are you feeling?”

“Oh - why didn’t you wake me earlier?” he said. “I’m feeling fine.” She looked concerned. “Babe. Seriously. I’m fine. I just didn’t sleep that well last night, and then walking in the sun. It was just too much. Plus I saw hippos amidst the palms.”

“Hippos?” Sheila raised her eyebrows. He regretted saying that last bit immediately. This was not helping convince anyone he was fine. 

“Never mind babe. I’m fine.”

She was not having it. “What do you mean hippos?” So, he told her. He told her about the visions, and about his happy place. He told her about the daffodils and the hippos.

He waited for a reaction. Her eyes grew big, now not with concern, but with seeming delight.“That’s so adorable babe. Are you saying that my hometown is your imaginary happy place?” She kissed him, and he felt warm. Why had he ever told her before. It hadn’t come up really he thought.

He smiled, and she moved on to the matters at hand.  

“Well babe, it’s almost 4. I’ve got to start getting ready. I’m going to go bring food over to Uncle Mukesh’s family in a bit. They are still mourning. Then, I’ve got to make the rounds to a few other members of my family. I was going to bring you with me, but if you’re not feeling up to it, you can just rest here.”

“No, no I’m fine. Really. I’ll come.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I feel much better after the nap.”

“Well then, you’d better wash up and get ready too.”

“But isn’t the ceremony for Uncle Mukesh tomorrow? Why are you going there today?”

“The Shraddha ceremony is tomorrow. But, the family has been mourning since Uncle Mukesh passed, and there’s pretty much something or another happening every day. Visitors are coming and going as they can. And, usually friends and neighbors  help with food and things so the family can just deal with the grief.”

“But, tomorrow is the big thing right?”

“Well the Shraddha is important, yes. Don’t you remember my Grandma’s passing?”

“Kind of.”

These ceremonies were always a jumble of confusion for Akhil. He knew generally what would happen, but the specifics always seemed to fall through the cracks of his memory only to reappear on such occasions as this one. Now he would be reminded, and then he’d forget again soon thereafter like the words one encounters in a foreign language and tries to remember by how they sound rather than what they mean. Rituals and traditions without much meaning to him never seemed to take root in Akhil’s mind. Perhaps for his parent’s generation, schooled in Sanskrit, the lengthy incantations of a priest had meaning. But for Akhil, it was tedious jibberish one must suffer through for the sake of decorum. Sheila was better versed in these things m ostly because she wanted to be. Familiarity with Sanskrit was not relevant she felt. She struggled to understand, she asked questions and eventually they it has all come to make some sort of sense to her. 

“The Shraddha is about honoring our lineage of ancestors. It marks the first step for Uncle Mukesh’s soul on long journey to take his place in the lineage,” she explained. “There will be 15 more Shraddhas over the next fourteen months to help the soul along its way to Yama, the God of Death who will then decide whether to allow Uncle Mukesh into the land of the ancestors.”

“You’d think souls would be able to move faster somehow. You think there is a line to see Yama or what?”

“Don’t joke,” she tried at a reproach, but her smile undermined her attempted. “Behave” she warned. “For Uncle Mukesh’s sake.” He assumed a solemn look. “And his family,” she continued. “Remember that the family has been in mourning for ten days now. Uncle Mukesh’s eldest son, Suresh, would have led the family through the Daho Sanskar, the cremation ceremony the day after death. It’s a pretty tough time.”

“Right. I know. Then they do the ashes into the river?”

“The Ashti Bishorjan happens three days after the cremation. The purified ashes are put into the Ganges. And every day, for ten days after the cremation, the family does a ritual offering to the soul of Uncle Mukesh to reconstitute an ethereal body to begin the journey to the ancestors.”

“Got it. Got it. It’s starting to come back. So, tomorrow’s ceremony marks the completion of the new, spirit body and the beginning of the long journey to where all the other spirits are. And the sweets for everyone thing is tomorrow right?”

“Right. The family can start eating non-vegetarian food again tomorrow and wearing normal clothes. The initial mourning period is over basically. And there is a meal for friends and neighbors and, yes, the sweets.”

“I wish we had the western style thing where people take turns remember and telling stories about the person who has died like they do in America. Akhil remembered going to a funeral while he’d studied in the US. I’d like to hear about Uncle Mukesh’s life from his friends and family.”

“There is some version of that. That’s what people are basically doing all through the mourning period. They visit with the family, bring food, and talk about the person and share their memories. Which is another reason I’m going over there this evening. And I don’t want to be late for that. So if you’re coming along, get ready.” Sheila had started thinking about Uncle Mukesh as she talked about the rituals and a feeling of heavy sadness weighed down on her. She gave him a kiss on the forehead.

The sun had started its descent when they stepped out of MejoMashi’s house. It had taken them some time to convince Mashi that they knew the way and would be fine to go on their own. Sheila handed the food they were bringing for Uncle Mukesh’s family to carry with him. Despite the somber mood, she felt a tingle of energy to be able to walk amidst her childhood memories with Akhil. They rarely had occasion to come here with their busy work and personal lives in Bangalore. And then, when she did come, it would typically be a short trip, alone. Akhil had his own schedule and rarely did their gaps overlap aside from the major holidays which they typically used to go on holiday. She smiled and weaved her fingers through his. He too felt the rarity of the moment, relaxed, and squeezed her hand in his.

