One morning, she heard someone calling her from the wall. Usha sat up, afraid. “Kaun?” She walked to the scullery that shared a wall with another house and asked, “Kaun…kaun bol raha hai?”

“Arey main Alka. I am Alka, Sharma ji’s wife.”

“Oh, Alka, Namaste. How do you know my name?”

“Sandhya ne bataya, to, settle ho gaye aap? Do you need any help?”

“Oh…I……I have but…”

“Sab theek hai?”

“Arey…I have put the things but therearesomethingsIdon’tknowwheretokeepthemI haven’tfigureditoutyet”, blurted out Usha.
“ohh…achha.”

As a new housewife and a new tenant in a small house in that old, shabby building, Usha was struggling to understand the landscape of her new home. Neeraj called this building “Shankar Singh ka haata”. She’d never even seen a haata before.

She had grown up in a village in a modest family, but her joint family had a huge house. She was the girl who had worked and run around in a big verandah, a house where sunlight kissed her in whichever room she chose to sit, and fresh air was to be taken for granted. But this damp and cramped building was exactly the opposite of what she had hoped for in her married life. When she entered the labyrinthine pathway to her two-room house in the attic, she gagged and held her breath on seeing a young boy defecating on a drain outside what seemed to be his house. Only when she reached the terrace did she inhale a lungful of breath.

If it hadn’t been for the big open terrace, almighty knows how Usha would have survived. But she never complained about the house to anyone, not a syllable to her husband.

Fifteen minutes later, someone knocked on Usha’s door. It was slightly ajar, and a faint red shadow was falling on the grey door. “Ji, kahiye, kaun hai?”

Alka pushed the door a little and peeped inside. To her amazement, most of the things in Usha’s house were unpacked, and she was sprawled on the bed, sobbing. Startled, Usha straightened the petticoat and adjusted her saree, and rubbed her face with her hands. She was sobbing.

“Hey Ram, why are you crying? Is everything alright? Are you hurt?” asked Alka, alarmed.

“Arey nahin……it’s just that…all these boxes…I don’t know…this house is so small…my house was so big……Neeraj asked me to arrange the house on my own, and he went to his office early in the morning. And I still…still…these boxes…” and she hid her face in her saree and sobbed even harder.

Alka stood up suddenly and left, mumbling “abhi aayi” under her breath.

Usha let out a sigh and plopped herself on the bed as before.

Not long after, Alka came back with two cups of hot tea and some biscuits. She looked around the house for something and found a newspaper under the bed. She put the newspaper on the bed and put the tray on it. Usha was watching her, rubbing her forehead. Alka picked up a cup and a biscuit and offered them to Usha.

Usha’s eyes welled up again. She knew she could have done better because Alka was the first guest she had had in her house since the time they had moved into the building, but her state didn’t allow her. She shook her head and took the cup from her.

“I am sorry… I should have offered you something to eat, but here I am, taking tea and biscuits from you. What would my mother say if she heard of this?”

“Are, koi baat nahi. It is almost lunchtime, and you are not even close to getting near your stove.”

The tea gave her anxious mind some rest. Usha looked at Alka properly for the first time. Alka was taller than her and fairer too. And her hair was long and shiny. Black, carefully braided. Just the way her grandmother had wanted Usha to be. Usha’s small eyes and golden-brown hair were often a topic of contention in her house. But something about Alka’s eyes was soothing her.

Although they were meeting for the first time, it seemed that Usha had brought one of her childhood friends from her village to the city. Even the huskiness of Alka’s voice reminded Usha of one of her aunts back home.

“Your bangles are really pretty.”

“Hunh? Oh, these…yeah… there’s Feroz chacha in my village, he brings solid bangles. If you want, I can bring you some as well. In fact, I might have some extra on me right now.”

Usha began to shift the boxes to place her suitcase on the bed, but…

“Are …nahin…nahin…Not now. I’ll come again later. You rest now. Already bahut kaam hai apke paas.” Alka put the cups on the tray and stood up.

“Achha…but I’ll make tea for us this time. Come soon, okay?”

Alka chuckled and nodded. Although their houses shared walls, Alka’s house entrance was on a floor beneath. Usha stood at her doorstep and watched Alka go downstairs.
*
Alka came back the next day around the same time. But Usha had asked her to come empty-handed. Usha still had some unopened boxes, but she knew she’d finish the work more calmly while chatting with Alka.

After sweeping the final dust from the house away, Usha made a pot of tea, and they refreshed themselves in silence with occasional sips and crunches. They told each other about their families and villages. Alka’s village wasn’t far from Usha’s. Her house wasn’t big though, but it was a lot cleaner and more ventilated. The intercity train Usha took to come to the city passed through Alka’s village.

