18-06-2025, 10:37 PM
(This post was last modified: 19-06-2025, 04:29 AM by prady12191. Edited 3 times in total. Edited 3 times in total.)
Devika - The Begining
The silk of Devika's crimson saree caught the morning light filtering through her bedroom window, its gold border glimmering like a promise she wasn't sure she could keep. She folded it with practiced hands, laying it in her suitcase among the other carefully selected pieces of her life she would transport from Kerala to Pune. Her fingers lingered on the fabric, tracing the familiar pattern that reminded her of her mother's wedding saree – something old to accompany something new, this opportunity that was taking her far from the only home she had ever known.
The call from Pune University had come three weeks ago. Associate Professor position, Department of Biology. Her specialization in molecular genetics had finally yielded the fruit of advancement she'd been nurturing for years. The joy had bubbled up inside her like springwater, clear and sweet, until she remembered that accepting meant leaving behind the jasmine-scented air of her childhood home, the coconut palms that whispered secrets in the monsoon winds, and the familiar cadence of Malayalam that surrounded her like a lullaby.
Devika tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and reached for her phone. Rajiv would be awake in Dubai by now. The screen lit up with his contact photo – three years old, from when he still smiled with his eyes. She pressed the call button and held her breath.
"Hello?" His voice came through distant, hollowed by poor connection or disinterest. She couldn't tell anymore.
"Rajiv, I wanted to update you about the position," she said, her voice carrying the lilt of her native Malayalam-accented English. "I'm leaving for Pune tomorrow."
"Hmm? Oh, yes. The teaching job." Papers rustled in the background. "That's good, Devika. Very good."
She waited for more – a question about her preparations, perhaps, or concern about her traveling alone. The silence stretched between them, a thin thread growing ever more tenuous.
"It's a significant move," she ventured. "First time I'll be living away from Kerala."
"You'll adapt. You're good at that." Something clattered on his end, followed by a muffled female voice asking a question. "Sorry, just a colleague with a report question."
Devika's fingers tightened around the phone. "The college has arranged an apartment for me. It's close to the campus."
"That's convenient." His voice carried the distracted tone she had grown accustomed to over the past year. "Listen, we're having a meeting in five minutes. Can we talk later?"
The familiar ache bloomed in her chest. "Of course. I just thought—"
"Great. I'll call when I can. Good luck with the move." A pause, then grudgingly: "I'm proud of you."
The call ended before she could respond. Devika stared at the dark screen, her reflection a ghostly overlay on the glass. The words "I'm proud of you" hung in the air, hollow as a dried gourd. Once, those words would have filled her with warmth. Now they felt like a perfunctory offering, something to placate rather than connect.
She set the phone down and returned to her packing, folding each saree with the precision that characterized her work in the laboratory. The methodical task calmed her, giving structure to the uncertainty that lay ahead. Kerala to Pune. Known to unknown. A husband who grew more distant with each passing month, despite the gold marriage chain that hung around her neck, a constant weight against her collarbone.
The woman's voice in the background of the call lingered in her mind. A colleague. Always a colleague. The doubt that had been germinating in the dark soil of their long-distance marriage sprouted another leaf.
"Professor Devika Nair," she said aloud to the empty room, testing how the title sounded in her own voice. At least in that, there was something solid to hold onto.
---
The train rocked gently as it cut through the changing landscape, carrying Devika farther from the verdant hills of Kerala into the drier terrain of the Deccan Plateau. She pressed her forehead against the window, watching as coconut groves gave way to scrubland, as though the earth itself was preparing her for transition.
The compartment smelled of stale curry and the sweet cardamom tea she had purchased from a vendor at the last station. Across from her, an elderly couple dozed, their heads tilted toward each other like quotation marks around an unspoken sentiment. Devika envied their easy proximity, the unconscious trust in their shared slumber.
Thirty-two years old and starting over. The thought carried both exhilaration and terror. Her doctoral research on cellular adaptation to environmental stressors seemed suddenly, ironically relevant to her own life. She had studied how cells transform to survive hostile conditions. Now she would do the same.
Night fell across the countryside like a silk shawl, transforming the window into a mirror. Devika studied her reflection – the dark eyes that her mother always said revealed too much, the gentle curve of her cheek, the slight furrow between her brows that had deepened over the past year. She looked like a woman on the precipice of something, though whether it was ascent or descent remained unclear.
Sleep came in fitful bursts, interrupted by the train's stops and the shuffle of passengers. By dawn, as the outskirts of Pune came into view, Devika felt wrung out, her body stiff and her mind foggy. She straightened her posture and rebraided her hair, securing it with practiced fingers. First impressions mattered. She would not arrive looking as displaced as she felt.
---
Pune assaulted her senses immediately. The station hummed with a chaotic energy that sent her heart racing – porters shouting over each other for business, food vendors calling out their offerings, the blare of announcements competing with the general din of humanity in motion. The air carried the tang of exhaust fumes mixed with cooking spices and something else – a bitter, acrid undertone that made her nose wrinkle.
