The Statesman
1,600 words
A Cup of Tea
The first thought that struck Abhijit Gupta as soon as he awoke was that it was Wednesday. It put him in a vile mood straight away. The middle of the week—it seemed to him that he had been going to work for days on end and the weekend was nowhere in sight. Not that he loved his home, but he preferred his wife’s company to his boss’. Again, not because loved his wife dearly, but because he didn’t have to hear his boss’ scornful hollering and could instead scream at his wife and son. At home, he was the boss. Gupta liked the idea and smiled to himself. The smile turned into a frown when he heard a little snore. He turned to his right and ran his eyes over his plum supine wife and watched the soft snores escape from her half-open mouth. He was filled with disgust. He shook her roughly.
“Wake up. Do you want to sleep all day? Get me a cup of tea.”
Mrs Gupta woke with a start, sat up for a few moments and then slipped silently into the bathroom.
Gupta’s mood didn’t lighten on his way to the office. He still thought about his wife and couldn’t keep away the surge of resentment. Why wasn’t she beautiful? Why did she fill him with such loathing for her? She looked after his needs and he knew that he would be very uncomfortable without her. But he despised her. He couldn’t help that.
Her passivity infuriated him. Why didn’t she have more life in her, why wasn’t she more demonstrative, he wondered, irritably. His impatience would cause friction and force out a few stifled sobs from her. He would then feel guilty and irritated and try to make it up in bed.
But it was a vicious cycle. The sight of her ungainly body and all that flab around her waist and thighs repulsed him; he wished he hadn’t tried. He behaved like a brute. He pinched, squeezed and bit her. He wanted her to cry out and protest. She didn’t. She bore it heroically. This maddened him and he worked himself up into a bestial fury.
Gupta reached office. When he saw Anju (the boss’ personal secretary), his spirits rose, but the high was short-lived. His boss sent for him and railed at him for ten minutes, for what Gupta considered a minor error. It was a standing joke in the office that whenever the boss suffered from constipation, he made someone else suffer too.
When his boss was through with him, Gupta was left with his own thoughts. Why wasn’t his wife like Anju? He could then have gladly taken her to the movies and restaurants. What if he had been married to Anju? Somehow he couldn’t imagine her bringing him a cup of tea like his wife. He wanted a woman who was vivacious and obsequious. Gupta was aware of the inherent contradictions in his fantasies, but he shrugged them off. He wouldn’t compromise in his dreams, at least, he thought resolutely… he should perhaps have married Shabana with whom he had made some headway in college, but he knew his parents wouldn’t have heard of it. He should perhaps have protested when they selected a bride for him but he was unsure and not too bent on risking his financial security. Damn his parents. And his son. That brainless dolt. He was having trouble passing Class VIII itself. Gupta was not very keen on figuring out what lay in store for him.
At last the clock struck five. Gupta sprang up from his chair with a sigh of relief, collected his bag and hurried out. But there was no stopping his thoughts; he was going back home; his wife would open the door, take his bag and he would ask her for a cup of tea. The same thing would happen the next day. And the next. Week after week. He almost screamed. His life would be over shuttling to and fro from home in the local train. It was an open jail and he was serving the sentence of life imprisonment. He would have to change. Otherwise he’d be blown to smithereens, within.
As soon as his wife opened the door, he would spring it on her. He would tell her he wanted a divorce. He wanted to see the shock register on her face. He wanted to see how long it would take for the message to get through her thick skull. She could go back to her parents and take the boy with her. Even if she didn’t agree to a divorce, he would go away. He would try his hand at something else. He didn’t know what, but he would do something. That would come later. He didn’t care. He wanted to break free from his hell.
Gupta was happy. He was getting out at last. His heart beat fast as he approached his house. He didn’t suffer a pang of remorse. There would be time enough for that, if he felt that at all. He could hear his heart pounding as he stood before the door. He took a deep breath and jabbed at the doorbell.
*
Susila Gupta was in too much of a hurry that morning to be angry with her husband for shaking her awake so rudely. She bustled from the bathroom to the kitchen and to the dining table in her nightgown with an economy and fluency that came solely with years of experience. She knew his demands weren’t so urgent, that there were local trains every five minutes, but she didn’t want to give him an excuse to shout at her again. She was inured to his ranting by now. Nevertheless, she found solace in grumbling to herself. After Gupta left for office, she packed her son off to school and she had the house to herself. She could set her own pace now. She grumbled while cleaning the dishes and operating the washing machine. Today, she grumbled louder than usual.
“Couldn’t he let me sleep for a few more minutes? A fat lot of difference it would have made to him. He read the newspaper for ten minutes after breakfast and he did it on purpose, just to show me that he wasn’t in a hurry. Why is he like that? I work so hard to keep him happy.”
Usually, the grumbling ceased with her household chores, after which she relaxed in her bath. Today, it went on and on.
“I have to look after the needs of our son. He behaves as if he’s got nothing to do with him, as if it were all my doing. Will someone tell me what a father’s duties are? The boy is also getting out of hand. He is young now and listens to me. In a couple of years, even he won’t pay me any heed.”
She had heard enough of the woes of having a teenage son from a neighbour. Susila Gupta (nee Agarwal) was the third of four daughters in a typically lower middle-class family and hadn’t enjoyed any special privileges in her childhood. Her most thrilling moment in time happened when she received a love letter from a boy in school but she had been too scared. She pinned all her hopes on marriage and looked forward to it. She knew that it afforded her the promise of betterment. She had cried perfunctorily at the wedding, and was actually more lost in contemplation of her new life than anything else. She had been glad to get away.
All her expectations were quelled within the first week and within a month she had cried herself into accepting the inevitable. Today, after thirteen years, she subjected herself to severe self-questioning.
“I know I am not pretty. Is that why he treats me this way? If he didn’t like me, he shouldn’t have married me. It’s not my fault. What about him? He’s not tall, has got a paunch, has started losing hair. All he does is loll around the house. He never takes me out or brings me anything.”
She observed contusions near her left breast. Her eyes welled up with tears. “He’s a brute, an animal. His mouth reeks of onion, he doesn’t even bother to brush before…” She shut her eyes tightly, feeling miserable. And felt alien thoughts visiting her mind.
“It’s got to change. I can’t take it anymore. I’ll ask him to treat me better. Or I won’t budge inside the house. I’m not a waiter, whose job it is to serve cups of tea and carry out orders. His duties don’t end merely providing for us. As soon as he comes home today, I’ll speak to him. There’s no point in putting it off and hoping he’ll turn a new leaf one fine morning.”
Susila was surprised at her own boldness, but she was convinced that it was high time. She then settled down to watch the afternoon serial on TV, but she couldn’t concentrate. She was aware of a quickness in her pulse as the hands of the clock crept towards six. The doorbell jangled. She froze. She was panic-stricken for a moment. She collected herself and walked slowly towards the door. She took off the latch and pulled the door open.
*
Gupta stared at her. Their eyes met and both stood still. Gupta swallowed twice. Then he took a step, held out his hand, heard himself forming the words, “Get me a cup of tea.” Susila took the bag from him, put it on the table and walked into the kitchen.