Kalawati wasn’t the type of woman who needed validation. Yet, she felt deep satisfaction in her bones when people passing on the streets fixated their eyes on her a bit longer. As she walked on the pavement, Kalawati wondered what Sharma Ji would think of her if he were to encounter her now. Perhaps he would think that this was her everyday routine. “No, no. I am doing this only today. I don’t know what came over me,” she would defend her actions in fear that he would get a bad impression of her.

If Sharma Ji asked her where she was going and why she was clad in this flashy outfit, what would she say? Would she be able to tell everything about the pudgy woman and what she said? Oh, this is so puzzling, she thought. She couldn’t recall if she had ever walked from her house to Lakeside. Walking five kilometres in high heels was a stupid idea, yet she told herself it was eccentric. With her shades on and hair uncharacteristically blonde, people wouldn’t recognise her. They would only notice her beauty, not the old soul beneath the layers of snazzy clothes.

Some 400 metres away from her house, an instinct led her to say hello to the vegetable vendor she often bought the essentials from. At first, the pot-bellied vendor was puzzled, but when Kalawati removed her shades, he almost choked on his breath. “Oho didi! Where are you off to?” Of course, the vendor couldn’t talk about the changes he noticed in Kalawati. “Hehe, I’m going to a programme,” she lied, and walked ahead, knowing the vendor was eyeing her back.

Realising she would be drenched in sweat, Kalawati decided to take a bus to Lakeside. That way, she wouldn’t have to walk a long route to dodge her husband’s shop in Birauta. When was the last time she had commuted on a local bus? Whenever she travelled, Kalawati always asked her husband to give her a ride in his car. Sharma Ji, who loathed driving, would then reluctantly pull the car out of the parking lot.

Inside the bus, there was hardly any room for standing, let alone comfortable seats. People shoved and kicked each other, and swore unpleasant words. A young-looking man was smoking in the window seat, and when Kalawati disdainfully looked at him, he raised the cigarette as though offering her. Afterwards, she didn’t look in that direction.

After a while, she felt a hand on her waist, and she knew it wasn’t done on purpose. A little boy with a snotty face was trying to hold on to something to avoid injury. She had always loved kids and often wondered what it would be like to have them. Would she be among those mothers who slapped their kids? Or would she dote on them, fulfilling their every wish?

But now, the little boy triggered something in her. She imagined her husband wiping the stream of snot from this little boy’s face. Kalawati could feel that Sharma Ji, with his gentle manners, would be a good father. Now, as she formed an image of Sharma Ji cradling the baby in his arms, she hated her presence, her worthlessness. She cursed herself, for she felt she had failed to give her husband the feelings of fatherhood. Who would carry Sharma Ji’s identity?

No more thinking, she told herself as the driver stopped the bus near Basundhara Park. True to her character, she stroked the little boy’s cheeks and pleaded with the passengers in front of her to make way for her. When a few other passengers alighted the bus with her, and when she took in the colourful decoration around the streets, she realised that the preparations for the Street Festival were going in full swing. She and Sharma Ji used to roam the crowded streets, sometimes stopping for coffee at cafes, and at times eating Panipuri on the street itself. One year, they walked around this bustling area till 2 am the next morning, and Kalawati fell sick.

Later, when they went to the hospital, she was diagnosed with typhoid. After that, they had stopped going to the festival.

Food stalls were being installed on the pavement. People were walking with sheer excitement, as if the English New Year would bring a magical change to their lives. After all, all people need is an excuse to celebrate, Kalawati thought. In their early years of marriage, she used to check the calendar, counting the days until Sharma Ji would take her to the festival. Sharma Ji would always buy her a new outfit for this occasion. Where had that energy in their relationship gone? Had the passion for each other died?

Kalawati had never doubted their love for each other; not for once did it occur to Kalawati that something could go wrong in their marriage. It was not like she had caught her husband cheating on her, and the marriage was spoiled. The pudgy woman could be wrong, and her claims about Sharma Ji meeting his lover every morning could be false. Yet the encounter with that woman had raised a plethora of questions.

Kalawati had no idea that this insecurity about being barren had been lodged inside her heart all these years. She found it distressing that a woman she didn’t even know was capable of shattering her to the core.

Kalawati found herself torn between wanting to enter the park and heading towards the main chowk of Lakeside, where people sit at cafes in a relaxed mood. But now, the cafes and eateries would remain vacant, and the streets would remain occupied. People ate, bought, and did all sorts of things at the makeshift stores on the pavement. How crazy these people from Pokhara are, Kalawati thought as she finally decided to walk towards the centre of Lakeside.

Usually, during this festival, people would crowd the streets in the evening till late at night. No vehicles were allowed, except for the ambulance. Had Kalawati realised that New Year’s Eve was being observed in Lakeside, she would not have arrived here because she was seeking a quiet escape, and this atmosphere was totally contrasting. She would not be surprised if she spotted her friends, relatives and neighbours here. However, she was not sure if they would recognise this new Kalawati. A blonde Kalawati, she liked to refer to herself. Her thought was interrupted by a loud ringing of her phone. She would hardly get a phone call at this hour. Who could it be? Sharma Ji would be at the shop, and he never called her around this time. But surprisingly, it was Sharma Ji’s call. If she picked up the call, he would hear her panting, her laboured breathing. She decided she would enter a restaurant, sit calmly, and then pick up his call.

In her search for a calm place, she entered Tato Coffee, an antique coffee shop with wooden decorations. Two foreigners conversed at the far corner. Kalawati settled on the balcony overlooking the bustling streets. Sharma Ji didn’t call her again. But when she called back, he replied instantly.

“What are you up to?” Sharma Ji asked.

“Oh, nothing. I was in the bathroom,” Kalawati lied and regretted outright. What if he had gone home and called her after finding that she was not home?

“Where, bathroom?” Sharma Ji retorted.

Kalawati was convinced that her guess had indeed come true, and Sharma Ji was home.

“Oh, uhh, I’m, you know…” Kalawati couldn’t come up with a coherent statement.

“I’m home now. I needed to withdraw some cash, and I forgot my ATM card here.” Sharma Ji didn’t sound furious, but she didn’t feel good about lying to her husband.

“Where are you anyway? I have no keys. Can you quickly come here if you’re around?”

“I’m at a cafe. I felt bored being home all the time.”

“That’s okay. But where are you? I will come and collect the keys. I’m in a bit of a rush.”

“Lakeside. Street no 10. At Tato Coffee.”

Sharma Ji hung up, and it was unnatural of him to end the call abruptly. Perhaps he was getting an important task done. Or he could have been livid with his wife for lying. Soon, her order of cafe latte arrived, and she started tearing the sugar sachets. She had never lied to her husband, and when she did, she was caught the very first time. What would he think of her now? How would he react to this?

Just after the first sip, a man appeared in front of her and pulled the chair to sit opposite her. The man was her age, and he had a card hung from his neck. He could be a journalist or anyone, but how dare he sit in front of her without her consent? She was about to speak when the loud horn on the street below startled her.

Her husband had come out of his car and was glancing up at the balcony, where she was sitting with an unknown figure. She gave a withering stare to the stranger. Frustrated, she cursed herself as she paced down the stairs without paying for her coffee.