"From the ethereal cradle to a sunlit stage,

A woman's journey, a soulful page.

Shadows lengthen, yet hope's embers gleam,

As motherhood's melody intertwines with dreams...

With tender touch and lullabies' art,

She cradles a tiny soul, a mother's heart.

Yet, within her depths, ambitions reside,

A spirit yearning, where passions abide.

Balancing act, a delicate sway,

Between nature's warmth and career's bright rays,

With every dawn, a challenge awaits anew,

Resilience her armour, courage her hue.

Through whispered words and laughter's chime,

She navigates life, defying time.

A mother's love, a steadfast light,

Guiding her steps, through day and night.

Through the tumultuous journey does a mother rise,

Holding on to herself and her innocent child,

Conquering flames that threaten to burn.

Through the kaleidoscope called life, 

As the colours dance, the light overpowers the dark,

The journey continues in the wondrous adventure park.

With each new day, mundane as it may be,

There's something new,

The same old smile presents a stunning view.

From atop the mountain, the world appears small,

And in that cocoon, overflows love.

Nestled and cared for, the fluttering breeze,

Wavers and syncs to the serenading shadows' harmony,

Life's the same, and yet something new,

The moments pass, time runs past, unforgiving,

Leaving behind memories to cherish,

Not unlike those transient footprints on the sand,

Waiting to be filled..."

-Elegiac_Damsel

...

Kolkata, The City of Joy

Third person's point of view:

15th April

The city of Kolkata, draped in the vibrant hues of spring, was abuzz with the festivities of Pohela Boishakh or Nababarsha, the Bengali New Year. The air, thick with the scent of jasmine and freshly cooked food, was punctuated by the joyous chatter of people celebrating the dawn of a new chapter in their lives. Amidst this festive fervour, Mrinalini found herself grappling with a different kind of new beginning – the return to work at the Central Forensic Science Laboratory postpartum having exhausted the tenure of her maternity leave.

Six months had passed since the birth of her daughter, Debaparna, and the decision to resume her career had been a tough one for Mrinalini and Debarghya. While she had been determined to not let motherhood pose a hurdle in her professional life, the real scenario had been tougher to navigate than what they had anticipated. Apart from the requisition of the added income for their household, Mrinalini wanted to pursue her dreams, and yet the emotional struggle and dilemma of leaving her daughter behind combined with the logistics and long hours away complete with uncertainty and fear had been daunting.

The added expenditure of hiring a caregiver was a significant burden, but the practicalities of their lives demanded it. With Debarghya's demanding job and Mrinalini's job and PhD plans, they had no choice but to entrust their precious daughter's care to a stranger, albeit for a few hours on weekdays, and under the strict supervision of her grandmother, Debjani.

Fear gnawed at Mrinalini. The recent surge in child abuse cases had heightened her paranoia, a constant undercurrent in her life ever since she had been made aware of how her widowed mother had been raped by her own brother-in-law. The thought of leaving her daughter in the hands of someone unfamiliar sent shivers down her spine. She'd spent countless hours researching child care centres, scrutinising every detail, every review. Yet, despite her meticulousness, doubt lingered. She had initially made up her mind of enrolling Debaparna at a daycare where she could be with other children in capable hands of vetted caregivers and teachers, learn to socialise, and perhaps even be safer in the closely monitored environment, complete with stronger security and surveillance than their own home, but given how small she was, it felt too early for the major transition. It was perhaps a decision that they could revisit in a few months once she started walking and moving around on her own.

Meanwhile, the little munchkin, Debaparna, now a six-month-old bundle of energy, was discovering the world around her with a voracious curiousity. She could roll over, sit with support, and was making tentative attempts to crawl. The baby walker, a controversial tool in the realm of infant development, had become a part of their daily routine. While it allowed Debaparna to explore her surroundings and take her first tentative steps, Mrinalini and Debarghya were wary of its potential drawbacks. Studies had suggested that excessive use of baby walkers could hinder the development of core muscles and delay milestones such as crawling and walking. They wanted Debaparna to learn at her own pace, unencumbered by external aids. Thus, they utilised the piece of musco-skeletal aid once a day, to help her familiarise herself with the movements and muscles associated with walking. 

The transition to formula had been a bittersweet chapter in their journey. Mrinalini, a breastfeeding advocate, had initially struggled with the decision to supplement Debaparna's diet. The guilt of not being able to provide enough for her child had weighed heavily on her. However, the paediatrician's advice and Debaparna's growing needs had made it a necessary step. 

Now, standing at the precipice of restarting and revamping her professional life as it used to be, Mrinalini could understand how the decision was pragmatic in many ways. Her daughter had learned to feed on formula and some solid food that was mashed, boiled, and easy to swallow, like Cerelac, or small amounts of rice with pureed vegetables that she would be fed using a silicone spoon, while being distracted with the surroundings, being pointed out to see trees, birds, buildings, and people while the morsel would make its way into her stubborn mouth, trying desperately to make its way down her food pipe instead of being spat out. 

She would only breastfeed once in a while when she would feel the need to have her mother closer, actively seeking her warmth and nuzzling her little face into her mother's bosom, her tiny lips pursed together, seeking to suckle.

Mrinalini's PhD plans, once a distant dream, were now a tangible reality. The prestigious program in New Delhi, while exciting, was also a source of immense anxiety. She had made significant progress through active research and relevant deliberations with numerous people adept in the field of organic chemistry and forensic studies, and had even managed to present a paper virtually at a national science conference a few days ago, but the amount of time and dedicated work that her PhD demanded combined with hands-on research, the reality seemed too far-fetched. The prospect of leaving Debaparna, now transitioning into a vibrant and curious toddler, filled her with a pang of guilt and fear. How could she leave her daughter behind overnight at such a crucial stage in her development?

Yet, amidst the challenges, a newfound strength had emerged. Mrinalini and Debarghya, their bond forged in the crucible of parenthood, had grown closer than ever. Intimacy, once a casualty of exhaustion and newborn chaos, had taken a backseat. But the emotional connection, the unspoken understanding, was deeper than any physical touch. They were partners, co-pilots navigating the uncharted waters of parenthood, their love a sturdy anchor in the storm of challenges.

"Tomorrow's your first day back to work. Are you prepared?" Debarghya asked Mrinalini as she ran a comb along her long and curly tresses, trying to detangle the knots. Debaparna had just fallen asleep in her cot that she was yet to outgrow, but it would only be a matter of time before they had to rethink her sleeping arrangements. 

"The caregiver had come by earlier today," Mrinalini said at length. "I showed her around. She's in her forties and has had experience looking after kids. She has three children of her own, all of whom are teenagers now, so I am hoping that our baby will be safe with her. I also checked her background and spoke to the agency that sent her. She comes with good recommendations and doesn't have a criminal record or any predatory tendencies that have been reported. I am still apprehensive, but I am relieved that Ma is going to be around."

"You've got to stop overthinking about the new nanny, Mrinal," Debarghya sighed. "It is necessary for us to engage someone to look after our child. We both have jobs and careers that require time that we cannot devote entirely to our daughter. It is what brings food to the table. We have to be practical. And not everyone in this world is a predator. I understand your doubts and apprehension, but you have to let it rest. Ma is going to be around and it is only for a few hours each day and in the confines of our home. Medha will be safe."

"I am trying," she replied. "I am looking forward to work, but I am worried too. It's been too boring in the house for the past few months, difficult, but boring. I felt empty, tired, and ridiculously unoccupied when Medha would fall asleep, and now that I have the opportunity to step out and get back to work, it's bringing in a different set of feelings and emotions altogether. I just hope I can find the rhythm back. Six months is a long time to be out of touch with work."

"You've been academically involved," Debarghya remarked. "It won't be as difficult, Mrinal. You'll get into the flow of it soon, despite the initial phase. Don't worry about Medha all the time. It will be fine. Trust in yourself."

"Thank you, Debarghya," she replied with a soft smile. 

"Come to bed," he said as he laid, his head resting against the pillow. "Get some sleep tonight. You'll need the energy for tomorrow."

