Edison Lights

When you have a gendered take on your undergraduate thesis, you presume it will circle to the violence that women face at the hands of men, particularly intimate partners. You are bound to note that while women are discouraged from leaving the house, 70 percent of attacks take place at home by someone well-known. Different studies show that between 40 and 60 percent of women suffer from physical violence, and that abusers are 12 percent more likely to attack when their partners are pregnant.

Soon after I graduated, Fahad came into my life, and we married. I had studied his mother, who showed no interest in becoming an invasive in-law. I asked all the right questions to avoid conflicts over expectations, finances, and religion. I knew the recipe of a manipulator too well to become a prey. In all this, I never presumed that I would become the predator.

Shaking in a chair away from that room, I repeated the conversation like a broken record. It loomed in front of me as pictures and words in the air. Shutting my eyes made it all the more vivid. Escape was impossible.

Fahad's face had a defeated redness, like the last soldier against an army. Mine was pale in realisation, with more entreaties coming to his defence by the second. A traditional army would revel in his powerlessness, kill him while he was down, and smoke cigars on their captured land. What was land to me when there was such a man as Fahad to lose? I should’ve grabbed him right then to comfort his wounds, and employed the rest of the day gaining his forgiveness. I should’ve, I should’ve, I should’ve.

His desperate requests to reconsider, his murky eyes as he pleaded. What was it but the need to violate that I overlooked his pain to satisfy my own?

“Kaki, this is too much! How can you inflict me with the worst kind of torture? To deny a man his child?”

It was not this but what comes next that shook me out of my sadism.

“Fine! Take the child, kill me with pain, but know that were you to take a hundred children, to leave me utterly unloved and fatherless, it would not compare to the loss of you.” —------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Were it not two weeks after my wedding, I would’ve eaten half my body weight in Chinese food. However, something about it made me especially bloated, and that had to be avoided at all costs. It was either some celebratory day or the lens of a newly married woman that the mall seemed glaringly fitted with chandeliers and elaborate fixtures of string lights, ranging from thumb-sized sparkles to large Edisons.

While the goal of that day’s trip was to find the right present for a friend’s birthday, it would continually be encumbered by Fahad pointing out another strange array of glints and glitters, drawing me like a moth. Something, however, caught me off guard. In the usual fashion of a heroin in a shopping montage, a shop that I would’ve bypassed without a care, displayed a shocking fuchsia silk with delicate pale gold embroidery that swung across the neckline with the subtlety of a dream seen hours before waking. It was as though Fahad’s account of the history of the incandescent light bulb faded along with everything else the longer I stared at the three-piece ensemble. I walked into the shop and stood right next to the mannequin in a small glass nook, feeling the buttery chiffon dupatta drape on my arm. It was like a second skin.

I was startled out of my corner by Fahad clearing his throat.

“And what do we have here?” he said, smiling. His dimple pressed deep into his cheek, and his eyes twinkled with the glee of a parent catching a toddler with the cookie jar.

“Isn’t it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”

He looked at the dress and then at me.

“No, not at all.”

I shooed him with my hands.

“That’s enough. You’ll catch too many flies. Come on! Let’s go up to the counter. This may be the last one they have!”

I took a few steps forward and felt two strong palms wrapping around my elbows, drawing me into a hug. Fahad wrapped his arms around my waist and rested his chin on my shoulder.

“Mehak, why does a week-old bride, who has fifty new dresses, need another one?

I felt a strange pull on my eyelids. It was as though a new vein had formed inside of my forehead, one that battered my head and led small pulses of temper down my spine. I tried to keep calm and managed a dry smile.

“I wasn’t asking you to get it for me. It suits me well for the birthday party because all my other dresses are too heavy.” Feeling calmer, I added, “You can wait outside if the crowd bothers you. I won’t be too long.”

Two women were waiting for their turn before me. As I looked back to see where Fahad was waiting, I caught a glimpse of a man entirely altered. His cheeks had gone flat, his shoulders and eyes drooping. Another two seconds of reflection set me right.

I held his hand and drew it closer to my cheek.

“They didn’t have my size. Let’s go to the rooftop. They have a fireworks display on the weekends.”

The rest of the night was a concoction of jokes, reminiscing about carefree adolescence, and looking forward to the future. Exhausted and fulfilled from the night before, an overpowering sense of belonging firmly attached me to Fahad’s side. I was not sorry to miss the birthday party.

