Short Story
Waxing and Waning
artwork by amina
The phone rings shrilly in the pre-dawn air. Although Komal is awake, it still gives her a jolt to hear the unexpected sound. "Who on earth could be calling at this ungodly hour!" she wonders. Or rather, 'Godly' hour. It is, after all, Sehri time. "Hello?" she says tentatively. "Apu!" comes back a thrilled answer, echoing down the long-distance line. "I knew you would be awake." "Hi, Apu," Komal replies to her twin sister Usha. It has long been their 'twin sister thing' to call each other 'Apu' as a gesture of love. When they were younger, they would persistently ask their parents who was born first. And, just as persistently, their parents would laugh and give alternate answers. So calling each other 'Apu' brought a natural closure to the issue. "Are you digging into your omelette and toast?" Usha asks Komal. "Not yet. I was about to make it. How are things with you? How's the fasting going in the grand U.S. of A.?" Komal asks. "I'm fine all day. It's Iftar time that bothers me. Snapple IcedTea and sandwiches just don't cut it for me. I miss all of you," Usha sighs. "Wish I was in Dhaka." "Don't be silly." Komal laughs. "Which part of Dhaka could you possibly miss? The gridlock traffic with everyone trying to get home by Iftar? The yaaak-thoo of spit hitting your shoes as you walk on the pavement? Or the mystery-meat halim sold at roadsides?" "Apu, why do you have to be so cynical?" "Okay, fine. I'll stop being cynical if you stop being so naïve. The grass is always greener…" Komal pauses. "…on the other side." Usha finishes. Both sisters laugh into the phone together. Komal talks for a few more minutes, then hangs up and returns to making her sehri. As she whisks the egg with chopped onions and green chilies, it strikes her that Usha has no idea how insular her Apu's life has become. It's been four years since the sisters' lives took different paths. That was when Komal married Reza. He had been her long-time boyfriend so it was inevitable. Usha knew and adored her 'dulabhai'. But she was unprepared for the loneliness of being without her twin. She had then thrown her heart and soul into her job. One evening, at a colleague's dinner, she found herself talking to a visiting consultant named Joshua. It was instant chemistry. Where it had taken Komal eight years to finally decide on marrying Reza, it took Usha less than six months to fix on Joshua. Komal stands by the kitchen counter, eating her toast and egg, remembering it all. 'So typical of us,' she smiles to herself. They may look like peas in a pod, but when it comes to life's defining moments Usha and Komal are more like chalk and cheese. Halfway across the world, Usha is also puttering around the kitchen. Try as she might, the intensity with which she misses her sister refuses to dissipate. Which is quite silly, she knows, given today's world of mobile phones, text messages and Internet chatting. But how do you put into words what it feels like to be a minority in everything you do and everything you are? You do fifty dollars worth of grocery shopping at the neighbourhood supermarket but still make a pit stop at the distant Indian shop for kacha morich and dhonay pata. There you see the fat oily shingaras - food you wouldn't normally touch back home. But you just have to get it - even at two ninety-nine dollars a piece. You generously offer it to your Bideshi Beloved. He takes the obligatory bite, coughs, gives you a watery smile and says "Lovely, honey. But you have it." And you are left standing: holding a half-eaten, overpriced shingara, loving the man who will bite into spices he hates but also slightly resenting him for bringing you so far away from everything you loved. There it is. Usha's irksome feeling. It's not that she has any doubt in her mind about Joshua. He is her soul mate. The big picture is clear. It's only when she stares into the details of everyday life that the rosy colours start getting blurry. Little incidents pop into mind…The forty-minute drive to attend a school friend's dinner. To sit cross-legged on the carpet and eat forbidden amounts of bhaat, daal and bhuna gosht. Babble happily in Bangla. Late into the evening, someone had brought out a portable harmonium and everyone started singing 'Purano shey diner kotha…' From the corner of her eye, Usha saw Joshua propped against the door, with a pained smile on his face. Kind of ruined her mood. She felt sorry for him. She wanted him to appreciate it the way she did, but she knew it could not be. And so, a few polite moments later, they left - a little sooner than she would have liked… Usha doesn't address that, doesn't go there. Because really, if she started down this path, she could not be sure where she would end up. Perhaps not solidly on her feet. 