The conversation, once lively, dwindled into a comfortable silence, the only sound the rhythmic ticking of the clock. As the city outside their window succumbed to the gentle embrace of the night, Mrinalini and Debarghya retreated into the sanctuary of their bed. The day, filled with its own symphony of joys and challenges, had finally drawn to a close. As they drifted off to sleep, their minds, like the shadows cast by the waning moon, danced with a myriad of thoughts. Mrinalini wondered about Debaparna's day ahead, the laughter and tears she would probably share with her caregiver or perhaps would she remember her mother and pine for her? Would she eat timely?

Debarghya on the other side of the bed pondered the intricacies of his ongoing work and the difficult targets, the deadlines looming large. Yet, beneath the surface of their conscious thoughts, a gentle current flowed – a shared hope for the morrow, a serene melody that echoed the lullaby of the moonlit night. As they drifted off, a sense of peace washed over them, a promise whispered by the serenading shadows of the night.

...

April 16

The clang of the office door, once a familiar sound, now echoed with an unfamiliar dissonance. Mrinalini, her heart a knot of nerves, stepped back into the familiar yet foreign world of the Central Forensic Science Laboratory. Colleagues, their faces etched with a mix of curiosity and concern, greeted her with warm smiles and well wishes. Their words, while comforting, couldn't drown out the persistent hum of anxiety that pulsed through her veins. The familiar scent of chemicals and the rhythmic hum of the laboratory equipment were a stark contrast to the sweet, musky aroma of her daughter's skin.

Every one hour, Mrinalini would excuse herself, her phone a lifeline connecting her to the other side of the city. The voice on the other end, a mix of reassurance and worry, would fill her with a pang of guilt and longing. Debaparna's confused cries in the morning, a heartbreaking symphony of protest, echoed through her ears, a stark reminder of the sacrifice she was making. The transition had been a tumultuous one, Debaparna unable to comprehend her mother's absence. The once-familiar faces of her grandmother and father, now strangers, combined with the addition of the new caregiver, couldn't soothe her tears. Debarghya had left for work late knowing that he had flexible working hours, given the nature of his on-field job, that Mrinalini didn't have the luxury of affording. He had figured that staying with their daughter for longer would help her ease herself, adjusting to the environment. She had been distracted shortly after Mrinalini left with toys and a snack, and she had settled back into being the happy little munchkin that everyone at home was used to. Once in every while though, she would turn her little head, looking longingly at the room that she associated with her mother's presence, and would attempt to crawl there gingerly, expectantly.

As the day drew to a close, Mrinalini boarded the metro, the familiar jostle of commuters a stark contrast to the serene solitude that she had gotten used to during her maternity leave. The journey, once a mundane affair, was now a bittersweet pilgrimage, each stop a step closer to her daughter. Stepping out of the metro, she was greeted by the familiar sight of her neighbourhood, a beacon of comfort amidst the sprawling cityscape. She started a brisk walk towards their home, contrary to the slow strolls that she used to take before the birth of her daughter, taking the time to relax. Now she had an urgency to see her child after a long day at work. The  three flights of stairs going up, a seemingly endless ascent, was filled with a mix of anticipation and dread. 

She retrieved the keys and turned them in the door knob, and then, there she was, her tiny daughter, a whirlwind of giggles and tears, being fed her evening snack by her grandmother as the helpful nanny held her. The sight, once a source of joy, now filled Mrinalini with a bittersweet ache. The unsung lullabies of motherhood, once a solitary melody, now echoed in the laughter of her child, a testament to the sacrifices she was making, for her dreams and subsequently a better future for her daughter, a promise of a future filled with love and resilience.

"Eat this, Medha," Debjani told her granddaughter gently. "If you don't eat, you won't be strong. And if you are not strong, you can't play. Please, sweetheart, finish a few more spoonfuls."

"Ma," Mrinalini said as she approached her mother-in-law. "I'll feed her the rest if you like."

"You just came home, Bouma," she replied. "Why don't you freshen up? It's just a few more spoonfuls now. I'll manage."

But even as Debjani said the words, her granddaughter attempted to break free from the nanny's hold, fidgeting and flailing around, whimpering and holding her arms out towards her mother. 

"Give me a minute, baby," Mrinalini said softly. "I'll just wash my hands and come. Mumma doesn't want you to fall sick and if she doesn't wash her hands, there will be germs and dirt. Could you sit quietly till then?"

Almost like the little soul could comprehend her mother's words, Debaparna quietened, her hands falling to her lap. Her little feet, though, danced impatiently, excited at the prospect of being coddled and pampered by her mother after hours. In her short lifespan, it was the longest that she had gone without Mrinalini and although she had been compliant and cooperative throughout the day without any major tantrums, she was on edge. She had had enough of the stranger kind woman who had been trying to help her grandmother take care of her throughout the day. She had even settled down for a couple of naps without any trouble, finding solace in the familiar and comfortable little blue and lilac blanket that her father had brought for her a month ago. It had been love at first sight and she refused to sleep without the blanket. 

"Come here sweetheart," Mrinalini called out to her daughter as she re-entered the room, having washed her hands. She gestured the nanny to set her daughter free on the floor so she could try and crawl up to her mother.

Debaparna, her tiny body wriggling with excitement, propelled herself forward, her hands and knees scraping against the cool floor. Her eyes, bright and curious, were fixed on her mother, a beacon of comfort after having spent hours apart. Mrinalini knelt, her arms outstretched, a silent invitation. Debaparna, her determination fueled by a newfound sense of independence, crawled towards her mother, her small body leaving a trail of tiny footprints on the pristine floor.

As Debaparna reached her mother, Mrinalini scooped her up, cradling her close to her chest. The familiar warmth of her mother's embrace sent a wave of contentment through Debaparna, her whimpers fading into a contented sigh. Her heart overflowing with love, she held her daughter tightly, savoring every precious moment. The unsung lullabies of motherhood, once a solitary melody, now echoed in the rhythmic symphony of their hearts, a testament to the enduring bond that connected them.

The rest of the evening passed in a whirlwind of activity, Debaparna's infectious energy a welcome distraction from the challenges of Mrinalini's first day back at work. She chatted with her mother-in-law, asking about the new nanny, as she cooked dinner for the family, pausing once in a while to play with her daughter. As night approached, casting silent, dark, and long shadows across the city, Debaparna, her tiny eyelids heavy with sleep, nestled into her mother's arms. Mrinalini, her heart filled with a bittersweet ache, rocked her daughter gently, her lullabies a soothing balm against the weariness of the day. Debaparna, her small body growing heavy, drifted off to sleep, her tiny hands clutching at her mother's sari.

Debarghya returned home late, his face etched with a mix of relief and exhaustion. As he entered the living room, he was greeted by the peaceful sight of Mrinalini and Debaparna, a tableau of love and tranquility. He joined them, his heart melting at the sight of his daughter, her tiny face peaceful in sleep. Mrinalini, her eyes filled with a soft glow, looked up at him, a silent message of love and gratitude passing between them.

"How was your first day back?" he asked her softly.

"It was..." she started, pausing to search for the right words. "Good. Everything felt familiar. It was good to be back and busy and yet a part of me was pining for home. It was easy and difficult at the same time. I missed our daughter, but I think she had a good day. I suppose I can go back to work tomorrow knowing that she will be well looked after."

"That's good," he replied. "Why don't you put her to bed, Mrinal? Did you eat?"

"I was waiting for you," she said as she got up carefully, her daughter peacefully asleep in her arms. "I'll put her to bed. Why don't you freshen up?"

The day, marked by its own symphony of challenges and triumphs, finally drew to a close. The unsung lullabies of motherhood, once a solitary melody, now echoed in the harmonious rhythm of their lives, a testament to the enduring love that bound them together. Post-dinner, as they drifted off to sleep, their minds, like the shadows cast by the waning moon, danced with a myriad of thoughts. The future, uncertain and filled with its own symphony of possibilities, awaited them, a promise whispered by the serenading shadows of the night.

...

