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Aditi is forced to stand up for herself when love and expectations are betrayed

Aditi is forced to stand up for herself when love

Bengaluru!

Yes, the same Bengaluru from Banglore Days, where Nazriya Nazim, Dulquer Salmaan and Nivin Pauly made the city feel like a land of freedom and possibilities. For many Malayalis, probably after this movie’s release, Bengaluru became the “city of aspirations”.

The train finally pulled into the station at six in the morning, nearly an hour late.

Achan’s relative, Das Uncle, had asked her to wait outside the main gate, so she made her way through the station, dragging her luggage behind her.

The entrance of every railway station in India had the same familiar chaos – drivers calling out to passengers and offering rides, while cars and bikes arriving to pick up friends and family started clogging the road. Almost half the people getting off her train seemed to be either working professionals like her or college students. But what caught her attention was the number of strikingly handsome young men walking out of the station. She couldn’t help but wonder why not even one of them had been in her compartment. She was lost in thought when a loud honk snapped her back to reality.

Her uncle had pulled up in front of her.

“Hey, Ammu! If you don’t want to get cussed in Kannada on your very first day in Bengaluru, hop in. The people behind us are about to start honking!” Das Uncle joked, as he placed her luggage in the car’s boot.

No matter how stylish a name you have, your family never really acknowledges it. Even when Aunty and Uncle had called her on the phone, they never called her “Aditi” – they always called her “Ammu”.

She had spoken to them over the phone a few times before, but this was the first time she was meeting them in person. She remembered seeing their wedding photo in an album back home and wondering why such a beautiful aunty had chosen to marry this uncle. Achamma always boasted that he was a big businessman in Bengaluru and that everything he owned was earned through his hard work. Maybe she married him for the money, Aditi had thought. Well, people like me who grew up being body-shamed often fail to understand that beauty has little to do with marriage.

When she told her family about moving to Bengaluru, a relative reminded Achan about Das Uncle and suggested calling him. Amma felt that it was always better to have family support when sending children, especially a daughter, to a different place. And, thus, Das Uncle became her local guardian in Bengaluru. There was even a suggestion that she stay with them in their flat, but later, that idea was dropped because Amma strongly believed that Aditi hadn’t learned how to behave appropriately while living with other families. She agreed with Amma’s logic, without any complaints. After all, getting too close to a family acquaintance could blow her chances of enjoying freedom in Bengaluru.

And so, accommodation was arranged at a hostel near her office. That decision was easier to make since it wasn’t too far from Das Uncle’s home.

“Did you get good sleep? Hope you didn’t have any trouble during your journey?” Uncle asked as he started the car.

“No, Uncle. The train got a bit late, but otherwise, everything was fine. You really didn’t have to trouble yourself by coming this early to pick me up. If you had just shared your location, I could have come by an auto-rickshaw.”

“Oh, you really think this is trouble? You’re just like Shalu to me. We’re close family. This is exactly why they say family members should meet at least once a year – if they don’t, even small gestures like this start feeling like a big inconvenience.”

Shalu, his daughter, was an only child and studied in the eleventh grade. Uncle kept talking about his family throughout the ride, probably to distract Aditi from feeling homesick or nervous about moving to a new city. And at every traffic jam, Bengaluru’s infamous traffic issues naturally became a part of their conversation.

The city was just waking up.

“HSR Layout and your office are that way. You can take an auto-rickshaw from the hostel. The only problem is that, considering the traffic here, you’ll have to start at least an hour early,” Uncle advised, pointing to a road on their right before switching on the indicator and turning left.

He stopped in front of an eight-storey building that looked like it had recently received a fresh coat of paint. Their flat was 6B on the third floor. Aunty was waiting at home with hot idlis and sambar. Since it was a Sunday, Shalu was away at her tuition.

The flat was small, with two bedrooms, a compact dining area and a kitchen. A balcony extended from the right side of the dining hall, lush with greenery – a large curry leaf plant and a few vegetable plants lovingly tended to by Aunty. From there, Aditi could see into the rooms of the adjacent flats. The one directly across seemed unoccupied, while the one next to it had male underwear hanging on the line. Definitely a bachelor’s apartment, she mused to herself.

While Aditi stood observing her surroundings, caressing the plants, Aunty walked in with a plate full of ripe mango slices. In a light-hearted tone, she said, “Don’t jinx my healthy curry leaf plant!”

“Oh sure, I noticed that. Looks like you really enjoy gardening.”

Ah, I wouldn’t say that. These are just the by-products of my boredom. Once Uncle and Shalu leave in the morning, what else do I have to do?”

“Amma told me you’ve a B.Ed. degree. Why haven’t you tried for a job?”

“No, your uncle doesn’t like it. I used to take tuition classes for kids earlier, but I’ve stopped that too.”

Unsure of how to continue the conversation, Aditi wiped the mango juice trickling down her arm onto the side of her jeans and glanced outside. We may live in a modern society, but there are still lives that remain unchanged – some confined within the four walls of a home.

“We’ll go to the hostel after lunch. By then, Shalu will be back too,” Aunty broke the silence after a moment. With Uncle being away on official work, it was just the two of them for lunch. Shalu returned at around three in the afternoon. As she was born and brought up in Bengaluru, her Malayalam wasn’t very fluent. But the manner in which she called out ‘Ammu Chechi’ and her warm hug quickly won Aditi over. They chatted for a while before heading to the hostel.

The hostel was barely a five-minute walk from Aunty’s house, but since Aditi had luggage, they took an auto-rickshaw. As Aunty had visited the hostel two days earlier to make inquiries, the admission process went smoothly.

The hostel had two buildings. The old one had a monthly rent of Rs 7,000, while the new building, with better amenities and a canteen nearby, cost Rs 10,000. Aditi preferred the new building, but since no rooms were available there presently, she had to stay in the old building for two weeks.

“And don’t even think about jumping the fence or getting drunk here. I’m your local guardian, got it?” Aunty teased as she bid her goodbye.

Why did she say that? Had Achan told her that old story about Aditi getting caught for drinking in the college hostel? Parents were all the same – they never said a good word about you, but would bring up every unnecessary thing with perfect accuracy. Then again, maybe that wasn’t what she meant. What did Aunty mean about jumping the fence?

Now that’s something I haven’t tried yet. Lost in thought, Aditi slowly climbed the stairs to her room.

Her room was the first one at the end of the first floor. It had just two cots, a cupboard and a table. Though small, it was kept neat. I should appreciate my roommate for that when she comes back, she told herself. She unpacked her luggage and took a shower in the chilly Bengaluru water. By the time she stepped out, it was already eight in the evening.

Why isn’t the other girl back yet? The canteen closes by nine-thirty. How am I supposed to go there alone on my first day?

Back in school, she wouldn’t even go to the bathroom without company. She hesitated for a moment, then opened the door and stepped out. The corridor was bustling with people – some returning from work, some rushing to take a shower and others casually walking while talking on their phones.

She didn’t feel like standing there. Closing the door, she sat on her cot.

After five minutes, a girl entered the room, talking on her phone. She placed her side bag and a plastic packet on the table before sitting on the other cot to remove her sandals.

“So, you’re my new roommate. Your name is Aditi, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Hello, I’m Sakshi – your temporary roommate,” she introduced herself, with a warm smile.

Excerpted with permission from To My Dearest Self, Nimna Vijay, translated from the Malayalam by Haritha CK, HarperCollins India.

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