Sheila led him by the hand through the maze of narrow streets and houses toward Uncle Mukesh’s house. They walked amidst the poorly lit streets carefully stepping over potholes filled with water and dodging the flow of bicycles, scooters and even the occasional car. Prayer conches rang out in varying distances. Mosquitos took their attack positions. And it was still hot enough to sweat. Through open windows, he heard murmurs of conversation, the clinking of pots, the blare of televisions, the drone of fans, and other renditions of common domestic life.

“You don’t wish you had this life?” Akhil asked Sheila drawing a dramatic rainbow with his open palm across the landscape.

“What life do you mean?” she challenged.

“I don’t know. This simple one. Family and kids. Slow meals. The hustle and bustle of domestic life- ”

“Don’t be condescending Akhil,” she interrupted. “Their lives aren’t simple because you can neatly summarize their life goals. Our lives wouldn’t become simpler if we just decided to have kids and make them the center of our lives.”

“Whoa - I didn’t say that. I only meant that you grew up in this world. So, it’s not crazy to think that the overwhelming odds were that your life would end up looking like this. I’m just wondering if you ever feel that it had.” He paused. “At least in some ways.”

“Sure, in some ways. I’d like to see my family more. I’d like our lives to be a bit slower so we could spend more time together. But, otherwise, I like our lives. I don’t for example envy my cousin who married a man in the neighborhood. Her life is cooking, cleaning, and taking care of the kids all day. I’m not saying that’s a bad life. It’s just not a life that I would want. I would miss the intellectual and creative space. I’d miss intensity of work. Miss the desire to have impact through my work. I’d also miss the social life we have. Here it would be primarily family. Wonderful people, but not relationships of our own choosing and encumbered by many social norms and obligations. Can you imagine having friends like Sumit here?” Sumit was a software engineer Akhil was good friends with in Bangalore. Sumit was also ebulliently gay. A personality trait that is possible in some corners of a bigger city, but impossible in a place like this.

“It’s funny to imagine Sumit here.” Akhil imagined the interactions as they arrived at Uncle Mukesh’s house.

Uncle Mukesh’s widow, Bulbul Aunty noticed Sheila immediately as they entered the house. Both women embraced amidst tears and walked off into an adjacent room. Akhil stood alone, awkwardly holding the food they’d brought until a skinny man with a bald head walked over smiling wanly. Akhil guessed correctly that this was Suresh, Uncle Mukesh’s son. He was accompanied by a middle aged woman, clearly related to Uncle Mukesh somehow but he didn’t know how exactly. She offered him a glass of water and took the food off into the kitchen before disappearing into the same room that Bulbul Aunty and Sheila had gone.

Akhil awkwardly expressed his regrets to Suresh. Suresh said the things he was supposed to say. That he was happy that Akhil and Sheila had come this way. That Uncle Mukesh though of Sheila like a daughter. That he regretted not being able to join for their wedding on account of poor health. That he kept a photo of their wedding on his desk. Akhil felt really touched. In that moment, this dead man and this set of events morphed from the abstract through he had been loosely carrying around in his mind to real ones that he could touch.  

“I wish I could have met your father Suresh.” Suresh didn’t respond with words though he seemed to appreciate the comment. He pointed Akhil to a second adjacent room which was the living room. A set of couches surrounded a coffee table. Several older men sat around sipping cups of tea and chatting in hushed tones. They smiled in acknowledgement as he sat, but didn’t attempt to include him in their conversation. They same middle aged lady from before reappeared with a cup of tea for him and several biscuits. From time to time he heard cries and sobs from the room where Sheila would later tell him that a puja was ongoing.

“Really he was a rascal” said one of the elderly men, and they all chuckled knowingly in response. “I’ll never forget my son’s marriage,” he continued. “The rascal went with me to see several girls for my son knowing full well that he was already in love with one girl he met at his college. I had objected because she was not from our group. I didn’t want to upset his mother you know.”

“I remember that,” picked up another man. “Mukesh had asked me to line up several eligible girls, but from a variety that he was sure you and your son would not like.” An impish grin spread across his face.

“Yes. I’ll never forget how angry I was with you when I found out you had a hand in it.”

“You didn’t speak to me for a full week.”

“After all of those visits, I started worrying that there was no one eligible for my son. And that sly rascal caught me just in that moment of weakness and asked.‘Why are you so against Maya?’ I was shocked he knew anything at all about this girl my son loved. He must have seen the surprise on my face. ‘Arrey, don’t be so shocked. Your son came to see me with her a few days back. She’s a very well educated and beautiful girl bhai. What do you have against her?’ Before I could say anything, he kept going. ‘And times are changing bhai. They will have different lives in the city than we had here. The old rules won’t matter so much. So, now tell me, what do you really have against this girl?’ What could I say to him?” He smiled and wagged his head side to side at the mischief.

“And he was right. Your son has been happily married, and you have three grandchildren,” a third man chimed in. They all paused to sip their teas.

“Remember that time when he wanted to build a movie theater right here in our village?” the second man started another memory.

“The fool. We didn’t even have electricity then!”

Akhil felt a touch on his shoulder, and turned around to see Sheila standing above him. The men noticed her as well and because they knew her, paused their conversation to greet her warmly. She in turn touched their feet and asked after their families. Following the warm exchange they prepared to leave.

Bulbul Aunty came to see them off. “You’ll both come tomorrow, na?”

“Of course Sheila said. Both women were again teary.”

“I’ll walk you out.” Once out the door, Suresh paused, “There is another matter to discuss, but I think it better to do after the ceremonies are over when Uncle Dalim will join.”