30th April

"It isn't going to work out like this, Mrinalini," Dr Matthews sighed through the screen. "You have to be here doing hands-on research if we have to work in collaboration. A thesis is not the same as a research paper. You can do your literature review and basic idea prepped, but our field needs on-site practical work that can only be achieved in a lab. Do you have any idea when you can make it to New Delhi? We have to go over some of the findings and test the hypotheses that you are suggesting."

Mrinalini's heart sank, the familiar sting of disappointment a bitter taste in her mouth. The prospect of returning to her PhD research, once a beacon of hope, now loomed as a daunting mountain. The ease with which she had slipped back into her role at CFSL had lulled her into a false sense of security. The reality of juggling her job, her daughter's care, and the demands of a full-fledged PhD program was a stark contrast to the academic freedom she had once enjoyed.

The logistical hurdles were insurmountable. The monthly trips to New Delhi, a gruelling journey of over a thousand kilometres, would disrupt Debaparna's routine, a fragile ecosystem of naps, meals, and playtime. The guilt gnawed at her, a constant reminder of the sacrifices she was making. She couldn't afford to delay her PhD for too long, risking Dr. Matthews' understanding and jeopardising her academic future. Yet, the thought of subjecting her daughter to the rigours of travel, the uncertainty of unfamiliar surroundings, filled her with a pang of fear.

The decision hung heavy in the air, a silent battle waged within her. She envisioned Debaparna, her tiny face filled with confusion and fear, struggling to adapt to the unfamiliar surroundings of New Delhi. The guilt intensified, a suffocating weight on her chest. Was she being selfish, prioritising her career over her daughter's well-being?

With a heavy heart, Mrinalini made a decision. She would resume the monthly trips to New Delhi, but she would take Debaparna with her. It was a risky proposition, a gamble with her daughter's comfort and her own peace of mind. But it was a gamble she was willing to take. The unsung lullabies of motherhood, once a solitary melody, now echoed in the chorus of her determination, a promise whispered by the serenading shadows of her heart.

Later that night, she spoke to Debarghya, explaining herself and her strengthened resolve.

The news of Mrinalini's decision hung heavy in the air, a silent tension permeating the once-peaceful atmosphere of their home. Debarghya, his face etched with concern, confronted Mrinalini, his voice a mix of apprehension and disapproval.

"Are you serious, Mrinal? Taking Medha to New Delhi every month? That's madness," he exclaimed, his words laced with a hint of anger. "You're pushing yourself too hard, without considering the toll it'll take on our daughter."

Mrinalini, her eyes filled with a stubborn determination, met his gaze head-on. "I know it's a lot to ask, Debarghya, but I can't let go of my PhD. It's important to me, to us."

Debarghya sighed, his frustration evident. "But she is just a baby. She needs stability, a familiar environment. Travelling every month, adjusting to new surroundings... it's too much."

Mrinalini's voice, once soft and gentle, hardened. "I know, Debarghya. But I can't let my dreams slip away just because I'm a mother. I have to prove to myself, to the world, that I can balance my career and my family. And most importantly, I need to this for my daughter. She has the right to grow up knowing that her dreams and ambitions aren't toys that cannot be used, abused, or thrown away at the drop of a hat. They matter and nothing can stop you if you have the resolve and the willpower. I need to do this for her. For myself."

Debarghya's anger flared. "At what cost, Mrinal? At the cost of Medha's well-being? She is a baby, barely learning how to crawl. How do you expect to manage her all by yourself while tolling hard at the laboratory? Do you realise what you'll be subjecting our daughter to?"

Mrinalini's heart ached, the guilt a heavy weight on her shoulders. But she refused to back down. "I'm not sacrificing my child, Debarghya. I'm giving her an opportunity, a chance to see the world, to experience new things. It's not just about me, it's about her too. There's no better time than the present. I know I can complete my doctorate without a lot of hiccups if I push myself hard."

"She's too young, Mrinal," Debarghya interjected, his voice calm, contrary to what he felt. "She is barely six months old right now. She's not prepared for the change that you are demanding of her. A doctorate does not have an age constraint. You know that you can do this in a year or perhaps later. Why do you want to push yourself to do this now?"

"Because the future is vague, Debarghya," Mrinalini snapped, losing every semblance of calm that she had. Hot tears were flowing freely down her cheeks as she looked at her husband in disdain and anger. "Today it's about our daughter being too young and tomorrow it will be about her school and then about who's going to help her study and finish her homework and thereafter it would be about her extracurriculars and that we need more money to afford everything for her and so much more. If I need to do it, I need to do it now. I cannot rely on the distant future that you keep talking about because it is an illusion. The present is all that I have control over and I am not letting it go."

Debarghya was silent for a minute, absorbing his wife's words. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his tired forehead wrinkling further as he sighed deeply. "How do you plan on managing the logistics? Have you factored in the added cost? Where are you going to stay with our daughter? You cannot stay in the hostel like you used to while you have her around. How do you plan on taking care of her while working and who in the world is going to help you with everything over there in a city like New Delhi? Are you oblivious to how unsafe it is? Have you given it any thought at all? Or are you so blinded by unrealistic ambition that you are unable to distinguish between willpower and egoistic selfishness? This isn't about your dreams anymore, Mrinal, and that worries me."

The argument raged on, their voices echoing through the house. It was a battle of wills, a clash of conflicting priorities. Debarghya, driven by a deep-seated fear and rampant scepticism for his daughter, pleaded with Mrinalini to reconsider, who didn't waver from her decision, having made up her mind after deep consideration. Their daughter, meanwhile, slept through it all, oblivious to the cacophony of conflicting ideas and thoughts, content in her little world of innocent dreams and carefree curiosity. 

"I have a friend there in New Delhi," Mrinalini continued to present her case, determined to make her husband see reason. "Chitra, the woman who helped me, when I found out that I was pregnant. She stays at a four-bedroom bungalow with her husband and it isn't too far from the institute. She has offered me to stay at her place whenever I choose to go back for work. I can easily manage our daughter there. She will be comfortable, Debarghya."

"And what do you plan to do when you go to work at the institute?" he countered. "Do you plan to heat her milk in a bottle on a bunsen burner while she's playing with chemicals in beakers?"

"You don't have to be sarcastic," Mrinalini replied coolly, trying her best to reign in her temper. "If you can't heed me patiently, we don't need to have this conversation. However, if you are open to mature discussion, we can continue."

Seeing the seriousness combined with a tinge of anger in her features, Debarghya nodded silently, signalling his ascent. He folded his arms, listening to his wife, apprehension and contradiction radiating through his demeanour and body language.

"I do plan on taking her to work with me everyday," she continued, holding up her hand to stop Debarghya from speaking. "I will be carrying her portable bed for her naps and her food, some toys, and everything else that she may need. I will limit my working hours in the laboratory to pay attention to her when she's up and about and will try and align my research work timings with her naps. She won't be out of my sight and I will ensure that she can reach me at any time. I know that you are worried about her meeting with an accident given how she's learning to go about here and there and grab things, but I believe I can do this. I can take care of our daughter. I just need you to believe it too, Debarghya. You have been there to support me along every step of the way. These are the last few steps that I need to take. Why can't you once again?"

"Mrinal," he started gently, reaching out to hold Mrinalini's hand. "You have to understand that I am not opposing you or your academic plans and goals. I just feel that you are trying to expedite everything at a short notice and that you aren't thinking it through. Medha has barely started to crawl around and has just been introduced to a caregiver for when you aren't around. The changes are just too sudden and too abrupt for her to be able to take in. You have time in hand. You don't need to rush. People finish their doctorates in their forties. Why can't you wait a bit till she grows up?"

