Yarns Of Imagination

Unsaid Words

noreply@blogger.com (Pi) — Thu, 24 Jun 2010 18:14:00 +0000

Carter returned to an empty house after dropping Sana to the airport. This time when he dropped her, he did not wait till she checked in, or kiss her goodbye. She had not called him back either to let him know that all was well and she had reached the gate for boarding her flight, her typical ritual. As he drove into the garage to park the car, he glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was almost time for her flight to take off. He checked his phone to ensure there were no missed calls or messages. He slightly regretted not saying a good bye to Sana and fighting with her in the last minute.

Every time Sana left for her consulting trips, he hated getting back home. He hated the silence. As he walked into their closet to change, he noticed her clothes on the floor which she had packed and then taken out because of excess baggage. He removed the couple of strands of her hair that had fallen on the restroom counter while she straightened her hair with an iron. The fragrance of Dolce and Gabbana Light Blue still lingered in the air. He was a cleanliness freak. He begun straightening out the mess that Sana had left behind. Their voices, the argument in the car echoed in his ears.

“Carter, stop doing this every time I have to leave.”, Sana had pleaded. “You knew you were marrying a consultant. You knew I would have to travel every week. I asked you a zillion times before I said yes to this job. Now, saying such things ,when I am headed for a long week ahead, doesn’t really help, you know”, spoke Sana raising her voice more than she usually did. She was headed to a client on the west coast and it would take her the entire day to travel.

“Yes.. I did and I let you do it for four long years now. I am tired of eating my meals alone. Staying alone. Sleeping alone. We had an agreement, remember. That you would ask for a local project. Do you even freakin’ ask?” He sped past a yellow light as it transformed to red, his jaws clenching in rage.
“What the fuck do you mean by do I really ask? You think I love getting back to a hotel room alone everyday?”, she raised one eyebrow.
“Oh come on now. Don’t give me your hotel room bullshit. You guys don’t even return to the hotel room before 11. You dine outside everyday with your team, with those bunch of desperate bastards who don’t think twice before making a pass at their colleagues”
“Carter, I told you I stopped going out with those guys. We work till nine everyday. It’s all about being billable, and you know that. You have been a consultant in the past. I screwed up my utilization rate last quarter because of refusing to work weekends”, she spoke, looking at Carter through the rear view mirror.
“Never mind. This will never reach a conclusion. You go for your fucking tour and ignore me. One day you will return and won’t find me waiting, I am warning you. It’ll be over.”
Sana had stared in disbelief at what Carter had said. Tears had welled up in her eyes. She controlled them from spilling over to avoid smudging the dark kohl that outlined her lower lid. The tip of her nose had turned red, as a consequence of holding back the tears. Her ears had turned red in rage. They had reached the airport. She got off the passenger seat without a word and slammed the door shut. She walked to the boot, took out her black twenty one inch spinner, flung her laptop bag over her shoulders and walked away into the airport, her high pony moving from one side to another, her stilettos tapping the ground loud so her footsteps could be heard from far back. Carter had not waited. He drove away in anger, disturbed. He calmed down as he drove. As he approached their suburban house in Washington D.C. and the white garage door opened automatically, he regretted what he said. He regretted it enough to say “Sorry baby” in his mind but not enough to call her and say it loud.

As he was finishing up cleaning the clutter, Carter heard the door of the house unlock itself. Noone else had the key other than Sana. He called out. “Who’s that?” pacing down the stairs. He heard the tapping sound of Sana’s stilettos. “It’s me”, she said in a slow voice. He paced down faster and reached the foyer. There she was standing at the doorway, with her luggage next to her, struggling to drag it in while she unlocked the door.

Carter was overjoyed at the sight of Sana. But he didn’t express it. He just moved quietly towards her taking hold of the long handle to help her with the luggage. “Leave it. I’ll take it in”, she spoke softly, his hands touching hers.
They looked at each other and dropped everything else.
They hugged each other. Sana’s tears finally seeped out and wet his neck.
“I am sorry, baby. I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I said. I love you more than anything else in this frikkin’ world”, he said patting her head, holding her tight.
“It’s ok”, spoke Sana softly, sniffing multiple times to control her tears. “Let’s go in”
“But what happened? How come you returned?”, he asked as they walked into their living room. She opened her stilettos at the entrance of their house.
“I quit my job”, replied Sana turning her head around to catch his reaction.
“What the ….”, was Carter’s first reaction. He paused and then smiled, “No you are joking.”
“Yes of course I am joking. If you know me you would know that”, she smiled and took his hand in his. “My flight got delayed due to bad weather. I won’t be flying out until tomorrow morning. So I get to spend the entire Sunday afternoon and evening with you”
“Thank God for bad weather! I get my wife for a few extra hours”, said Carter looking up to indicate thanking God. “I don’t want you to quit your job, baby. I am proud of who you are. But I do pray and hope sincerely that you travel less”
He sank into their brown sectional and pulled her towards him as she tried to walk away towards the refrigerator. “Wait wait, I am coming”, she exclaimed trying to escape from his grasp.
She took out a can of apple juice, her favorite and Carter’s most disliked drink. Everything about them were opposite, their likes, their natures, their cultures but yet they had the most wonderful relationship. She walked back sinking in the couch with him. They sat in silence for a few minutes as he took her in his arms and kissed her neck softly.
“Oh look Carter.. it started snowing.” , screamed Sana in excitement looking out of their large rectangular windows. Snowflakes danced and landed on the soil of their front yard, settling down gradually. Sana’s excitement was the same as it had been the first time she had seen snow when they moved from Florida to Washington D.C. a few years back.
“And I get to enjoy the first snow of the season with you, baby. It’s been a while”, said Carter.
“Yeah! Let’s make some hot chocolate with marshmellows and watch a Hitchcock classic. It’s been so long. Remember the time at UFL when you got obsessed with Hitchcock and we sat and watched one classic after another, back to back for three days. Birds, Psycho, The Lady who Vanished.. ”, Sana sounded excited. They had known each other since their undergraduate days. They had lived with each other and got married in Florida on the Daytona Beach at sunset, pictures of which in sepia tones, adorned the walls of their living room. “I’ll grab a blanket, turn the fireplace on in the mean time”
“No, let’s not watch a movie, baby. Let’s talk. It’s been a while since we have had a meaningful conversation with each other. I want to hold on to these moments. I wanna spend every single second talking to you, looking at you, loving you. So that when you are gone for the week, I can savor these moments for my pensive thoughts”
“Aww… its not that bad. It’s just three week nights.”
“You have no idea what those three week nights do to me. I go crazy. I asked Paul for a medicine to put me to sleep.”, said Carter referring to his best friend who was a psychiatrist.
“What?”, Sana looked back. “You are taking medication?”
“Sometimes”, he nodded softly. “Paul said I need it. You can ask him”
“I don’t care what Paul says, OK? You are NOT taking any sleeping pills when I am not here. Else I will also start taking them”, Sana was angry. “Let me just call Paul….”
“No no please don’t. Just forget about it”, said Carter stopping her from getting to the phone. “I promise I won’t take any medicines. You are my medicine, come here”, he dragged her into the couch.
They kissed.

The fireplace had started warming up the living room. The snowflakes continued their dance outside. A layer of white powder had started to accumulate. The classical music station was playing softly in the background. Their contemporary living room in shades of orange and taupe shone in the afternoon light. It was a perfect Sunday.