“What is it about?” Akhil asked and gave a quizzical look at Sheila who also appeared confused.

“My father wanted you to have some of his things,” he said to Sheila. “We can discuss tomorrow.” With that he took his leave and returned to the house. Sheila, still shaken by the visit, looked confused and could only manage a shrug.

“You ok?” he asked, studying her minute expressions carefully.

He learned not to assume that he knew what she was feeling based on how he was feeling. It had confused him at first. Was he not fundamentally the same as everybody else? If he felt sad because of some event like Uncle Mukesh’s death, didn’t everyone? Middle-aged Akhil, unlike adolescent Akhil, knew he could assume no such thing. Based on their experiences and mindset the same event might cause others to feel something different altogether. Or even if they felt sadness, their sadness might have a different shape, weight, color, temperature or texture. Feelings too were like the proverbial snowflake: each iteration unique even if captured by the same abstract concept. Sheila had taught him this. And that empathy done badly was a form of aggression of imposing your feelings onto someone else, an expectation, even possibly judgement. In their early days, there was much tension around this. Sheila didn’t feel how Akhil expected her to feel. And she didn’t try to divine his feelings from afar. She would just ask and wait. Over time, he had grown used to it and even come to appreciate the freedom that it instilled. So now, Akhil waited while Sheila waded through her own thoughts.

She held his hand and silently led them toward their next stop to see her family. The last whispers of daylight had faded away, leaving dark paths and punctuated by the rare streetlight. As they approached the center of the town near that train station, the small shops and streetlights beside the roads became more frequent. As did the passerbys on foot and bicycle buying vegetables at the market, or odds and ends from the small goods stores that all seemed to look the same to Akhil. How did they make any money he wondered.

They both noticed the sweet shops and Sheila stopped them at one seemingly at random. She wanted to have something akin to a hostess gift for her family. Akhil had wanted to stop because, as was the case on the airplane, he could never resist snacks, least of all sweets. Not being a Bengali himself, his love for Bengali sweets was his passport to the culture, it was the currency of acceptance with Sheila’s family. Surely, someone who loves misthi doi and rosogullas this much must have some Bengali blood in him somewhere they always said.

Sheila put in an order to the man behind the counter for an assortment of sweets. But, instead of collecting in them into a box, the man seemed to get excited.

“Arrey Tinku! Is that you?” Sheila looked confused for a moment, but recognition and excitement soon overtook the confusion. Akhil too was surprised to hear his wife referred to by the pet name used by her intimates.

“What? Is that Debu Da?” she asked to confirm.

“How long it has been. How are you?” Akhil also noticed that he used the informal you in Bengali.

“Everything is well, but you know Mukesh Uncle passed.”

“Yes, terrible. That’s why you’ve come?”

“Yes. Also to see my family. I’m going there just now.”

“Actually your mother came just the other day.”

“Oh did she?” She paused and turned toward Akhil. “Akhil, this is Debu Da. We went to secondary school together.”

“Debu Da, this is my husband, Akhil.” They both nodded to each other, and like the men at Uncle Mukesh’s house a few moments ago, Debu Da turned back to his conversation with Sheila.

“So you’ve taken over your father’s shop?”

“Yes. Yes. We can all be geniuses like you. But within my means, I am happy with this place. What do you think of the new counter and chairs?” He beamed, and looking at the counter reminded him to put together the sweets Sheila had ordered.

“Wonderful,” Sheila said and sat in one of the new chairs adjacent to the counter. Akhil had a hard time imagining why anyone would sit in the chair when most everyone would come to buy sweets to take home. He knew his role in this conversation was very much over. “Your family is doing well?” she asked Debu Da.

“Yes. Yes. My father and mother are getting old of course. But, god willing, they will stay healthy for some time yet.” Debu Da finished wrapping up the sweets and handed them to her as he stopped speaking, and noticed Sheila reaching for her purse. “No, no,” he said kindly raising his left hand palm out. “You give these along with my compliments to your family.” Sheila protested but could see it not only not of use, but also would be hurtful to pay. Introducing money in this interaction would reduce the level of intimacy she felt even if her training and rationality disagreed. Money facilitated an exchange of value after all. But, Debu Da was offering a gift, and she received it as such with gratitude.

Sheila and Akhil hailed a cycle rickshaw from the sweet shop and headed in the direction of her family home about twenty minutes away. Her parents had moved there a few years ago when the house she grew up in close to where she was staying now at MejoMashi’s had gotten too big for them to manage. Her father’s hip surgery had made the upstairs impossible, and anyway, with the children long out of the house, what did they need all that space for? They sold the house and moved to a modest 2 bedroom flat a couple of towns away near to her sister whose second child was now center of life for the grandparents.

“Did you enjoy the uncles?” Sheila finally spoke to him in the rickshaw. Her mood lightened by the chance encounter with the sweet-wallah from her childhood.

“Did you see glimpses of my future?” Ashish joked happy to see her relax a bit. “They kept telling stories of Uncle Mukesh in defense of their claim that he was quite the rascal.”

“He certainly was.” She said wistfully and leaned close to him and leaned her head onto his shoulder, and he in return, put his arm around her. And as he expected, she began to sob into his shoulder in slow silent heaves, draping her arm around his waist and gripping his torso tightly. She thought of Uncle Mukesh having passed and that made her think of how old her parents were also getting. She thought of Debu Da taking over his father’s sweet shop. Time was passing by. Akhil too was growing older. Akhil too someday be pass away. All that she held dear would slowly slip away in the face of the relentless passage of time. She couldn’t bear the horror of it all. She held on tightly to Akhil in exchange for her tears.