"I know that my doctorate will take time, Debarghya," Mrinalini replied with an exhausted sigh. "Even if I begin tomorrow, it's going to take me a lot of time. Writing a thesis isn't easy and you know that too. Medha is a baby right now and she doesn't have a demanding schedule. I don't need to worry about her missing out on school if I take her to New Delhi with me. If she accompanies me, my heart will be at peace knowing that she isn't with some stranger or that Ma is not being forcefully burdened with her granddaughter's care. If I wait a few more years, Medha will start going to school. If you and I are both not in town at the same time, it will be difficult to manage the logistics. I really want to finish my doctorate before our daughter starts going to school. I want to be around for her as much as I can. I know that I'll still be working, for our sake, and her well-being, but I want to give her everything that I can. I won't be able to choose in a few months from now. It is easier for me to decide. I am not saying that I will be able to complete my doctorate in time, but at least, I can try. The responsibilities are only bound to increase in intensity and if we delay everything under the assumption that it will be easier when she's older, we are deluding ourselves. In a few months, she'll be walking around, probably causing mayhem around the household. We wait longer and she'll be chattering non-stop. A few more months and years and she'll probably be coming back from school with homework. If I keep everything bottled away for later, assuming that I need to prioritise my responsibilities as her mother today, who's going to takeover for me in the future?"

"I am done with the conversation, Mrinal," Debarghya finally yielded. "It is clear that you have made up your mind. I don't want to play opposing force here, believe me, but I can't say that I am totally convinced by what you think you can pull off. I'll get your tickets and Medha's booked for the 20th tomorrow. We can give this a try, but let me be clear. If you think I am choosing our daughter over you and your dreams today, I probably am. However, I know that she's your daughter and that you don't need to be reminded or chided for when it comes to her well-being or otherwise. I leave it up to your wisdom. If you need me around, I am still where I have been for the past five years."

It was a bittersweet victory, a meagre reluctant agreement, a compromise that left both Mrinalini and Debarghya with a sense of unease. As the two of them settled into bed, she squeezed his hand, her heart filled with a mixture of relief and dread. The decision, a gamble with their future, was a heavy weight on their shoulders, but it was a gamble they were willing to take. The unsung lullabies of motherhood, once a solitary melody, now echoed in the discordant notes of their conflicting desires, a promise whispered by the serenading shadows of their uncertain future.

...

21st May

The city of New Delhi, the national capital, a sprawling metropolis of contrasts, unfolded before Mrinalini as she stepped out of the airport. The cacophony of sounds, the pungent aroma of street food, and the bustling crowds were a stark contrast to the serene tranquility of the City of Joy that had a laid back aura about itself despite the business. Debaparna, nestled in her arms, peered out at the unfamiliar world with wide, curious eyes. Her tiny hands, gripping her mother's shirt, were a testament to her growing independence.

Debarghya, his face etched with a mix of worry and apprehension, had accompanied them to the airport. His reluctance to let go of his daughter was palpable, a silent acknowledgment of the challenges that lay ahead. Yet, he had understood the importance of Mrinalini's academic pursuits, his love for her a silent force that pushed her forward. They had gone through enough evaluations and re-evaluations of their situation and had reassessed each decision before D-day, but the contrast from the unwavering support that he generally had for Mrinalini and her ambitions from before their daughter's birth was apparent. In a way, she understood his qualms and made peace with knowing that her husband was thinking rationally as she would have expected her father to, but there was a deep pang of hurt that she suppressed in her heart, propelling herself forward silently for all that awaited.

Chitra, a dear friend that Mrinalini had gotten to know better in the months of her pregnancy followed by regular virtual correspondence following her daughter's birth and throughout her maternity leave, had graciously offered her home as a temporary refuge. Her warm welcome, her thoughtful gestures, were a balm to Mrinalini's weary soul. Debaparna, initially hesitant to explore the unfamiliar surroundings, soon warmed up to Chitra's gentle demeanour. The little girl, her eyes bright with curiosity, accepted the toys and gifts that her aunt Chitra had thoughtfully prepared.

It was the first day at the institute complete with a whirlwind of activity. Mrinalini, her mind buzzing with excitement and anxiety, navigated the distantly familiar corridors, her heart pounding in her chest. Debaparna, strapped into her carrier, was a silent observer, her tiny hands exploring the world around her. The institute, a bustling hive of academic activity, was a stark contrast to the quiet solitude of her home.

Dr. Matthews, a seasoned researcher with a gentle demeanour, extended a warm welcome back to Mrinalini. Her colleague, Zain, a father himself, displayed a genuine affection for Debaparna, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he interacted with the little girl. Their patient and thoughtful interactions with her child were a balm to Mrinalini's weary soul, a reminder that the academic world, despite its demands, was not devoid of human kindness.

However, the warm welcome was soon tempered by the reality of Mrinalini's workload. Dr. Matthews, a man of unwavering standards, had a mountain of research projects waiting for her attention. The upcoming week was bound to be a gruelling test of her endurance, a symphony of long hours and sleepless nights. Yet, Mrinalini was determined, her love for Debaparna a silent force that pushed her forward. The solitary melody that played in the backdrop softly, now echoed in the chorus of her determination, a promise whispered by the serenading shadows of her heart. 

As Mrinalini settled into her work, Debaparna, restless and bored, began to fuss. Chitra, ever-patient and helpful, despite her own work, tried to distract her with toys and games. But Debaparna, her tiny body wriggling with frustration, was inconsolable. Mrinalini, her heart aching, took a break from her work to soothe her daughter. She cradled Debaparna in her arms, feeding her and walking her around, her lullabies a soothing balm against the unfamiliar surroundings. The little girl, her tiny body trembling with tears, clung to her mother, her small hands gripping her tightly. She eventually settled in, regarding everything with wonder, her eyes wide with curiosity. 

She drifted off to sleep peacefully after a while, having had her fill of food and exploration. Mrinalini breathed a sigh of relief and resumed work, keeping Debaparna nearby and checking on her once in a while. She forfeited her lunchtime to catch up on work and make most of the time that her daughter was napping, despite her colleagues' concerned insistence about her needing a break. 

The day, a symphony of challenges and triumphs, drew to a close. Mrinalini, exhausted but determined, returned to Chitra's home, her heart filled with a bittersweet ache. Debaparna, her eyes filled with rejuvenated energy and excitement, nestled into her mother's arms, her small body a comforting weight. The unsung lullabies of motherhood, once a solitary melody, now echoed in the harmonious rhythm of their lives, a testament to the enduring love that bound them together.

"Give me some time, baby," Mrinalini told her daughter softly as she set her down on the bed of the guest bedroom that Chitra had arranged for them. "I know you are excited to play, but we need to eat before that, okay?"

Debaparna nodded slightly, raising her arms towards her mother again, demanding to be held. "Sweetheart, can you please wait for a minute?" Mrinalini pleaded again, letting out a sigh. "I need to prepare your evening snack."

Content with the tower game that her mother pushed towards her, Debaparna found herself distracted, thus giving Mrinalini the time to breathe and freshen up before grabbing the ground nuts and seeds premix that she had prepared at home before flying to New Delhi. She added a spoonful of formula followed by hot water from the thermos that she had filled earlier, thus preparing a bowl of nutrition for her daughter.

"Eat this sweetheart," she told the little soul as she held a spoonful of the mixture in front of the stubborn mouth that immediately closed at the sight of food. "You need energy to play and grow, don't you? If you don't eat then Mumma won't talk to you. She won't even play with you. But if you eat quickly like a good girl, then she will take you out with your Aunt Chitra. Won't you like that?"

Of the few words and phrases that Debaparna did understand were going out and playing, so Mrinalini's job was made easier with the promise that she made her daughter, thus bartering and getting her to comply with eating without a fuss. 

"And if Medha's mom doesn't eat, her aunt will be furious," Chitra's voice interrupted as she stepped into the guest room, holding up a plate of instant noodles. "Cooking isn't my forte, so this is all I can offer you, but I am not leaving unless you eat, Mrinalini."

"Thank you, Chitra. You didn't have to make this," Mrinalini said as she continued feeding her daughter, pausing the animated one-sided conversation about dogs and cats and aeroplanes and cars that she had to make with Debaparna to get her to eat every day. "I'll eat as soon as Medha finishes eating. Feeding her is a task that involves a lot of dedicated effort and time."

"All the best. I'll grab my bowl and bring it here," Chitra replied with a triumphant smile as she set down Mrinalini's plate on the side table. "You need to take care of yourself, Mrinalini."

"I know," Mrinalini said quietly. "My daughter needs me to be around. Skipping a meal isn't ideal, but I need to work when I can. I'll try and align my break timings with Medha's schedule from tomorrow. That way, I can work without interruptions while she's napping. Today was the first day, so it was a bit rusty and overwhelming. I can do this better tomorrow."