From that day onwards, Usha never felt helpless in that house. She knew she had found a wise sister in Alka, and Alka too realised that she had found a confidante and a friend after a long time in her life. A simple cup of tea from a compassionate girl had eased her into the life of a married woman and a new housewife.
*
Usha found her rhythm in the building. The city had become less intimidating. Although the children still defecated openly in the drains, Usha made sure her corner of the world remained as hygienic and pristine as possible. She cleaned her house twice a day, and sometimes even thrice a day.

Within a few months, other women also joined Usha and Alka in their afternoon chats. Sandhya had taken it upon herself to bring all the gossip from outside the haata. She was a pomegranate peeler at a juice center. Whatever news came, it first passed through her ears before reaching everyone else’s.

She had an eighty-year-old grandmother-in-law who had died of old age the week Usha had come to the building. But taking care of the old lady had cost Sandhya’s sleep. Sometimes, she survived on two hours of sleep for weeks. The death had relieved her of her caregiving duties. Whenever they ran out of topics to discuss, Sandhya quickly dozed off.

The women spent their afternoons in the winter on the terrace, gossiping and sharing their problems. But they weren’t the only things they shared. Pickles, snacks, fruits, new and old dishes, sweater designs, and embroidery designs, they shared everything. And in the summers, their families found respite from the asphyxiating heat in their matchbox houses by sleeping on the terrace.

One summer night, someone’s retching woke up Usha. She rubbed her eyes and looked around. Almost everyone was deep asleep, and many were snoring. Except someone in a saree was bent down in a corner of the terrace. She got up from her cot and walked towards her.

“Alka? Sab theek hai? Is something hurting?”

But before Alka could say something else, Usha noticed a puddle of dark coloured liquid on the floor beside her. Alka was coughing profusely. Usha could hardly stand the sight of blood, but she stood by her side, holding her breath and rubbing Alka’s back.

“Sharma ji…uthao unhe.” Usha looked at Alka’s husband, who was in deep sleep with their two-year-old son, Rahul. She crouched down next to him and patted him to wake him up. He woke up groggily, but Usha quickly told him what had transpired. He dashed towards Alka. Almost everyone moved in their sleep, disturbed by the whispers and moans and coughs. Usha gently patted Rahul to let him sleep undisturbed.

Sharma ji put Alka’s arm on his shoulder, wrapped her arm around his waist, and took her back to their house. He came back to the terrace, finding Usha. He asked her to babysit Rahul, for he was taking Alka to a doctor immediately. She had vomited even more down there. “Bilkul, bilkul bhaisahab, aap jao. Please let me know what happened.”

She lay down next to the little boy on the mat. Looking at the twinkling stars, she prayed, “Raksha karo bhagwan. Look after her.”

The doctors couldn’t diagnose Alka’s sickness. Sometimes it was cancer, sometimes TB, sometimes just a stomach infection. But her health was deteriorating. Sharma ji consulted many doctors, Alka’s mother and aunts took her to all sorts of baba and tantrik to take the devil away from her body, but her weight kept dropping at a concerning rate. Her son needed nursing, but he was spending his time more with her aunt, Padma, Alka’s younger sister, a shy but resolute girl of all but eighteen.

Eventually, Alka was diagnosed with a rare kind of blood cancer, and as it turned out, she had very little time left in her life. Hardly a couple of months.

Padma had come on the terrace to hang some laundry. Her parents had taken Alka to their house with them. Padma was supposed to leave the next morning after sorting the house and preparing some food for the journey with little Rahul. Alka had asked her to visit Usha before coming back to the village and inform her about Alka’s health. Usha noticed that Padma’s hands were shaking when she put her hand on her door to lean on it.

After a few weeks, Sandhya came running to Usha, her hair askew and her cotton saree loosely wrapped around her waist and shoulder like a towel. “Alka… Alka… Nahin rahi.”

The worst had happened.

The world had suddenly turned numb for Usha. Alka gone, Alka…her Alka… her sister………her dearest friend……the girl who always took care of Usha every day……gone.
“Usha……Usha……say something……” said Sandhya, her face wet with sweat and tears.

Usha said nothing, but her knees gave way and she dropped to the floor. When tears came, they refused to cease, and they were relentless for weeks.

Usha left for her village on Neeraj’s insistence. He had remained patient for a day or two, but after that, he needed a full-functioning and attentive housewife. When he couldn’t acquire one, he asked her to get away for some time to cope with her emotions better and find some distractions.

She came back after a fortnight. Her visit to her village couldn’t help much with her grief, as her heart was with Alka and her memories. When she came back, Neeraj told her that Sharma ji got married again.

“Married again…itni jaldi! ITNI JALDI!! Oh, my poor Alka! And what would become of Rahul? Uska kya hoga? He thought of only himself and his wants. How shameful! I had thought he loved Alka”.

Usha couldn’t bear to hear a word about this egregious marriage. She knew Rahul needed a mother, and Sharma ji wasn’t too old to find a new life partner, but the swiftness with which he had moved forward was beyond her comprehension.

A few days later, Sandhya again ran to Usha.

