Our Mindset Episode 47
I tied the dog under the babool tree and moved the cot from the porch to the garden. I was worried about sleeping on the ground—there was always a risk of snakes. Ever since I stopped going to Bhabi’s house, I hadn’t visited the garden either. Now, my husband would be sleeping there every night, while I stayed home alone with the kids. It gave me terrible anxiety. It felt like everyone was distancing themselves from me.
After my argument with Aaji, even the people in the fields stopped talking to me. Only Balu still came by occasionally, and I would tell him everything. The house smelled of medicine, which is why we had been sleeping on the porch all this time. I didn’t know what the three of them had planned, but making him sleep in the garden didn’t sit right with me.
That night, after putting the kids to bed inside, I sat on the porch waiting for him. Once the traffic on the road died down, I realized it was already 10 p.m. I was already angry about him agreeing to sleep outside, but when he finally returned at 11, I lost it. “Why are you waiting up? Just go to sleep,” he said.
“I won’t be able to sleep alone. At least leave your phone with me,” I requested.
“What’s there to be scared of? Just lock the door and sleep with the kids,” he said casually.
Then he tied the dog in front of the door and left for the garden.
Fear crept into my mind. The smell of medicine lingered in the house. How could I sleep? I lay awake for hours, thinking. When he used to work night shifts driving a tractor in Velapur, I had also slept alone with the kids. But back then, our house was right next to another—there was some comfort in that. Now, I felt completely isolated.
When he finally returned at dawn, I managed to get two hours of sleep.
Sleeping in the garden was one thing, but he was staying in the village until 11 every night. He claimed he was watching TV at his aunt’s house. I asked Tejaswini to keep an eye out. Her house was right along the road leading to that woman’s place. There was a sticker on the back of his bicycle tire that said in big letters, “Speak up, don’t just ride your cycle.” It made his bicycle easy to recognize. He wasn’t sneaking around—everyone knew where he was going. His uncle had set the example, and he was just following it.
But I needed proof. So I asked Tejaswini to watch, and my suspicions were confirmed. He was staying at her house every night until 11. He only left after 10 because the road was still busy before then. No one would dare mess with the orchard while people were still around.
One night, when he was about to leave, I stopped him. “You’re not going anywhere.”
He ignored me.
So I locked his bicycle and hid the key. “Give me the key,” he demanded. “If you don’t, I’ll just hitch a ride on someone’s bike.” Then he stood by the road, waiting.
I was furious. He flagged down a bike, and I lost it. Right there, in the middle of the road, I started shouting curses at her.
“I know exactly where you’re going!” I yelled.
He shouted back, “Why do you care?”
People stopped to watch. I didn’t care. “He sneaks off to another woman’s house every night!” I declared for everyone to hear.
Onlookers scolded him. “You have such a beautiful wife, and you’re running after someone else? What’s wrong with you?”
I grabbed his phone and called his parents. After that, he didn’t dare stay out late. He would deliver milk in the village and come straight back.
That Sunday, I didn’t go to the village, but when I went on Monday, I heard that a family had come to see Tejaswini for a marriage proposal. Her grandmother told me, “They liked her.”