Akhil let her cry, and remembered how shocked he had been the first time. In the era before dating happened on mobile phones and luckily in the era after dating was mediated by family for the explicitly purpose of marriage, he was introduced to Sheila by a mutual friend. He was a well educated, heretofore successful professional with intellectual aspirations and a tendency to attract misfits en route to embracing the fact that he too was a misfit. She was a high achieving young executive at a multinational already leading the development of various new products and marketing. On paper one might think Akhil to be the more capable, more intelligent one with the brightest potential. But anyone meeting them now would know better. And Akhil certainly did. They had messaged back and forth prior to meeting, and it was enough for Akhil. She was funny and sarcastic, self deprecating, and direct. He was sure she would be more beautiful in person than the two or three pictures he’d been able to dig up from surreptitious web searches. He knew that projecting onto people was dangerous, but in this case, it was too late. He was in love before he actually met her.

The met at Cubbon Park in Bangalore on a weekend afternoon. He was right to be nervous. She was intimidatingly beautiful. A oval face, sharp features, but it was the eyes and her lower lips that sealed the matter for Akhil. They formed a soft, kind parenthesis around her face, an indicator Akhil felt of the person inside. He was in luck. There was an immediate chemistry, conversation flowed easily, and Akhil understood finally the meaning of that annoying, trite cliche his friends always threw around. You’ll know when you know, they would repeat. Before they had circled the park, he knew.

The question was, did she know? He wasn’t sure even after the second date. He knew that a woman like this would have many suitors, and she did. But on their third date, she came to dinner in a darker mood. He was crushed at first, but realized that it wasn’t about him. He wanted to comfort but not intrude, and mostly chatted on nervously over the course of the dinner feeling awkward and frustrated at not being able to get her to open up about what was bothering her. He told the taxi to make two stops, and in the darkness of the cab, it happened. She told him about her older sister’s miscarriage, and cried on her shoulder. Her courageous vulnerability shocked him. He had sat there stiffly for most of the cab ride, and eventually put his arms around her. Generally uncomfortable with lots of emotion, in this case, he felt that there was nowhere else he’d rather be. He also knew that she knew. He got out at her stop and let the taxi go.

Back in the present moment, the cycle rickshaw stopped. They had arrived at her parent’s newish flat. He hand her his handkerchief and paid for the rickshaw. She smiled, wiped her eyes, kissed him, and reached into her purse for her make up kit. He turned on the flashlight of his mobile phone and pointed it towards her while holding the compact mirror she had handed him. Both hands occupied, he watched his wife transform with the touch of a few strokes of makeup from the vulnerable, grieving child he loved to the strong, put together presence he both feared and viewed with awe at a distance.

“Tinku has come,” she heard her mother say from the other side as she knocked. There was bustling, the tv was turned off. Footsteps, her father’s, shuffled toward the door. And she heard another voice: her sister’s. Sheila felt elation that her sister was there, hopefully the children too. She glanced at Akhil as her father fiddled with the latch. He looked as he always did at these home visits: uncomfortably trying to look genial. He felt as if he were one a really nice saree draped across Sheila in the presence of her family: immediately acknowledged and admired, even well taken care of, but ultimately ignored - a necessary accessory.

“Tinku! Come in, come in,” her mother, waved them in at the door and hugged them both. She was wearing a sari with the end draped around her face over her hair. A formality. Her father looked truly happy to see her. They had long dispensed with the custom of touching the elder’s feet. Akhil hadn’t grow up with the custom, and after some awkward attempts, they’d just settled on hugs. Her parent’s didn’t mind. They attributed to the changing of the times. Besides, they genuinely liked Akhil from the beginning and had grown to love him. They would have preferred if he were a Bengali of course, but his charm, good looks, and foreign education were more than sufficient recompense. That he treated their daughter so kindly was more than they could have hoped for.

“You are looking good Akhil,” her father said in Bengali. Akhil had picked up enough over the years to get by, but there was a time when even simple interactions had been awkward. “You’re getting a bit fatter. It suits you. You have always been a bit too skinny.” It never failed to both surprise and amuse Akhil how unabashedly they talked about his and each other’s body weight oblivious to the array of the connotations and sensitivities that would the subject would require in Bangalore or in the West. “Has Tinku learned to cook finally or what?” he joked.

“Or you’ve been eating too much in hotels?” Sheila’s mother jumped in. “You know it’s not good to eat the cooking of strangers so much.”

“Don’t start Ma.” Sheila interjected.

“Surprise!” Sheila’s sister, Binu came out of the room. Her son and daughter were shyly holding onto her sari.

“Hello!” Sheila played along with the surprise. “Oh look at how adorable she is looking” she picked up the baby girl. “And how are you Babushona” she said handing the baby girl off to Akhil who held on to her in about the same way that he would have a sack of smelly potatoes: arms stiffly extended away from his body. Sheila and Binu hugged. “You should have told me you were coming! I would have brought something for the kids.”

