White Lies

By Aarushi Sali

In a world of lies, more and more make their way into my stomach and out my lips. White lies that slowly become grey then progress to become darker till their darkness runs so deep that they become null. However, those null lies too, have claws that can conquer your trachea and swell your bronchi to the extent that all air in your lungs threatens to burn your insides. At least, that’s how it feels.

My lies too, have a similar anger that corrodes my sanity. My lies too, were once told to protect and now have become a lifestyle where my whole personality is a lie. There are stages of lies; lies you tell mere peers, then those lies trickle into conversations with loved ones, and soon those lies trickle into your own thought process. In most cases, it is easy to bandage a cut caused by lies and contour it with foundation until it heals, soon all traces fade away. My lies on the other hand, cut too deep with no time to heal they got infected, now they rot.

I remember when I first talked to him. We had fun. It started with, “Hey, I see you in calculus everyday. Do you want to study together?” I had immediately been infatuated by his eye contact. He stared into the dreams I had tucked away everytime he looked into my pallid eyes. That day, we studied calculus on a bench outside college. Soon, we studied together everyday, often fishing for reasons to do it more. At this stage, no lies were told

Over time, I had come to find comfort in the confidence he oozed. I found a certain happiness in his laughter. My heart lathered with pure love everytime he complimented me. My mind took cognizance of his every movement. My veins wanted to grow into him, make him mine in every sense of the word. The day after we got results for a calculus midterm, he had told me that he loved me. I had wondered if it was a lie. It wasn’t.

The chapter of love was new to me. I found out that love was not an emotion but rather a combination of many emotions and behaviours that culminated in a sentiment directed towards one person. Movies had told me love was opening doors, dancing in weddings, and expensive gifts. He taught me that love ran deeper and laced our lifestyle. Love was sending a morning voice note, getting coffee for the other on a rough day, cooking together, cleaning together. Love was to help the other, support the other, not judge even the most bizarre behaviours. I soon learnt that I loved love. I loved the way it made me feel. No lies, all pure passion.

As time passed, we grew closer. I desired his comfort on hectic days, he desired mine on days too quiet. We reached for the other’s hand in crowded rooms. We soon found ourselves becoming possessive, protruding into each other’s friend circles. Pulling each other closer when around others. Soon, the sentiment of love became strong enough for us to ask our families to let us marry.

We did. We got married. We moved into our own house. He started teaching calculus, the subject that tangled us. “I want to be close to our roots,” he had joked. I remember feeling giddy.

After five years of healthy marriage was when the first white lie seeped into our relationship. He had asked me if I still loved him during an argument, I had given him a firm denial. I remember how it broke my heart to shreds when I saw the look of sheer horror plastered on his beautiful face. I went on to tell him that I had just denied my love for him in the heat of the moment. His look of relief trampled the pieces of my heart more.

In that moment, it was easy to confuse that shattering heart with remaining love. I soon came to realise that the heart did not shatter for him but rather, due to my own fear of loneliness. My heart had no ache for his agony but it was easy to believe it. In actuality, my heart ached at the thought of the loneliness I would feel without him. The look of horror on his face had slapped questions in my mind. Who would I cry to? Whose arms would I lay in? Who would make sure I was doing alright?

After that argument, I thought nothing of my lack of love in our marriage. The safety net that the union provided weighed higher than the lack of sentiment. At the time, I did not consider the cost this lie would weigh. The ache in my heart persisted every time his skin grazed mine, his eyes looked into mine, his lips smiled against mine. I persisted to ignore the ache.

Over time, the ache became a familiar feeling. I took notice of my lack of emotion to his loving behaviour. I remembered the way my heart would swoon at the very same actions in college. In retrospect, I realise that he never hurt me. He was always sweet, respectful, and loving. He gave me space when I pushed him away and he loved me to his core when I pulled him in. I also know now that my white lie had started running deeper. The cut of my white lie would now start getting infected. The bacteria intoxicating the white lie every time I cooked for him, hugged him back. But really, it only turned grey when I made love to him. Making love without love truly evoked a type of detachment that one cannot explain.

I recognise now that my actions impacted his life more negatively than mine. He continued thinking that he was slicing in reciprocation whereas, he was loving a heart that no longer felt love. I remembered the divine emotion but I no longer experienced it. I remembered how I was meant to smile when he held me but, any smile toward any action was simply muscle memory. I should have stopped the lie when it turned grey. I had many chances but my heart was Frankenstein and my mind Tiresias from Greek mythology.

The grey lie got infected when a heartbeat filled the doctor’s room. A heartbeat that came from my stomach. A life in me echoed through the room ‘lub’ and ‘dub’. The contaminated lie threatened me. I still had a minute chance to come clean but, the happiness on his face made it far too arduous. Just like that, the lie became a lifestyle for the next nine months.

It is now that I know that it never cost me anything but emotion. We had a little baby boy and I felt no love for the boy either. I felt no desire to feed him or love him. Quite the contrary, I felt a deep remorse every time I watched my husband dress him. A simple white lie that had only caused a drop of blood had now imprisoned me in a prison of bloody walls. How I hadn’t lied all those years ago.

I wish I had bandaged the cut of the lie and concealed it with makeup until it faded away.

Now my life is corrupted with white lies that I tell those big brown baby eyes.

By Aarushi Sali