Chapter two

The First Day Home

Age: Newborn

Outfit: Soft yellow cotton onesie, tiny cap, black thread on wrist

Location: Awasthi house

Main family beat: Rooh comes home for the first time

Progress beat: The family starts adjusting around her

Hook: Rooh reacts strangely to a song from her previous life

Rooh came home in a yellow cotton onesie because Meera refused the heavy frilly dress Dadi had packed.

“She is not going to a wedding,” Meera said.

Dadi looked offended. “First time coming home is bigger than a wedding.”

“She is four days old.”

“That is why she should look nice.”

“She looks nice alive and comfortable.”

Nani nodded from the side. “Correct.”

Dadi turned to her. “You don’t interfere.”

“I am the girl’s nani. I will interfere.”

Devendra stood near the hospital bed, holding the discharge file, medicine packet, baby bag, extra blanket, Meera’s shawl, and the car keys in his mouth because both hands were full.

Kabir stared at him. “Papa, you look like a donkey.”

Devendra removed the keys from his mouth. “Say one more word and you will walk home.”

Kabir immediately became respectful. “You look like a responsible father.”

Aarav checked the baby bag for the third time.

“Diapers?”

“Yes,” Meera said.

“Wipes?”

“Yes.”

“Extra clothes?”

“Yes.”

“Cotton cloth?”

“Yes.”

“Medicine?”

“Your father has it.”

“Thermometer?”

Meera stared at him. “Aarav.”

“What?”

“You are eleven. Stop acting like hospital staff.”

“I am being careful.”

Kabir leaned against the wall. “He made a checklist.”

Aarav ignored him.

Vihaan, standing near the window, said, “Checklists reduce failure.”

Kabir looked at him. “You are becoming Aarav part two.”

Vihaan said, “Better than becoming you.”

Rudra was standing on his toes, trying to see Rooh inside the baby wrap.

“Why is she so small?” he asked.

Dadi gasped. “Don’t say that.”

“I am asking.”

“Babies are small,” Meera said.

“How long will she stay small?”

“Not long.”

“Can I teach her cricket when she grows?”

Aarav said, “She will study first.”

Rudra turned. “She can do both.”

Kabir grinned. “For once, Rudra said something smart.”

Rudra looked proud, then suspicious. “Was that insult?”

“Yes,” Vihaan said.

Before Rudra could argue, Rooh made a tiny sound from Meera’s arms.

Everyone froze again.

That had started happening since she was born. One small sound from Rooh and the entire family stopped like someone had pressed pause.

Meera looked down. “She is fine.”

Devendra stepped closer anyway. “Hungry?”

“No.”

“Cold?”

“No.”

“Hot?”

“No.”

“Then why did she make sound?”

Meera gave him a flat look. “Because she is a baby, Devendra. Babies make sounds.”

He nodded seriously, as if this was new medical information.

Rooh wanted to roll her eyes.

She could not.

So she stared at the ceiling.

This body was useless.

She could hear, smell, feel, remember, think.

But she could not sit. Could not speak. Could not even turn her head properly.

It was insulting.

In her previous life, she had controlled rooms with one look. She had walked on stages, handled cameras, signed deals, rejected men, fought contracts, danced until her feet bled, smiled through betrayal, and kept going.

Now she was trapped in cotton and everyone celebrated when she burped.

Life had a very poor sense of humor.

The drive home was worse.

Devendra drove like he was carrying a bomb.

Every speed breaker became a national issue.

“Slow,” Meera said once.

“I am slow.”

“Slower.”

“If I go slower, the car will stop.”

“Then stop.”

Aarav sat in the back beside Meera, staring at Rooh like he had been hired as private security.

Kabir sat beside him and kept trying to make faces at the baby.

Vihaan watched the road.

Rudra asked questions every three minutes.

“Can she see us?”

“A little.”

“Can she hear us?”

“Yes.”

“Can she understand?”

“No,” Aarav said.

Rooh stared at him.

Wrong.

Kabir noticed. “She looked at you.”

Aarav looked down at Rooh. “She did not.”

“She did.”

“She cannot understand.”

Rooh made a small irritated sound.

Kabir slapped his own knee. “See? She got offended.”

Rudra leaned forward. “Rooh, blink if you understand.”

“She does not understand,” Aarav said.

Rooh blinked.

The car went silent.

Vihaan slowly turned his head.

Kabir whispered, “I told you she is smart.”

Meera closed her eyes. “She is a newborn. She blinked.”

Rudra whispered, “Again, Rooh. Blink if Aarav is irritating.”

Rooh blinked again because the light hurt.

Kabir nearly fell over laughing.

