Our Share of Half-formed Moons

Before Doctor Uncle could finish his sentence, Mummy suddenly slammed her hand on the glass table. Her bangles shattered and scattered everywhere, the pieces flying towards us. Mummy was the only one hurt. Her hand, dripping with blood, looked as red as Kissan ketchup. She loudly burst into tears.

God has cursed me with such rotten luck!—Mummy wailed, looking up at the ceiling.

Papa and Romu Bhaiya turned to me. I felt like I had made yet another mistake. Papa pulled me onto his lap, holding my hand tightly.

When Doctor Uncle mentioned leukaemia, Mummy mooed. Papa went as still as that bronze statue near Gandhi Market. We left the hospital in silence. Back home, everyone’s attention was diverted.

In the chaos, Romu Bhaiya locked me in the bathroom. I was scared but still kept quiet. I was worried that if I cried out, he’d turn off the light too. The sounds around me—water dripping, slippers squeaking, utensils crashing—mixed with Mummy’s sobs and Papa’s returning low growls. Romu Bhaiya’s scary voice arrived like a ghostly echo from outside—I’m coming! I’m coming!

Earlier too, when Doctor Uncle talked about things such as congenital heart or Down syndrome, everyone would react the same way. I’d ask them questions about it, but no one would ever answer. They’d either ignore me or change the topic.

Why doesn’t the ghost come?

Let me ask Amma the way to the ghost’s home. I’ll borrow Romu Bhaiya’s old cycle and find him. I just need someone to take me away from all of this… Do ghosts also want beautiful children?

#

I spent the whole day sitting by the window, watching Rohit, Mahesh, Mridul, Pragya, and Mahika play ice-water. Seeing their beaming faces filled me with joy. I felt like joining them, but Mummy shot me a glare every time I begged her.

Being stuck at home like this could be so boring. I tried to play ice-water with Mummy, but she didn’t understand the game. Whenever I would shout ice at her, she would just get annoyed and say things like, “Don’t bother me,” before heading to the kitchen. Maybe she didn’t know what ice meant. Next time I will try using baraf.

Romu Bhaiya would throw on his sunglasses whenever he felt like it and dash off on his Activa. That too without a helmet! I’d try to remind him, but my voice would bounce against his speeding scooty and get crushed in the rising dust.

Just like how the boy who used to shout ten-ten-ten got crushed against the road that day. Whenever Mummy and I crossed Shankar Marg to go to Gandhi Market, he was there yelling ten-ten-ten, as if it were his name. In a dusty shirt, more holes than shirt, and that too stained all over—he was ice while the whole world was water.

We were weaving through traffic at a red light, criss-crossing between stalled vehicles like ants. Ten-ten-ten was selling his elephant key rings through a car window. Suddenly, the light turned green, and a hundred-rupee note was left in his hand. He ran after the black Alto, shouting change-change-change, and ended up under a truck. I thought blood would spray everywhere like in the comics. There would be a loud bang and everyone’s pristine white clothes would get splattered like on mummy’s TV serial. But nothing of that sort happened.

When I tried to move closer to him, Mummy held on to me tightly, same as when I used to tease Tommy in the colony park.

—Look ahead before walking.

I kept turning back but no one came to that spot. Except black, buzzing flies. As if ten-ten-ten had just disappeared. Was he an ant? No, something even smaller. Because I can also see ants on the floor. Had everybody turned blind at the same moment?

Mummy dragged me away from there. I wanted to ask if ten-ten-ten was in pain, but he wasn’t shouting at all. I was awed. He is such a brave boy!

Then Mummy bought me not one but two of the chocolate softies that I loved and I forgot everything else.

#

Monica Ma’am, the English teacher, is my favourite. She treats me just like the other kids. She loves me a lot but also scolds me when I make mistakes. Unlike the other ma’ams who ignore me and say, “It’s okay, such a poor thing,” as if I’m a piece of chalk.

Amma stays with me every day, arriving in the morning wearing a floral sari and a big bindi. She has a red line in her hair. (What is it called? Sin…sin… oh yes, sindoor!)

She exclaims Hey Ram! Hey Ram! at every occasion without any reason. She tells me, “Suaa, if you fold your hands in front of god for an hour every night, it is guaranteed you will get well.”

“But we have both Shiv ji and Durga Ma at home. In front of whom?” I ask.

“Shiv ji… He is one of the Tridev, the God of death,” she explains.

“Tridev? What does that mean?”

“Brahma, Vishnu, Shiva—the three who run the world.”

“Why doesn’t Durga Ma run the world?”

“She does, alongside Shiv ji.”

“Then why isn’t she in the Tridev?”

“No more hows and whys. Some things just are. We can’t question everything. If we did, the world would be a complete mess.”

“What is death?”