"I'll see you in around ten minutes," Chitra replied with an understanding smile.

Mrinalini resumed her task with a sigh, ignoring the pulsating vein in her temple that threatened to deafen her psyche. She continued conversing with her daughter, engaging her with a story of a dog with super powers and how he was flying the aeroplane that she had flown to New Delhi in. Debaparna looked at her mother in enraptured fascination, her mouth opening compliantly each time a morsel was offered. 

"And we are done," Mrinalini announced. "Let Mumma clean you now. And then you can play with your toys, okay?"

Debaparna bobbed her little head up and down, waiting patiently for her mother to swipe her face gently using the baby wipes, her hands fidgeting only slightly as she wanted to grab the ball that had rolled out of her reach. 

"Here," Chitra offered the baby the ball, settling on the bed next to her, holding up her bowl of instant noodles. "Play while your aunt and mom talk and eat, okay?"

Debaparna started playing, not paying heed to the two women, distracted already by the toy that had been offered.

Mrinalini laughed at her daughter's indifference. "I would wager all that I had to be as innocent and carefree as her," Chitra commented wistfully. 

"Anyone in the world would," the young mother affirmed. "I just hope that my husband and I can give her the luxury and the opportunity to preserve the innocence that she has throughout her childhood and beyond."

"She'll get the best that you can give her, Mrinalini," Chitra replied. "You are a resilient woman. No one can tell that your pregnancy was unplanned and something that you were unprepared for. You've adjusted so wonderfully. Your daughter's lucky to have you. Trust me, sweetheart, you are doing a great job. And I must commend your husband too. I know the two of you toil all day to bring home everything that you can and that you are giving it your all to save the pennies for the little one's future. She's going to have a fun-filled childhood and you are going to do amazingly, love. Don't be too hard on yourself."

Mrinalini smiled demurely. Some words merely scathed the surface, attempting to soothe a wound that went deeper. Insecurities and uncertainties loomed large. Shadows lingered in the horizon, and yet she hoped fervently, that the light would find its way to seep through.

...

26th May

The humid air of the City of Joy, thick and heavy, enveloped Mrinalini and Debaparna as they stepped out of the air-conditioned airport terminal. Being the protective mother that she was, Mrinalini's hand reached out instinctively to hold over her daughter's head, in an attempt to protect her from the harsh glare of the late-afternoon raging sun. 

It was the peak of summer in Kolkata and yet, it seemed to do little to dampen the spirits of the city that fuelled endless cacophony and busy pandemonium as was apparent at the arrivals gate. Cabs and cars lined the driveway and stray luggage was strewn everywhere. Loved ones and dutiful chauffeurs lined the gate, attempting their best to find the ones they came to receive. Mrinalini scanned the crowds, looking for her husband, knowing that Debarghya would be there somewhere. She had called him shortly before their flight had taken off and he had assured her that he would be there to receive his wife and daughter, knowing that it would be tough for her otherwise to handle the luggage and their child by herself.

Spotting Debarghya among the vast sea of people, Mrinalini lifted her hand and waved carefully, mindful of not startling her daughter who was hanging on to her for dear life, looking around overwhelmed and curious. "Debarghya," she called out to him. "Could you please lend me a hand with the luggage?"

She had barely managed to push the trolley bag while balancing Debaparna on her hip while her other hand held the huge carry-on bag containing diapers, bottles, food, and every other essential that could be needed on the flight.

"My baby girl," Debarghya exclaimed softly as he took his daughter from Mrinalini's arms, feeling the little arms that had been outstretched towards him embrace his neck as the little munchkin clung to her father, her face lighting up at the prospect of meeting him after a week. Her hands reached out to touch his face, trying to pull out his spectacles. 

"Don't do that, baby," Mrinalini chided her daughter softly. "Papa needs his specs."

"Did you have a good trip?" Debarghya asked Mrinalini as he grasped the trolley bag's handle. "Ma and I really missed having her around you know. Although it's just been seven months since she's arrived in our lives, it feels like our home's empty and quiet without her, incomplete."

Mrinalini smiled softly. "We had a good trip. The work was intense and immense and your sweet daughter charmed everyone with her friendliness. She didn't fuss much, but she did cry during take off and landing on the flight. I think I'll try and get her to sleep with a bottle next time. A woman who was sitting next to me on the return flight told me that it helps and keeps the baby calm."

"When do you have to travel next?" he asked as they settled into the Uber cab that Debarghya had booked earlier. 

"I can go in the first week of July," Mrinalini replied, shrugging. "Dr Matthews gave me a lot of research work to do and we even have a few virtual seminars and conferences to attend throughout June, so I can work remotely for a month."

"That's good," Debarghya commented. "By when are you planning to complete your doctorate, Mrinal? Did you discuss this with Dr Matthews?"

Mrinalini bit her lip. She had, in fact, broached this very topic with her PhD guide. The memory, a bittersweet symphony, played on loop in her mind. She was back in the familiar confines of Dr. Matthews' office, the scent of old books and coffee a comforting constant. The conversation, a stark contrast to the playful banter they often shared amidst research work, was tinged with a hint of seriousness.

"Mrinalini, I'm concerned about your progress on the PhD," Dr. Matthews had said, his voice laced with a hint of disappointment. "You've been working on this for over a year now, and I'm not seeing the kind of progress I expected from a student of your calibre."

Mrinalini's heart had sunk, the familiar sting of disappointment a bitter taste in her mouth. She knew she was falling behind, the weight of her responsibilities a constant pressure on her shoulders. Her full-time job at CFSL, demanding and time-consuming, left her with little energy for her research. And then there was Debaparna, her tiny bundle of joy, who required her undivided attention. The logistical challenge was also a factor that didn't do anything to make her job easier.

The thought of balancing her career, her family, and her academic aspirations was a daunting prospect. The future, once a canvas of endless possibilities, now seemed a labyrinth of uncertainties. Debarghya, her unwavering support, was a constant source of encouragement,  but even he couldn't shield her from the weight of her responsibilities. Her evolving dynamics with him combined with the disagreements and differences in opinions were adding to the constant pressure that weighed her spirits and psyche down.

"I know, Dr. Matthews," she had replied, her voice barely a whisper. "I'm trying my best, but it's been difficult."

Dr. Matthews, a man of unwavering standards, had nodded. "I understand the challenges you're facing. Being a new mother is demanding, and balancing it with a full-time job is no easy feat. But academia is a competitive field, Mrinalini. There's no room for complacency. We have been fighting for you from the very beginning. You know very well that the position you hold is one that is supposed to be full-time and on-site. We made an exception for you simply because you showed the promise and the hunger. You are a good student and with you working with Forensics, you have the experience that is relevant and valuable. I can see that you are trying, but it isn't enough."

Mrinalini's heart ached. She knew Dr. Matthews was right, but the guilt of letting him down gnawed at her. She had to finish her PhD, not just for herself but for Debaparna. She envisioned her daughter's future, a world of endless possibilities, and she was determined to create a life for her that was free from the financial constraints they currently faced. She perhaps wouldn't earn as much in academia and research as Debarghya did with his demanding corporate job, but she would have enhanced earnings that combined with her husband's would ensure a better quality of life for their daughter and themselves.

"I'll try harder, Dr. Matthews," she had promised, her voice filled with a mixture of determination and self-loathing. "I won't let you down."

Dr. Matthews had nodded, his eyes filled with a mixture of understanding and concern. "I know you will, Mrinalini. But you need to prioritise. You can't spread yourself too thin. I understand that the baby is a lot of responsibilities and I am taking the liberty to assume that it was quite sudden and perhaps even unplanned, but it was God's will and now you do have a sweet angel. She needs you around. I get that, but my dear, you have to choose or at least work out something. Either focus on your PhD, or take a break. But don't let mediocrity be an option."

Mrinalini had left Dr. Matthews' office with a heavy heart, the weight of her decisions pressing down on her shoulders. 