Aarav’s face became red. “This is coincidence.”

Vihaan said, “Two times can still be coincidence.”

Kabir said, “Three times is destiny.”

“Stop experimenting on the baby,” Meera said.

Rooh decided she liked Kabir. He was annoying, but useful.

When they reached home, the whole lane seemed to know.

Someone had tied balloons at the gate. Pink, yellow, white. One had already lost air and was hanging sadly near the nameplate.

There was a small rangoli at the entrance. Marigold flowers around the door. A steel thali ready with rice, kumkum, diya, and flowers.

Dadi had clearly come home earlier and turned the entrance into a ceremony.

Meera looked at the setup from the car. “Mummyji.”

Dadi was already standing at the door in a silk saree. “Don’t start. First daughter after four sons. There will be proper welcome.”

Devendra helped Meera out of the car slowly.

Aarav panicked. “Careful.”

Meera said, “I gave birth. I can walk.”

“You should still be careful.”

“I am.”

Kabir whispered to Vihaan, “He became father before Papa.”

Vihaan said, “Emotionally, yes.”

Rudra ran ahead, then ran back, then ran ahead again because he did not know where to stand.

Rooh was in Meera’s arms when they reached the door.

Dadi circled the thali in front of them.

“May evil eye stay away,” she said.

Nani stood beside her. “Do it properly. The diya is tilting.”

“I know how to do aarti.”

“Then hold it straight.”

“I am holding it straight.”

“It is not straight.”

Meera muttered, “This is why I wanted to stay in hospital one more day.”

Devendra heard and almost smiled.

Dadi touched a little black kajal behind Rooh’s ear.

Meera immediately said, “Very little.”

Dadi said, “I know.”

“You put too much on Rudra when he was born. He looked like a thief.”

Rudra gasped. “I did?”

Kabir nodded. “Yes. Very criminal.”

Rudra looked at Dadi. “Why did you make me thief?”

Dadi ignored him.

Rooh was brought inside.

The house smelled different from the hospital.

Turmeric. Ghee. Incense. Washed clothes. Old wood. Milk boiling somewhere. Fresh flowers. School bags. Shoe polish. Boys.

So many boys.

The living room had been cleaned, but not fully. A cricket bat was behind the sofa. One sock was under the table. Someone had hidden comic books behind a cushion. There were school trophies on one shelf and a broken toy car on another.

This was not a perfect house.

Good.

Perfect houses were usually lying.

Meera sat on the sofa carefully. Dadi placed Rooh in her lap and immediately began giving instructions.

“Don’t let too many people hold her.”

Meera looked at her. “You invited half the family.”

“That is different.”

“How?”

“They will see from distance.”

At that exact moment, three aunties entered the living room.

“Where is the baby?”

“Let me see.”

“Move, move.”

Meera stared at Dadi.

Dadi lifted her chin. “Only seeing.”

The first aunty came too close and bent over Rooh.

“So fair,” she said. “Like Meera’s side.”

Dadi’s face changed. “She has Devendra’s nose.”

Nani said, “Thankfully not.”

Devendra looked hurt. “What is wrong with my nose?”

Kabir whispered, “Nothing, Papa. It has personality.”

Aarav elbowed him.

The aunty reached out. “Can I hold?”

Meera said, “Wash hands.”

“I just washed at home.”

“Wash again.”

The aunty looked surprised. “So strict?”

Meera said, “Yes.”

Aarav immediately pointed toward the sink. “There.”

Kabir whispered to Rooh, “Welcome home. You have security.”

Rooh liked this rule.

Hands should be washed.

People were too careless with babies. Too careless with everything. In her old life, she had learned the hard way that people touched what they had no right to touch: clothes, food, skin, privacy, time, heart.

This time, she approved of handwashing.

The aunty washed her hands but still did not get to hold Rooh because Rooh started crying at the exact moment.

Meera took her back properly. “She needs rest.”

Aarav looked pleased.

Kabir said, “She has timing.”

Vihaan nodded. “Useful.”

Rudra came close with a small stuffed tiger.

“I brought this,” he said.

Meera softened. “For Rooh?”

“Yes.”

The tiger was old. One ear was bent. One eye had a scratch.

Kabir said, “That is yours.”

Rudra nodded. “I am giving.”

Aarav looked surprised. “You don’t give that to anyone.”

Rudra looked at Rooh and shrugged. “She is small. She needs army.”

Rooh stared at the tiger.

In the old life, people had given her diamonds with conditions. Cars with cameras. Dresses with expectations. Houses with locks she did not control.

This small boy gave her a damaged tiger because he thought she needed an army.

