Chapter 13 #2
“Every time he says such bad things to me… every time!” Chandni Jethmalani’s voice cracked.
“I don’t have anyone. Some friends of my like my jokes, and my Instagram followers like my dancing…
” she rubbed her eye. “I know they are not always good. Many people follow me to laugh at me, but let them. I need somebody to laugh, if not with me then at least on me.” Chandni Aunty sniffed as she looked at the judge.
“I don’t want him to go from the house, it is very alone-alone without him, but it is better if he does!
” She crumbled to her seat, clutching her chest, bursting into tears. Zubin was on his feet, as was Aditi.
“Bring her water!”
But her husband was the fastest, crossing the aisle and reaching her, hand on her back, circling it, grabbing her hand.
“I’m fine, I’m fine…” she kept panting through her sobs, accepting the bottle of water that Zubin touched to her mouth. Mr. Jethmalani was pressing on her Apple Watch, scrolling.
“Do we need medical assistance?” The judge asked.
“No,” Mr. Jethmalani uttered, practised fingers moving on her watch. “Pulse is high but recovering. Relax, maan hitee ee aahiyan[17],” he said gently to her, lowering himself beside her.
“Aha ee ta maslo aahe![18]” She shrugged his hand away, then burst into new tears and hid her face into his shoulder. Aditi felt a tear tingle the side of her eye. She sniffed it away.
She glanced at Zubin, smiling that infuriating smirk at the couple, capping the bottle of water. The underhanded, sneaky asshole…
“If the Respondent is unwell, we can postpone the rest of this hearing.”
“I am fine, fine…” Chandni Aunty sat up, hiccuping through wiping her face. Her husband pressed his handkerchief into her hand and she sniffed into it. “I am fine.”
“The Respondent is ok, Your Lordship.” Zubin set the bottle of water on his table and stood in front of it. Aditi followed to her table, seeing as Mr. Jethmalani had settled right there beside his wife.
“Counsels, do your clients still want to divorce? Right now, it seems like they need a good couple’s counsellor more than the divorce itself. Sir, Madam, do you want me to pass the order and get done with this or do you wish to withdraw the case and give your marriage another chance?”
Mr. Jethmalani glanced at his wife. She looked stubborn, even while silently weeping, eyes not meeting his.
“Let him go…” she said quietly. “Zubin, cancel that restrainment order. It’s ok, let him go with the painting and Madh Island house, it’s ok…”
“Sir,” Mr. Jethmalani stood to his feet. “I want to withdraw the case.”
Chandni Aunty’s eyes widened. She stared up at him.
“Are you sure, sir?”
“Yes.”
“Madam?”
“Then… I also want to withdraw the case then,” she grumbled. And in a rare show of emotion in his courtroom, Justice Deshmukh chuckled. His eyes, usually hawk-like and sharp, softened at Chandni Aunty. “If he withdraws the case, the divorce automatically goes away.”
“Really?” She gaped at Zubin. “Then I want to withdraw first.”
Zubin was smiling, not allowed to chuckle like the judge. “It will be taken care of, Chandni Aunty.”
“Good.” She turned to look up at her husband, glaring at him with that expression that Aditi recognised from her own mother when she was so angry at her father but so helplessly in love with him, an expression she had grown up seeing countless times a week, an expression she hoped Aara would see on her when looking at Zubin.
“Ms. Doshi, are you withdrawing the case?” The judge asked.
Zubin looked at her, Aditi looked at him, extremely infuriated and so damn proud of the man he was.
She exhaled. “Yes, My Lord.”
“Not if we withdraw first,” Zubin countered quietly, shooting her a wink. Aditi held back her own chuckle, glancing back at Mr. Jethmlani. His arm was around his wife’s shoulder, his face looking a little serene. He nodded at her.
Aditi looked up at the judge. “That is all from the Appellant, My Lord.”
“Respondent rests their case too, Your Lordship.”
“Decision.”
They all stood to attention.
“The divorce appeal between Mr. Raviraj Jethmalani and Mrs. Chandni Jethmalani is being withdrawn by…” Justice Deshmukh paused, eyeing Chandni Aunty.
“One of the parties by mutual consent. It has been observed upon closer examination that the irretrievable breakdown of marriage can, after all, be retrieved. The law of our land recognises divorce as a form of exit in a union where one or both parties are unhappy with no prospects in the future, and as such, it is an exit route that must be easily accessible to every individual irrespective of their gender, social status or standing in the said marriage. However, in this case, at this age, and in a marriage that looks like it still holds prospects, it might be beneficial to both parties to give it another chance.” He looked at the couple in question — “As one passes milestones of a long life, one changes as a person. One’s relationship with one’s closest partner also changes.
It is imperative then for both partners to keep each other in their clearest vision through that change, and accept and understand each other for the outcome.
Marriages don’t always crumble due to fights or miscommunication but because couples often forget what made them them.
That behind the dislike of today, there is love of yesterday.
Maybe in a marriage of so many years, where there is still love but no liking, it is worth trying to like the people you have become.
That only happens with intentional time given to each other, along with understanding.
Communication need not be long conversations; sometimes it’s just remembering an old memory and laughing over it together. ”
Aditi glanced at Zubin from the corner of her eye, his eyes up on the judge, his profile outlined against the courtroom light shining bright.
The man who always got it first, the man who had always understood what was between them first — love and gap alike.
He was a stubborn, sneaky man who always kept coming at her with his jibes and jokes and snark and unprovoked needling and the best intentions at heart, and then was the first to step back the moment she made her will clear.
How cleverly had life replayed their dearest chapter all over again, and how amazingly had Zubin Daruwala come out victorious all over again, strutting out with that flamboyant swagger, his gown billowing behind him.
The man was right now looking up at the judge, having ended a divorce case between a couple that might go on to become happy again, with his own marriage returning to the status quo it had temporarily escaped, and yet his face was smiling.
“…My suggestion to you both is to take time out from your respective routines,” Justice Deshmukh’s voice broke through her thoughts.
“And give each other some time to reclaim what made you a unit in the first place. From what this court has heard, you have together built an empire as well as a home in 42 short years in a city like Mumbai. Most people are happy if they can afford a flat in that interim in this city. I hope you will visit a counsellor, not only because you think it’s necessary but because you genuinely want to solve this roadblock in your marriage and move forward.
I wish you a married life happier than the one you have behind you.
” Justice Deshmukh banged his gavel and got to his feet.
“Thank you, thank you, My Lordship.” Chandni Aunty bowed her head, her hands together. Justice Deshmukh smiled indulgently at her, nodded at her husband, and left the courtroom.