started work the following morning. When he slipped into bed sometime later and tried to sleep, he wondered why he was so deeply affected by the plight of one woman and her children. There were millions like them in the world, and yet he was fixated on Isha Tilak and her children.
Somewhere deep down, he knew the answer. Back in his college days, he’d had a crush on her, just like a lot of other boys 76 Shobhan Bantwal
had. She’d hardly even bothered to look at him. But then, nobody did, since he was a typical nerd who kept his bespectacled eyes glued to his books and on his dream of becoming a doctor.
Besides, Isha and he came from entirely different castes and circumstances. She was an upper-caste Brahmin girl from a well-to-do family while he was a poor non-Brahmin. Their parallel worlds were not meant to intersect at any time. In spite of all the modernization India had undergone, the caste system still ruled social interaction to a large extent.
With her smooth skin, attractive honey-colored eyes, and curly brown hair, Isha Ketkar could hold her own in any crowd.
He had admired the petite, elegant girl with the sunny smile from afar, like one would gaze at something in an exclusive shop window or museum, wanting to touch it, wishing to take it home, but knowing all along that it was impossible.
After he’d gone off to medical college, she’d faded away, along with all his boyish interests. He had assumed that like all respectable girls, she had married, and had a happy home and a family. His life as a medical student had become too busy to think about girls or anything else. He had kept his focus strictly on his career goals.
And he’d achieved them. He was content.
However, tonight that sense of contentment was curiously absent. He had laid eyes once again on the fantasy girl of his student days. She was still as appealing as she was then, only a little more mature. And, oh, yes, she’d been married to a man her parents had picked for her with great care, and she had the projected two children. But other than those two things, she didn’t seem to have that dream life he had envisioned for her. Instead she was a widow. And she didn’t appear to have what most wealthy widows had—enough money to live well.
So why was he getting upset over Isha Tilak’s unfortunate fate?
He couldn’t find a logical answer. All he knew was that he felt compelled to do something for her—anything that would make her life easier. So he’d start helping her first thing in the morning.
Now that the monumental decision was made, maybe he could get some sleep.
Chapter 8
The boardinghouse was quiet at the moment, except for the shuffling footsteps of the elderly maid, Clara, who cleaned the bathrooms and floors every other day. It was nearly eleven in the morning and Priya was at school.
The boarders, young, active girls between the ages of nine and seventeen, made a racket each morning and noon as they rushed up and down the corridor, used the bathrooms, and gossiped and giggled before heading for breakfast or lunch, and then to the building next door that housed their classrooms. The dinner hour at sundown was the same way—noisy and boisterous—
despite the nuns’ censorious frowns and frequent reprimands.
Thank goodness for the stringent lights-out rules, which meant they went to bed early. It gave Isha some quiet time before she settled in for the night.
She watched her infant as she nursed hungrily. Finally, after a day and a half of suffering hunger pangs, the poor angel was getting some nutrition. Isha’s milk had finally come in, and it was a relief. The child would have to survive on mother’s milk for God knew how long. Eight to ten months was usually the maximum a baby could be nursed. After that, what was Isha going to feed her?
Just as she had finished nursing and had laid the baby against her shoulder to burp her, there was a knock on the door. Who could it be? Nobody ever came to visit her.
Somewhere deep down, he knew the answer. Back in his college days, he’d had a crush on her, just like a lot of other boys 76 Shobhan Bantwal
had. She’d hardly even bothered to look at him. But then, nobody did, since he was a typical nerd who kept his bespectacled eyes glued to his books and on his dream of becoming a doctor.
Besides, Isha and he came from entirely different castes and circumstances. She was an upper-caste Brahmin girl from a well-to-do family while he was a poor non-Brahmin. Their parallel worlds were not meant to intersect at any time. In spite of all the modernization India had undergone, the caste system still ruled social interaction to a large extent.
With her smooth skin, attractive honey-colored eyes, and curly brown hair, Isha Ketkar could hold her own in any crowd.
He had admired the petite, elegant girl with the sunny smile from afar, like one would gaze at something in an exclusive shop window or museum, wanting to touch it, wishing to take it home, but knowing all along that it was impossible.
After he’d gone off to medical college, she’d faded away, along with all his boyish interests. He had assumed that like all respectable girls, she had married, and had a happy home and a family. His life as a medical student had become too busy to think about girls or anything else. He had kept his focus strictly on his career goals.
And he’d achieved them. He was content.
However, tonight that sense of contentment was curiously absent. He had laid eyes once again on the fantasy girl of his student days. She was still as appealing as she was then, only a little more mature. And, oh, yes, she’d been married to a man her parents had picked for her with great care, and she had the projected two children. But other than those two things, she didn’t seem to have that dream life he had envisioned for her. Instead she was a widow. And she didn’t appear to have what most wealthy widows had—enough money to live well.
So why was he getting upset over Isha Tilak’s unfortunate fate?
He couldn’t find a logical answer. All he knew was that he felt compelled to do something for her—anything that would make her life easier. So he’d start helping her first thing in the morning.
Now that the monumental decision was made, maybe he could get some sleep.
Chapter 8
The boardinghouse was quiet at the moment, except for the shuffling footsteps of the elderly maid, Clara, who cleaned the bathrooms and floors every other day. It was nearly eleven in the morning and Priya was at school.
The boarders, young, active girls between the ages of nine and seventeen, made a racket each morning and noon as they rushed up and down the corridor, used the bathrooms, and gossiped and giggled before heading for breakfast or lunch, and then to the building next door that housed their classrooms. The dinner hour at sundown was the same way—noisy and boisterous—
despite the nuns’ censorious frowns and frequent reprimands.
Thank goodness for the stringent lights-out rules, which meant they went to bed early. It gave Isha some quiet time before she settled in for the night.
She watched her infant as she nursed hungrily. Finally, after a day and a half of suffering hunger pangs, the poor angel was getting some nutrition. Isha’s milk had finally come in, and it was a relief. The child would have to survive on mother’s milk for God knew how long. Eight to ten months was usually the maximum a baby could be nursed. After that, what was Isha going to feed her?
Just as she had finished nursing and had laid the baby against her shoulder to burp her, there was a knock on the door. Who could it be? Nobody ever came to visit her.
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