“It’s been so long since we spend such time together. Maybe we should fight more often. It makes it better, right?” asked Sana opening her eyes and moving Carter’s hair to the side with her hand. She always messed with his hair.
“Hmmm… very long, very very long” , he murmured softly playing with her hair, kissing her cheeks, looking at her as if he had not seen her in days.
“Ok Cart, I have decided”, said Sana suddenly sitting up. “I want to take a break from this hectic corporate life. I want to give up my job. But on one condition”
“Oh no no no…”, nodded Carter., “I know what your condition will be”. Carter was sure Sana was going to suggest having a baby.
“Let’s have a baby”, she confirmed his thoughts.
“No no no …. . That’s not happening soon. I’d rather you work”
“Why Carter? Why do I have to convince you so hard? We have known each other for nine years, we have been married for four. I love you , you love me. We have decent jobs, a good house. What are we waiting for?”
“We have lots of other things to do Sana. What happened to our MBAs? Imagine going back to school together and now compare that with starting a family”
“Let’s be practical, sweetheart. As much as I do want to get an MBA, I am not getting younger by the day. And we can’t wait for those milestones to happen without taking concrete action towards them. I think I have mastered the art of multi-tasking enough to be able to start a family and do an MBA together”
“Come on, baby. We haven’t done much together at all. We have to see places., do adventurous stuff. What happened to our goals of seeing the seven wonders of the world. We have just seen Taj Mahal and Coliseum so far. What about Machu Picchu, Great Wall, Giza… what about our backpacking trip through Europe? I want to escape with you. I want to go climbing mountains in Kilimanjaro, hiking the Inca Trail, swimming in Red Sea, skiing the Alps. I want to walk the Plaka in Greece with you, smoke a sheesha in Istanbul. I want to parasail, air glide, ride a hot air balloon. I want to do sooo many things with you before I let a third person come between us”
“Third person?? It’s going to be our own flesh and blood Cart. How can you call it a third person? And noone has stopped us from traveling in the past four years, but how much have we had the time to realistically make those trips? There is always a schedule or a financial restriction. We ended up making guided tours to touristy places. Your goals are great, but they haven’t materialized”
“There won’t be any more restrictions, baby. There won’t be. Your mom had called today. She said that your life insurance, for which she had been paying a premium since you were a child, has matured and we get this lump some amount of cash. She said we should take it as a gift and utilize it. I am working on planning out two years of travel and adventure. I have started reading up TripAdvisor and talking to travel agents. We can take six months off and just see the world. Not through your business trips… just you and I. I promise. Just don’t leave me and go”, he sounded sad.
“Leave you and go?”, Sana sounded surprised. “When did I say I will leave you and go. I was talking about having a baby. Those medicines are messing up your brain, I think”
“No baby. Not now”, he said.
“Same old argument. It’s never the right time.”, Sana mumbled looking down fiddling with her nails. “You lied to me. Before marriage you said you wanted a daughter just like me. With my eyes and skin. Who would talk like me and whose nose would go red when she tried to cry. And now this whole topic of having a kid is a taboo”
“I have never lied to you. I will never lie to you. I will never object anything you say, you know that. Please don’t get angry, baby. Give me some time. I will think over it”
“Never mind.” She said trying to stop the conversation wondering how come he was trying to control his anger.
“Ok. Look at me. Look into my eyes”, Carter held her by her sleek collarbone jutting shoulders. “I love you, OK. You hear me. I love you and I will make all your dreams come true. Just give me some time, a chance. Don’t fight with me”
“Ok ok. I believe you.”, she could hardly believe this sudden over expression of love. Carter was romantic, but this was a bit over the top. She got up from the couch to go to the kitchen and make some hot chocolate.

As she walked towards the kitchen she noticed a clay jar on their mantelpiece. The jar was handpainted by Sana and was usually placed on their nightstand in their bedroom. “How did that jar get here from upstairs?” She extended her hand to get the jar. She didn’t like displacing things around the house. She was finicky about home décor.
“Oh, don’t touch that Sana.”, she held her hand. “Leave it. It has something inside it. I forget what. But I had kept something precious”
“Ok”, she said and walked off softly to the kitchen.
“I love you , OK. And I will think about it”, he screamed out. “Maybe it is time for a little Sana”, he spoke to himself.
Sana did not respond.

Carter picked up the remote control from the coffee table and turned on the television. CNN was on by default. There was some news flash about a plane crash. Carter increased the volume. The plane that Sana was supposed to take from Washington D.C to San Francisco had crashed. There were no survivors. The rescue team was still digging up bodies.

“Sanaaaaaaaaa”, screamed Carter. “Baby look. You said your flight was delayed. It took off. And there was a crash. It’s the exact same flight. United 7401, departed D.C at 1 PM on Sunday”
He was flustered. He looked nervous and scared.
“Are you listening to me? Baby”, he called out again.
Sana did not respond.
He got up and walked into the kitchen. Sana was not there.
“Sana”, he called out again.
He checked the patio which had a door through the kitchen. The snow had stopped. There were six inches outside and no footsteps. He checked the laundry room.
He ran into the formal dining area calling out her name. He ran upstairs to check the bedroom, the closet, the restrooms.
Sana was nowhere.
He checked outside. The driveway had been shoveled and the tracks of a car’s tires were etched on the snow. Sana’s stilletos were not there at the entrance nor was her luggage.

“Sana, where did you go baby”. He picked up the phone and dialed Sana’s cellphone. It went straight to her voicemail. He dialed her work number. It, too, went into her voicemail. Instead of hearing Sana’s familiar chirpy voice message , it said “This extension has been temporarily disconnected. Please dial 0 for operator”

His head had started hurting. His mind was blanking out.
He dialed the emergency number that the airline was flashing on the television screen.
“Hi this is Carter Jones. My wife, Sana Jones was supposed to take the flight to San Francisco … ”. Before he could complete the sentence the voice on the other line said “Hi Mr. Jones, is there someone with you? We have been trying to explain to you since the past five days. There were no survivors, I repeat NO survivors. Mrs.Jones was on the flight and you came and identified her body.”
“What the fuck are you saying? I think there has been a misunderstanding. I am talking about my Sana. Mrs. Sana Jones, spelt S as in Sam, A as in apple, N as in Nancy, A as in apple. The middle name is Patel. Sana Patel Jones. She is Indian. She is 28 years old and very beautiful. She just returned home after cancelling her trip. She walked into the kitchen to make some hot chocolate”
“Mr. Jones, please calm down. We understand your loss. Is there anyone with you? Could you please pass the line to someone else?”, the voice handling the emergency line was trying to be patient.

The door to their house unlocked. Paul walked in with some brown grocery bags.
“Carter, dude.. are you calling the airline company again?!”, he spoke aloud, hurriedly keeping the keys and bags on the side table and rushing to take the phone from his hand.
“I am sorry Ma’m. We are trying our best to control him. Mr. Jones is still in shock and is currently hallucinating.”
“No problem. Take care”. The line disconnected.

Carter was sitting on the floor staring at the television. The plane had crashed in the middle of the Amazon. The rescue squad was still discovering corpses. He did not blink his eyes. His t-shirt was dirty, his beard five days old, hair disheveled, eyes swollen and red, his lips parched.
Paul sat down next to him and put his arms around his shoulder.
“You have to let go my friend. Sana is no more. She is in wonderful and happy place.”
“Sana is here, Paul. Don’t fucking lie to me. We just kissed a few minutes back. I told her sorry. I told her I loved her. I held her with my own hands” He continued to look blankly at the television.
The phone rang. Paul answered.
“Paul, this is Mrs. Patel. I will be home in an hour.”, Mrs.Patel, Sana’s mom, had flown up from Florida to cremate her daughter’s body. The funeral was completed the previous day. That morning she had driven to the lawyer to finish up the paper work for Sana’s life insurance. Her voice sounded weak. “Is Carter doing alright?”
“Not too good, Mrs. Patel. We have to close the loop somehow. The unsaid goodbye is killing him. I don’t think in his last hallucination he was able to close the loop either. I am about to give him some more medication and put him to sleep”
“She told me not to listen to you Paul. Not to take the medication”, said Carter getting up. He walked towards the mantelpiece and lifted the clay jar and held it to his heart. The jar hand painted by Sana, that now contained her ashes.

Living In

noreply@blogger.com (Pi) — Thu, 07 Jan 2010 04:29:00 +0000

The apartment was in the same condition as they had left it in on the morning of the 7th of December. The lights were on. The ceramic dinner plates with dried and crusted layers of left over food lay unwashed in the steel sink. The door to the balcony was open. Aneesh would have scolded her for leaving the door open, for not washing the dishes on time. He would have complained about how high the electricity bill was because Kaavya was not in the habit of turning the lights and music system off. It was almost second nature to think of what Aneesh was going to say at any step. Without him she was unsure of what to do next.

Their office cum living area was in an untouched mess. The blue and gray cushions were scattered all over the place. The coffee table was placed aside to make space for the paraphernalia of their work equipment and tools. There were paper cut outs, yarns of different types of materials, sewing machines, crayons and sketch pens, magazines, power cords, scissors, gadgets, CDs, print outs and what not. Kaavya would often use the phrase “Looking for the TV remote in our office” instead of the proverb “Looking for a needle in a haystack”. She loved to construct parallel proverbs with incidents or things from their real life. For example she would say “Where there is a bill, there is Aneesh’s foolishness” to make fun of all the silly things Aneesh invested in and never used like the playstation which had become a piece of decoration in their entertainment center. Her favorite proverb was however “When at home, do as Kaavya does” parallel to “When in Rome, do as the Romans do”. Aneesh had even gotten that printed on an apron for her, except the ‘does’ had been replaced by ‘demands’.

It had been thirteen months since they had moved into this apartment together. The apartment hunting had not taken as much time as chalking out a master plan about how to hide the fact from their respective families that they were going to live in. They both belonged to orthodox families to whom the concept of two unmarried youngsters of the opposite sex living in, was alien.

