Page 27 of Eva Reddy’s Trip of a Lifetime
Echoes of Another Life
A more charitable daughter would be touched by her parents’ enduring declarations of love. I am not that kind of daughter. At least, not when I am stranded in a very foreign country against my will, uncaffeinated and with no idea what to do or where to go next.
So, no. I don’t revel in my parents’ touching reverse The Notebook moment.
Instead, I am angry. Very, very angry. How dare my mother use my personal life as social media fodder?
And why did she have to tell the world about my father’s failing health?
His slow march into dementia is something I do my best not to think about.
It’s that or cry my eyes out. And my mother just used his condition as clickbait.
Plus, I’m scared. Dad seemed to be aware of what was going on in the video, but he was also clearly not someone who should be gallivanting around a strange country.
Especially not in the company of a woman with no common sense and a low-level alcohol dependency.
I love my father. I will not let my mother exploit him for her TikTok freakshow.
Or inadvertently kill him—which at this moment seems a real possibility.
My emotions are still see-sawing between rage and terror when I look over at Utkarsh.
He is lost in his own thoughts, staring misty-eyed into the middle distance. Sadness is etched deep in his face.
‘Are you alright?’ I place a tentative hand on his. I’m not sure if I am overstepping the boundaries of our relationship. Not that I have any idea what our relationship is, exactly. What is Utkarsh to me now? Tour guide? Friend? Fixer?
He wipes at his eyes with his shirt cuff. ‘I’m fine, Eva. These are good tears. I am remembering happy times. Allow me a few minutes with my memories.’
We sit together in silence, our fingers laced together and our eyes focused on the Taj.
I push aside all the emotions swirling inside and let myself sink into the moment.
The mist rising from the Yamuna River. The hypnotic call to prayer from a neighbouring mosque.
The flaming red of the sun. The way the imposing building in front of me shifts colour from a cool pink to a golden glow.
As the muezzin’s voice trails away, replaced by the sounds of the awakening city, Utkarsh turns to me.
‘Her name was Aanya. She was my wife. Cancer stole her from me almost twenty years ago.’
‘I am so sorry, Utkarsh.’
‘But I am not sorry, Eva. Our time wasn’t long enough, but every moment was full of joy. How many people can say that?’
‘Not many.’ Maybe my parents. Not me. I give his hand a reassuring squeeze. ‘Tell me about Aanya. If you want to talk about her, of course.’
‘I always wish to talk about Aanya.’ Utkarsh tries to lighten his voice, but the words come out as a sigh. ‘So much time has passed. Nowadays it feels as though I talk about her more than I ever talked with her.’
From his faraway expression, I guess he has conjured his beloved Aanya into the present. She is as real to him in that moment as the white heron perched on the edge of the reflecting pool.
‘I waited so very long to find her. My parents were traditional; they insisted on an arranged marriage.
But I was lucky. They never forced their choices on me.
They set up one meeting after another, always hoping that they would find the perfect wife and daughter-in-law.
I must have been introduced to twenty young women, maybe more.
All very beautiful and accomplished. But none of them made me feel the way I wanted to feel if I was going to spend my life with someone.
I think my parents had given up hope when I turned thirty and was still a single man. But then I met Aanya.
‘I was seated in the front reception room of yet another well-regarded family. I had no expectations, but I politely answered every question and made small talk out of respect for my parents, all the time counting the minutes until I could make my apologies and leave. I didn’t see Aanya enter, although I felt her presence straight away.
My eyes were drawn to her like a magnet finding true north.
She was wearing a salwar kameez in a striking jade colour.
I couldn’t see her face because her eyes were fixed on the floor but I knew her all the same.
Maybe we’d been together in another life, the connection was that strong.
And then she looked up. Our gazes met and it was love. Both of us. No questions.
‘We had five happy years. We had started to think about children. But then came the cancer. And my beautiful Aanya drifted away from me, slowly and painfully. The Taj was our special place. We came here on our honeymoon. And every year on our anniversary.’