The prospect of delaying her PhD, a once-distant dream, now loomed as a daunting reality. She had always envisioned balancing a family and a career, a harmonious dance between her personal and professional ambitions. Yet, the weight of her responsibilities, the constant pressure to excel, threatened to disrupt the delicate balance she sought to maintain.

More than the financial rewards, it was the intellectual stimulation, the joy of discovery, that drew Mrinalini to her research. She wanted to be a role model for Debaparna, a woman who pursued her passions while nurturing her family. A corporate job, demanding and time-consuming, would compromise her ability to be present for her daughter's formative years especially since they didn't have a lot of financial leverage.

Debarghya, her unwavering support, had always been a constant source of encouragement, but she knew that his demanding job left him with little time for their daughter. She wanted Debaparna to grow up in a loving and nurturing environment, surrounded by both her parents. The thought of missing out on her daughter's milestones, the precious moments that shaped her childhood, filled Mrinalini with a pang of guilt and fear.

She was determined to finish her PhD, not just for herself but for Debaparna. The future, uncertain and filled with its own symphony of possibilities, awaited them, and she wanted to be prepared to face it head-on. 

"He was a bit harsh with his words," Mrinalini replied at length. "It's been more than a year and I haven't made a lot of progress. He wants me to be able to dedicate more time and effort rather than slacking off. Honestly, I do get his point of view. I have already been given a lot of opportunity for idling with Medha's birth and everything else, but I have to buck up now and find my footing before I get washed away by the intensity of everything that's demanded of me."

Debarghya sighed. "That is exactly why I wanted you to consider taking a break, Mrinal. Maybe it will be easier for you when Medha's older."

"It won't be, Debarghya," Mrinalini replied with finality in her tone. "She doesn't demand as much time or resource now as it would be in a couple of years. She's going to grow up and go to school and make friends and probably want to do extracurricular activities. You can't be around much and I want to be around for that phase. I want to be able to have time for my daughter to help her with her homework and to take her to classes and help her dress for her friends' birthday parties. Those are things that I missed out on as a child. I did have a good education, but that's about it. There weren't birthday parties or extracurricular activities in my life and I want our daughter to have it all. You know that I intend to continue in the field of forensics, but nothing going forward is going to demand more time and effort than my PhD. I can take a break at five so that I can be at home with her at six and I want to do that for her. I want her to have everything that I didn't and more. We have to be there as parents to be able to dedicate time and not just fund her education and lifestyle by bringing in money for the household."

"It's up to you," he said quietly. "I just want you to know that you don't have to kill yourself in the process of expediting everything. It is a lot of work for you. I know that we had a difficult conversation last time and I am afraid that I may not have sounded supportive, but Mrinal, I want you to know that I am there for you. I know that my protective instinct for our daughter may have clouded my judgment, but it's not just about her. You have to identify your limits and propel yourself accordingly."

"You were doubting me and my ability to take care of our daughter, Debarghya," Mrinalini replied sadly. "You did have other intentions and concerns, but the root of the disagreement that we had that day was about Medha and if I would be able to look after her while doing my work simultaneously."

"Perhaps," he confessed reluctantly. "It wasn't about your capacity or potential or even your sense of responsibility, but the feasibility of things. It felt unreal and difficult and I didn't want to compromise where our child's concerned."

"That's the issue, Debarghya," Mrinalini sighed in exasperation. "I do that at home all the time. I take care of my child while doing my work. I know that we have a caregiver now to help when I am not around, but up until a month ago, I was the only one caring for our daughter. Your mother's around if I need help, but most of the time I can manage by myself. I don't understand why you thought I won't be able to take care of my child by myself outside the confines of our home."

"Let's not have this conversation here, Mrinal," Debarghya replied, running a hand through his hair, looking down to smile at his daughter who pulled at his collar, demanding his attention. "Yes, my love, what is it that you see? Is that a butterfly?"

The new parents abruptly diverted their attention to their baby. The conversation, like a forgotten melody, faded into the backdrop of their thoughts, leaving behind a bittersweet echo of words unspoken.

...

July 7

The rhythmic pitter-patter of rain against the hospital windowpane mirrored the chaotic rhythm of Debarghya's thoughts. He sat in the waiting room, awaiting his turn to meet the doctor that he had to, as his job demanded, his mind a whirlwind of emotions, a symphony of guilt, fear, and love. The city outside, a watercolour painting washed in shades of grey, mirrored the somber mood that had enveloped him since Mrinalini and Debaparna had left for New Delhi in the morning.

Debarghya, a man of unwavering principles, had always strived for excellence. His career, a demanding pursuit, had consumed much of his time and energy. Yet, as he watched his daughter grow from a tiny bundle of joy to a curious toddler, he realised the sacrifices he had made. The missed milestones, the unspoken words, the moments stolen by the relentless demands of his job – they haunted him, a constant reminder of the choices he had made.

His insecurities, buried deep beneath the surface, had resurfaced with a vengeance. Mrinalini, with her academic brilliance and unwavering determination, had always been a source of inspiration and admiration. He had often felt inadequate, his own accomplishments paling in comparison to hers. The fear of not being able to provide for his family, of failing to live up to their expectations, had gnawed at him, a constant undercurrent in his life. Having compromised in his own life owing to circumstances and even facing rejection at numerous crossroads, there was too much weighing on his psyche than what he let on. The arguments and disagreements with Mrinalini, a storm of words and emotions, had left a bitter taste in his mouth. He had spoken out of frustration, his words a reflection of his own insecurities. He had hurt her multiple times now without meaning to, and the guilt gnawed at him, a constant reminder of his own failings.

As he waited to see the doctor, Debarghya's mind wandered back to the day Mrinalini had given birth. He had been anxious and worried. He had been reeling from the sudden turn of events, scared for his wife and the baby, astounded at the prospect of an emergency C-section. 

It had been an auspicious day and the City of Joy had been busy with Durga Puja festivities. The deserted hospital corridors had seemed daunting and scary, echoing his fears. The weight of his brother's hand on his shoulder and his mother-in-law's comforting words had been the only things that had kept him sane. 

The first time that he had held his daughter in his arms had been euphoric. Although she had started crying almost immediately, putting him in a spot, it was a moment that would be etched onto his memories forever, unfailing to bring a smile on his lips. She was growing up now, learning to make sounds and gestures to communicate with her parents. At nine months, she was actively crawling around the household and was now trying to stand with support. She loved playing with the ball, giggling every time someone threw it at her and played catch. She was fond of music and would sway her little body and bob her head every time a melody played. She found and offered solace to her parents, despite their busy schedules and lives. She had learned to stay with a caregiver and was even attempting to eat by herself using a spoon, ending up making a giant mess every time, but it was endearing to see her take little steps towards growth and subsequent independence. 

Debarghya had been shouldering the weight of his family's responsibilities for over fifteen years. The early demise of his father, a devastating blow, had forced him to step up, to become the provider, the protector. Yet, despite his tireless efforts, a nagging sense of inadequacy persisted.

The end of each day, once a time of respite, now felt like a relentless pursuit of an illusionary perfection. His accomplishments, once a source of pride, now seemed like mere drops in an ocean of expectations. The fear of falling short, of failing his family, gnawed at him, a constant undercurrent in his life. The future, once a canvas of endless possibilities, now loomed as a daunting precariousness that couldn't be explained. Debaparna, his precious daughter, was growing up, her world expanding with each passing day. The fear of not being able to provide for her, of depriving her of the opportunities he had missed, haunted him. The mental strain, a silent companion, had crept into his life, its tendrils reaching deep into his psyche.

The term insurance, a recent addition to their financial safety net, was a testament to his fears. It was a tangible expression of his love for his family, a desperate attempt to protect them from the uncertainties of life. He didn't want Debaparna to go through the hardships he and Mrinalini had faced, to compromise her dreams and ambitions.

The serenading shadows of his past, once a distant memory, had resurfaced with a vengeance. His ex-girlfriend, the woman who had left him when he had faced the daunting task of providing for his family, haunted his thoughts. The pain,the betrayal, had left deep scars on his heart. Yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that her departure had been a catalyst for his own transformation. It had forced him to confront his fears, to step up and take responsibility. The encounter with his ex, a chance meeting in the city, had stirred up a whirlwind of emotions. The pain, the anger, the regret – they had all resurfaced, a raw and visceral reminder of the past. Yet, amidst the turmoil, a sense of closure had emerged. He had forgiven her, not for her actions, but for his own sake. The weight of resentment, a heavy burden he had carried for years, had finally been lifted.