As she maneuvered through the crowd, pulling her suitcase behind her, Devika became acutely aware of the stares following her. Her cream-colored Kerala saree with its simple gold border marked her as an outsider more clearly than any sign could have. Men's gazes lingered, some with curiosity, others with something that made her skin crawl. She tightened her grip on her luggage and quickened her pace.
Outside the station, the visual assault continued. Red-brown splashes marked walls and sidewalks – paan spittle, she realized with distaste. Groups of men lounged at corners, cigarettes dangling from lips, their conversation halting as she passed. One called out something in Marathi that she didn't understand, but the tone needed no translation. His companions laughed, eyes following her retreating form.
The auto-rickshaw driver overcharged her – she knew this without needing to ask – but she paid without argument, too exhausted to negotiate. As they wound through Pune's streets, the contrast with her hometown grew starker. Where Kerala had been a symphony of greens, Pune presented in dusty browns and grays, punctuated by the occasional bright sari or flowering tree that seemed almost defiant in its colorfulness.
"College area," the driver announced, gesturing vaguely as they entered a neighborhood with slightly wider streets and buildings that looked marginally more maintained. Students moved in clusters, their youthful energy a counterpoint to Devika's fatigue.
Her apartment building stood on a quiet side street – a three-story concrete structure with balconies too small to be useful but large enough to hang laundry. The driver helped her with her luggage, his earlier indifference softening slightly at her visible exhaustion.
"First time Pune?" he asked as she counted out the fare.
"Yes," she admitted. "First time away from Kerala, actually."
He nodded, a flicker of understanding crossing his weathered face. "Different here. Not bad, just different. You will see."
The apartment was spartan but clean – a living room that opened to a kitchenette, a bedroom barely large enough for the double bed it contained, and a bathroom with a temperamental-looking water heater. The walls were painted a pale yellow that had faded to the color of old paper. A small dining table with two chairs stood in one corner, its surface bearing the rings and scratches of previous occupants' lives.
Devika set her suitcase down and stood in the center of what was now her home, feeling the weight of silence pressing against her eardrums. She had never lived alone before – from her parents' home to her marriage, always surrounded by family. The solitude felt like a presence itself, watching her with curious eyes.
She unpacked methodically, arranging her sarees in the small wardrobe, placing her few personal items around the apartment in an attempt to mark it as her own. A framed photo of her parents on their thirtieth anniversary. A small brass Ganesha her mother had insisted she take for good fortune. Books that had been her companions through doctoral research and beyond.
No photos of Rajiv. She hadn't packed any.
---
The silk of Devika's crimson saree caught the morning light filtering through her bedroom window, its gold border glimmering like a promise she wasn't sure she could keep. She folded it with practiced hands, laying it in her suitcase among the other carefully selected pieces of her life she would transport from Kerala to Pune. Her fingers lingered on the fabric, tracing the familiar pattern that reminded her of her mother's wedding saree – something old to accompany something new, this opportunity that was taking her far from the only home she had ever known.
The call from Pune University had come three weeks ago. Associate Professor position, Department of Biology. Her specialization in molecular genetics had finally yielded the fruit of advancement she'd been nurturing for years. The joy had bubbled up inside her like springwater, clear and sweet, until she remembered that accepting meant leaving behind the jasmine-scented air of her childhood home, the coconut palms that whispered secrets in the monsoon winds, and the familiar cadence of Malayalam that surrounded her like a lullaby.
Devika tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and reached for her phone. Rajiv would be awake in Dubai by now. The screen lit up with his contact photo – three years old, from when he still smiled with his eyes. She pressed the call button and held her breath.
"Hello?" His voice came through distant, hollowed by poor connection or disinterest. She couldn't tell anymore.
"Rajiv, I wanted to update you about the position," she said, her voice carrying the lilt of her native Malayalam-accented English. "I'm leaving for Pune tomorrow."
"Hmm? Oh, yes. The teaching job." Papers rustled in the background. "That's good, Devika. Very good."
She waited for more – a question about her preparations, perhaps, or concern about her traveling alone. The silence stretched between them, a thin thread growing ever more tenuous.
"It's a significant move," she ventured. "First time I'll be living away from Kerala."
"You'll adapt. You're good at that." Something clattered on his end, followed by a muffled female voice asking a question. "Sorry, just a colleague with a report question."
Devika's fingers tightened around the phone. "The college has arranged an apartment for me. It's close to the campus."
"That's convenient." His voice carried the distracted tone she had grown accustomed to over the past year. "Listen, we're having a meeting in five minutes. Can we talk later?"
The familiar ache bloomed in her chest. "Of course. I just thought—"
"Great. I'll call when I can. Good luck with the move." A pause, then grudgingly: "I'm proud of you."
The call ended before she could respond. Devika stared at the dark screen, her reflection a ghostly overlay on the glass. The words "I'm proud of you" hung in the air, hollow as a dried gourd. Once, those words would have filled her with warmth. Now they felt like a perfunctory offering, something to placate rather than connect.
