The Exit

The Exit

Mili Sinha had always had her way. From that innocuous little space made only for her in a line for cinema tickets ... to the space she made for herself in the field of biophysics. She had always made it to the top with effort ... with ease. 

She made easy indents into the hearts of men both young and old. Not that she can be particularly called a very traditional woman, but her quasi affiliations towards the defined norms of traditionalism, attracted men folks of all generations. As an easy amalgam of capable and fair, presentable and defined, Mili made sense to a lot of people.

In her days of youth Mili courted a singer in her college. She then had just come out of the shackles of a traditional girlss-only school and got into college and straight into politics. Her participation in politics was peppered with the fact that Mihirda practiced “IT”. Mihir was an outright left winger, who had a flare for reason, an appetite for women, and an immense talent as a singer. 

As of course, he tested these facets in areas that most needed these abilities, namely politics, and women. His full bearded face with broad shoulders and a heavy voice exuded an almost inescapable bohemian passion that attracted almost everybody. Mili was of course not an exception in this regard. Her associations with the necessary comrades worked as a wormhole, which ended in Mihirda.

Mili caught Mihir’s eyes. Since it was a given case, none of the concerned parties went into the process of chanting ritualistic disclaimers. Mili outgrew Mihir soon. She went through a difficult process of getting into IIT Delhi for her post graduation, she went onto get a full scholarship from Berkley, completed her PhD from Princeton and now at this age of 45 she works with a leading Health care firm in America.

Mihir and politics both were history. Mili had moved on.

Mili had been married for more than 14 years now. Shome, Mili’s husband, works for a good hospital in a suburb in New York. From all defined standards she married a little late and then ... when she was 35 Ananya was born to her. With all these, Mili led a life that was near perfect with the occasional hitches of regular married life.

Over all every thing was going fine for Mili.

Today when Mili woke up she felt a strange sense of discomfort. In fact that was the reason why she woke up earlier than her regular 6.15 am. The sky still bore the dark remnants of a night that only remained as a shadow of itself. The luminance of the nascent sun and the fresh air coming through the window bore the smell of a certain dampness.

The coffee makers loud announcement tore the chords of her thought. She poured the coffee into her regular green mug and walked onto Ananya’s room to check on her. She tried to open her door. But it was bolted. Mili realized that her daughter does not keep her door open now-a-days. Mili retreated. Tuesdays are rather relaxing for Mili. She does most of her work from home and at around 3 pm she goes to the BOD meeting to a place that is very near her home. She picked up her scheduler to check whether she was missing on any important appointment at the office.

An entry in her scheduler caught her eye. It was for tomorrow evening at her office with a certain Mr. M. Ghosh. She looked at the entry very carefully. Usually the entries are filled in by Mrs. Larmon, her secretary after taking the approval from Mili. But suddenly for some reason Mili was unable to pin point the reasons why she nodded to meet this person, whose name sounded so familiar and the apparent reasons for meeting him seemed absent.

A gush of damp morning air blew over Mili’s face. She took a big sip into her warm coffee. Before Shome wakes up she thought it would be a good idea to cook some lunch. But the air, the morning ambience and a certain unexplained melancholy made her sit on the chaise lounge some more. The green mug faithfully did its job of providing warmth to Mili’s wandering soul, which was in search of a momentary refuge. But that warmth too was coming to an end. Mili’s hand was getting progressively colder. Finally she decided to get back into the house.

Incipient moments trickled into her thoughts. Moments that had been long lost, moments that had no impact on her life after it passed by, moments so insignificant that they were lost in the quicksand of NOW. Yet this early hour of late spring morning had an air of nostalgia in it.

Unexplained, sudden yet profound.

She saw old Mr. Andrew and his dog Tuffy walking down the street. On seeing Mili, Mr. Andrew took off his hat and greeted a redolent “good morning, Mrs.Roy”. Mili threw back an unmindful yet courteous reply. She probably did not hear herself.

The bare trees along the side walk, along with the rising sun and the stillness of the morning was transporting Mili far away from the people she knew, far away from the familiar things that surrounded her, far away from NOW.