Perhaps, that was what was playing with his mind more than he let on, thus leading to the misunderstandings with Mrinalini. In their fervour to be exemplary parents, Debarghya and Mrinalini had inadvertently allowed their roles as husband and wife to fade into the background. The delicate balance between their individual identities and their shared responsibility had been overshadowed by the overwhelming weight of parenthood. Communication, once a vibrant thread weaving their relationship together, had frayed, replaced by a cacophony of unspoken expectations and unspoken resentments.

The battle for Debaparna's affection, a seemingly noble pursuit, had turned them into unwitting competitors. Each sought to be the primary caregiver, the one who knew best. The subtle undercurrents of one-upmanship, a silent war waged beneath the surface, had eroded the trust and understanding that once characterised their relationship. They were batting for the same side, their hearts united in their love for their daughter. Yet, blinded by their own insecurities and the weight of their responsibilities, they had forgotten the most important aspect of their partnership – their love for each other.

As he sat in silence, the city lights twinkling below him, Debarghya felt a sense of peace wash over him. He was going to make things right. He was going to have the conversation that he had to with Mrinalini. He was going to help her rediscover their affection for each other, re ascertain their need for intimacy and closeness, both physical and emotional. They had to for each other's sake and for their child.

"Debarghya, the doctor is done with her OPD patients for the day," the helpful secretary at the hospital reception informed him, snapping him out of reverie. "She'll leave in a bit. If you want to meet her, now may be a good time."

And with that, the mundane demands of a job that he had to do everyday pulled him in, letting the shadows fade away.

...

July 14

"She was trying to say Papa that day," Mrinalini told Debarghya as they prepared to retire for the night. She was rubbing some lotion on her hands as he put their sleeping daughter to bed, her little body exhausted with the adventures of the day, eager and ready to welcome the safe world of slumber and happy dreams. They had just gotten back from New Delhi in the evening and both of them were ready to call it a day. "You had called and she saw your picture on the screen and went like Pa for a second. I paused my work, looked at her and tried to get her to say it with all the encouragement and support that I could muster, but she couldn't pronounce it completely. She just went silent. Perhaps I made her feel conscious."

"I am sure it wasn't your fault for being encouraging her, Mrinal," Debarghya commented with a smile. "She's learning to test sounds. Trust me, she'll be a chatterbox when she's ready."

"I was hoping she would say Mumma first, but I realised that it doesn't matter what her first word is," she continued. "Ma used to tell me that my first word had been Baba and that I was very attached to him. I don't have any memories now, but I am going to be thrilled the day our daughter calls out to you and says Papa. I think I may even cry."

He chuckled lowly, lowering his daughter into her cot, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. "Sweet dreams, my love," he whispered. 

Settling into bed, they turned off the light, leaving the warm bedside lamp on, a practice that they had adapted to be prepared for any emergency at night in case their daughter cried out or needed anything. The room was bathed in the soft glow, casting long, dancing shadows on the walls.

The two of them lay silently.

"Was this trip better than last time?" Debarghya asked his wife softly. "Did you make good progress?"

"Medha seemed to have adjusted better," she replied. "The last time had been tough on her with so many firsts, the flight, the new city, and strangers, but this time, it was easier for her given some familiar faces and environment. I got my work done without many hiccups. The end result is still miles away in the making, but it felt good. How was your week?"

"Exhausting," he answered pensively. "Same old."

Mrinalini yawned, turning to her side. "Good night, Debarghya. Let's hope that the two of us can sleep up until 8 at least tomorrow."

"No chance in the world," he replied with a laugh. Their daughter had very easily fallen into an annoying routine of waking up early on weekends, usually crying out at around six or seven, oblivious to the rest that her parents craved after toiling hard all week. "She's going to wake us early like always."

The two of them shared tired smiles, falling silent. Debarghya's mind was in a state of unrest. He had been thinking of ways to converse with Mrinalini, something that used to be easier earlier, before the onset of parenthood. Nevertheless, he had rehearsed the words and thoughts that he had to share with her.

 Hesitantly, Debarghya reached out, turning towards her. His fingers traced the delicate lines of Mrinalini's face, moving the stray strands of her curly hair that framed her calm face, the serenity contrary to the business that had been constant through the day. She turned, her eyes meeting his, a silent question hanging in the air.

"We need to talk, Mrinal," he began, his voice barely a whisper. "The past few months have been tough on our relationship. We haven't been on the same page on multiple occasions and there have been thoughts, situations, and a lot more that have been at play in the back of my mind and I cannot help but want to share them with you. We used to be able to communicate, but somewhere, we've lost the semblance of companionship that we had. Can we please try and get that back?"

Mrinalini's heart skipped a beat. She knew something was troubling him, the lines of worry etched on his face a stark contrast to his usual calm demeanour. She knew that the disagreements that they were having had a lot to do with the rapid changes in their lives, but also with insecurities and fears that the two of them suppressed, hoping to ignore, unfortunately allowing it to seep into their lives at most crossroads. Perhaps fights and arguments were normal in a marriage, but they had never been faced with instances when they felt hurt and wounded, perhaps even defeated, at each other's words.

"I've been worried lately," he continued. "I was evaluating our finances and my earnings and assessing how much we can earn combined if we truly push ourselves and then I don't know why, it just hit me out of the blue. What if tragedy strikes us?"

"Shut up, Debarghya," Mrinalini whispered, drowsiness withering away with the seriousness of his words. "I know how it is to grow up without a father, okay? I don't even want to imagine that scenario ever for my daughter. Could you not? Please?"

"It's only practical if we do discuss every aspect, Mrinal," he replied with a shake of his head. "We have to be pragmatic if we have to ensure our daughter's future irrespective of the circumstances that greet us or if unexpected tragedy befalls."

"Why are you being so morbid?" she asked in earnest, her eyes reflecting agony and confusion. "I just realised that our lives haven't been the most ideal," Debarghya whispered. "I don't regret what I do or what I had to do for the sake of my family, Mrinal, but I know that as a child, I wouldn't have dreamed of letting go of my ambition and settle down with a job that takes more in the form of emotion and mental capacity than it pays. You almost suffered through the same when you were married off, sent into a dark abyss, unknown and uncertain. I don't want that for our daughter. No matter what happens or what may happen, we have to be prepared."

Mrinalini was silent, absorbing his words. "I got a term insurance recently," he elaborated. "It won't pay much in case something happens to me, but it should be able to give you enough to sustain for a bit."

"I don't understand why we are having this conversation, Debarghya," Mrinalini snapped, angry tears welling up. "I don't want to discuss this. I don't want to imagine having to be..."

"I can't," she whispered, clutching on to him with a renewed fervour, burying her face into his chest, inhaling deeply. "What made you think of this?"

"I ran into Kaushani around three months ago," he replied at length. He could feel Mrinalini stiffen in his arms, knowing that she recognised the name. What seemed like a lifetime ago, sometime in the initial months of their marriage, they had been discussing childhood friendships that had inevitably led the conversation to turn towards previous relationships. 

While Mrinalini had always steered clear of relationships due to her academic focus combined with a sheltered life and her alma maters, a convent school followed by an all-girls' college, Debarghya had, in fact, experienced being in a relationship. Given their age difference, it had not been an unexpected surprise for her when he had shared the fragment of his past, but the sheer intensity and involvement and commitment that they had envisioned was noteworthy, probably beyond their years. 

It had spanned years, starting in high school and venturing beyond, lasting throughout college. They had been serious in their intentions. They had ambitions and plans, looking forward to a future together. Their family had been on board with everything and they had always been open about their relationship.