She set the phone down and returned to her packing, folding each saree with the precision that characterized her work in the laboratory. The methodical task calmed her, giving structure to the uncertainty that lay ahead. Kerala to Pune. Known to unknown. A husband who grew more distant with each passing month, despite the gold marriage chain that hung around her neck, a constant weight against her collarbone.
The woman's voice in the background of the call lingered in her mind. A colleague. Always a colleague. The doubt that had been germinating in the dark soil of their long-distance marriage sprouted another leaf.
"Professor Devika Nair," she said aloud to the empty room, testing how the title sounded in her own voice. At least in that, there was something solid to hold onto.
---
The train rocked gently as it cut through the changing landscape, carrying Devika farther from the verdant hills of Kerala into the drier terrain of the Deccan Plateau. She pressed her forehead against the window, watching as coconut groves gave way to scrubland, as though the earth itself was preparing her for transition.
The compartment smelled of stale curry and the sweet cardamom tea she had purchased from a vendor at the last station. Across from her, an elderly couple dozed, their heads tilted toward each other like quotation marks around an unspoken sentiment. Devika envied their easy proximity, the unconscious trust in their shared slumber.
Thirty-two years old and starting over. The thought carried both exhilaration and terror. Her doctoral research on cellular adaptation to environmental stressors seemed suddenly, ironically relevant to her own life. She had studied how cells transform to survive hostile conditions. Now she would do the same.
Night fell across the countryside like a silk shawl, transforming the window into a mirror. Devika studied her reflection – the dark eyes that her mother always said revealed too much, the gentle curve of her cheek, the slight furrow between her brows that had deepened over the past year. She looked like a woman on the precipice of something, though whether it was ascent or descent remained unclear.
Sleep came in fitful bursts, interrupted by the train's stops and the shuffle of passengers. By dawn, as the outskirts of Pune came into view, Devika felt wrung out, her body stiff and her mind foggy. She straightened her posture and rebraided her hair, securing it with practiced fingers. First impressions mattered. She would not arrive looking as displaced as she felt.
---
Pune assaulted her senses immediately. The station hummed with a chaotic energy that sent her heart racing – porters shouting over each other for business, food vendors calling out their offerings, the blare of announcements competing with the general din of humanity in motion. The air carried the tang of exhaust fumes mixed with cooking spices and something else – a bitter, acrid undertone that made her nose wrinkle.
As she maneuvered through the crowd, pulling her suitcase behind her, Devika became acutely aware of the stares following her. Her cream-colored Kerala saree with its simple gold border marked her as an outsider more clearly than any sign could have. Men's gazes lingered, some with curiosity, others with something that made her skin crawl. She tightened her grip on her luggage and quickened her pace.
Outside the station, the visual assault continued. Red-brown splashes marked walls and sidewalks – paan spittle, she realized with distaste. Groups of men lounged at corners, cigarettes dangling from lips, their conversation halting as she passed. One called out something in Marathi that she didn't understand, but the tone needed no translation. His companions laughed, eyes following her retreating form.
The auto-rickshaw driver overcharged her – she knew this without needing to ask – but she paid without argument, too exhausted to negotiate. As they wound through Pune's streets, the contrast with her hometown grew starker. Where Kerala had been a symphony of greens, Pune presented in dusty browns and grays, punctuated by the occasional bright sari or flowering tree that seemed almost defiant in its colorfulness.
"College area," the driver announced, gesturing vaguely as they entered a neighborhood with slightly wider streets and buildings that looked marginally more maintained. Students moved in clusters, their youthful energy a counterpoint to Devika's fatigue.
Her apartment building stood on a quiet side street – a three-story concrete structure with balconies too small to be useful but large enough to hang laundry. The driver helped her with her luggage, his earlier indifference softening slightly at her visible exhaustion.
"First time Pune?" he asked as she counted out the fare.
"Yes," she admitted. "First time away from Kerala, actually."
He nodded, a flicker of understanding crossing his weathered face. "Different here. Not bad, just different. You will see."
The apartment was spartan but clean – a living room that opened to a kitchenette, a bedroom barely large enough for the double bed it contained, and a bathroom with a temperamental-looking water heater. The walls were painted a pale yellow that had faded to the color of old paper. A small dining table with two chairs stood in one corner, its surface bearing the rings and scratches of previous occupants' lives.
Devika set her suitcase down and stood in the center of what was now her home, feeling the weight of silence pressing against her eardrums. She had never lived alone before – from her parents' home to her marriage, always surrounded by family. The solitude felt like a presence itself, watching her with curious eyes.
She unpacked methodically, arranging her sarees in the small wardrobe, placing her few personal items around the apartment in an attempt to mark it as her own. A framed photo of her parents on their thirtieth anniversary. A small brass Ganesha her mother had insisted she take for good fortune. Books that had been her companions through doctoral research and beyond.
No photos of Rajiv. She hadn't packed any.
---
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