One on Each Side

Trigger warning: abuse, suicide, miscarriage

The walls of the dingy, sparsely lit room reverberated with the agonized screams of a woman undergoing one of the most excruciatingly painful, yet pivotal tasks of her life. She was stretched thin, and with one final push, the room became silent with anticipation and apprehension; before the atmosphere was shattered with loud, heartwarming wails. The midwife cleaned up the baby as well as she could and placed her on the mattress on the floor, right beside the other baby. Yes, the woman had just given birth to twin daughters.

Sayera, the woman in question, was a recently widowed factory worker barely surviving by herself in the slums of the polluted, stifling city of Mumbai. She peered over to her two daughters and burst into tears due to both unbridled joy and creeping dread; the strong mix of emotions and clinging blanket of exhaustion making the last vestiges of consciousness she was desperately holding onto, slip. Oh, how desperately she had prayed for them to be born male; to increase their chances of survival in this society that never seemed to treat women with an ounce of affection or respect.

The girls, Maya and Asha, grew up surrounded by the cold of crippling poverty as well as the warmth of ceaseless love. The family of three would often not have enough food for proper meals some days, or the electricity would be cut off due to stacking unpaid bills. On such blue, blue days, the girls would fill their stomachs with lots of water and saved up stale bread if they had any, then huddle up close to their mother, one on each side. There, the three felt completely safe and snug, yellow, despite the hard, squeaky mattress on the cold, cold floor.

The girls, despite being twins and also very close to each other, were on completely opposite sides of the spectrum when it came to their lifestyle, mentality and goals. Maya was a very sensitive yet bright girl, always well attuned to the feelings of others around her, as well as to her own colourful emotions. She made countless friends at school, played football with the other girls, and liked to roam around the city as much as she could. However, while Maya was an unbridled yet soft orange, Asha was grey, monochrome and steely. She was practical with life, a smart girl who was ambitious and serious about her studies. She dreamed of reaching great heights by climbing the ladder with her own hard work and intelligence.

The one thing both girls strongly agreed upon, was their desperate want and need to help make life better for themselves and their mother. Their mother Sayera, who had been working so hard stitching clothes day and night at the garments factory she worked at to earn enough for the three of them. Their mother, who despite all the pain of poverty, workplace abuse, societal discrimination of a single mother and a widow, the permanent scars from her dead husband, and countless other harsh treatment, never failed to smile at them, never failed to hold them close, one daughter on each side while going to sleep. Their gem of a mother who deserved to rest already, take a break from the work that took a visible physical and mental toll on her.

It was New Year’s Eve, and the girls were seventeen years old and starry eyed. Their mother had taken some money out of their emergency stash and bought good food for them to celebrate; biriyani, such a luxury! After stuffing their stomachs happily, the three of them stood by the window and watched as the clock struck twelve and gold and silver fireworks erupted in the sky, far, far away. From this distance it simply looked as if the sky was glittering gorgeously.

The twins both had news to share. Maya went first. Her boyfriend Majeed, the mechanic from the car repairs store at the end of the road, wanted to marry her; and he was willing to let their mother and Asha live with them as he had no family of his own, and provide monthly allowances. She was ecstatic, and while her mother wasn’t too keen on her getting married at such a young age, it seemed to her a good option for Maya, who did not have any skills which could earn her the necessities or any wish to learn either. With heavy resignation, she agreed that Maya could live happily playing house with Majeed, and more importantly they would be in a bigger house that had enough food and that did not get electricity cut off frequently.

Asha on the other hand felt betrayed by her sister’s choice, which she found undignified, and her mother’s easy acquiesce. The news she had to share was that she had received a full scholarship at a public university in Delhi, and planned to study engineering there, while working at any meager job she could scavenge up to manage her expenses. She had wanted her mother and sister to wait for her for a few years, so she could graduate, get a good job and move them to a better place.

Sayera watched helplessly as her two daughters argued their cases, getting louder and more aggressive each second. Maya thought her choice would solve their problems immediately, and besides, she loved Majeed and so whole heartedly believed this to be the ultimate solution. Asha on the other hand, did not want to rely on Majeed, who she knew was alcoholic as well. She wanted to be the one to take care of her family and felt it was a more dignified solution as well. Finally, Sayera forced the twins apart and made them stop fighting. That night she held her two daughters close, one on each side, but for some reason it wasn’t so yellow this time.

Maya married Majeed two months later, a small, quiet affair, and she and Sayera moved in with her new husband. Asha left for Delhi in that very same month, promising to come back and visit once she had enough money saved up for a ticket.

Two and a half years later, Asha finally had the time, money and emotional stability to come back to Mumbai to visit her family. She hadn’t even spoken to them in the time she was away, as she did not have enough money to buy a phone, neither did she know Majeed’s phone number.  She frantically asked around the neighbourhood for news, and an old woman casually told her what had happened.

Majeed, whose alcoholism had worsened over the months after his shop closed, had kicked out Sayera from his house. Maya had remained due to his threatening and blackmail, and then the abuse started once she miscarried a second time in a row. Then Maya, sensitive, bright yellow Maya, had felt so blue and helpless that she hung herself on one grey, grey day four months ago.

Asha found her mother at their old house, staring out the window, so pale it was hard to believe she was alive and part of this world and not merely a specter. She barely reacted to Asha’s presence, did not grip back when Asha held her hand.

That night Sayera slept on her decades old hard mattress on the cold, cold floor with her daughters held close, Asha on one side and Maya in her heart. Her other arm ached with the pack of pressure. It all felt so black.