Rooh’s tiny hand moved inside the wrap.

Rudra’s face lit up. “She likes it!”

“She moved randomly,” Vihaan said.

Rudra glared at him. “She likes it.”

Meera took the tiger and placed it near Rooh’s feet. “Her first guard.”

Rudra looked deeply satisfied.

By afternoon, the house had become fully mad.

People came and went.

Someone brought laddoos.

Someone brought baby clothes.

Someone gave advice nobody asked for.

One aunty said Meera should not drink cold water.

Another said babies must be massaged only with mustard oil.

Another said coconut oil.

Another said no oil.

Nani said, “In our time—”

Dadi said, “In your time people also believed everything.”

Nani said, “Your time was not NASA.”

Kabir laughed so hard he had to leave the room.

Meera looked like she was thinking of throwing everyone out.

Rooh was passed only between Meera, Dadi, Nani, and once Devendra. Meera did not allow random holding. Rooh appreciated this.

Devendra held her like he was afraid she might break or file a complaint.

“Support the neck,” Aarav instructed.

“I know.”

“Your hand is low.”

“I know.”

“Papa.”

“Aarav, I held you also.”

“You had less experience then.”

Devendra stared at him. “That does not make sense.”

Kabir came in with a plate of snacks. “It makes emotional sense.”

Devendra gave him a look. “Go do homework.”

Kabir disappeared immediately.

Aarav sat near Devendra and watched Rooh.

“What will she become?” he asked suddenly.

Devendra looked down at the baby.

“Whatever she wants.”

Aarav thought about it. “What if she wants to become something dangerous?”

“Then we will teach her how to be safe.”

“What if people trouble her?”

Devendra’s expression changed. “Then they will answer to us.”

Rooh heard that.

Answer to us.

The words entered her slowly.

In her previous life, people had troubled her and called it business. Called it love. Called it compromise. Called it opportunity.

Nobody had said they would answer.

Aarav looked at his father. “I will also learn fighting.”

Rudra, from the floor, immediately said, “Me too.”

Kabir shouted from the other room, “I will learn negotiation. Less injury.”

Vihaan said, “I will learn evidence collection.”

Meera, half-asleep on the sofa, opened one eye. “All of you will first learn math.”

The boys groaned.

Normal life.

Rooh had not known normal could be so loud.

Evening came with more ritual.

Dadi insisted on putting Rooh in the small cradle decorated with flowers.

Meera insisted the flowers be removed from inside because pollen and newborns did not need drama.

Dadi said, “You and your rules.”

Meera said, “Yes. My rules kept four boys alive.”

Dadi had no answer.

Rooh was placed in the cradle after fresh cotton sheets were spread. Aarav checked the cradle from all sides. Vihaan checked the knot. Rudra tried to rock it too hard and was removed. Kabir stood behind Meera, eating namkeen silently until she caught him.

“Plate,” she said.

Kabir looked at the namkeen in his hand. “I am almost done.”

“Plate.”

He got a plate.

Rooh approved again.

No crumbs near baby area.

Good.

Maybe this family could be trained.

After dinner, the aunties left. The house became quieter, though not actually quiet.

The boys had school the next day, but none of them wanted to sleep.

They sat in the living room around Rooh’s cradle like guards around a tiny queen.

Aarav had a notebook.

Kabir had a comic.

Vihaan had a book too difficult for his age.

Rudra had the stuffed tiger’s matching broken plastic sword.

Devendra came in and stopped at the door.

“What is this meeting?”

Kabir said, “Baby protection committee.”

Devendra looked at Meera, who was sipping warm ajwain water. “Did you approve this?”

Meera said, “I am too tired to reject it.”

Aarav opened his notebook. “We need rules.”

Kabir groaned. “Not again.”

Aarav ignored him. “Rule one: wash hands before touching Rooh.”

Meera nodded. “Good.”

Aarav wrote it down.

“Rule two: no shouting near Rooh.”

Everyone looked at Rudra.

Rudra looked offended. “Why only me?”

Kabir said, “Because volume is your personality.”

“Shut up.”

“Rule two broken,” Vihaan said.

Aarav wrote something.

Rudra panicked. “Don’t write my name.”

“Too late.”

“Remove.”

“No.”

Meera said, “Rule three: nobody kisses her face.”

Dadi, from the kitchen, shouted, “Arre!”

Meera shouted back, “Nobody.”

Devendra added, “Rule four: no taking her outside without telling us.”

Aarav wrote.

Kabir raised his hand.

“This is not school,” Rudra said.

Kabir ignored him. “Rule five: I am allowed to make her laugh.”

