To Kiss An Idol

“Abort it,” he shouted at once.

I was taken aback. “Excuse me!” I shouted, shocked.

“Well, what do you want to do?” asked Ritvik, sweating from every single orifice of his body.

“Check first whether I am pregnant or not,” I said as it was the obvious next step.

“Right!” he immediately grabbed his wallet and ran out of the house to get me a pregnancy test.

I sat down on the couch, dejected, still staring at the calendar pondering upon my last date of the period. I reminisced and reminisced over and over again, I calculated over and over again. My heart sank when I realised that I was right, I was 10 days late.

My brain started thinking all kinds of nonsense.

What if I was pregnant? What would I do then? Live-in relationship is still frowned upon then how would giving birth to a child out of wedlock would be accepted? My family would disown me. My friends would bully me. People in my office would frown upon me. My landlord would kick me out of my house. My boss would fire me.

.....

Where would I go? Where would my kid be born? Ritvik too has no job, what will I do? Maybe we could stay at his place for some time. Should I tell my parents? Will they really disown me? They have not talked to me in ages, what will be their reaction to knowing that I was pregnant? Would they accept my kid?

My kid! If I get pregnant, I will become a mother. Will those 9 months be hard for me, or will they pass on like a cool breeze? Would that be a boy or a girl? Would my kid be cute or ugly?

I started picturing a cute, tiny baby in my arms and Ritvik by my side. I liked that picture. Tears fell from my eyes. When almost a year back, we had sex without protection, I was scared of the thought of becoming a mother but now, that thought didn’t scare me. I liked the idea that I would become a mother.

Two small feet would keep running round and round in my house I would chase behind him or her. Soft wavy hair would bounce in the air when my child would run. Two thin lips would smile at me and call me “Mumma”. I would kiss sweet, pink cheeks. I would easily fit two tiny fists in my hands and play with my child. Toys would be scattered everywhere I would go.

I was smiling yet my eyes were filled with tears. They were tears of happiness. I realised that I was ready to become a mother.

I was in my thoughts when the front door flung open and Ritvik barged in, huffing and puffing. He ran all the way to the 24-hour pharmacy and got me two pregnancy tests.

“Here, check it,” he threw the packets at me, breaking my happiness.

“Ritvik! We should talk,” I said.

“We will after you get the test done. Go, Ritz, go,” she shouted, urgently.

I grabbed the packets and went to the bathroom. Our food was lying on the table getting cold. But none of us was thinking about that. We had more pressing matters to attend to.

After a few minutes, I came back with the first tube in my hands. He was sitting on the couch, his legs shaking vigorously, his hands were on his chin, and he was sweating like a pig. He kept muttering to himself, “this cannot happen, this cannot happen.”

The moment he saw me he stood up with a jerk and came running.

“What does it say?” he demanded.

“Nothing, it’s still working. It will take a minute,” I told him.

For a whole minute, he kept pacing in the living room. My head started spinning after seeing him walk fast. I grabbed his hand and asked him to stand still. Still, he kept fidgeting with his fingers and tilting on each leg alternatively.

We looked at the clock, the minute was up. We slowly lowered our gaze at the test, our hearts beating faster and nervous like hell. The test flashed the words “positive”.

“Shit!” he shouted. I had no idea how to react. Should I be happy, or should I be sad? “Shit! Shit! Shit” he kept repeating over and over again. “This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, not to me, not to me,” he shook his head in disbelief and started pacing again.

I could just stare at the test in my hands. The word “positive” kept flashing before my eyes.

“How could this happen? We always used condoms,” he shouted and came to face me. But I was staring at the test.

He grabbed my shoulder and shook me out of my slumber. “Ritz! Say something.”

“What?” I asked. I was miles away from him. I was not present at that moment.

“I always wore a condom,” he repeated.

“You know that they are not 100% effective, right?” I questioned him, surprised.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But how can this happen to me? Wait! Maybe it’s a false positive. Try the other stick,” he suggested.

“Maybe,” I replied.

“Please use that too,” he pleaded.

“Fine!” I said and went back to the bathroom. I discarded the first test and took the second one out of the box. It was a different stick. He brought two sticks from two different companies. It was a smart decision. If one company’s product was wrong, we could try the other one.

I peed on the stick, washed my hands, and came out to show him. We again had to wait for one minute. That minute was as long as one hour. Time was moving slowly at that moment. After a minute, two lines appeared on the stick. It was again positive.

I have no clue but after seeing the second positive I just sighed with relief. It meant that I was okay with being pregnant.

But everything went to gutter after that moment.

“What does this mean?” he asked.

“Two lines mean positive, I am pregnant,” I educated him.

“I always wore a condom, this can’t happen. This can’t be mine,” he said. The earth slipped from under my feet.

“Excuse me! What the hell are you insinuating?” I screamed at him. “Are you implying that I cheated on you? That you are not the father?” I don’t know when and how but my palms just made contact with his cheeks and thwack! I slapped him. Fire spit out of my eyes, and I could feel the warm air out of my nose.

He never saw me this angry. He stepped a step back and immediately apologised, “no, no, I didn’t mean that. I can never mean that. Sorry, sorry. Let’s talk.”

“Talk? With you? About what? About how you just called me a cheater, after all, I have done for you? What the hell do you mean that you always wore a condom? So, this child can’t be yours? This child? Yours? You don’t deserve to be a dad. I will get an abortion before I bring your child into the world. This is what you wanted to talk about, right? About getting an abortion because you are not ready to be a father. Or do you want me to get an abortion because you think you are not the father? Well, be assured no child in this world be happy to call you father,” I barked at him.

“Ritz!” he was visibly hurt. I could feel that my every word was like a dagger to his heart.

“Shut up! Get out!” I shrieked.

Immediately he fell to his knees. He joined his hands in namaste and pleaded, “Ritz! Please, Ritz! If we would have been married, I would have been the happiest man in the world with this news. But think about society, think about our family. Everyone will look down upon us and they too will not be spared. So, do you really want that for your family?”

“My family is not talking to me, thanks to you and you don’t even have the guts to talk to your family about me,” I mocked him.

He stood up and faced me. With pleading eyes he brainwashed me, “Ritz! First, let’s get the abortion, I will instantly go back home to talk about us, I promise. Then my parents will talk to your family, and we will have a grand wedding. I still have to buy that ring for you that I promised.” He smiled at me and grabbed my shoulder. “I want to marry you and have kids with you after marriage not before. Think about this child,” he placed his hand over my stomach, “he will be bullied all his life. This is India, a child out of wedlock is never accepted. This child would not get admission to a good school or college, no one will give him a job. No one will marry him. People will call him a bastard, is that what you want?”

I looked away from him and replied, “a child is called a bastard when people don’t know the name of the father.”

He softly touched my chin and made me look at him again, “do you think society clings to the definition of a word? No, they will call him whatever they like. Do you want that for your child?”

To some extent he was right. Still, I was fuming with anger as he called me a cheater. He doubted my character, he doubted my love for him.