Millions of moments were crashing like waves against the banks of thoughts and Mili was frantically trying to catch them and hold on to them with both her hands. The lump in her throat was getting bigger ever so slowly. Unknowingly, a stream of tear trickled down her eyes and she blinked to control the paroxysm.

History can testify that Mili not for once has tried to hold on to moments that are and had been far away from the present. Her values at times may have been very shallow in it’s intensity but the associated pragmatism was impeccable. And yet …

Mili Sinha was riding an emotional roller coaster based on flashes of nostalgia and based on the mistrust of being.

Standing in the middle of the half lit room, the space around Mili was warping into her. With full might and fervor Mili was blocking the collapsing membrane. The claustrophobia was reaching a feverish high. The tunnel was getting narrower and darkness was looming large.

Mili drew herself to the toilet, where she washed her face innumerable times and decided that she should take the day off. Maybe she just needs a little rest, some calm moments to ponder over the course of her life, the lives around her that rule and govern the very being of herself. Maybe she should start writing, something beyond the technical statutes of her training. Or she should take a long vacation, far away from the daily chores, far away from the protocols that define this perverse monotony.

Mili realized that her movement was waking Shome up. Something she didn’t want to do at this moment. It seemed to her that Shome would look at her flushed face at this very moment and diagnose her to an eternal exile. Mili looked at Shome. Shome’s calm face bore a certain assurance of her present, the very NOW of the moment. The very NOW which she wanted to circumvent.

Mili met Shome at a conference in Princeton. The small college town worked well in their favor. Shome was not particularly charismatic, but his secured assurance of a stable person was good enough for Mili. Mili was twenty nine then. Her idea about settling down had a precarious definiteness in it. In this regard, Shome was just an eventuality. His resume matched more-or-less into the job description of a husband and without looking back Mili hit a home run. She herself patted her back on making the right choice. Iterated over a few drunken rants with her friends to dress rehearse the justification of choosing Shome. The friends returned the favor of affirming that her and Shome had the chemistry. Mili then went ahead to know Shome better. 

Which in other words meant “matter of time”. Mili checked all the criteria of her requirements and much to the delight of parents “she found someone on her own”. 

Rewrite: Mili’s gamble with Shome paid off well. 

Within a year Shome asked Mili to marry him. She hung him around playfully for a couple of weeks before agreeing to the proposition. Shome was ecstatic !

Shome's friends unequivocally agreed that he had married up.

Shome’s indifference towards the minor aspects of life and Mili’s total work commitment worked out well. Though Mili regretted the fact that they always made love only within the four walls of their bedroom, on the same bed, in the same position and only on Friday or Saturday nights, but she soon coped up with this inevitability. Not that Shome had a fallen chemistry pertaining to love making, but his non-imaginativeness, yet predictability made the whole thing a ritual to stay happily married. Soon it was put to its most important objective test – TO BEGET.

Mili and Shome, even with that big in-spite-of condition looming large on their personal drive towards each other, were regarded as a good couple. In fact on a casual note, Pramod, Mili’s very close friend, a bachelor with a passion for photography, told Mili that she and Shome made the perfect SAFE couple. Pramod had reasoned that safe relationship was the key point of their togetherness. Mili on a secret note agreed to it.

The begetting ritual turned out to be a little too stretched than what they had thought of. The sweaty face of Shome, the thrusts driven by possibilities and Mili’s closed eyes all vectored towards a certain black hole of consummation. The echoes of their moaning translated to the shrieks of their new born baby. They called her Ananya. The unique one. Like a figurative irony of the cliché that drives all couples.

Shome stretched with laziness and opened his eyes. He looked at Mili and smiled at her. “A perfect New York morning, honey!” Shome exhumed. Mili mumbled and smiled back at Shome … this seemingly meaningless sentence maxed out the cumulative transaction quota, the entire life had for them.

Mili now stays in Kolkata. Far from the very known …New York ambience, that she was so used to. Ananya plans to come and stay with her over the summer.

Mili still doesn’t have the faintest of the idea who Mr. M. Ghosh was, in her scheduler.

Mili has had her exit.