Aneesh’s parents were in Jodhpur and had not traveled anywhere beyond the borders of Rajasthan. His two older sisters had been married off when they were nineteen and they lived happily with their husbands and kids in Ajmer and Udaipur respectively. They were far away from Mumbai, so a sudden surprise visit was definitely not on the cards. Moreover, Aneesh was not very close to his family. They had never understood why he opted to become a fashion designer instead of inheriting the family’s established business of selling metal pipes. He had joined NIFT much against the wishes of his father to whom the idea of a boy designing clothes for girls sounded preposterous. His father did not understand the difference between a designer and a tailor and thought fashion shows were vulgar adult shows that took place in western countries and were screened on Indian cable channels post midnight. Aneesh didn’t try to explain anything or convince anyone. He left home to pursue what made sense to him. Four years after graduating he was content with what he was doing. He had worked as an apprentice for Tarun Tahilani, had a chance to display a few of his designs at Indian Bridal Show and started his own designer label of contemporary fusion bridal wear targeted at a younger audience. He designed the kind of clothes that the high fashion girls of Mumbai would wear for auxiliary wedding functions like Mehendi and Sangeet. His most popular designs were the swarovski crystal studded kurtis, fish-cut lehengas and tank tops in zardozi work. He had designed a few sarees as well, some of which he sent to his sisters and mom. Those were the few times when they had called him to thank him and catch up with him. His mom, of course, called him every Sunday at a fixed time to enquire about his health and what he ate.

Kaavya’s family was in Coimbatore. Her father was a manager at a garment export factory. Her mother was a housewife who had never left her father alone for a day due to his dietary restrictions for diabetes. She was the only child. Her parents had never stopped her from doing anything and she had never misused her independence. Till now. She completed a bachelors in computer application from Anna university in Chennai, worked in a software firm in Chennai for a few months and then moved to Mumbai to pursue a course in animation and graphic design. They never interfered in her life or opposed her decisions but regularly kept track of what she was up to. As long as she answered her cell phone when her parents called and let them know that she was fine, they were happy. However, their calls were very frequent and at random times. Once in a while her father would ask a colleague, a friend or a distant relative in Mumbai to visit her at her hostel in Andheri and take her out for a meal.

The priority in their plan to keep their living in a secret was to keep there phones always charged and make sure they returned all missed calls. They would give their parents the correct mailing address and explain that they were living with room mates of the same sex. For her few relatives in Mumbai, Kaavya would make sure she visited them often or stayed in touch with them so that they did not land up at their front door without a notice. If either of their parents planned to visit them, they decided that the other person would live with a friend or in a hotel for a few days. There would be a lot of packing and unpacking to do but that seemed petty compared to the excitement of living together.

Sleeping over at Aneesh’s apartment had become an ordeal for Kaavya. One, she would have to frequently sign the hostel register about her absence at night stating the reason as staying over at a local guardian’s place. Second, Aneesh’s roommate, Rajat, who worked at a call center would return at wee hours in the morning. Kaavya could barely sleep peacefully worrying about Rajat walking in before she got dressed completely. She had started spending most of her time at Aneesh’s place instead of the hostel. She was freelancing as a web designer. Aneesh’s place had broadband internet, so it made more sense for her to work from home than go to a cyber café. She would experiment with cooking and tidy up the bachelor pad in her spare time. She often spent her afternoons creating sketches or handicrafts from whatever she could find at home and decorate their living area. For example she made a set of tea coasters from the lids of tin jars and gold and silver foils extracted from cigarette packets, created framed art work from wedding invitation cards and the borders of old silk sarees that her mom had given her to wear for special occasions and a lamp from a beer bottle and a jute hat. She would take photos of the objects she created and use them in her websites. Her designs were unique and attracted attention. When Rajat and his girlfriend decided to get married, they requested Kaavya to create a wedding website for them that they would use as an invite for their friends. That was her first independent project as a wedding website designer which grew to be her profession over time.

She created theme based sites for couples tying the knot. She would meet the couples personally, get an idea of their likes and dislikes and the kind of message they wanted to send out before she started on a design. It surprised her to discover that so many of these engaged couples had so less in common and argued about such small things. She wondered how they had agreed to take the vows of a lifetime when they couldn’t agree on a color. She was good at understanding the psyche of her clients, though, and had never disappointed anyone so far. Her websites struck a cord with everyone. Some had a humorous theme which she would create with Calvin and Hobbes comic strips and stick figure animations of the couple. Some were romantic with sepia toned pictures of the couple, their love story and quotations. Some had an ethnic theme complete with palanquins, madhubani paintings of brides and classical raagas playing on the shehnai in the background. She loved her work since it was a perfect blend of technology, art and interaction with people. Within a few months it turned out to be a profitable business and she hired a college student to help her out.

Their professions had been symbiotic. One helped the other. Cross references often occurred and it helped both the businesses grow. They shared their clients, their workspace, their living space, their bills, their meals, their lives. In the confusion of sharing everything there were days when their cell phones would get swapped by mistake. And those were the days when Kaavya’s parents would call, invariably. After disconnecting the call several times Aneesh would send a message on behalf of Kaavya, saying “I am busy with clients now. Will call you in the evening” or “My cell phone is out of charge. I will go home and call you. Hope all is well”.
The other confusion that happened more than once was Aneesh answering Kaavya’s parent’s call by mistake at late hours in the night.
“Hello”, he said subconsciously picking up Kaavya’s phone while measuring a piece of cloth.
“Hello. Is this 98922 96958?”, said her father’s voice on the other end
“Oooops!”, Aneesh realized and signaled Kaavya to come quickly and take the call.
“Uh.. yes. I’ll hand the phone to Kaavya”, he said hurriedly changing the tone of his voice, handing the phone to her.
Kaavya would take the call and explain that it was the college student she had hired. Her father did not seem very pleased with the idea of his daughter working with a guy at eleven in the night.
Another time they were at a club when another unexpected call came from Coimbatore. It was past midnight and Kaavya could not, by any chance, answer the call in the midst of all the noise. Clubs and nightlife were strictly a taboo. It was probably worse than saying she was out with a guy. If she did not answer they would worry about where she was. So she would have to step out of the club and call them back.
“Sorry Ma, I was changing my contact lenses”, was one of her standard excuses for missing a call at night.
“Where is your roommate?”, asked her mother. This was the fifth time her mother was asking about her non-existent roommate. She had made up enough stories about the fictional Gunjan being in the bathroom or talking on the phone or out on a night shift. She promised her mother than she would make her speak to Gunjan the next time she called.
The next time she called it was afternoon. Both Aneesh and Kaavya were at home dealing with a common client. The bride-to-be had come for her outfit trial. Kaavya explained the situation to her and requested her to pretend to be Gunjan.
“Don’t state too many facts. Just be brief. “, instructed Kaavya, panicking. “Remember you are from Gujarat and you are doing a medical internship at Jaslok Hospital. And yeah you do a lot of night shifts”. It worked out smooth and they succeeded in convincing her mom about her fictional roommate.
The worst time for these random calls was, of course, when they were in the midst of some of their most intimate moments.
“God, will they ever stop calling”, exclaimed Aneesh. ”Please, not now, Kavi. Just say you slept early or something”
“Don’t be mean. I have to take it. I already ignored their calls in the evening”, said Kaavya as she reached out to grab the vibrating cell phone, buttoning her shirt and getting out of the couch.

There were many instances when they almost got caught. Once her father’s colleague’s wife wanted to drop by to give her some home made sweets since she was in the area and passing by their apartment. Kaavya excused herself by saying she was out and would drop by at her place on the weekend. The closest she came was when her aunt met Aneesh at one of his client’s wedding and took his business card to order clothes for her daughter. She noticed that the address on the card was the same as her niece’s. There was a call the next day. “Do you know Aneesh Thakur, Kavi?”, she asked after five minutes of sweet talk.
“Ummm… yeah. Why?”, Kaavya had the feeling that she had discovered something. She started running in her mind, propositions to prevent her from spilling the beans and tarnishing her image in front of the rest of their family. “A designer saree to bribe her?”, “A candid conversation making her feel that she was the first privileged person to know and a request to keep the secret till she told her parents herself?”, “Spill the beans about another aunt’s daughter’s affair with a Muslim boy to create that shock factor that would make her affair seem petty and forgettable”, she thought.
“I happened to meet him. The address on his business card was same as yours. That’s why I was wondering”, said her aunt.
“Ouch!:, thought Kaavya. She would have to make up another lie to cover the other hundred preceding lies. But by now she was adept at this.
“Pedamma, Aneesh is Gunjan’s cousin. He uses our address for all business correspondence since the place where he lives is a new colony and the postman can never find it. Also we have the same clientele so it works out well for both of us”, said Kaavya, relieved that she came up with something viable.
Pedamma digested the answer very easily and even if she didn’t, she didn’t seem to mind. She asked Kaavya to come over to her place with Gunjan some day and wound up the call.

“Who asked you to distribute your business card to everyone?”, Kaavya said after hanging up the phone, calling out to Aneesh who was busy munching on a bar of Dairy Milk from the refrigerator.
“I am talking to you, Nish.”, she said coming up to him with the phone in her hand. “And will you stop eating? “, she said taking the bar away from him and putting it away. “One day you will become so obese that the only job you could get is sumo fighting”
“Ok, ok last bite”, said Aneesh popping a huge chunk of chocolate in his mouth. “What can I do if you are related to every third person in Mumbai? Are you sure you have only one set of parents? Did you verify if Ganga Bai was your mother’s spy or not”, teased Aneesh referring to their part-time maid who came to wash dishes, take the trash out and clean the bathroom.

