Epilogue
“Zubin, open the door!”
“Aditi, open the door!”
“I am buried under this laundry!”
“I am stirring the gravy. It will burn. And, who is closer?”
“Grrrrrrrr!”
“Aara!”
“I know, I know!” Their tiny mini, as Chandni Aunty liked to call her, used both index fingers to point in both their directions from her vantage on the threshold of the terrace, giggling.
Aditi was folding their ton of laundry on the sofa, which was a ton because of their daughter.
He was on the kitchen platform, making pasta.
“I am farther from the door, Aara, stop,” Aditi threatened. Her hand, pointing towards Aditi, began to drop.
“Aara,” Zubin warned, the flame already lowered. “Do you want burnt pasta gravy?”
“Yum yum yum…” she grinned cheekily.
The doorbell rang again.
“Zubin, see!”
“Let Aara decide first. Aara?”
Aara was laughing, jiggling on her spot, making a dance form out of picking a door-opener. The doorbell went off again, this time twice.
“ZUBIN!”
He laughed, turning the flame completely off and marching to the door and throwing it open. There stood a deliveryman.
“1701 delivery.”
“Bhai, this is 2001,” Zubin pointed at the number on their nameplate.
“Oh…” he grimaced. “So sorry, sir.”
“Who is it?” Aditi hollered.
Zubin nodded at him and closed the door, making a show of slipping his hand inside his pocket. “Nothing.”
Aditi’s eyes narrowed, even from that distance. “What did you hide inside your pocket?”
“Nothing, I said no.” He smiled harmlessly, marching back to his cooking.
“Aara, did you see who it was?” Aditi set the pile of folded clothes aside. Zubin glanced at his daughter. She shook her head.
“What did you put in your pocket?” Aditi set the heap of clothes on her aside and got up.
“Ha,” he snapped his finger at her and got Aara’s attention. “See, now you can get up?”
“What’s in your pocket?”
He patted it — “Nothing at all…”
“Come out from behind that platform.”
“No.”
“Who was at the door if not whoever that delivered whatever you put in your pocket?”
“Wrong number.”
“On the door?”
“Wrong number equivalent. He wanted to go to 1701, came to 2001 by mistake.”
“How naive do you think I am?”
“You are the smartest in the whole wide world, Mumma!” Zubin smirked, slipping his hand inside his pocket and fisting it, moving away from her as she came closer.
“Zubin…” she warned.
“Aditi…”
“Catch Papa!” She hollered as he ran from the other side.
Aara ran inside the house and tried to catch hold of his waist, jumping as high as she could.
He twirled and moved away, Aditi behind him.
They were both screaming behind him. Zubin ran out onto the terrace, the evening sun smiling after a shower had washed everything in the afternoon.
The floor had dried but twigs and squashed leaves remained, squeezing under his bare feet.
“Zubin, it’s slippery!” Aditi hollered and he turned, catching Aara in one arm and her in the other before either of them slipped.
“We caught-ed you!” Aara climbed up his chest until he was holding her up.
“You caught-ed me.” He rolled his eyes. “NOT.”
“YES!”
“NO… hey, eh…” he wiggled as Aditi’s hand slipped inside his pocket.
“Are you serious?” She came up with nothing but the inseam cloth.
“I told you it’s nothing.” He smirked.
“Then who was at the door?”
“1701 delivery, come to 2001 by mistake,” he parroted again.
She narrowed her eyes at him again.
“You are such a…”
“Such a?” He cocked his brow, knowing it was an 18+ word.
“Bo-bo head,” Aara helped.
“Excuse me?” Zubin looked at her. “What does that even mean?”
“And we don’t say such things, whatever they mean,” Aditi schooled.
“Then Papa is such a…?” Aara asked.
“Jokester.” Aditi filled in boringly. “The biggest, funniest…”
“Tallest,” she helped.
“Yes,” Aditi added. “The tallest jokester.”
“Now can you please let my pocket go? I have a gravy to stir.”
“The gas is off.”
“And your piles of clothes have all fallen off. Cheater cock. Next time, Mumma opens the door.”
“Papa opens the door because he made us run.”
“Mumma.”
“Papa.”
“Mumma.”
————————————————————
“Hey, what are you drawing there?” Zubin collapsed on the sofa, exhausted and completely done in. It was just a Tuesday and he wanted to get a long weekend already. Lucky for them, the 15th August weekend was long with Janmasthami adding to the Monday after.
“See?” Aara held up her drawing book and Zubin’s eyes widened.
He sat up. A donkey, and two weird aliens that he knew from experience were Mumma and Papa.
Fuck, had they said ass again? He couldn’t remember saying it.
Those words had been banned from their dictionary at home, not even used in the pantry.
“How is it?”
“Umm… very nice… Aditi!” He called out.
“What happened?” She came out, towel in hand.
“See what Aara made.”
She looked down — “Good job.”
Zubin gaped up at her and glared as Aara went back to her drawing.
