THE SMALL GROUND-FLOOR apartment in Vasant Vihar was ideal for Nisha, her eleven-year-old daughter, Maya, and their maid, Heena. It had been pricey—Vasant Vihar was an expensive area and property prices in Delhi had gone through the roof—but Sanjeev had left her with money and, having bought the apartment, Nisha had saved the rest. Financially she was well off.
But for all that, nothing could fill the emotional hole Sanjeev had left. It was as though his absence were a malignant presence. Like a shadow in their lives. And it was with them now as they sat at the dining table, finishing a dinner prepared by Heena. It was an unspoken thing. We wish Papa were here. Telling stupid jokes or singing to himself or even just being grumpy. Whatever. We wish Papa were here.
Not for the first time, Nisha thanked her lucky stars for Heena. Without Heena she couldn’t work. And there were times that Nisha thought work was the only thing that allowed her to cope with losing Sanjeev.
Heena was also blessed with the ability to know when Nisha and Maya needed a little mother–daughter time. Like now, as she cleared the table and left them to settle down into the living-room sofa.
“Why couldn’t we just get pizza from that new place down the street?” asked Maya, snuggling into her mother. A cartoon was on TV but neither was really watching it.
“Junk food. Not good for either of us,” replied Nisha. “Better to eat healthy home-cooked meals prepared by Heena.”
Nisha felt her daughter’s shoulders shake, the all-too-familiar signal that tears were imminent, and all Nisha could do was hold her and try to cuddle the pain away.
“I miss Papa,” said Maya, the tears now rolling down her cheeks. “I miss the times he took us out for pizza and ice cream. I don’t want the pizza or ice cream. I just want Papa back.”
“I know, baby, I miss him too,” said Nisha, thinking, God, so much. I miss him so much.
“I feel so lonely,” whimpered Maya. “You’re always working.” The pain in her little girl’s voice, and the bald truth of the statement, made Nisha feel wretched. “But at least when you were late, it was Dad who would tuck me into bed. Now there’s only Heena. The apartment feels so cold and empty.”
Nisha hugged Maya tighter and thumbed tears from her face. “Tell you what,” she said. “On the weekend, we’ll go out. How about a movie followed by pizza?”
Sniffing, Maya nodded and Nisha felt bowled over by her bravery. This frail little thing, forced to cope with so much at such a young age. “You and I make a great team,” she said into Maya’s hair. “I promise that we’ll take a holiday together in the hills soon. What do you think about Shimla? It’s not too far from Delhi.”
“The last time you said that, we had to cancel the holiday because of work,” said Maya, and Nisha cringed at the memory.
“No cancelations this time, I promise,” she said.
Maya brightened up more. Nisha passed her a box of tissues to wipe away her tears.
“Now, what about that essay you were supposed to write for your school competition? The one about how to improve the health of Delhi’s citizens?” asked Nisha.
Maya rolled her eyes. “It was due earlier today. It’s already been submitted.”
“I see. And does it have a title, this masterwork?”
“It’s called ‘Health Care, Fair and Square?’ It’s about how everybody should have access to health care whether they’re rich or poor, young or old, whatever their nationality. How we should treat health care a bit more like we do education, so more people get a fair shot.”
Nisha awarded Maya with an impressed look. “Wow, well, that’s very, very commendable, Maya. I’m delighted. Can I have a copy to read?”
“I saved one,” beamed Maya. She fetched it then snuggled back into position. “I’m pretty pleased with it, actually. Especially as most people have just talked about, like, how many hospitals there are in the city and stuff.”
“Yours has got a bit more substance,” said Nisha, leafing through the A4 pages.
“Well, I don’t want to be big-headed, but…”
“You’re going to be anyway.”
“Yeah,” laughed Maya. “Fingers crossed I’ll win.”
“You never know.”
“The prize is being handed out by some real bigwig, a guy called Amit Roy from the government.”
“Very good. With any luck you’ll meet him.”
Mother and daughter cuddled on the couch, hugging each other in a home that felt empty. The winter winds of Delhi howled outside and the branches of the Indian lilac tree that touched their living-room window tapped a rat-a-tat-tat rhythm on the pane.
With Maya snoring gently beside her, Nisha lifted the essay to read but had only got through a few sentences before she felt her eyelids grow heavy.
She laid it down, guiltily, promising herself she’d return to it first thing.