It was not until a month afterwards that I had the patience of mind to think back to what I had felt in the shop. How that instant of rage would be the beginning of the unraveling of my happiness, I was too shortsighted to see.

We were having a quiet evening in our living room. Fahad had arrived from work an hour ago, resting his feet up on the coffee table, flicking through movies. I laughed at a message on my phone and held it up to his face.

“Look, Mama is scolding me. She’s saying it’s been 10 days since we last visited, and she misses us dearly.”

Fahad smiled at my screen and sat up straighter to grab a drink from the table. “Didn’t we visit just last week?”

“I thought so too, but the dinner was the week before. You know how it is when there are people over. We barely have a few minutes alone with family.”

“Ah, yes! That dinner. I suppose they could pick you up. I just feel like being home this week.”

It was best to ignore that remark.

“That’s not a problem. You stay and rest. I’ll drive myself tomorrow.”

“Couldn’t they pick you up? I might need the car.”

“Didn’t you just say you felt like being home?”

“Why are you interrogating me? Do I absolutely have to see your parents every time you want to?”

“I never said...”

His face grew grave, and he rested his head on his palms.

“Look, I’m sorry, Mehak. I didn’t want to say anything, but at the dinner, when all the women settled in the drawing room, your father wanted me to pass on a dish to his friends, so I did. Then there was another dish at my end that an uncle next to me wanted, so I held it out to him. Another wanted it too, so I stood up and served him across the table. They all remarked to your dad and passed along smiles, calling me a good son-in-law. I felt like a waiter, you know? Your family has servants. Where were they in all of this?”

I was dumbfounded. It felt as though a laugh or a punchline should follow such a speech, but it didn’t. It settled mid-air, and I could not coax myself out of the absurdity.

“You realise that your parents live downstairs, and have relatives over at least four times a week? They send a message to me to get ready, and I put on a ridiculous bridal outfit and serve them tea and cakes.” A fire blazed through me, and I could sit no longer. I raised my voice till it resonated through the room. “Do you realise that four times a week for the past one and a half months, I go around your parents’ drawing room holding a tray, in a heavy sequinned shirt, and bow in front of five or six people till they have taken their tea things off the tray, only to sit down and listen to a room full of men and women

on how they are waiting day and night to hear some good news from me? Are you really in a position to whimper over passing one dish down the table, and holding out another to two men?”

Fahad seemed at a loss for words, like he wanted to retort but knew not how. “Please, relax. Come here. Sit next to me. Here, have my drink.”

He handed me a cold glass of water. I clutched it in hopes that I would come back to my senses, but my hands only shook.

“I shouldn’t have said anything, Mehak. Lots of things are new to me. I am newly married, just like you, and I felt that we should be able to communicate openly to lay a strong foundation for our family. I promise you. I won’t say anything ever again. I can take it all for you.”

His warmth had engulfed me and put out the fire. I lay my head on his chest and cried till his shirt was wet with tears.

“I’m so sorry, Fahad. I don’t know what came over me. I’m so embarrassed. You’re right. If something disturbs you, I should be your confidant. Nobody else! Please, don’t keep things from me.”

I held his hand tightly with both of mine. He petted my head for a while.

“Come now. Let’s forget all about it. Let me tell you something interesting that I couldn’t finish the other day.”

I sat up straight, ready to be diverted.

“Our mechanical physics professor was a staunch traditionalist. We used to tease him by sitting next to the girls. He would huff and puff and waste a good twenty minutes rearranging the classroom. While you and I were looking at the lights that day at the mall, I remembered something he said once in support of tradition, which is more relevant and poignant to me than ever, now that I have you in my life.”

“While modern bulbs replicate the look of a vintage incandescent light, historically, they were able to emit light only through trapping inert gas inside the bulb, which would protect that filament from overheating and rendering electricity useless. I know now what he meant. The world can move from caves to skyscrapers, from woodfires to LED lights, but our traditional values, dictated by the nature of man and woman, are what hold us together, protect us from breaking apart. My dear Kaki, you are the answer to all my prayers. The argon gas in my antique light.”

A month later, I found that the prayers of the drawing room party had been answered. Fahad and I were overjoyed. It felt as though everything had fallen into place. Fahad, baby, and I. I was sure my mother understood I couldn’t be at her beck and call.