What?
Ass
What?
A. S. S. He used finger gestures to spell it out.
No way
“Aara?”
Their daughter looked up again.
“What is that animal?”
“This animal?” She pointed at the only animal on that page, unless she thought her Papa was also one.
“Yes, that one. Is that a… donkey?”
“No, Mumma, it’s a puppy.”
Zubin breathed the longest sigh of relief.
“It’s Mumma, Papa and our puppy.”
“We don’t have a puppy.”
“Can we?” The little Aditi looked at him with puppy eyes and eyelashes going up and down like her mother’s, but far more coy.
“No. And why didn’t you draw yourself?”
“I didn’t drawed me because I went to get puppy food.”
“You cannot go out alone.”
“Yes, Papa, but this is imagination.”
“Correct. Thank god,” he said the last part to himself, relaxing back into the sofa again.
“Zubin, listen.”
“Listening.” He eyed his wife.
“Come and grab the bag of flour from the pantry. The kitchen dabba is empty.”
He was on his feet immediately, their signal to the pantry calling to him like a shining beacon. Not for anything else but for their insane need to vent out/ banter in adult language (without some words) — a really really Daru-Doshi fight. His fatigue evaporated in an instant.
“What happened?” He whispered as she walked him into the pantry and shut the door, locking it.
“We have two minutes and I am pregnant.”
“WHAT?”
“Shhh! Stop freaking out, I am freaking out…”
“Bu… wha… how… not possible… shit, fu… I mean shit shit shit… you are 40!”
“Zubin,” she whisper-shouted, “I am freaking out right now, stop.”
“Where, how…”
She pulled the test out from under the towel.
“No…” he turned his head away. “No, no, don’t show me the proof. No don’t make it real, Doshi.”
“Daru!”
“No man, we are just getting normal with Aara, one more? One more? ONE MORE? At 40? Are you crazy?!” He was whispering but he might as well be shouting.
“You are crazy because you did this!” She whispered back.
He stopped, thought back, and maybe… he didn’t have a leg to stand on when the argument was routed like that.
“But it wasn’t…”
“Shhh, quiet. Are you done freaking out?”
He took a deep breath, then took her hand with the test in his.
Zubin raised it between them and gaped at the two pink lines. One more. A daughter again? His heart swelled. He didn’t know how he would love more tiny humans when Aara was here already, but he had to. He would. Eventually. So many people had more than one kid. Right?
He huffed, his mouth letting cool air go. And finally, Zubin raised his eyes to hers and nodded — “Go.”
She shut her eyes, squeezing them tight. “I am shit scared.”
“I am with you.”
“You have to be. Not about that.”
“Then?”
“I am going to make partner in the next quarter.”
“Shit yes…”
“Yeah, remember?” She held both hands up. “Now imagine passing them my maternity leave when they hand me my partner agreement.”
Zubin gaped at her.
“I had thought now it is clear lane. Life is set, we are set, Aara is independent in so many ways, everything is running like clockwork, partner… and…” her head fell on his chest. “Why do girls have to make all the sacrifices?’
“Shhh…” he palmed the back of her head. “Doshi.”
“What?”
“Honestly, without any judgement, do you want this baby at this point?”
“You don’t?”
“I am not talking about me. This is about you. I will be ok with whatever you choose.”
“You are serious?”
“Yes,” he cupped her cheeks, and her face was shaking.
“Of course, yes. Look here,” he held her head firmly and peered into her eyes.
“If, you think you cannot do this, then it is ok. We will…” he swallowed.
“We will let it go. And if you want this, then remember that whatever I can do to take the load off you, I will do. Everything short of breastfeeding is on me if that is what you want.”
“You are busy too.”
“But I am at a place where I can take a backseat and not have my partners come after me, at least for a year. By then the baby will be big enough for us to figure out ways that we were managing with Aara. And Mummy and Papa are also there. We can think about hiring a full-time nanny. Somebody aged and reliable, you know, grandmother-like for the kids.”
“For a man freaking out five seconds ago you have the entire five years planned out.” She sniffed.
“I told you to let me freak out. Now I am good.”
Tears fell down her eyes, and that was such a rare sight. Zubin pushed them away, pulling her into the crook of his neck as she quietly cried.
“We don’t have to decide now.” He rubbed her back.
“Yes.”
“What?”
She sniffled, pulling away — “Yes. There was no other plan for me anyway since I found out. I mean… it can be another Aara.”
“Or another Zubin this time.”
“Aara is Zubin personified.”
“No, Aara is diva Aditi personified with Zubin brains. This one can come with my eminent looks.”
She burst out laughing through the tears.
“And,” Zubin clarified. “Once you make partner, your wins are counted from the next quarter. Do not disclose the pregnancy until your partner agreement is signed, and a month old. By then, the news will be circulated everywhere that you made partner. At that point, doing anything to you for your maternity leave will be a blot on their name. If they do, I won’t sit silent.