Later of course from a conversation with her mom, Kaavya found out that a head-to-toe description of Aneesh had reached Coimbatore. “A fair, healthy boy with sharp features and gelled hair, about five feet nine inches tall, wearing a checked shirt and khaki pants”, described her mom. Kaavya breathed a sigh thinking how her aunt’s high speed message delivery to a huge network could replace emails or SMS’es some day!
“I know your job requires you to mingle with boys but just be careful Kavi. You know how close our family is. Rumors spread like wild fire.”
“Close?”. Kaavya thought.”Whatever that means!”
“And remember we will never accept a non-Brahmin boy outside our caste”, reminded her mother before hanging up. Her mother, like all other mothers, had a knack of doing this: saying something that would make her feel guilty without committing a sin.

The thought of her parents finding out that she was seeing a non-vegetarian, North Indian, fashion designer was bad enough. The thought of them finding out that they were living under the same roof gave her palpitations and a sweat outbreak. She imagined how her mother would break down crying, reminding her of the sacrifices they had made to bring her up, accusing her of misusing the independence they gave her, in words straight out of the soaps she watched on television religiously. She imagined her dad refusing to take his medication or talk to anyone, putting his head down in shame and locking himself up in a room. Somehow, she thought, the silence of her dad would hurt her way more than her mother’s melodrama.

During many nights while she lay on their bed, hugging Aneesh, she would think of what the remotest possibilities were of her parents discovering her in that state. What if there was an earthquake right there and then, in the middle of the night and both of them were discovered in the same position under the debris. She wondered what their reaction would be? Glad that they survived at least?
What if they called Jaslok Hospital and found out there was no Gunjan Shah. They would probably take the next train to Mumbai.
What if Ganga Bai was actually a spy set up by her Pedamma?
What if they decided to show up one morning and Aneesh opened the door in his boxers?
What if they called and interrogated their landlady? They had spoken to their landlady ,Mrs.Batliwala and explained their entire story and problems. She had been open to it and offered to help them out. “It’s better than answering questions about a single mom to her boyfriends”, she had said referring to the previous tenant.
All sorts of what if’s would often disturb Kaavya at night. She would wake Aneesh up in panic.
To pacify her and divert her mind Aneesh would either take her on a long bike ride till she slept, resting on his back, on the way back home; or drag her to the living room, put on some Chris de Burgh classics and have a close dance with her singing along till she smiled and expressed that she didn’t care about the rest of the world; or kiss her till she forgot what she was thinking about.

There were many instances when they made up their mind to initiate a conversation with their respective families about their relationship. They knew it was going to take a long time to convince them, so the sooner they divulged, the closer they would be to living in permanently and peacefully without the constant fear of getting caught. Aneesh was, however, not scared of facing his family.
“I have never done anything according to their wish, Vee. So they don’t expect me to take a 180 degree turn all of a sudden and marry a Rajput girl of their choice”, he said during one of their conversations over dinner centered around devising strategies to approach their parents.
“But I want the wedding to be with everyone’s blessing”, said Kaavya fearing that it wasn’t going to be that way. In her mind she already imagined them going to the court in regular clothes with Mrs.Batliwala as a witness and missing the whole fun of having a proper south Indian wedding, draped in a nine yard kanjeevaram silk saree, adorned with gold jewelery from head to toe, sitting on her father’s lap as Aneesh tied the “thaali” around her neck.
“I’ll get you my parent’s blessings. That’s my job.”, said Aneesh with the affirmative look in his eyes. “First think of how you are going to handle your parents. I can imagine a tamil movie scene already. I don’t know why, whenever I think of your dad I imagine him in a white lungi with a gun in his hand”
“Why? You don’t imagine him offering you a blank check for leaving me?”, asked Kaavya mockingly, as she cleared her plate.
“I wish! That wouldn’t be a bad option.”, said Aneesh smiling.
“I get rich and I don’t have to eat curry leaves in everything for the rest of my life!”, he joked separating the curry leaves, an essentially South Indian cooking ingredient, from the North Indian paneer masala on his plate.

There was never a conclusion to such discussions. Kaavya was just not mentally prepared to break the news. She made a little bit of progress by bringing up Aneesh off and on during her conversations with her mom. She spoke about how charming Gunjan’s cousin was. About how he made sure he dropped them home anytime they were getting late, how he took her to the doctor when she was sick and Gunjan was out on duty and how he brought the plumber home and stayed till he fixed their clogged kitchen sink. She also brought up other things that seemed likely to impress her parents like his volunteering activity at an orphanage on Sunday mornings, his excellent culinary skills and the article in Bombay Times where he was cited as an upcoming designer. She hoped the familiarity with his good deeds would tone down the magnitude of their response when she finally told them.

It was the month of November, the season of weddings. Both of them were busy catering to the changing requirements of their customers.
“I need your feedback on a site design, Nish”, said Kaavya shifting next to Aneesh in the midst of all their work with her laptop. She showed him her best design so far. Teal and gray themed, Chris De Burgh playing in the background, a humorous set of vows and placeholders for back and white photographs.
“Mmm, it’s too us. I disapprove”, said Aneesh getting back to explaining one of his designs the Nth time to the confused tailor.
“You think so?”, asked Kaavya sounding slightly excited.
The phone rang. It was Kaavya’s parents. “Yes Amma”, she said walking towards the bedroom starting another conversation.
Aneesh didn’t want her to get started again on an hour long conversation on the phone. “Why are you going to the other room? I don’t understand anything you say anyway”, whispered Aneesh referring to the language Kaavya used to converse with her parents. Kaavya would tease him saying she liked it that way since she could bitch about him openly.

He missed Kaavya even when she went from one room to another. When she went to Coimbatore for a fortnight, Aneesh went crazy. He slept on the divan in their living room, looping “Aint no sunshine when she’s gone” on his ipod. He ate out, frequently visiting the South Indian restaurant close to their place. He spent more on messaging and calling her than he did on paying their rent. When Kaavya spoke about extending her vacation, he fought with her. “Just stay back. No need to return. I’ll pack your belongings and courier them to you”, he snapped at her. She knew she had to return soon, before he got anymore cranky. To make him feel happier she wore his favorite kurti on her journey back to Mumbai. A glimpse of her in the crowded station, in an outfit he had stitched himself with left over materials, made him smile instantly. She looked beautiful as always. Her healthy flawless skin glowing as a consequence of the home food and pampering, her dark brown hair in a new layered cut, her eyebrows shaped like an arch with a sharp angle, her long silver earrings dangling as she moved her head from side to side, her large black eyes, outlined neatly with an eyeliner, wandering here and there scanning the crowd for him.

“I have news, Nish”, she exclaimed once settled in the cab.
“I know you haven’t told your parents, at least. Else you wouldn’t have been here or I wouldn’t have been here”, said Aneesh putting his arms around her.
“No I haven’t. But I am planning to. I build a whole lot of good reputation. Amma-Appa are planning to visit in few weeks. That’s when Gunjan is supposedly going to Baroda to get married and will be moving out. So her stuff will already be gone from the apartment. I will introduce you. I am sure they will like you once they meet you. Then I’ll tell them I want to get married and hence there is no point looking for another roommate. Things will just fall into place and we can move in forever”, said Kaavya in an excited voice.
“What? They are coming here?”, Aneesh exclaimed. “Come on Vee. We just had such a long separation. Why again so soon?”, he said resting his head on her shoulder cursing her parents in his mind. “I missed you”, he said and they kissed. The cab driver adjusted his mirror, either in a direction so he didn’t have to see what was going on in the back seat or in a direction focusing on the action.

Kaavya’s parents were to arrive on December 14th. Aneesh was going to stay over at Rajat’s palce while they were around. They started moving Aneesh’s things into boxes a couple of weeks before. It was going to be tough to eradicate every trace of him.
“I think you should leave some girly stuff in Gunjan’s closet. Just keep some of your own clothes. They wouldn’t have seen everything”, instructed Aneesh.
“Yeah, I am putting all my party clothes in there”, she said hanging a red off-shoulder top. “They wouldn’t believe I could wear those, anyway”

While packing carton’s with Aneesh’s belongings, they would pounce upon stuff they had forgotten about and recall stories related to those. Like they discovered the small rectangular stickers with “Aneesh and Kaavya” printed on them for sticking on gifts that they had got themselves for one of their anniversaries and the dumbbells he had bought, motivated to lose weight in the beginning of the year. Aneesh had used the latter a couple of times before hiding them under the bed to avoid getting reminded of his resolution. It was hard for Kaavya to believe that he had started jogging every morning. Of course, this was ever since she told him about meeting her parents. Suddenly fitness was on the top of his priority list. Regular milk packets were replaced by fat free skimmed milk, junk food by boiled vegetables and soup, alcohol by diet coke. “Extreme!”, Kaavya would say reacting to his change in lifestyle. “Men are extreme. Don’t understand why they can’t do things in moderation”.

