Shwetha read through the thread and knitted her brows. ‘Three fixed deposits have been broken. The third one for twenty lakhs. Who keeps money in the FD anymore? Maybe Sanju is breaking the deposits to invest in mutual funds or stocks.’

Anu shook her head. ‘Sanju is the last person to invest in the market. He is breaking the deposits to sustain a lifestyle we can’t afford. The twenty-lakh-rupee one must be for the BMW. I can’t be a part of that artificial living.’

Shwetha leaned against the wall and stretched her legs and waved her hand around. ‘Is this a natural living for you?’

Anu grew sombre. ‘No. But this is temporary. I feel Sanju will move back soon.’ But she sounded very unconvincing to her own ears. Why would he? He was leading the life of his choice after all.

‘Shwetha, enough about me. Why did you postpone the wedding again? You even shopped for the bridal gear.’

Shwetha twirled her drink and looked away. ‘This time it was Dini. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to marry now. Says his job is dicey.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘Maybe, he has moved on. I kept postponing the wedding for nearly three years now. I won’t blame him.’

Anu was horrified. ‘Absolutely not. Dini will not move on. You both are meant to move together. You sound upset, Shwetha. Why didn’t you tell me anything?’ Anu shook her head. ‘I am so selfish. I only keep throwing my woes at you and never asked about yours.’

Shwetha shook her head. ‘Don’t be silly. You are the best listener in the world. I just didn’t want to talk about it. I don’t even know if I should be upset yet. Tonight, let us both pretend to be single and happy.’ She got up, turned on the music in her phone, and started doing her animated gyrating. Anu began to giggle but joined her soon.

The next afternoon, when Anu entered her apartment, she didn’t know if she was relieved, sad or anxious. Probably a mixture of all feelings (mostly the bad ones) that humans go through. She had just come back from meeting Sumitra aunty. Anu sighed looking around her living space. A tattered bed in the living room, no TV, two utensils and two cups in the kitchen. Another tattered bed in the bedroom. How long was this living going to last? Those were precisely Sumitra aunty’s words.

Anu had felt exhilarated as she walked down the simple school corridor that morning. Every teacher she met, gave her a genuine so-happy-to-see-you smile. Some hugged, some shrieked. The nursery kids she had taught had refused to let go of her hand. They had all talked simultaneously for ten minutes before their class teacher broke the party.