And you know I have a big mouth, big status and lots of friends. ”
She rolled her eyes, wiping her cheeks. “Thanks, Daru, that helps so much.”
“You deserve this partnership, Doshi, 5 years ago. So shut up and play it like I tell you.”
“Fine.” She wiped her eyes. “And what is life anyway without challenges?”
“We are blessed with only the good kinds.” Zubin smiled down at her. And her answering smile was so pretty.
“Although…” she sniffed.
“Although?”
“How will you meet your challenge?”
“Meaning?”
“You said next time you will birth the baby. Now go have this one.”
“If I didn’t know better, I would have thought you did this entire nautanki just to make that one joke.”
“Nautanki is your speciality.”
“And it’s going to keep you sane and entertained through the next nine months.”
“And fat.” She looked down at herself. “I just lost all the final flab…”
“And stupid.”
“ZUBIN!”
“Mumma! Pappppa!”
“Shit, did she hear the stupid?” He whispered to her, reaching back and unlocking the door. He looked down at his daughter glaring up at him.
“What happened?”
“What are you doing?”
“Getting the flour.”
She sidled inside, pushing at his waist, and went straight in front of the gift cabinet. “Did you putted in new gifts?”
“No,” Aditi answered.
“Where is the flour?”
“Papa couldn’t reach it, he needs the ladder…”
Her tiny eyebrows knitted together.
“Found it!” Zubin caught hold of her waist in both hands, hitched her and raised her up to the open shelf. “Come on.”
She held her arms out to grab the small bag and he swung her back, making her miss it.
“Papa!” She giggled.
“Oops.”
He let her have a go at it again and she gathered it in both arms, wobbly with the weight, until he had caught both her and the bag of flour in his arms.
“Done. See?” Zubin handed the bag of flour to his wife. “Big problems, simple solutions. Your Mumma takes too much stress,” he told his daughter and made a beeline out of there before his wife upturned that bag of flour on him.
————————————————————
“Aadar.”
“Aahaan.”
“Aadar.”
“Aahaan.”
“Aditi, there is not a single boy in Aara’s class without the suffix ‘aan.’”
“There is…” she paused, then went silent.
“Haan, see?”
“Papa, there is Kri…” Zubin put his hand over her mouth.
“Krish!” Aditi piped up. “There is Krish.”
“Krish who dances and F. L. I. R. T. S. with G. I. R. L. S.”
“What what?” Aara jumped in his arms just as the door clicked open and in walked the nurse, pushing their son in his cot.
“Mummy, he is hungry.” The nurse parked the cot and lifted the bundle, born exactly six hours ago and having been fed once already.
But Zubin was so proud, not only of his son but of Aditi as well.
To deliver naturally, at 40, without even flinching, was a feat only Advocate Aditi Doshi could achieve, abusing him in between, of course.
But why was he even there in that labour room if not to take her shit?
“I am hungry too.” Aara wrapped her arms around his neck.
“What do you want to eat?” Zubin kissed her head, lowering his voice as the baby was pressed into Aditi’s arms.
“What the baby will have.”
“Milk.” Aditi smiled, gazing down at the alien grandfather-looking boy in her arms with wrinkled pink skin, eyes closed.
Looking like the dreams Zubin never knew he had.
How was it that good things always came without expectation or imagination?
Like they happened first, and later made you realise how much you wanted them.
He wasn’t complaining, though, with one in his arms and two right in front of him.
“Ooo.” Aara made a face.
Zubin chuckled, seeing his mother-in-law enter the room in his peripheral vision.
“While Mumma feeds the baby his milk, let Papa take you out to eat,” his mother-in-law proposed.
“McDonald’s, Papa!”
“Ok, McDonald’s. We have to celebrate the arrival of Mr. Aadar Daruwala with chocolate milkshake and peri-peri fries.”
“Aahaan,” Aditi still fought.
“You named the last one, this is on me.”
“You didn’t do what you promised you would do.”
“What?”
“B. I. R. T. H. I. N. G. him.”
His mother-in-law gasped. Zubin bit back his laugh.
“Stop it, both of you,” she scolded. “In front of Aara?”
Zubin smirked at Aditi, who smirked back at him, Aara suddenly occupied with counting her baby brother’s fingers.
“Aara,” Zubin called out.
“Papa.”
“Decide — Aahaan or Aadar.”
“Umm…”
“Remember who will take you to McDonald’s,” he whispered in her ear.
“Aadar!”
Aditi burst out laughing, flinching with her stitches but throwing her head back to look him in the eye.
DARU, she mouthed.
He bowed his head, DOSHI.
— THE END —
If you are curious about the fashion designer who couldn’t stop shooting daggers at Zubin with his eyes while he talked to his wife, then continue reading for an excerpt from their book Nicked in Mumbai.
An Alpha X Black Cat, Enemies to Lovers, Forced Proximity, Curvy FMC, Medical Romance