Out of the blue Aneesh would get nervous about the impending meeting and its consequences.
“What if your parents don’t like me, Vee”, he asked interrupting his push ups and walking into the kitchen to grab some water from the fridge. Kaavya was making dosas for dinner while skimming through the latest issue of Vogue.
“If they don’t I’ll tell them how hard you worked to get a six pack for just asking for my hand. Tell them ‘imagine to what extent he could go to keep me happy’. And ask them which one of the NRI guys whose profiles they keep checking on shaadi.com would do that for me?”, said Kaavya smiling, nudging Aneesh in his far-from-six-pack stomach with her elbow.
“By the way, don’t expect me to go on a diet when its time to meet your parents. I am what I am”, said Kaavya putting both her hands on her waist, one hand holding the magazine, the other holding the spatula. She wasn’t fat or thin. She was a medium size and had the right curves in the right place.
“And I love you the way you are, my baby”, said Aneesh hugging her. “Skinny size zeroes look good only in fashion shows.” He kissed her and walked back to their living plus working space to finish his workout.
“Don’t make dosa for me. I will eat salad today”, he screamed to prevent his voice from getting drowned in the whistles of the pressure cooker and the noise of the exhaust fan.
“Uff Nish, thousandth time. Its ‘dhosa’ and not ‘dosa’”, she screamed back correcting Aneesh’s North Indian pronunciation of a South Indian word.

There were other preparations to do before her parents arrived. She had to remove all evidence of non-vegetarian food from the refrigerator, including the eggs. In the process she got rid of several expired stuff like apple flavored jam that they both disliked. She discarded all the empty Bacardi breezer and beer bottles. She supervised Ganga bai as she cleaned every nook and corner of the house meticulously including the floor under the fridge, the blades of the ceiling fan and the bathroom windows. Her mother was a cleanliness freak. She bought a new bed sheet and pillow cover set, scented candles and incense sticks. The thought of her parents sleeping on her and Aneesh’s bed made her feel uneasy. She stuffed Aneesh’s bag with some of her belongings as well, stuff like thongs and birth control pills that, if discovered, would bring the roof down.

She made a few phone calls to people that her parents could meet to prep them up with what they could reveal and what they couldn’t. Gunjan Shah’s character sketch was introduced to everyone. The last call on the list was Mrs.Batliwala.
“Thanks for co-operating with us, Mrs.Batliwala. We will always be indebted to you.”, she said in a sincere voice..
“And yes if you can please send the mason to fix the leaking ceiling above our bedroom before the 14th, that would be very helpful”, she reminded her one last time before hanging up.

There was a week to go. Kaavya felt stomach cramps every time she imagined her parents and Aneesh together in their living room. She imagined Aneesh acting coy and sobre, unfamiliar with the apartment and her parents treating him nice since he had helped their daughter; offering him tea. She was apprehensive of all the pretending they would have to do. Before sleeping she re-ran the fears in her mind hoping the last few days just passed by without a glitch. She was tired of being paranoid every day of her life.

She woke up in the middle of the night disturbed by a nightmare. She looked at Aneesh sleeping on her left. She always had bad dreams when they exchanged sides on their bed. But the previous night the water dripping from the leaking ceiling was more than usual. Hence Aneesh had forced her to move to his side. She got out of bed to go to the rest room. She could hear the water drops in the silence. Suddenly she heard a loud noise, a thump. The floor under her feet shook. She thought it was an earthquake; the earthquake she had always dreaded. She ran out. What she saw next made her go dizzy. She screamed her lungs out. There was a lot of dust, water and debris. She didn’t know what to do next. She stood in horror and shock. She couldn’t move another inch. There was another loud thump. Another part of the ceiling above their bed collapsed in front of her eyes burying the left side of their bed. Burying Aneesh completely.

The next forty eight hours were critical. Aneesh’s entire body had been smashed, shattered, broken. His face was unrecognizable. He had already undergone 18 hours of surgery and was expected to undergo more in the coming days. Even if he survived, he would be paralyzed for life. His parents and sisters had arrived. They didn’t know who Kaavya was except that she was the one who had discovered him in that state and brought him to the hospital. They didn’t care about any further details or how she reached there in the middle of the night. Rajat had called to inform them. Aneesh’s relatives had flocked the hospital. His uncle who was an orthopedist had flown down from Delhi to provide medical guidance. Kaavya was not family anymore. She sat on the bench in the hallway next to Rajat and his wife, far away from Aneesh’s family, crying, hoping, praying, fearing. She caught glimpses of Aneesh as they moved him from one place to another in the stretcher. She could not bear to see Aneesh in that state anymore. She could not dare to return home. She rejected her parents’ calls. She did not have the courage to spell out the incident to them. She sent them a message saying “I am busy. Will call in a couple of days”. She stayed over at Rajat’s place frequenting the hospital every few hours. After three days and a few hours the struggle ended. Aneesh passed away in a state of unconsciousness.

His body was to be cremated in Jodhpur. Rajat went over to their apartment to get all of Aneesh’s belongings that had already been packed in cartons and handed them over to his parents. Kaavya had been taking sleeping pills to keep herself tuned out. She could not tolerate consciousness. Every time she opened her eyes she felt unbearable pangs. She swallowed another couple of pills and lay on the couch in Rajat’s apartment staring at the ceiling, waiting for her system to shut off.

Kaavya returned to their apartment the night before her parents were to arrive. It was the first time since the incident she had come back home. Kaavya was numb. She had probably exhausted all her life’s quota of tears. Her face was swollen, her head heavy from the sleeping pills. She walked past the living room and kitchen and opened the door to her bedroom. She turned the lights on. The mess in their bedroom had been cleaned up completely. A blue plastic sheet had been hung to cover the hole in the ceiling. The cracked window pane had been replaced. The remnants of their bed had been removed and replaced by a mattress on the floor by Mrs.Batliwala. Everything else was in place. If you didn’t look up you wouldn’t know that a portion of the ceiling had collapsed in that room a few days back.

Every trace of Aneesh was erased from their apartment. His clothes and shoes, his toiletries, his work items and equipment, his dumbbells, everything. Including him. The only thing that remained was his toothbrush. It stuck its head out of the toothbrush holder in their bathroom, right next to hers. This was his only belonging that she possessed now. She picked it up and used it to brush her teeth. She stared into the mirror half hoping this was just a nightmare and she had woken up from her sleep and very soon Aneesh was going to walk into the restroom in his boxers, rubbing his eyes and kissing her “Good Morning”. She wanted to believe this was temporary, this was not true.

She lay on the new mattress in their bedroom on the sheets she had bought for her parents, staring up at the blue tarp above her head. She wished she hadn’t invited her parents to visit her. She wished she hadn’t packed all of Aneesh’s belongings. She blamed herself for initiating his departure. She wished she hadn’t exchanged sides with him that night or woken up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom leaving him behind in his death bed. As she closed her eyes she imagined her parents this time in their living room, in their apartment where there was no trace of Aneesh or Gunjan. She imagined her pretending as if there had been no Aneesh in her life. “He has gone for Gunjan’s wedding, Amma”, she imagined telling her mom. “He’s gone, Amma”, she spoke to herself, “gone…”

(c) Payal Chakravarty,2008 - All contents of this blog are intellectual property of Payal Chakravarty.

On the way to Grad School

noreply@blogger.com (Pi) — Sat, 03 Jan 2009 17:22:00 +0000

It was 2 AM in the morning. Ravi was almost dozing off but the dozen excited relatives who had come to see him off at the New Delhi airport were still highly energized. He was tired of bidding goodbye, convincing the aunties that he would not marry a white girl and checking his passport and documents umpteen number of times.
“You are fulfilling my dreams, beta.”, said his dad patting him on the back. Since childhood I have only dreamt of getting a master’s degree abroad and settling in the land of opportunity. But … .”
“Dad, this is the twentieth time you have said that in the past one hour”, said Ravi, cutting him off, dreading hearing his excuses for not making it to America.
As he proceeded to security check he was relieved to escape the farewell party which had been going on for weeks now and ended at the gates of the airport since the farewell bidders were not allowed beyond that; relieved to escape the helpers in the security area pestering him to let them carry his baggage in the hopes of getting paid in dollars; relieved to escape a lot of things he was glad to leave behind in Delhi.

The flight was delayed by two hours. He seated himself in the lobby wondering how to keep himself occupied other than trying to beat his own scores in Tetris on his cell phone. He did not feel like calling Sheetal either. She would be asleep at this hour. Not that the late nights had ever prevented him from making calls. But two years into the relationship he had lost his enthusiasm for staying awake late talking to her.

