Fiction
The Routine
Srabonti
Narmeen Ali
The sound
of the Fajr Azan pierced through the complete stillness of
the morning. Through a sticky, filmy screen of sleep she opened
her eyes and switched on her bedside lamp. The sleeping figure
beside her stirred, his bedcovers wrapped around him like
a protective shield. She switched off the lamp. She stumbled
in the dark to the bathroom and turned on the tap. Right wrist,
left wrist, mouth, nose, face, right hand, left hand, head,
ears, right foot, left foot. There was comfort in the routine.
She had never been particularly religious. Praying was something
that her parents made her do on Eid, or during Ramadan. She
never really thought that she would do it voluntarily until
about a year ago, when she started having the thoughts. They
would beat at her during the day and tear her in half at night.
So she turned to God for solace, in hopes that He alone would
give her peace from the thoughts that plagued her day and
night.
As she
bid the angels on each shoulder peace, she got up and folded
the prayer mat in four. Every routine in her life was important
to her, because that is what she had been living on for the
last year -- like a robot. Even now she winced when she heard
her mind thinking the words. She looked guiltily over to the
bed. He hadn't moved from his spot. He was so unaware of what
was happening inside her. She knew that if she ever told him,
that he too, would be plagued by her inexplicable thoughts.
He was
a good man, her husband, a sweet man. When she first got married
her friends had all told her she was so lucky to find a man
like him. Her parents agreed. They had met four years ago
at a dinner party. He was a cousin of a friend of a friend.
She had been wearing a bright yellow sari with silver sequins,
dangly earrings, yellow churis almost up to her elbows and
a touch of make-up. She looked stunning he had told her later,
he could not keep his eyes off her. When they were finally
introduced she had smiled at him in such an endearing way
that he could not help but follow her around for the rest
of the evening. She had never told him that she had noticed
him before he had even seen her, that she had bided her time
and pretended not to notice him, that when he had handed her
a plate and his fingers touched hers, she had felt a horde
of butterflies churning around in her stomach. He stood out
from the moment she saw him -- his quiet laugh, his perfectly
shaped lips, his puppy-dog eyes. She had never told him how
much she was drawn to him, even after they got married.
He had
made her friends laugh, he had impressed her parents and within
a year of them dating, they had gotten married. The first
two years of their marriage were almost perfect. She couldn't
imagine being more happy. He was so patient, so kind, so supportive
of everything she wanted to do. She doesn't know what came
over her, or when exactly she fell out of love with this sweet
man who was so good to her. She only knew that she had been
trying to fight this feeling for a year, that she ignored
it, didn't think about it, until it started coming to her
in her dreams. That was when she started praying. That was
when she knew that she would have to turn to God, because
no one else could help her.
She had
about an hour of peace, an hour of not pretending before he
woke up. And the routine would start again. He would smile
at her, and she would have to smile back. He would put his
arms around her and ask if she slept well and she would say
yes. She would make them both breakfast while he showered
and they would sit in their kitchen talking about their plans
for the day. Once he left she would shower and start her day
-- a day of pretending to all her friends and family that
she was happily married with the perfect husband when inside
all she had was dark thoughts and schemes of how she could
run away, how she could escape this unfeeling, cold, indifferent
existence.
She knew
she would never run, though. What basis did she have for giving
up a perfectly good marriage? He didn't mistreat her, he didn't
disrespect her, he didn't cheat on her, he didn't keep her
waiting -- he had none of the problems that many of her other
friends had with their husbands. In fact, most of her friends
would come to her for marriage and love advice because she
had supposedly hit the jackpot and succeeded -- passed through
the game of love with flying colours. How ironic. Because
as many problems as all these women had with their husbands,
they all tried to make it work, because they had the one thing
that she didn't have for her husband -- love.
She convinced
herself for a year that love didn't matter because it didn't.
In the long scheme of things, where did love ever play into
a relationship? What really mattered was trust, compatibility,
friendship, and she had all of that with him. But she realised
that what really scared her was her utter indifference for
him. The truth is that if he never came home one night, it
would make no difference to her whatsoever. It's not that
she would be happy. She just would not care.
Was she
just a horrible person? How can someone just not care about
her husband? What kind of person does this make her? These
questions, this unbearable guilt kept her up at night. She
had become an expert at pretending. She knew just how to look
at him to make him think that she was interested in what happened
at the office that day, or how to smile at him so that he
thought she was as in love with him as he was with her. She
had even learned to lie and say I love you to him, in just
the right tone. Inside however, she felt nothing. That was
probably the worst thing for her. It would be easier if she
felt some sort of emotion -- like anger or hatred, but no,
she felt nothing. She was numb inside. And that numbness itself
was what drove her to the point of insanity.
She saw
him stirring to consciousness and sitting up. She was still
holding the prayer mat and standing at the foot of the bed
staring at him, thinking her thoughts. Was this cycle ever
going to end? He slowly sat up on the bed while she put the
prayer mat away. When she turned back towards him, he was
smiling at her. Pushing her thoughts away she got ready for
another day, and smiled back.
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