“That’s enough questions for now…”

#

Om Trayambakam Yajamahe Sugandhim Pushti… I kept forgetting the rest of it. Amma makes me recite it every day, but it slips my mind by night.

I’ve seen Mummy cheat by peeking at her book when she forgets.

Sometimes, she dozes off while sitting. Her hands remain half-folded. A string of saliva drools from her lips. I lightly trace my finger on her neck.

Exclaiming who is it, who is it Mummy sits straight again and begins to mumble the mantra as I burst out laughing.

#

Romu Bhaiya and Soma Didi are locked in a tight hug behind the jamun tree.

—Will you talk to your father once again?

—He won’t agree to the marriage. He is afraid that the burden of your brother will fall on me. What if he does not get well this time too?

—But this time, the doctor is more hopeful. Mummy and Papa will be around for a long time anyway.

—Daddy is adamant. He wants to quickly marry me off somewhere else.

Soma Didi leaves. Bhaiya collapses face down on the grass, helpless. His eyes turn red as tears stream down his face. Glaring towards my room, he nearly shouts.

—How long must I suffer for his sake? Ever since he was born, I have been made invisible at home. Everything revolves around him. Aadi this, Aadi that. We need money for his treatment, so don’t go to a good school. Don’t buy nice clothes. Don’t invite your friends home. Will I now be denied the right to love because of him?

#

The marigolds in the flowerbed are waving at me through the window.

Should I pluck some and give them to Mummy?

No, no, I won’t do it. There is at least someone who doesn’t frown on seeing me.

#

Romu Bhaiya calls me for a bath after four days.

I rush to him but he squirms at my slightest touch.

He has been bathing me for the past month ever since that time I suddenly felt dizzy and fell while in the bathroom. My head hit the tap on the way down. Lying on the wet floor, I felt something warm steadily trickling from my head. When I touched that tender spot, my hand came away red with blood. I wanted to call Mummy but I fainted.

I woke up in the hospital. There were all old-old people there. One uncle had both his legs elevated as if he was standing on a magic carpet rising up in the sky like Aladdin.

It was then that the Doctor Uncle had started repeating ‘leukaemia leukaemia’.

Romu Bhaiya pours with such force that the stream of water feels like a slap.

I ask him to do it slowly.

He overturns the entire mug on my head.

#

When Amma came home in the evening, she brought Orange Bite every day. I usually love to quickly pop them in and relish the strong orange taste but today I have other things on my mind. I question her as soon as she steps inside.

—Did you ask anyone, what is leukaemia?

—L-aa-kemia, L-uu-kimia, why do you keep chanting that all day, Suaa? Let me catch my breath first. You go bring me some water.

I rush to the kitchen, mouthing the letters. It is so much fun to say le-u-kae-mi-a.

#

In my dream, I was a doctor. Clad in a white coat with a stethoscope around my neck. Every patient got cured as soon as I touched him. I have now decided that I’ll be a doctor when I grow up.

But I also want to write beautiful poems like Papa…

And embroider colourful flowers on handkerchiefs like Mummy…

I’m also good at drawing—Mohini Ma’am gives me so many good, very good…

It’s tough to choose just one thing. I’ll become everything.

#

A poem is inscribed in Papa’s beautiful cursive at the beginning of this diary:

When a man exerts all his might,

Mountains uproot without a fight.

When humans put their will to test,

Stone turns water at their behest.

One evening, as sunlight streamed through the window casting a chessboard of shadows, Papa came and sat with me for a long time. He positioned me where the sun illuminated half my body and read this poem aloud a few times. There is magic in his voice. I wish he would keep reciting things to me forever.

Then, suddenly, the sun was shrouded by clouds. My half-lit body disappeared into darkness. Papa placed his hand gently on my head.

—You have to fight a lot now, beta!

—But against whom, Papa?

He did not reply and embraced me instead.

#

A report has come from the hospital.

What report? Is it about that leukaemia thing? I listen quietly from my room.

Romit’s marrow has matched—Papa says and then calls my name.

What is marrow?

Romu Bhaiya smashes one of Papa’s glass trophies on the ground. I quickly hide under the bed. I don’t want Romu Bhaiya to lock me in the bathroom again.

#

The sky is a drum with the skin stretched tight as rain pours down heavily. I am craving aloo pakodas.

Amma is reluctant at first but after I pull her cheeks tight and plead—please please—she begins to make them.

When both her hands are submerged in besan, I sneak a little onto her face with my finger. She glowers in my direction and I dash away, laughing.

—Catch me if you can!

Finally, she brings out a heaping plate of piping hot pakodas. I point at her nose and tease—That’s also a pakoda. Let’s eat it first!

#

Mummy is sitting in the garden. Neck bent. Sweat-drenched. Hair scattered all over her face. She is talking to the neighbour, Rama Aunty.

—Either he gets completely well now, or we are freed of this burden!

I withdraw from the window. Are they talking about me?