“I wasn’t sure I could make it. Anshu was to come back from a business trip yesterday, but last minute, he needed to stay on a few more days,” Binu offered by explanation. Sheila never did understand what Anshu’s business trip had anything to do with whether Binu could go to see her visiting sister. That’s not how things were. Anshu’s presence implied various responsibilities for Binu. Responsibilities that Sheila didn’t think were legitimate or more important than going to see your sister. But, Binu did see them as legitimate and more important. So did her mother and nearly everyone in the community from her birth. In these moments, she suffered a feeling of distance, a loneliness amidst of her own kin.

“Well, I’m so glad to see you and the kids.”

“I’m so glad I could come and see the great Sheila come down to our humble town. You’re looking lovely.”

“Oh shut up. And thank you. You’re not looking so bad yourself.”

“You never were a convincing liar. After two kids, I’m just happy to be alive.” Binu took the baby back to Akhil’s relief.

“Not another word. You look great. Doesn’t she Akhil?”

“Always! Beautiful!” Akhil knew his role here too. He parroted his lines, and felt happy to do it. Akhil could remember not long ago that Sheila and Binu had looked similarly and truly beautiful. The imprint of beauty was still there in Binu’s features and figure, but time had distorted both. Binu looked exhausted. She’d put on weight after the first and even more with the second child. It showed in her face and the weight of her jaw. She looked much older than the three years that separated her from Sheila. Akhil chuckled to himself at the thought of Binu doing a zumba class or the regular yoga sessions that Sheila went to.

“When are you two going to bring home some friends for my little ones?” Binu asked. Akhil and Sheila exchange looks.

“It’s up to the madam.” “Don’t pass the buck to me buddy,” she said to Akhil, and then turning to Binu, “we’re thinking about it.”

“You’ve been thinking about it for a while, don’t forget there’s a deadline - even for the great Sheila.”

Sheila let the thread drop, and Akhil and Binu exchanged the usual pleasantries as Sheila’s mother announced dinner and exhorted them to wash up and come to the dining table. The children had already been served. A proud grandma fussed over them both. Shila, Akhil, Binu and their father sat at the table once the kids finished up.

“How is Bulbul Aunty? Poor thing. Her mother asked and began to dab her eyes with tears while she served the four of them food.

“Ma why don’t you sit. We can help ourselves.”

“I’m just coming. I just want to make sure I get you going.” Sheila knew it was useless to protest. Her mother couldn’t sit and join them for dinner until they had all finished. Hardwired cultural programming that couldn’t be overcome with Sheila’s nudges no matter how insistent.

“God bless that man,” her mother said. “I don’t know what would have happened to you without him,” she paused. “We didn’t know what to do with you.” Sheila had heard this story countless times, but it felt good to remember Uncle Mukesh. Sheila’s mother looked over at her father as she broached a sensitive topic.

“You were so different from your sister. Never interested in any of the things we had expected: dolls, chores, cooking, dressing up. We’d always find you in some corner reading your books. Even those story books.”

“Uncle Mukesh would get me those books,” Sheila smiled.

“He was a well traveled man. He had seen things we couldn’t think of in this small place,” her father said with a hint of defensiveness and emotion.”

“It’s alright Baba,” Sheila soothed her father. “You had a lot of things to think about besides getting me books.” “He saw something in you from an early age,” Sheila’s mother said. “I’ll never forget when he came to see us after your class six results,” her father picked up the story. “We wanted you to finish through the high school, and even then it was not a simple thing. But he wanted you to study science. He had college in mind for you.”

“I remember getting quite angry then. I was scared of the idea of you leaving home. I imagined you’d leave home when you got married. I didn’t have the education to imagine the things you have done in your life,” her mother wiped tears into the anchol – or the loose end – of her sari.

“How could we have known these things?” her father said.

“But Uncle Mukesh did know,” Sheila said. “That’s all that matters.”

“Had he not been the principle of the school, I don’t think I would have heeded his guidance.But, he was not a man you could say no to,” her father smiled at the memory.

“And now look at you. The glorious Sheila!” Binu said with mock drama. Everybody laughed, but Akhil could sense that it was not entirely humorous. Binu’s life was the road not taken for Sheila. What would have been a successful path by any standard in that village had become by contrast a lesser one. Binu was the past, Sheila the future. In time, Binu would teach her children to aim for the life that Sheila had just as children in the local school talked of Sheila as the exemplar of success. And not just because Sheila and Akhil had given the money needed for the new library.

The rest of dinner was joyful covering the usual topics. Binu’s son taking his first steps, the daughter eating solid foods, Anshu’s promotion at work, Sheila’s father’s gardening, Sheila’s mother’s singing school.

“Ma, I got you this.” Sheila reached into her bag and pulled out a sari, her assistant had picked up from one of the fancy fashion sari shops in Bangalore. It was beautiful and her mother was genuinely pleased.

“I have one for you too Binu but I thought I would not see you until my puja trip. But, I can mail to you.” “Don’t worry about such things, Sheila.”

“And Baba, I know how much you hate it when I get you clothes, so I have brought you this. You can listen to music,” her father looked confused as he picked up the music player. Akhil gather this was his cue to help her father understand how to use the gadget.

“Tinku, thank you,” her father said awkwardly. Showing emotion as not a thing he did with grace.

“This is a lovely sari, Tinku,” her mother said and Sheila knew what was next, “But, when are you going to bring me a baby?”

“Mother! I’m too busy now to care for a child, you know that. I promise it hasn’t slipped my mind!”