Alas, the lifetime partnership that they had envisioned had shattered, falling apart like a house of cards shortly after tragedy struck the Acharya household. Debarghya's career saw the sun setting even before it could start and he had to take up the first highest paying job that he was eligible for that was available. The motors had to keep running and the family had to be fed. There were two younger siblings that had to be educated. Overnight, a star struck college going boy had to find his footing in the world. With the abrupt change in profession and visible distances due to work and emotional unavailability, Kaushani had called it quits. She had cited his absence from their relationship and had in a fit of anger hurled at him for having to let go of his ambition of being a chartered accountant and settling for a measly paying job instead. 

"You will never be able to afford the lifestyle we envisioned for our home and family and that I am used to," she had said. "We cannot continue this charade of a relationship, Debarghya. I am headed for my master's now. I cannot let what we had hold me back. I understand the pain that you have gone through and the subsequent challenges that have followed since. I know about your sister and her mental health and about the responsibilities that you have to shoulder, but I am not prepared to handle that with you. I'll always pray for you, but this is where we should part our ways. I am sorry."

"What happened?" Mrinalini asked quietly. "Did you talk to her?"

"No," Debarghya replied. "I just saw her. She was at the hospital where I had gone for work. She had a baby in her arms. I think she was leaving after a consultation while I was just entering the building. A car was waiting for her. It was a black Mercedes Benz Mayback, Mrinal."

"I don't understand, Debarghya," Mrinalini commented, confused. "What does this piece of information have to do with anything that you were saying? What does any of this have to do with us or our lives or our family?"

"You don't understand, Mrinal," he continued with a humourless chuckle. "She wanted a life of luxury and she got that. We had planned a life together. She left me saying to my face that I could never afford the lifestyle that she was used to. God, I am so grateful that she didn't see me that day to witness how true her words were. She came for a hospital consult in a chauffeur-driven luxury car, and years on, after toiling immensely hard, I have to settle for public transport. Heat, cold, rain be damned, I have to go to work every day on the field, swallow bitter words from my bosses, and meet tough targets and I can't afford a fraction or fragment of the life that even I wanted for my family at some point. This could have been so different if only I could have completed my articleship and appeared for the Finals. It was the last step, Mrinal, and I had to let go..."

His eyes were distant, filled with guilt, insecurity, fear, pain, and immense anger that he couldn't explain.

Mrinalini pulled him closer, her arms wrapping around him. He leaned into her embrace, finding solace in her warmth.

"And that made you think of why you don't want your daughter to compromise with anything that she may dream of as a kid?"

He nodded against her shoulder, brushing his nose against her neck, inhaling deeply. "I don't want her to suffer through anything. I'd keep her in a cocoon if I could."

"I know," Mrinalini whispered. "I kept her safe in my womb for months, Debarghya. I felt her move inside me. I could feel her little kicks. I knew she was safe as long as she was there. I knew she was protected. In the world that we live in, there are too many demons to fight off. I feel scared too, but I know we are going to take care of her to the best of our abilities. We are going to try and give her everything that we can afford and more, not to spoil her rotten, but to empower her into finding herself in the world."

Debarghya closed his eyes, the weight of his emotions finally beginning to lift. The encounter with his ex had been a catalyst for introspection, a painful reminder of the past and a testament to the shortcomings that had always deafened his mind silently. But it had also been a catalyst for healing, a chance to confront his demons and move forward.

"I am sorry, Mrinal," he whispered against her bare clavicle. "I never wanted to imply that you aren't a good mother who won't be able to protect her child. I never intended to demean your dreams or academic pursuits. I suppose I just let a part of my fear and insecurity do the talking without stopping to confront it directly."

Mrinalini felt her lips curving upward as she felt him press a kiss to her neck. She felt a warmth spreading through her, a comforting glow that banished the lingering chill of the night. She arched slightly, inviting him in, her heart a symphony of emotions. Debarghya, his touch gentle and tentative, traced the contours of her face, his fingers lingering on her cheekbone.

"I'm sorry," he whispered again, his voice a mere breath against her skin. "I never meant to hurt you."

Mrinalini shook her head, her eyes filled with a soft glow. "I know, Debarghya. I understand."

His fingers traced the line of her jaw, her neck, her shoulders. He was drawn to her, a magnetic force pulling him closer. She leaned into his touch, her body melting into his. It had been months and weeks since they had been close, both literally and figuratively. They had been lost somewhere in their mundane lives, yielding to professional and familial obligations, ignorant of the intimacy of the relationship that they shared.

Their lips met, a tentative exploration that quickly turned into a passionate embrace. Their bodies moved in unison, a silent dance of desire and longing. Mrinalini's hands, once hesitant, now moved with a newfound confidence, tracing the contours of Debarghya's back, his chest.

Debarghya, his senses heightened, surrendered to the moment. He pressed his body against hers, his touch possessive yet tender. The world outside, a distant hum, faded into oblivion. They were alone, lost in the intensity of their passion.

The night, a silent observer, was filled with the unspoken promises they made to each other. Their love, a beacon in the darkness, illuminated their path, a guiding star in the uncertain seas of their lives. The serenading shadows of their past, once a constant reminder of their shortcomings, now echoed in the harmonious rhythm of their love.

As they lay entwined, their bodies a testament to the potency of their love, their minds drifted to the future. They imagined Debaparna, a vibrant young woman, pursuing her dreams with the same unwavering determination that had shaped their own lives. The financial constraints, a constant companion, were a mere shadow, their love a beacon of hope that illuminated the path ahead. The silent vows they made to each other, a promise whispered by the serenading shadows of the night, were a testament to the enduring power of their love. The future, uncertain and filled with its own symphony of challenges, awaited them, but they were ready, their hearts entwined, their spirits unbroken.

...

To be continued...

PUBLISHED ON: 29th August 2024

Author's Note:

This chapter, a sombre reflection on the intricacies of the human psyche, of struggles and realities of life, is dedicated to every individual who has ever felt the chilling touch of injustice, pain, and suffering. 

In the wake of the tragic RG Kar hospital rape-murder in Kolkata, I am compelled to speak for those who continue to suffer in silence, their voices muffled by the echoes of trauma.

Victims come in all shapes and sizes, their stories as diverse as the tapestry of life itself. Children, young and innocent, their lives shattered by the cruelest acts imaginable. Boys, their masculinity stripped away, their spirits broken by the weight of shame. Girls, their dreams shattered, their bodies violated, their innocence stolen. Women, their strength tested,their resilience pushed to the brink. Some succumb to the darkness, their lives extinguished too soon. Others, survivors against all odds, carry the scars of their experiences, their spirits forever etched with the indelible mark of trauma.

The plight of victims is a universal tragedy, a testament to the fragility of the human spirit. Their families, torn apart by grief and despair, bear the brunt of their suffering. The justice systems, often flawed and inadequate, fail to provide the solace they seek. Yet, amidst the darkness, a glimmer of hope persists. The collective consciousness, awakened by the stories of victims, yearns for change, for a world where justice prevails, where compassion reigns supreme.

This chapter is a tribute to those who have endured the unimaginable, a testament to their strength, their resilience, their unwavering spirit. It is a call to action, a reminder that we are all connected, bound together by a shared humanity. Let us stand united, our voices raised in solidarity, demanding justice for all. Let us honour the victims, not just in words, but in our actions, in our commitment to a world free from the shadows of injustice.

Mrinalini's journey is coming to an end with just another chapter to go. This story has been immensely special to me from day one as I have aspired to put forth a real story. I am not old enough or experienced perhaps to testify if my writing remotely reflects on reality, but I have tried my best, and I sincerely hope that the story that reaches out to you all has been able to strike a chord in the depths of your hearts and minds.

I humbly request you all to kindly share your thoughts with me through comments. It helps me as an individual to draw insights from your perspectives and to grow, both as a person and as a writer.

I apologise for the delay in updating this chapter. I have a huge change coming up in my life and have unfortunately been preoccupied with that. Thank you for all your support. It truly means the world to me.

Stay safe and healthy.

Godspeed.

With love,

Elegiac_Damsel

P.S. Please be safe wherever you are. Your life, emotions, body, mind, are gifts, cherish them and keep yourselves protected.

P.P.S. Please do VOTE, COMMENT, and SHARE if the story has been able to imprint on your hearts. It would mean the world to me.