#

“There’s a letter for Romit Parashar!” Someone calls from the door.

Is it about marrow again? Or leukaemia? Will Romu Bhaiya get upset and start breaking things once more?

But as soon as he opens the letter, he starts jumping with joy. He shouts—I got admission in that MBA course!

I have never seen such radiance on Mummy’s face before. It is like one of our marigolds in bloom. Before I can join them in their happiness, their smiles slowly fade. Mummy and Romu Bhaiya read the letter further and fall on the sofa with a thud.

—But I got only a 25 percent scholarship, Mummy.

The words come out of his mouth in the same morose tone as Nobita when he fails a test.

#

Papa is showing off the Sunday newspaper. His poem has been published in it for the first time. His eyes are shining, a lustre similar to my gemstone ring when struck by light. Mummy got it for me from that Bhabhuti Baba a few days ago.

He recites the poem to Mummy who’s working in the kitchen. Yet again, I notice the magical quality of his voice. Suddenly, he wipes his eyes. Why is Papa crying?

“The feeling of your existence…”

He is about to read further when Mummy abruptly interrupts him—You paid the electricity bill, right?

Papa’s face flushes red. Gritting his teeth, he rips the newspaper in half and storms off to his room.

#

Last night, Mummy, Papa and Romu Bhaiya kept shouting at each other. Had I been a little older, I would have understood what they were arguing about.

This morning, no food was cooked in the house. The fight resumed with renewed zeal shortly after. I listened to them carefully today.

—Aadi’s treatment is the most important thing right now.

—Don’t you remember what the doctor said… Even with marrow treatment, the chances of survival are slim. What will we do if it does not work?

—But we can’t lose hope! For me both children are equal.

—Ha! You should have expressed such lofty sentiments when you had enough money in your pocket to support both of them.

Papa doesn’t answer her. He slams the front door and leaves. Mummy scowls in the direction of my room. I hide behind the curtains. Romu Bhaiya breaks the silence.

—If his treatment is so important, why don’t you borrow money from someone?

Mummy comes and sits next to him. She strokes his head.

—There is only one way. You refuse to donate the marrow.

—But what if something happens to Aadi?

—Beta, both things are not possible now. Be a little practical.

Are they talking about me? Or about some other boy with the same name?

What kind of disease causes such fights at home?

#

If Romu Bhaiya was at home, he took full control of the TV remote. He always changed my cartoons to the news.

He says with a frown—All this is useless stuff. Pure imagination. Knowing about what’s going on in the world is more important.

Is it necessary that his ‘necessary’ and my ‘necessary’ be the same? I am about to ask him, but by then he has switched from Doraemon to an English news channel. An aunty wearing red lipstick and looking like Snow White is in the middle of a bulletin.

Usually I run away, but Romu Bhaiya catches hold of me this time. I have no choice but to sit next to him.

Bollywood actress Sukanya Mahajan’s eyes met Suketu Mahajan’s on the set of Love Drug.

In the darkness of night, a wife strangled her husband’s lover.

A female elephant gave birth to four calves in the forests of Gir; Gujarat Chief Minister expresses happiness.

#

Romit and Aaditya bounce back and forth like a ball on Mummy and Papa’s tongues. The fights and arguments are more frequent now but they die down into hushed whispers as soon as they notice me listening to them.

#

Lately, my head feels very heavy. I’m often nauseous and have no appetite at all. I tire easily at the smallest exertion. Even writing has become a chore.

What’s wrong with me?—I asked Amma the other day. She hugged me tightly.

—You’re going to a better world soon. There you’ll have better parents.

I didn’t like the face she made when she mentioned Mummy and Papa. I pulled away from her embrace and announced with my hands on my hips—My Mummy and Papa are the best!

#

Living without the little pills is unbearable. As soon as they wear off and the pain comes back, I become restless. But I must wait until it is time for the next dose.

I remain lying in my room the whole day. Pee, poop, eat—everything on the bed. Mummy complains that a deathly smell has settled in my room, making her queasy. She tried putting some flowers but they did nothing to reduce it.

I strain to look at the marigolds from where I am. Only their withering heads are visible, the bright orange slowly turning into a listless brown.

No one comes near me now except Amma.

#

The moment I pick up a pencil, pain shoots through me. It is as if all my bones are dust. I am barely able to write beyond a few sentences.

#

It feels like someone is sucking my life out with a straw. Just like that Glucon-D ad. Still, it is important to write today. Romu Bhaiya is going to study at a very big place. He has to catch a late-night train to another city.

I saw him after so many days. He hugged me and burst into tears.

All the best!—I try to get up and weakly shout after him as he leaves.

But minutes later, he comes back. Mummy and Papa follow him. Suddenly the light goes off, but it isn’t all dark. Some moonlight spills in through the curtains. The four of us cling to each other and cry together.