“Busy with what? You are married, you have a nice job. What more do you want? What else could be more important?” Her mother finished speaking and began to fold up the sari.This was what her mother had wanted to say all night. Sheila wanted to explain that life was more complicated than just having a husband and a job. That she was trying to make director this year. That she was among a few leaders in the company tracked to make vice president or perhaps even higher. Her mother wouldn’t have understood any of this. Sheila had outstripped her mother’s capacity to understand her achievements long ago. So, she let it go. Anyway, she couldn’t quite sell to herself why she cared about moving up some arbitrary corporate ladder herself.

“You need to make time,” her father chimed in. This was new, as escalation for her father to jump into the entreaties.

“Now don’t you start,” Sheila said. “You both have your hands full with Binu’s kids!”

“You don’t have forever you know, ” her father said in the way to signal that he was stepping back out of the discussion having made his small point.

“I know. I know.” She looked at Akhil for help. He was very busy taking the music player out of the box. She was in this alone. “I haven’t forgotten. Me and Akhil are thinking about it.” She drew her arm around him and physically pulled him into the conversation. He gave her a look in silent protest.

“Akhil’s mother called us the other day.” her mother said. Now they had Akhil’s attention.

“My mother called?” Akhil looked dismayed, looked at Sheila and rolled his eyes.

“We’re all worried about you two that’s all,” Sheila’s mother said.

“Well don’t be. We’re ok. We’ll get to it on our own time,” Sheila said with finality. “Anyway, we should probably get going. The Shraddha is early in the morning, and I know Mashi will be waiting up for us.”

“You really should just stay here,” her mother started.

“Ma, you know it’s too far from the ceremony. We have to get up so early as it is. This was such an unexpected thing because of Uncle Mukesh. I’ll come for puja properly.”

“At least have tea before you go,” said her mother. And they did. All of them. Conversation turned back to their current lives, Uncle Mukesh, and local political happenings.

On the way back to Mashi’s house, Sheila felt warm and happy. She was so different from her family, but they were family nevertheless. And there was comfort in that. She felt safe, and a sense of belonging.

“They aren’t wrong you know,” she squeezed Akhil’s hand in the rickshaw back to her Mashi’s house.

“About what?” Akhil asked even though he full well knew what she was talking about.

“Do we really not want to have kids?” she said.

“You know that I’ve always wanted to have kids, or at least one of them. It was always just a question of timing.”

“And are we running out of time?”

“You tell me?”

“I always thought, let me get through this next thing, and then I’ll be ready. Then the next thing, and then the next. And at other times, I look at our lives and I feel perfectly content with it. Why complicate matters?”

“You’re not worried we’re missing out on the greatest experience of our lives? The one that makes it all worthwhile? Gives it all meaning?”

“Don’t mock. I feel confused. I don’t know what to think or what to feel. I just always thought I’d have kids.”

“Why don’t we?”

“We don’t have time! Do we?”

“I always thought that, but I’m not sure anymore. Maybe no one really has the time? Maybe no one is ever really ready? And they just figure it out.”

“Well I can figure it out now. I’d work less. I would have to forget about making VP.”

“Do you really care about that? I don’t know that we really need the money. More money is always nice, and I can think of hundreds of ways that we could use it, but that’s not the same thing as needing it. Anyway, the company loves you and for good reason. You do a lot for them. My guess is that you still get to whatever position you want, but maybe a bit slower.”

“Well said. Did my father slip you a bribe?”

“Oh now who’s mocking who?” he smiled.

“You sound much more ready than I thought,” she said looking more serious.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what being ready means anymore.”

“Well, you’d have to take a step back from all your stuff too and slow down?” she asked.

“I know. But, my stuff isn’t like your stuff. I’m stuck at the position I’m in. I don’t love what I’m doing. I spend most of my meetings dreaming of other places. This place in fact.” He smiled and imagined the hippos amidst the palms. “I’d be happy to take a step back is all I’m saying.” Akhil finished to see Sheila looking off into the distance. He took his cue to be quiet and let her process. He watched the rickshaw driver pedal through the narrow streets as the moon peeped through a part in the clouds bathing the fields, trees and the occasional house with silvery light.

Much of the next day passed in haze for Akhil. They had arisen early in the morning to attend the Shraddha ceremony on the side of the river. Despite his best attempts to get into the spirit of things, he found the whole puja an unintelligible mix of a priest’s chanting along with Suresh the oldest son participating in parts, and the remainder of the large group of family and friends sitting in silence like him in the open air and observing for what seemed like hours and hours. What did it all mean? He would have asked Sheila if she were with him, but she was sitting on the other side with all the women next to Bulbul Aunty. Separated from Sheila he had no identity in this community, and others politely ignored him. In any case, he had little to say.

Later at the feast, the mood was much more festive and upbeat, and he was happy to see Sheila brighten up. Rituals rarely had this effect on him, but he appreciated it others. The grieving period had been properly observed, and now they could celebrate according to custom. So Shiela did along with the rest of the community. She walked through the large crowd of people from the village, catching up with old faces, commiserating at times, laughing. Akhil had learned to relax in these situations and assume his role as Sheila’s accessory - not so different from how he felt visiting her parents. But, now he was an accessory less noticed or acknowledged: less a lovely dress and more a set of keys, essential but unremarkable.