“She cannot laugh,” Vihaan said.

“Not yet. Future planning.”

Aarav said, “Fine.”

Rudra raised his hand now. “Rule six: she gets my tiger.”

Aarav wrote it.

Vihaan said, “Rule seven: no relatives giving stupid opinions.”

Meera laughed.

Devendra said, “Write that in invisible ink.”

Aarav looked serious. “I can write politely.”

Kabir suggested, “Relatives may speak only after thinking.”

Vihaan said, “Then most will remain silent.”

Meera laughed properly this time.

Rooh lay in the cradle, listening.

Rules.

Protection.

Hands washed.

No face kissing.

No random touching.

No relatives’ stupid opinions.

It was not perfect safety. But it was a start.

A very good start.

Then Kabir ruined the peaceful moment by turning on the television.

A song started playing.

It was an old film song. Loud, cheerful, completely harmless.

But under it, from some advertisement or background clip, another tune came.

Only three notes.

Three simple notes.

Rooh’s whole body reacted.

She stopped breathing for a second.

Not because of the sound in this life.

Because of where she had heard it before.

Stage lights.

A rehearsal room.

Her old body turning to music.

A man watching from the corner.

Someone saying, “Again. Smile this time.”

Her feet hurting.

Her throat dry.

A camera too close.

The same three notes.

Rooh cried.

Not normal newborn crying.

Sharp.

Panicked.

Meera stood up immediately. “Turn it off.”

Kabir fumbled with the remote. “I am doing.”

“Now.”

The TV went silent.

Rooh kept crying.

Devendra picked her up carefully, then handed her to Meera because Meera already had her arms out.

Aarav looked scared. “What happened?”

Meera rocked her gently. “Maybe the sound scared her.”

Vihaan stared at the blank TV screen.

Kabir looked guilty. “I did not know.”

Meera said, “It is not your fault.”

But Rooh could not stop.

Her body was too small for memory.

The old life pushed against her chest like smoke trapped in a bottle.

Music.

Pain.

Applause.

Control.

Smile.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Then Meera held her closer and began humming something else.

Not a film song.

Not a performance song.

A simple lullaby.

Off-key.

Soft.

Mother-sound.

Rooh’s crying slowed.

Dadi came from the kitchen, worried now. Nani followed.

“What happened?”

“TV sound,” Devendra said.

Dadi immediately glared at Kabir.

Kabir looked wounded. “I turned it off.”

Meera did not scold him. “She got scared. That’s all.”

Vihaan still looked at the TV.

Aarav came closer to Meera. “Should we not play TV near her?”

“For a few days,” Meera said.

Aarav nodded like he had received military instructions.

Kabir came near the bed after a minute.

“Sorry, Rooh,” he said quietly.

Rooh’s eyes were still closed.

But she heard him.

His apology was simple. No excuses. No drama.

Good.

She would remember that.

Later that night, the boys were finally sent to sleep.

Dadi and Nani argued about oil massage schedule.

Devendra checked the door locks twice.

Meera fed Rooh and then placed her beside her, one hand resting lightly on the baby’s stomach.

The room was dim.

For the first time since coming home, there was no crowd.

Only mother and child.

Meera looked at Rooh’s tiny face for a long time.

“You scared me today,” she whispered.

Rooh could not answer.

Meera touched her cheek gently. “What is going on inside you, little one?”

Too much, Rooh thought.

Too much for a baby.

Meera sighed. “Whatever it is, grow slowly. Don’t rush.”

Rooh went still.

Grow slowly.

No one had ever told her that in the last life.

They had always wanted faster.

Learn faster.

Smile faster.

Earn faster.

Forgive faster.

Forget faster.

Recover faster.

Love faster.

Obey faster.

Break quietly and come back faster.

Grow slowly.

It sounded impossible.

It sounded kind.

Rooh’s fingers curled around the edge of Meera’s dupatta.

Meera smiled.

“Good,” she whispered. “Hold properly. This is your home.”

Rooh slept after that.

But before sleep fully took her, she saw the dream again.

Black gates.

A long driveway.

An old mansion.

A man standing in a dark room, watching a screen.

She could not see his face.

Only his hand.

A heavy ring.

A cold voice.

“Not yet,” he said.

Rooh woke for one second, silent in the dark.

Then Meera’s hand moved gently over her stomach, and the dream broke.

For now, there was no mansion.

No dark room.

No man.

Only home.

Only her mother’s hand.

Only four brothers sleeping in nearby rooms and one father checking locks again.

For now, that was enough.

Hook: In the morning, Vihaan quietly wrote in his notebook: “Rooh cried at the song, not the volume.”

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