These days Shukumar was always asleep by the time Shoba was up and off to work. When she awoke, Shoba would immediately slip out of bed, get dressed, and leave for work. By the time Shukumar had awaken, she gone, already dressed, downtown, sipping her third cup of coffee, and searching for typographical errors in textbooks and marking them in a code. The only evidence of her presence the previous night was strands of her thick dark hair left behind on her on pristine white pillow, Shukumar’s closet door cracked which caused him to stare at the boring rough, woolen fabric of his tweed jackets and velvety corduroy pants, and coffee left in the coffeepot with a clean baby blue mug beside it on the countertop. Many times she had attempted to explained her work and the code to Shukumar; however, he has never seemed to understand. For some reason this bothered her. Shoba felt as though she was speaking another language; but, she still promised to go over his dissertation if and when it is will be completed. Shoba never understood how Shukumar could just stay in bed sulking. …show more content…
It was Shukumar seemingly having the harder time. The miscarriage sent him into a depressive state. Shoba resented the fact he was falling down a dark bottomless shaft, wondering if and when he will ever be caught. Working was her way of escaping the house, escaping the painful memories, and escaping Shukumar. She too was struggling. She was drowning in the house. The waves of memory toss her about. She has no escape. With every dying breath, pain fills her lungs and constricting her trachea. As she tries to come up for air, something, someone is pulling her down,