The end of the grieving period also meant that the family could now wear colored clothing and eat whatever they wanted. A restaurant  - if a small roadside kitchen could be called that - from a couple of villages over had been hired to cater the event. Four or five skinny men now manned several large vats of rice, daal, aloo-gobi tarkari, and - since this was Bengal - fish. They formed a buffet line serving the long queue that had formed. From somewhere in the middle of the queue, Akhil watched a woman, now at the front accept a plate made of banana leaf with portions of each food item. Eventually Akhil and Sheila had their turn and made for the big tent that had been created for the occasion. Akhil enjoyed the food even if this was not his preferred fare. But Sheila seemed to relish it. They had sat at a table with Mashi and Mesho, and all of them were discussing Uncle Mukesh’s childhood. Akhil’s bengali was too weak to participate, but he could follow along. Contrary to the normal grain of conversation which mostly took the form of expressing grievances, Akhil was heartened to listen to one about virtue and a man that seemed to exude it.

He felt the tap over his shoulder before he really tuned into the whispered voice. In fact he was inclined to ignore it because the chances of somebody knowing him in this crowd or referring to him as “Mr. Shasthri” was low. But, the tap he couldn’t ignore. He turned to see Uncle Mukesh’s son, Suresh, standing with another man. Akhil remembered the chat with Suresh the night before and guessed the purpose of this conversation. He poked Sheila who also turned.

It was the other man who spoke. “Mr. and Mrs. Shasthri, I’m sorry to interrupt, but might we have a word when you’ve finished eating?”

Akhil had forgotten entirely about the conversation with suresh the night before. Imagining some rare book or personal journal that awaited Sheila from Mr. Mukesh’s will, Akhil was mostly annoyed that they were interrupting lunch over it. But, Sheila spoke first, “I’m finished eating, Looks like Akhil too. I just need to wash my hand. Shall we walk along the river?”

In the early afternoon, it had gotten quite hot. The sun streamed over the river. Still, a cool breeze came over the water, and in the shade of a grove of palm trees.

“Mr. Saha is helping me take care of Father’s will and other remaining matters with his property and accounts. He wanted to speak to you directly, Sheila.” Suresh motioned toward Mr. Saha.

“Yes. It is nice to meet you both. I’m sorry it’s under such circumstances.” Mr. Saha cleared his throat. “As you know Mrs. Shastri, Mr. Sarkar, that is, Uncle Mukesh, loved you very much. He has left you and your husband, a letter.” Here Mr. Saha open the small briefcase he was carrying and handed Sheila an envelope. Akhil suppressed a knowing grin. All this for a letter, he thought.

Sheila opened the letter and recognized Uncle Mukesh’s rounded bengali handwriting. He used to write to her from time to time over the years. Letters of encouragement at the start, congratulations on some achievement or another after that, requests to support a promising student, and toward the latter stages of his life, his reflections on life usually in the form of short stories. This letter was short.

Dearest Tinku,

As times change, and this country boldly marches into an uncertain future, it will be ever more important for its people to remember from whence they came. When it was time to help you break free of this place, I wanted to help in what ways I could. Perhaps now, it is time that I tried to help you come back, to stay connected to this place and to the next generation.

My love as always to you, Akhil and your family,

Uncle Mukesh

Sheila smiled as she finished reading the note and wiped a small tear drop from her her cheek. Even, Akhil felt moved. Before she could say anything, Mr. Saha continued, “Mrs. Shastri, there is one more thing. Alongside this letter, Mr. Sarkar has willed to you a piece of land under the condition that you put it to use.”

“Land?” Sheila’s wistful mood turned to surprise. She looked at Suresh, “Why?”

“I’m afraid, other than that letter, Mr. Sarkar, has left no additional explanation as to why. Perhaps, Suresh, you might have some insight?” The lawyer turned to Suresh.

“I can only guess that this was his way of ensuring that you and Akhil have more reason to come back to this place.” Suresh said.

“What would we do with land, Suresh? Anyway, I come back to this place because my family are – and friends like you,” she turned towards Akhil. He looked equally surprised.

“I thought it might surprise you. In fact, I felt the same way. Who has time for farming these days. I will probably just sell what was left to me. Anyway, let’s get out of this sun. I can how you the plot in the evening. It’s adjacent to your Mesho’s lands. I think you may already know the place. Your Mesho told me that Akhil had something of an incident there the other day.”

Akhil had stopped listening. He had drifted off into his imagination. There, in a field, there were hippos amidst the palms.

And so it was. When Suresh took them to the field that evening, the plot that Uncle Mukesh had left to Sheila was indeed about an acre and half adjacent to Mesho’s fields. It also contained the cluster of palm trees where Akhil had fainted on sight of the hallucinogenic hippos.

Uncle Mukesh’s had divided the remainder of his considerable estate between his survivors. Karuna, his daughter and her husband Nihal who lived in Kolkata, were to a small piece adjacent to Shiela’s. Beyond Karuna’s piece, was another small plot for his only surviving sibling, Tamal. Uncle Tamal was widowed a year ago, and was now living with his oldest son, Tanay, based in Mumbai. Bulbul Aunti would would retain the bulk of the land including the piece with their house and beyond. And finally, Suresh’s plot was on the other side of Bulbul Aunti’s house along the road marking the end of the estate. They all walked together now along the road, all expect Bulbul Aunti who had stayed home to rest after the long day, surveying their new possessions and praising Uncle Mukesh’s generosity.

“Will you hold on to the land Suresh?” asked Nihal. Karuna was walking slowly between her husband and her brother.

“I’m not sure, but I don’t think so. What would I do with all this? Unless our mother wants it for some reason, I think I’ll try to sell it.”

“Have you looked into any buyers?” Karuna asked.