As he continued to fiddle with his cell phone, he noticed the girl in the yellow outfit walk into the lobby. He had noticed her while standing in the queue for security check. She wore a yellow knee length top, black leggings and brown suede boots. She carried a North Face backpack and had perfectly curled hair.

He had noticed her from the back. She was the only person who looked interesting among the rest of the crowd. The crowd consisted primarily of NRI families with kids who either listened to their iPod shuffles or rambled in their crisp American accent, their ramblings punctuated with “totally” and “like”; businessmen hooked to their blackberries; parents of software engineers who were going to visit their children to take over the role of a nanny of their newborn grandkids; a few foreigners in harem pants, tank tops and henna tattoos, and one or two more prospective graduate students like him.

As Ravi saw her move towards where he was seated, he moved his backpack emptying the seat next to his. The girl with the curly hair and yellow top came and sat next to him. She took out a Stephen King paperback and started reading. Ravi couldn’t help but notice that she had a Wolfpack key chain attached to the zipper of her backpack. Wolfpack was the mascot of the university he was going to attend. It was a perfect opportunity to start a conversation.

“Hi. I just happened to notice the wolfpack keychain on your backpack. Are you studying at NC State University?”, he asked looking sideways at her. She looked up from her book, “Oh. Yeah I am”, she replied still holding her book in the same position, hoping to get back to it as soon as she finished answering Ravi’s question.
“I asked ‘cause I am headed there for a Masters in Electrical Engineering”, said Ravi.
“Ohh. Are you?”, said the girl putting her book down on her lap, sounding interested. Ravi noticed the heavy American accent. “Joining this fall?”
“Yes. What do you study?”
“I .. umm… nothing as smart as Electrical Engineering. I am doing a degree in Animal Science”
“Animal science? Ok.. interesting”, replied Ravi wondering what animal science meant. It wasn’t veterinary, it wasn’t zoology. It was a subject he had not heard of. It was definitely not a major a regular Indian would opt for.
“Interesting is a word people use when they either don’t know what is being talked about or they are not interested in talking about it further. Which one is your case?”, replied the girl in the yellow top.
Ravi was taken aback at her prompt curt reply. “Well it’s the former”, admitted Ravi smiling.
“Don’t worry I won’t bore you with animal science talks. So tell me why did you choose NC State?”
“Well firstly their Electrical Engineering program is well ranked. Secondly, it was more affordable than University of Southern California, the other university I had an admit to. My cousins and friends live in California and complain all the time about how expensive it is. Also I am talking to a professor there who most likely will fund me. And yeah I also have an uncle in Virginia which is close to North Carolina”
“Aah.. those are good enough reasons. Which prof are you talking to? Not that I know many in your department. But I have lots of friends who are in EE, so I keep hearing some names”
“Dr. Maria Xin.. as in X. I . N. Not sure how to pronounce that”
“Aah”, remarked the girl. “I have heard of Maria. She is quite a tough nut to crack.”
“Really? We’ll see. I hope it works out for me. I have taken a loan here you know. Don’t want to pay for the whole degree. Are you funded?”
“Yeah I am a TA, as in Teaching Assistant. You think I would pursue animal sciences without funding?”
Ravi imagined how distracting it would be to have a cute TA like her.
“By the way how come you called a professor by name? Like you just said Maria.. not Dr. Maria”
“You’ll get used to that. No one uses Sir or Madam to address professors in US. You call everyone by first name no matter how senior they are to you. Initially that will hurt your ears but you will get used to it”
Ravi noticed how she pronounced “ears” with an emphasis on “e” unlike the Indian pronunciation where ears are pronounced the same way as years with a stress on “y”.
“Have you been in the States for a long time?”, asked Ravi
“Yeah. I guess you are wondering how my accent is so thick.”, she smiled. “I have been there for a long time now. My parents moved when I was in middle school. But you are doing a good job of understanding it”
“Thanks to all the American movies I watch.”, replied Ravi. ”Were you visiting relatives in Delhi?”
“No I was here to meet some prospective grooms”, she replied. She paused to catch Ravi’s expression. And yes, he had it written all over his face, question marks about whether it was a successful mission, whether she was engaged, expression of disappointment at a lost opportunity.
“You look devastated!”, she laughed teasingly. “No I haven’t found my desi knight in shining armor.”
Ravi was embarrassed to be caught flirting. He laughed along to somehow make it seem like it was a joke.
“So Ravi, have you found roommates yet?”
“Not yet. I have spoken to some guys from the Indian committee there. They will pick me up from the airport and provide me temporary accommodation for a week during which I will look for roommates and an apartment. Do you live in apartments or the dorm?”
“Apartments, of course. Have you heard of desi grad students living in dorms? That is a lot of extra money, Dude! There are these apartments called Avery Close, five minutes away from campus. I live there. It’s a desi colony. On Sunday afternoons you will see boys playing cricket there. Almost every apartment smells of sambhar masala. There is a joke that once an American guy came to Avery Close looking for some John Doe. A desi guy pointed him to another apartment complex and said “Sorry all foreigners live there”. He he”
They both started laughing.
“By the way the word desi is funny. How can you call your own people desis? Isn’t it derogatory? “
“You’ll get used to it, Ravi”

The conversation continued to reveal more stuff that Ravi was going to get used to in the next two years. Like walking in snow showers to get to classes on winter mornings, saying Hi, how are you doing? to strangers walking on the road, measuring in pounds, miles and gallons, not having ketchup with pizza, calling coriander leaves cilantro, lady fingers okra and SMS’ing texting, having cooking turns, missing cricket matches and weddings in India, acknowledging everything with a uh-huh, selecting a type of cereal from hundreds of possible choices in an aisle dedicated to just cereals, getting a full refund on returned goods without a receipt, saving coupons for a haircut, drinking water directly from the tap, tapping neighbors’ wi-fi, watching bollywood movies in parts on the internet, and many more.

It was like attending a course New to America:101. Ravi could not believe his luck. The journey had barely begun and here he was chatting with a cute girl who in all probabilities could turn out to be a neighbor. The two other grad students seated in the vicinity seemed to look at him with envy.

“Do you wanna grab some coffee?”, he asked. Though he was completely wide awake without caffeine, he thought grabbing a coffee would take things a step further. Girls always liked the idea of being asked out for coffee. Not tea. Not cold drinks. But coffee. He never understood why. By now Ravi was totally flirting with her and to his surprise she was flirting back. As they walked to the coffee shop, his phone rang. It was Sheetal.
“I gotta take this”, he said to the girl. “Two coffees”, he told the vendor and walked a few feet away to answer the call.
“Hi Sweetie. Why didn’t you call? I fell asleep waiting for your call”, said the voice on the other line.
“By the time I cleared security it was too late. I thought you would be asleep. Anyway my flight is delayed so thought I would call you just before taking off”
“Wish your flight was not in the middle of the night. I could have at least come to see you off. I am already missing you”, said Sheetal pausing.
“Miss you too, baby”, said Ravi. The words spurted out before even he could think of what he wanted to say in response. It was like Newton’s third law: To every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. “I think we are about to board, baby and my cellphone is dying. I’ll talk to you once I reach Frankfurt”, said Ravi hurriedly trying to end the conversation. He hung up after performing the rituals of hanging up, the “love you” exchanges. Ravi had moved far enough to prevent the girl in the yellow top from overhearing his conversation.

“Girlfriend?”, she asked sipping coffee from the tiny Nescafe paper cup when Ravi returned.
“Well … she is a girl and she is a good friend”, said Ravi smiling. “How much?”, he asked the store keeper.
“100 rupees sir”
“What??”, asked Ravi. “Just because it is the international terminal these guys charge 100 rupees for 4 sips of coffee!”, muttered Ravi handing out the 100 rupees note.
“100 rupees is 2 dollars, Ravi. Anywhere in USA that is the least you will pay for coffee. And yeah, initially you will do a lot of conversions. You will be shocked at prices. You will not eat out and eat only home cooked meals prepared from the spices and grains and Maggi packets that your mom has packed for you. But gradually you will get used to it. Then you will spend more on beer than you would on your books”
“Is that what you do? Spend more on beer than on books?”, asked Ravi smirking.
“Nah! I only drink wine, sweetie!”
“S..w…eetie! Wow!”, thought Ravi. “Those definitely were signs”
“So….”, said Ravi and paused realizing that he didn’t know her name yet.
“The name is Lakshmi. Lakshmi Subramaniam”, she said.
“Lakshmi! Aah.. you are south Indian?”, asked Ravi, a bit surprised.
“Is that a problem?”
“Naah, naah. Just that you don’t look like one”
“What do you mean by look like one? Do all South Indians look the same?”, she sounded agitated. “You northies have your own pre-conceived notions. South Indian equals to dark skinned, long plaited hair. Right? I mean, how typical can you guys get? Well as hard as it maybe for you to believe, I am a tam bram from Chennai who lives on curd rice and doesn’t speak Hindi!”, she looked at him straight into his eyes. Her dark black eyes piercing through his heart. “Man she is hot” is all that Ravi could think, unaware of the fact that tam bram stood for Tamil Brahmin, a sect of people belonging to the higher strata of the society in the state of Tamil Nadu down south. In his head everyone who lived down south was Madrasi.
“Sorry... I didn’t mean it that way.”, Ravi tried to appease her.