Utkarsh stands up, gesturing to the magnificent building in front of us. ‘This is the first time I’ve been back since she passed.’
I imagine Utkarsh and the woman in the jade green salwar kameez strolling beside the water hand in hand. Suddenly, my problems seem a whole lot less important.
‘I’m sorry. This must be so hard for you. We can leave right now, if you like. My parents have obviously been and gone. There’s no need to stay here any longer.’
Utkarsh looks at me, his face puzzled. ‘Why would I want to leave such a beautiful place? With so many wonderful memories. It is an important part of my life and I would like nothing more than to share it with you. Let me be your guide.’
I hesitate. It seems irresponsible to play tourist while my parents are still missing but I also desperately want to explore.
‘There’s nothing you can do at the moment to find Debbie and Doug,’ Utkarsh continues, reading my thoughts.
‘There are no clues in the video. I think you must wait until your mother makes contact again. In the meantime, why not experience one of the greatest architectural achievements of the modern world?’
A large tour group appears at the southern entrance gate. They mill about uncertainly, awaiting instructions, before veering left, away from the pool.
‘Come on, Eva. Those tourists are headed for the museum. If we are lucky, we’ll have the mausoleum all to ourselves, for a little while.’
We race up the path, stunning the heron into flight. I am puffing by the time we reach the bottom of the stairs but also exhilarated. And for the first time since my ill-fated fiftieth birthday, I am laughing. I might even be happy.
‘Here, put these on over your shoes.’ Utkarsh hands me a pair of hospital-style booties. ‘Hurry, Eva. More tourists are arriving. There’s something I want to show you. But we need to be by ourselves.’
We ascend the steps as quickly as our disposable footwear allows.
Just as Utkarsh hoped, we are entirely alone.
I am instantly dumbstruck by the grandeur of my surroundings.
The chamber of the mausoleum is octagonal in shape, with two raised cenotaphs commanding the central space.
Marble walls soar heavenward, their surfaces inlaid with precious and semiprecious stones.
Shah Jahan truly created an earthly paradise for his adored wife.
I can feel their love reaching through the ages.
I am about to speak when Utkarsh presses a finger to his lips. Then he calls out, into the void.
‘Eva!’
My name echoes maybe a dozen times around the chamber. The effect is hauntingly beautiful.
‘Now it is your turn.’
‘Utkarsh!’ I call, my voice strong and clear.
Again, the sound echoes through the chamber.
As my voice fades away, our eyes meet. Something passes between us. I can’t say exactly what it is. It is deeper than friendship, but it isn’t passion. Or at least not a physical kind of passion. It is as though our souls have shared their sorrows and somehow eased the load.
In the silence, I feel lighter. More like myself. More like the person the young Eva had expected me to become. I close my eyes and embrace a future of possibilities. Whatever happens, standing here inside the Taj, I know I am going to be alright.
The spell is broken when an unruly gaggle of backpacker types burst into the chamber, chatting excitedly.
Utkarsh turns to go. ‘The crowds are here now. This place can only truly be appreciated in silence and there will be no more silence today. Let’s get some breakfast. There’s an excellent café just around the corner.’
I suddenly realise I am very, very hungry. And also very keen to explore a new menu.
Maybe life so many thousands of kilometres outside my comfort zone isn’t so bad after all.
From: Me
To: Rachael Ezzy; Katie Taylor
I’m beginning to reconsider my feelings about India.
This country is a constant surprise. Occasionally, the surprises are even pleasant.
Like my visit to the Taj Mahal today. Being there at dawn was the most extraordinary experience of my life.
It was as though Van Gogh and God had teamed up in some wondrous artistic collaboration.
Until Utkarsh turned up, I had no one to share the moment with me. Exploring the shrine with him made the morning even more special. Beauty is better appreciated with another person.
Maybe I’m the one who is a bit lonely.
E. xx
From: Rachael Ezzy
To: Me
CC: Katie Taylor
And you still claim you’re not sleeping with him?