“Not yet, I think I will entrust the lawyer to start seeking out interested parties. You are sure you want to sell?” Suresh replied.

“Of course - what would we do with land out here. If we were a bit closer, maybe we’d build on it and rent out the property. But, I doubt this place has much of a rental market,” Nihal said.

“I agree. I’m too old to travel back and forth anyway,” Uncle Tamal jumped in. “Unless you want to learn how to work the land dear boy,” he joked to his son.

“No, I think I’ll stick to the computers thank you,” Tanay said back.

“It will be good to try to sell the whole estate then as a contiguous piece assuming my mother is ok with it. In any case, I suspect the house will be too much for her to maintain. Besides, I am trying to persuade her to spend more time with my family,” said Suresh.

“What would she do here anyway?” Karuna replied. “She could also spend more time with me and Nihal, especially since our kids are still around.”

“Yes I think that makes most sense for us too,” said Sheila.   

The group was in good spirits after the feast earlier in the day. They had started to think about their respective journeys home the next day and the resumption of lives that had been hastily paused by the news of Uncle Mukesh’s death. They all chatted as they walked along.

All but Akhil. He was off in thought. Or rather, he was having one recurrent thought: he was being given the place that he had had dreams about for many years. Not only did a place he imagined exist, but now he was being handed it. Why then would he just sell it? It didn’t make any sense! But what else could he do? What else? What else? He could keep it. For what purpose? He didn’t know exactly, and the thoughts circled in his head as they all walked along. What if he could spend a bit more time here? Maybe join hands with Mesho and learn from him how to work the land. Could he leave the job? That would be crazy. He imagined Sheila’s response. Maybe he could just move to being part time? He was valuable enough that the firm might consider the idea of him being a consultant. That might give him enough time back to give this a shot. They could certainly afford it and take time to slow down a bit to spend more time with family.

Later back at the house, he shared his thoughts with Sheila, Mesho and Mashi over dinner.

“You’re kidding right? What would I do here?” Shiela said in partial protest.

“You don’t have to live here immediately. But, maybe this could be like a summer place for us. What about that?” Akhil was proceeding cautiously, but in the face of opposition he thought it might be helpful to play the family card. “And if we wanted to have a family we could spend more time in the area to be close to your family.”

“Are you being serious, right now?” Sheila was trying to read Akhil’s face.

“I’m just throwing out an idea - that’s all. Maybe just think about it,” Akhil said.

“Well, you’ll also need a bit more land if you’re going to try

to actually work the land,” Mesho chimed in.

“And of course you can stay with us, but if you and Sheila come and have children, then you might want to build your own place. You’ll need land for that too,” said Mashi ever the pragmatist.

“How much land would we need do you think?” Akhil said turning to Mesho.

“I’m suggesting something specific. I think if you were to buy Tamal Uncle’s share and Karuna’s share up to Bulbul Aunty’s plot, you would have a good stretch of land right next to ours. We could work together easily then. You could probably build a house next to Bulbul Aunty come to think of it or buy a floor of her house. They don’t need so much space.”

Akhil was starting to imagine the possibilities in Bengal while Sheila was more focused on their life in Bangalore.

“Suppose you got all this set up here, what would we do there Bangalore? My job isn’t coming here. I’ll still have to be there. Are you planning to come here and leave me all alone?”

“I don’t have all the answers, babe.” Akhil felt scared. This was pretty crazy. But, he was sure this was the right direction. So, he pressed on. “But, we don’t need to have it all figured out right this moment.”

“Well, I for one would like to know the temperature of the water before I jump in. And whether there are sharks in the water,” Sheila said and laughed.

“But there are no sharks here.” Akhil laughed too. And to himself he thought, though there may be hippos. “Look, all we have to decide for the moment, is whether we want to sell the land Uncle Mukesh has left you. And whether or not we want to buy the land off of Karuna and Tamal Uncle. I’m just saying that I’m leaning toward yes on both of those.” He paused to study her expression. “That’s all I’m saying. We could have a country house that we come and visit from time to time. Later, we can sort out how often and what we want to do while we’re here. And if this turns out to be a big mistake, we can just sell off the land.”  

Sheila thought for a while. Maybe having a place here could be a nice thing she thought as images of children swam in her mind. What if they could take some time off of work to start a family? What better place to spend that time than here, near her family. Anyway, it was nice to see Akhil excited about something. He seemed to fallen into a rut over the last few years: checked out and going through the motions. “It makes sense to keep the plot Uncle Mukesh has left us, and maybe we could build a house on that. But, do you really want to buy the other plots of land? Are you sure you know what you want to do with it?”

Akhil looked deeply into Sheila’s eyes. And she knew. She knew this man, and knew that face. “Ok,” she said and laced her fingers into Akhil’s. “I’ll give Suresh a call.” Akhil squeezed her hand in his.

In his imagination, a field arose in front of him. Now, he knew that he’d been here before. The sun high overhead infused him with the stupefying heat. Water ran in channels at marked intervals. He could hear it flow from the river nearby aided by a noisy pump. A father and son were just out of hearing distance as always. Though this time, he was no longer separate from them. He was the father. And, he was sure, it was his son. He tried to look closer at the boy, but couldn’t quite make out his face. That had not yet been decided he felt - not quite yet. But soon. Over the boy’s shoulders, he squinted to make out the rows of giant daffodils and palm trees surrounding the brown earth. And there, off in the corner, now reassuringly, he saw them. He nudged the boy by the hand and walked towards them.