The boarding for the flight started. All that Ravi wanted now was to sit next to her. The flight didn’t look too full. With Lakshmi’s due permission they both walked towards the cabin crew to ask for them to be seated together. He walked up to an air hostess who was busy seating other passengers.
“Excuse me, M’am”, said Ravi.
The girl who turned around threw Ravi off his mind. It was Sheetal’s friend Samira who Ravi had met several times. “Hey Ravi! Good to see you. Sheetal had mentioned you were flying to US. Didn’t know you were on this flight”
Ravi felt like banging his head. “Why, oh why?”. Sheetal was going to be in India for two years and Lakshmi would probably be his neighbor during that time. It made more sense to think about the future.
“Uhh, Hi Samira. This is my friend Lakshmi. We were wondering if we could get a seat together.”
Samira looked a bit puzzled. She however had to be professional. “Ummm, let me see what I can do for you. May I have your boarding passes, please?”
Samira managed to find a seat for the two towards the end of the aircraft. She seated them and gave Ravi a dirty look, a “Wait till I tell your girlfriend” kind of a look.
Ravi was too mesmerized with Lakshmi to care about Samira or her friend Sheetal.

New to America: 101 continued for quite a while. Ravi felt overwhelmed with all the information. He was probably ready to teach that course himself without even stepping into America. He didn’t care about the course content. As long as he could keep the conversation alive, as long as he could see Lakshmi’s animated expressions he was happy.

“So Ravi.. What had you written in your Statement of Purpose”, asked Lakshmi. “Did you write it yourself or copied something from the internet?”
“No no.. I wrote everything myself. I gave the true story. How I come from a family of achievers, how my parents always motivated me to excel, how I was the topper in high school and was in the top 5% of my class in engineering. How I am an ace batsman and won cricket matches for my school and college and how I am passionate about nano technology and won a paper presentation contest in final year and that I worked on cutting edge technology and was the star of my team during my one year at Infosys as a software engineer”, he paused and looked at her.
They both started laughing. “That’s even worse than a rip off from the SOPs available online”, said Lakshmi.
“Well that got me through!”, said Ravi shrugging his shoulders. “Most of it is exaggerated. I was never a topper in high school nor was I in top 5% in engineering. I just got one of my professors in engineering college to write a recommendation letter with top 5% mentioned in it. And yeah I was an extra batsman for our college cricket team. And during my one year at Infy all I ever did was copy and paste code to maintain a website. The menial and meaningless bullshit that is offshored for cheap labor. As for the paper presentation, it was an internal competition. I stood third among five contestants. Well at least I am not lying. There is some truth in all the statements”
“And your passion for nano technology?”
“Well I read on the university website that Dr.Xin was recently awarded a grant. So I assumed she will need research assistants. And her research is focused on nano tech. So I read a bit about it online. I can pick up things fast and work hard. So if I get funded by her, nano tech it is. Else I’ll look for the next prospective professor and explore whatever field interests them”
“So why are you doing your masters if you are not passionate about it?”, asked Lakshmi.
“Oh come on! Are you passionate about animal sciences? You know how it is in India. Do your medicine or engineering. Or go to IIM for an MBA or go abroad for higher studies. That’s the only symbol of success!”
“That’s not true.”
“Of course it is. My dad didn’t talk to me for three months when I didn’t make it through an IIT. I didn’t want to try for IIM because I didn’t want to repeat the same story. Cost of an MBA abroad was too high. So I opted for a masters in EE. Anyway America is the land of opportunities.. in my dad’s words. And that’s true it’s the land of average Indians to shine well because we are smarter than an average American”
“Another preconceived notion but I’ll refrain from getting into another argument. Tell me something about your girlfriend”, said Lakshmi diverting the topic.
“Sheetal?”, asked Ravi holding his hand up against his ears to signal the phone call. He didn’t feel making up stories anymore. “Hmmm… she is a nice girl. The kind I would want to marry. You know, simple and stable. Doesn’t throw tantrums like a child and is not demanding”
“There you go. I like the truth. So what is the problem?”, asked Lakshmi.
“Nothing… I don’t feel the zing with her. You know the spark”
“That happens in any relationship after a few years. The spark doesn’t stay forever”
“But sparks can happen again, right?”
“Like the one between you and me?”
Ravi was taken aback at Lakshmi’s candidness.
“Yeah like the one happening right now”, he replied bending towards her.
“You know what, if there was any other girl here in my place you would have felt attracted to her the same way”, said Lakshmi pulling away.
Ravi realized maybe he was pushing himself a bit too much.
“Do you have a boyfriend?”
“I wouldn’t be looking for grooms if I had one”
“Who knows?”
“Don’t judge people by your standards, Ravi”, said Lakshmi in an annoyed tone. “I am going to sleep for a bit” She turned away, adjusted her neck pillow and closed her eyes.
Ravi took out his cellphone and resumed his game of Tetris.

The landing in Frankfurt woke them up. They got off at the Frankfurt airport for the four hours long wait. They waited for each other as they took turns to go to the restroom. He offered to help her drag her hand baggage but she wouldn’t let him. Under ordinary circumstances Ravi would have become impatient and irritable due to the length of the journey. But in this case he wished for further delays. Lakshmi continued to educate him on the ways of the world outside India. This time she spoke about Germany and Europe. They munched on burgers from Mac Donald’s and sipped on coffee from Starbucks while Lakshmi discussed the difference in the marketing strategies of Starbucks and Mac Donalds and explained the significance of brand management. Ravi was impressed with how knowledgeable and well-informed Lakshmi was. She was brainy as well. She solved sudoku puzzles before Ravi could even complete one box. She conversed fluently in French with a shopkeeper and read German signs. She almost quizzed him on world wars and the Holocaust and Germany’s recent political scenario. By the time it was time to board the flight Ravi had been completely bowled over by her; bowled over enough not to remember to call Sheetal.
As they settled into their seats in the aircraft, Lakshmi snuggled up in her blanket with her book, flattening out the dog-ears she had made.
“Are you going back to reading?”, asked Ravi.
“Yeah, the story has picked up momentum. You don’t like reading much, do you?”
“Not much fiction. Some non-fiction, sometimes. But I hardly ever complete a book”
“What was the last fiction you read?”, asked Lakshmi flipping a few pages to refresh where she had paused in the story.
“Ummm”, Ravi was thinking hard. “Treasure Island”
“Wha..?”, Lakshmi asked raising her eyebrows in surprise.
“Yeah. Treasure Island by Rober Louis Stevenson, the abridged version. It was my favorite book in sixth standard”
“Sixth grade.. you never read since then?”
“I read stuff strictly according to the school syllabus. That’s it. Most stories I tried to read revolved around wars or FBI agents...people and environments that I can’t relate to. I think the only exception was Five Point Someone by Chetan Bhagat. But I didn’t finish that either”
“And non-fiction?”
“I religiously read Times of India. Does that count?”
“Never mind!”, said Lakshmi whiffing her hand and moving her attention to the book.
Ravi really did not want her to return to the book.
“Lakshmi, why don’t you read later. I am getting bored”, said Ravi after a few minutes.
“Why? Isn’t that game on your phone that you have been hooked on to like a demented kid good enough to keep you occupied?”
“No. It’s not. Not when an attractive girl is sitting next to me”. Ravi did not feel any apprehension in expressing his feelings.
Lakshmi put down the book on her lap and looked at him.
“Does Sheetal know how big a flirt you are?”
“You can go tell her.”, said Ravi without a reaction to the name Sheetal anymore. The out-of-sight-out-of-mind feeling was already in action.
Ravi convinced Lakshmi to put away her book and watch a movie instead. Hours passed as they watched movies on the small screens attached to the seat in front of them, challenged each other with puzzles and games, discussed their favorite comics and continued New to America: 101.

