A Breath of Fresh Air Read Online Free Page A

do something that would rock Sandeep out of his calm stupor. Our lives were not exactly going smoothly—there was our son’s illness, Komal’s constant bickering, and my having to work for money even though I would rather spend time with Amar— yet Sandeep seemed unfazed. As if he were above mortal trauma, as if it didn’t matter that I had seen Prakash again, after fifteen long years.
    Fifteen years! I couldn’t believe that so much time had passed. Prakash seemed unreal, like someone I had met in a dream long gone. But I had seen him again and it didn’t seem like a faraway dream anymore. It was closer to a nightmare, and it was suddenly fresh in my mind.
    All of it. Every torturous detail.
    It was amazing how the past that had become foggy with the passage of time had come into clear focus again because of a small trigger, because I had seen Prakash.

TWO
    ANJALI
    I stood behind the door of the kitchen and eavesdropped on their conversation. Since I had turned nineteen two years ago, whenever Divya Auntie came home she brought a “maybe” marriage proposal along. She was more interested than my own mother in getting me married. But each time Divya Auntie came with one of her proposals, Mummy listened with eager ears about the boy who would be just perfect for her Anjali.
    I moved away from the door when the boiling tea threatened to spill over onto the stove. I switched off the gas and used metal tongs to pour the tea through a plastic sieve into teacups and tried to overhear the conversation in the drawing room.
    “The boy is very good-looking, just like Dev Anand in his black-and-white days.” Divya Auntie sounded excited and I thought Dev Anand in his black-and-white films looked very handsome. Divya Auntie often drew comparisons between prospective husbands and film stars. She was usually way off the mark.
    “He is a captain in the army and you should see him in uniform,” Divya Auntie continued, and my interest was piqued. An army officer! Now that was an interesting match. They looked so good in their olive green uniforms, real men, always saying “madam” and “sir.”
    My mother of course had to find the blemish on the perfect face. “But there is so much travel in the army. One year here and then you have to pack up your life and move. That is so bad for a family . . . though you did a great job with yours.”
    Divya Auntie, an ex–army officer’s wife, snorted as I added sugar to the tea. Three spoons of sugar for Divya Auntie and one for my mother. I stirred slowly so that I wouldn’t miss anything being said in the drawing room about the army officer.
    “When the match is this good you don’t complain about the small things, and there is nothing wrong with moving once in a while,” Divya Auntie said. “Our Anjali is very beautiful, and she should marry a nice boy and the Mehra family has a very good reputation. They are very good people. Their friends told us that the boy doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke. He doesn’t have any bad habits. Imagine being in the army and not drinking? A very nice boy.”
    I put the teacups on a steel tray along with a small plate of fresh badam burfi that I had made just that morning.
    “Well, he sounds good, but—”
    “But nothing,” Divya Auntie snapped. “The boy is here on chutti . They don’t get a lot of holidays in the army and he is here now to get married. And I think we should start talking, let them both meet, and he . . . he will just fall for her. She is so beautiful.”
    Since Divya Auntie had for once brought a good proposal for me and said I was beautiful, I refrained from spitting into her tea.
    They both became silent as soon as they saw me with the tea. I wondered if they really thought their voices didn’t carry to the kitchen, or if they were merely pretending that I didn’t know they had been talking about me.
    “It is Babli’s birthday tomorrow,” Divya Auntie said, sipping her tea daintily, giving my mother sly looks.