'My exotic Bangali feet' Usha mocks herself. She has always worn her dusky ethnic looks well. Even after coming to America, she continued wearing her oxidized bangles, rimming her almond shaped eyes with kajol. But over the years her colourful dressing has diluted down to a beige-ness in an attempt to…to what? Dilute the colour of her skin? At least her name isn't explicitly Muslim. That is one thing less to be paranoid about. The aftershock of 9/11 still reverberates in American suburbia. And not just in non-Muslim homes. "Honey, I'm home!" Joshua calls out from the hallway. Usha is relieved. When he is around she doesn't have such morbid self-doubts. "Sorry, I'm late. Did you have your Iftar already?" he asks her. "Yes," she answers, thinking that her cheese sandwich does not an Iftar make. "So one more day and then it's Eid for you. Are you excited?" "Oh, it's no big deal…" she trails off. She gets flashbacks of festive Dhaka streets, Elephant Road hustling and bustling, sari shops serving hot, sweet coffee till 1:00 a.m. and the harassed ladies' tailors. Usha returns to the kitchen, nothing left to say. In Dhaka, Komal is unable to fall back asleep after her Fajr prayers. She goes through her To-Do list. It is the second last day of Ramzan so everything has to be meticulously planned out for Eid. She has finished the Eid shopping for her shoshur bari and own family. But there's still a lot left to do. Finish making the shemai and kebabs tomorrow. Clean the rooms thoroughly. Help her mother-in-law make Eid dinner. Reza and she must visit their murubbi relatives within the three-day-holiday. It's important to visit everyone so no one feels marginalized. In an ideal world, Komal would love to spend Eid day quietly with her husband. No dressing up, no hordes of relatives. Just Reza and her - chatting, eating, watching the television Eid specials, listening to music. They had done that last year, had gone off to Cox's Bazaar for three gloriously anonymous days. But after they returned, her mother-in-law's cold demeanour told her it was not something to be repeated. 'Lucky Usha!' she thinks, before drifting off to sleep. Eid morning. Komal savours her morning cup of tea, and with it the calm before the storm. The rest of the day passes in a haze. After breakfast, the table is laid out with various snacks in anticipation of guests. Retired colleagues of her father-in-law who absolutely adore regaling her with stories of their hey-days; the neighbours down the street, opposite the house, two roads away and down the street on the other side; Reza's colleagues; some uncle's daughter's husband's… The whole world and his wife will come visiting. Except the one person Komal wants to see. Usha. Usha - who is opening her eyes to Eid Day just as her sister is fighting to keep hers from closing. The noises from the kitchen tell her that Joshua is up and helping himself to breakfast. She can smell the strong aroma of coffee. It makes her heart lurch down to her stomach since it cruelly reminds her of the fluffy porotas and jhal-mishti alur chops that her mother would be frying on Eid day. She gets up from bed and walks to the kitchen. "Hi, honey. Happy Eid," Joshua envelops her in a big bear hug. Usha holds on to him a smidgen longer than usual. She needs this, needs to feel human contact today more than ever. When she looks up at him, Joshua is quick to notice the glint of tears. "You okay?" he asks, concerned. "Yes, yes, I'm fine. Still sleepy," she says, giving him a reassuring smile. "What are your plans for the day? Meeting anyone for Eid?" "No…although the Bangladeshi community has an Eid get-together at the Springdale School auditorium at 4:00." "Well, why don't you go? I can't get out of work that early but I could meet you later for dessert." Usha doesn't reply. She doesn't want to spend Eid day with a bunch of strangers - acquaintances at best. People with whom she has nothing in common, except for the fact that they currently live in the same city. She doesn't want to pay ten dollars at the entrance for an Eid dinner, for Heaven's sake! But all she says to her husband is that she has 'other plans.' Joshua promises to take her out for a special dinner and they leave it at that. As it turns out, Usha's 'other plans' were cleaning the apartment, taking a shower, packing a light lunch and eating it at her customary spot in the nearby park. She watches the young children playing on the grass. Coatless, loosened-tie office executives chomping down their burgers and reading newspapers. Someone enjoying her lunch-break cigarette. Old men playing chess in the shade. She doesn't know any of them personally, but the lunchtime ritual has made familiar faces out of these strangers. And there is some comfort in the companionship of it all. She returns home with a lighter step. Early evening, as she is about to get ready for dinner out with Joshua, Usha stops and peers out of her bedroom window. The sky hasn't turned completely dark but she still tries to find the moon. She sees it - the delicate silver crescent. It seems so vulnerable, trying to show itself despite the glittering skyscrapers of the city. And with each day Usha knows it will wax until it is full. When it will surely stop at least one hurried, harassed urbanite in his step and take his breath away. Sure, it will wane again. But for each time the moon wanes, it must wax again. Usha smiles at the hope of it. The phone brring brings her back to the present. "Hello?" Usha says. "Hi," Komal greets her. "What are you doing? Staring at the new moon from your eighteenth-floor apartment?" she teases her twin. "Yep. New moon. Full of promise," Usha asserts. "Promise, indeed," Komal agrees. The twins are silent for a while. Then, one says, "Eid Mubarak Apu." "Eid Mubarak," replies the other.
For all latest news, follow The Daily Star's Google News channel.
Comments