“Usha…oh Usha…Bhagwan…Sharma ji has married Padma. You know Rahul is only a boy of two, and he loves her aunt. Padma too loves Rahul in her life, and Alka is her dearest. Her parents wanted her to marry Sharma ji and take care of Rahul, as Alka would have done. Padma agreed, and they will be here by next Monday”.

“Kya bol rahi ho, Sandhya, bachchi hai wo.”

Usha was familiar with the bond Padma and Alka shared. The sisters loved and adored each other. Alka wanted Padma to study and make something of her, something more than a wife and mother. Padma was also a studious and hardworking girl. She had managed to take care of her parents and work hard for herself at the same time. It was Padma who took care of Rahul when Alka’s fate stole her time away. But this! This was cruelty. It mustn’t be true!

“And then what? She will fill the void left behind by Alka and nothing else?” thought Usha, but her face couldn’t veil the indignation she felt on behalf of Padma.

Because of Alka, she had always thought of Padma as her little sister. How would she face her once she’d come and live here, where Alka had?

Padma came, clad in a red Banarasi saree, a newlywed bride with two-year-old Rahul in her arms, into the same house her sister had decorated with all her hopes and dreams. She was still an eighteen-year-old young adult, but everything felt different about her. Her eyes seemed to have lost all the innocence and sparkle of youth, as if tears had swept all the dreams she had seen for herself and her parents away. That little sister whom only Alka and somewhat Usha knew seemed to have died with Alka. Only, young Padma’s corpse was burnt by her at her sacrificial altar, and life always talks in favour of life and blames the victims.

She was now Mrs Sharma and the mother of Rahul. Sharma ji’s relatives had arranged a “munh dikhai” with the neighbouring ladies to make Padma more comfortable despite her protestations. Usha couldn’t be a part of this party, which was, for her, a ghastly idea.
Nearly a week later, she saw Padma clearly for the first time, collecting dried laundry. When Padma saw Usha watching her, something passed her eyes, and she fainted. Usha and others rushed to the hospital to take Padma. Having lost one sister to illness, a simple fainting had alerted everyone in the building.

When the doctor came out of the emergency ward, he told everyone that Padma had fainted because of exhaustion. It was the month of scorching June and she was dehydrated. They took her back to her house. Sandhya took Rahul with her. Sharma ji rushed back to his office soon. Usha remained with her. Ever since Padma came to this house, Sharma ji spent most of his time in his office or lingered around Sandhya’s husband’s paan shop, rarely talking to anyone.

When Padma opened her eyes and saw Usha sitting near her, she couldn’t restrain herself and bawled her eyes out. She wept and wept and wept and wept.

Having seen Usha after Alka’s demise was like reliving a life she couldn’t have anymore. For Alka and Usha, Padma was only a baby sister whose life was wrapped around her family and her studies. When she saw Usha, she saw a ghost. Her ghost, who used to come during the vacations and spend some time around her sister and her friend, learning about all kinds of recipes and life. She was no longer a little sister to anyone. She was Mrs. Sharma and Rahul’s new mother. But looking at Usha, she saw a still young and chatty Padma adored by her and Alka, and the mere co-existence of that reality was excruciating.

Usha couldn’t accept the fact that in one night, Padma sacrificed everything for Rahul. She didn’t say anything to anyone outside her four walls. But her eyes were not afraid of anyone, and one glance was enough for Padma to see that somewhere, that old Padma was alive in Usha. In Usha’s eyes, she saw her past, which she had to let go of in one night.

It was as if all the pain had become tears, all her frustrations, all her complaints, all her sorrows had turned into agony, causing each vein to explode with the pain.

Usha didn’t utter a word, and she couldn’t muster the courage to placate her by doing anything.

Everybody knows people die, and they will die one day. But a loving heart dies each time it loses someone. Our death is only the culmination of the losses we had to endure in our lives.

Usha had seen death a few times in her life of twenty-four years. Her grandmother, her father, and her baby brother. She knew that sometimes our options are either to live in delusion or not to live at all, and accept the new birth life is asking us to take. Padma seemed to have accepted it with all the resilience she had in her, but that didn’t mean the battle was over for her. There was a line in the Ramcharitmanas that Usha loved to recite, which meant that a dying person and a person taking birth into this world suffer the same amount of pain.

The old Padma had gone through the pain of death, but the new Padma still had to endure the pain of birth. It would be a different and longer battle all along.

Usha came closer to Padma’s bedside and caressed her head. She went into the kitchen and came back with two cups of tea and some biscuits. She helped Padma sit straight on the bed and gently made her drink the tea and eat the biscuits. Padma had Alka’s hair and crinkle above the brows. Usha’s tears had betrayed her stolidity. As if it had happened yesterday, Alka had shared her first cup of tea with Usha. Padma watched the silent agony brimming in Usha’s eyes. They took their tea cups and drank their grief together.