In the little skirmishes that followed, I kept true to my nature. I kept us from overheating. Afterwards, I joked with him about his little allegory. Sometimes he was the engine, and I its cooling system. Fahad would commend me, saying that I was better than a cooling system. While engines employed a sophisticated aparatus, I let the heat dissipate within myself.

When I turned to fifth month, we found out we were having a boy. Fahad was over the moon. He would’ve liked to have a daughter just as well, but he couldn’t fathom sharing his love between two girls. To compare a love for one’s wife with a daughter rung a little odd, but men often say the wrong thing to convey a sweet feeling.

I had started to get the urge to organise every cupboard, cabinet, and drawer before the baby arrived. It was never too early to be prepared. I moved swiftly from my clothes to my shoes, and lastly, to my jewelry. I opened up the locked drawer in my shoe closet

and found some small necklaces amiss. I checked the larger velvet boxes with my wedding jewelry, but everything seemed to escape my sight. It had been weeks since I touched anything. Where else could I have put them?

I rushed pale-faced into the living room, where Fahad looked over some files. “Fahad! I can’t believe it! All my jewelry is gone!”

He replied without turning, “Oh, don’t you remember? You asked me to put it in the locker for you.”

“No, I don’t remember. What locker?”

“Well, you must’ve forgotten. It was over a month ago. It’s ok, Kaki. It’s safe now.”

“I don’t think I would’ve forgotten asking you to do something like that. I don’t even have a locker.”

“Why must you create an issue out of everything? It’s in my locker. It’s safe there!”

My dormant vein had emerged from its coffin and spread its capillaries around my head.. I looked down at the protruding sack on my abdomen. The stairs leading down to the living room felt as if they were miles away.

“Why did you touch my jewelry without asking?”

“You asked me...”

“Don’t you dare lie to me!”

He fell silent.

“Can you relax? I can’t think straight with your eyes wide open like that.”

I started enunciating in a hoarse whisper. “Don’t think, or you will lie again. Just speak.”

“Ok, ok, ok. Just listen to me. There was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to buy a beautiful 4-kanal property in Grover’s. The properties there are absurdly pricey, but someone was selling quickly, and I thought it would be great for us, especially with the baby coming.”

“And you didn’t consider that I might have something to say about that? Do you realise that you stole from me?”

“Mehak, listen. This is all for you and him. I’m sorry. I should’ve told you, but you’ve been preoccupied with the baby and your health. I couldn’t burden you further.”

“Couldn’t burden... Do you hear yourself? You bought a property in my name without me knowing a thing, and I’m supposed to thank you?”

“Listen, come sit with me. Let me show you what we have.”

He gently put his palms on my shoulders and led me to the sofa. Browsing through pictures of the green, hilly property, Fahad talked about turning it over for a hundred percent profit. Something clicked within me. I nudged his file and looked him in the eye.

“What did you mean by ‘what we have’? Is the property in my name?”

He cleared his throat.

“As the head of the family, I thought you would want me to have it in my name... for our son.”

It had seemed to end there and then. The walls felt closer than ever. Anytime now, I would have to use my arms to keep the ceiling from crushing me, but it only seemed to stop right above my head, trapping me in a box. I stood up straight and looked down upon Fahad. My voice was levelled and firm.

“There will be no ‘our son’. Any son that lives a day in your shadow will turn out superficial and cowardly. Opportunistic man. I am going home to my parents and will call the police.”

His stillness and quiet expression weakened my resolve. Muffled cries followed as his face turned red and he dropped from the sofa in a prostration, as if he had been kicked in the stomach. Slowly, he raised his head.

“Kaki, this is too much! How can you inflict me with the worst kind of torture? To deny a man his child?”

He sat back on the sofa, defeated. Wiping his tears, looking away from me, he clenched his jaw as though what came next was painful.

“Fine! Take the child, kill me with pain, but know that were you to take a hundred children, to leave me utterly unloved and fatherless, it would not compare to the loss of you... With every breath, I only think of you.”

While I was too busy crying over my relics, he considered us all one soul. It was too much to bear. I had to leave.

In the room, away from Fahad, a life without him came before me. My fatherless son’s questioning eyes came before me. His words, unassuming and humble, against mine, accusatory and demeaning, were etched into my eyelids. I couldn’t take it any longer.

Fahad, mindlessly fingering the edge of the file, hadn’t moved. I sat next to him, remorseful but numb.

“Can we act like none of this ever happened?”

“You know I would do anything for you, Kaki.”

“What did I do to deserve a husband like you? I don’t understand.”