It was almost time to land. Lakshmi took out some hand cream from her purse to relieve her dry hands. She squeezed some of the nice smelling stuff on Ravi’s palms. The fragrance was different. It didn’t smell like any of the Indian creams that his mom or Sheetal used, the ones that smelt like talcum powder. It smelt of apples and cinnamon. As she raised her hands to pull back her hair with a thick black elastic hair band Ravi noticed her well toned upper arms peeking through the big sleeves that had rolled down. He noticed the multiple rings and studs on her ears that shone and sparkled against her butterscotch skin, skin that his mother would describe as buttery. As Lakshmi applied a fruity chapstick to her lips she asked, “Do you want some?”
“Depends”, said Ravi wondering why she was offering him chapstick of all the things.
“Depends? On what?”, asked Lakshmi putting the lid on the chapstick.
“Nah nothing”, said Ravi nodding and bending his head down to conceal his urge of kissing her.
He looked at her once again. Her dark black eyes outlined with long curved eyelashes, her glowing butterscotch skin, her lips shining with the recently applied chapstick were irresistible. Without thinking twice Ravi blurted out “You are so beautiful, Lakshmi…I think I am falling for you”, immediately regretting what he said.
Lakshmi started laughing, “Relax Dude. It has not even been 24 hours since you met me.”
Ravi was embarrassed. “Sorry. I am probably overreacting.”
They looked at each other and paused. Lakshmi raised her eyebrows in a “why are you looking at me like that” manner. Ravi bent towards her hoping she would not move away. She recoiled slightly. Ravi realized he was pushing the limits and stopped.

“I am trying to figure out that smell. Is that chapstick you applied watermelon flavor?”, he asked trying to change the topic.
“Yeah”, said Lakshmi picking up her book.
“That’s my favorite fruit”, said Ravi nodding his head.
“Since when? Starting five minutes back?”, smirked Lakshmi.
“Do you realize what you did was not the most appropriate thing to do?”, said Lakshmi adjusting the neck of her top back as she leaned back into her seat. “I am your senior. I could get you into trouble for making this move.”
“I wouldn’t care even if you were a professor!”, said Ravi confident of the fact that Lakshmi was just pulling his leg.
Ravi didn’t care about her being senior. He didn’t care about Samira’s shocked glances. He didn’t care about any circumstances. He was just enjoying the best journey of his life and hoped that it never ended. But like all good things, the journey ended sooner than he wanted to.

At the airport they stood in different queues for immigration based on their immigration status. Once done they proceeded to baggage claim together. While Lakshmi waited at the carousel for her luggage Ravi made a trip to the restroom to freshen up. When he returned to the baggage claim section, he didn’t see Lakshmi. He spotted his luggage, pulled them down, loaded his cart complaining about the dollar he had to pay to rent one and waited at the carousel. He thought she may have gone to the restroom herself. After a fifteen minute wait he realized that the graduate students would be waiting to pick him up. He proceeded towards the exit keeping an eye out for Lakshmi. There was no sign of her. He had not taken her number or email id since it would be easy to figure that out from the university directory. As he proceeded to the exit there were some Indian guys ,his age, waiting with sign boards. One of them had his name. He introduced himself. He asked if they had seen Lakshmi. None of the guys who had come to receive him knew her or even recognized her based on the description he provided.
“Girlfriend?”, asked Ashwin, one of the student committee members who had organized the pick up and temporary accommodation for Ravi.
“No. I met her on the flight”, said Ravi. He did not want to reveal more information to unknown people yet. “Doesn’t matter. Let’s go”
“There is no such girl dude”, said Ashwin. “Trust me, if she is cute there is no way we would have missed her. And there is no one new arriving by that name or description either”
Ravi was surprised to learn that the student committee did an entire background search of the new girls arriving every fall semester through search engines and social networks like Facebook and Orkut and ranked them according to their looks and relationship status. This helped them prioritize the pick up schedule. The seniors, of course, had the first preference to choose who they would pick up. On the drive back Ashwin discussed other things that someone new to America ought to know. Ravi said a “I know” inattentively for almost everything since he had successfully completed New to America:101 on his way to America. He noticed things that Lakshmi had spoken about like the unmanned gas stations where one had to fill gas himself, the logic behind the numbering of the exit signs on highways and the few American accented words like “class”, “status” and “schedule” popping up in the middle of a clear Indian accented English dialog by desi graduate students. He let his imagination wander in many directions as he observed the new place through the moving car window. Fall in North Carolina was very beautiful. The leaves had begun to change color. Blotches of yellow, orange and green dissected by the straight lines of wooden sloping roofs against a vast clear blue sky was something that he had only seen in pictures.

A week had passed since Ravi’s arrival. There was no trace of the curly haired, butterscotch skin Lakshmi Subramaniam from Animal Sciences. He had checked the university directory several times with different spellings of Lakshmi Subramaniam. He had checked every possible social network. He had checked with the Animal Sciences department. He had checked with undergraduate offices. He had even checked all the possible apartment complex offices near campus. No one he met had known a Lakshmi Subramaniam or anyone by that description. “Why did she fake her identity?” “Who was she?” “Where is she?” The question continued to haunt him. He avoided speaking to Sheetal making up excuses of jet lag and time difference. Thankfully till now his airplane stories hadn’t made the breaking news in his friends’ circle in India. Else he would have to deal with Sheetal’s questions. He wondered why Samira had been quiet though.

Ravi was completely out of focus. He did not decide anything or have an opinion. He just followed the herd and enrolled in classes that his roommates registered in, opened a bank account where others did, went with them to get his ID, pay his fees, submit his immunization documents and sign up for the apartment lease. He noted down his cooking turns, his course schedule along with the university transit schedule, important phone numbers and calling card numbers, store and road names and campus job locations in his notebook. In the midst of conversations with fellow students about which courses were going to be tough, where to do Indian grocery shopping, and how to do laundry, all that his mind could visualize was Lakshmi Subramaniam and her watermelon chapstick. Everything else seemed fuzzy.

Ravi was tired of walking around the campus looking for a part time job. This year the number of graduate students was very high. Every possible on-campus job in the libraries, food courts, dorms, offices, tutoring centers had received more applications than required. “The menial website maintenance was better than this crap, man.”, Ravi expressed his frustration to his roommate with whom he was job hunting, as they boarded a bus. “Feels strange to look for a job to arrange book shelves or clean up a cafeteria when in India I could sit in a top notch air conditioned office and take home a big pay packet!”
“What happened to your funding? You said you were talking to some prof”, asked his roommate.
“Yeah, I have mailed her. Have been reading the abstracts of these publications over and over again to retain some keywords and basic definitions’’, said Ravi holding out the roll of print outs he had been carrying around to read while traveling. “But at the rate at which desi students are flocking the campus, I doubt I’ll have a chance”. It was late in the afternoon. All Ravi had eaten since morning was a slice of wheat bread and a banana. It was too expensive to eat anything after the currency conversions he did in his head. His head was heavy from the sleepless nights haunted by Lakshmi Subramaniam. His body was tired and weary after the long campus walks in the hot scorching sun.

As Ravi filled out the application seated in a room filled with many candidates like him for a desk job in his department, his cellphone beeped. It was an SMS from Sheetal. “Samira had called. Can you call me now?”
“Why now? Why, Murphy?”, thought Ravi. He did not need another source of tension added to his frustration and weariness. He muted the cell phone and put it away.
Ravi and his roommate decided to check out the classrooms to make sure they knew where to come on the first day of classes. As they roamed around comparing Indian college campuses to the clean and technologically advanced classrooms here, Ravi smelt something that shook him up. It was apples and cinnamon. The scent of the hand cream Lakshmi used. He could not be mistaken since that smell had been haunting him for seven long days and nights now. He walked past the classroom they were inspecting, to the row of rooms just past it. A couple of rooms down the hallway one of the doors was slightly open. As Ravi approached it, a strong whiff of the apple and cinnamon fragrance reached him. “Was Lakshmi inside?”, he thought, his head had started throbbing, his palms were sweaty.
He could hear a faint tune from inside which sounded like the phone had been put on hold. An AT&T commercial looped continuously interleaved with “All our customer service lines are busy. Please wait for the next available associate”. Ravi caught a glimpse of the professor’s name tag outside the office room. It read Dr. Maria L. Xin. His roommate came by looking for him.
“What are you doing here, Ravi?”, he whispered. “Are you going to meet Dr. Xin today?”
Ravi signaled him to be silent as he continued to eavesdrop.
The AT&T commercial was abruptly disrupted by a ringing tone followed by “All calls are monitored for quality purposes” statement. The customer associate finally came on the line. “Welcome to AT&T. This is Lucy. What can I do for you today?”, spoke an American accented Indian voice.
“Hi. I want to add an additional line to my plan”, spoke a familiar voice. A voice that had been replaying itself over and over again in Ravi’s mind.
“Sure. May I have your number please, Ma’m?”
“Sure. It’s 919-334-5869”
“Can you confirm your full name please?”
“It’s Dr. Maria Lakshmi Xin”
“Your mother’s maiden name for security purposes?”
“Subramaniam”
“Thank you Dr.Xin. We can proceed …..”
The voice faded. Ravi did not want to see, hear or smell anything anymore. He wished his senses just froze. He tried hard to recollect the information on Dr. Xin’s website. “PhD in electrical engineering from Purdue awarded in 2006. Awarded an NSF grant for research in nano tubes. Youngest associate professor in the department of electrical engineering at NCSU”. He also re-ran bits and pieces of his conversation with Lakshmi Subramaniam, conversation about his SOP, his interest in nano tech. His stomach had begun to hurt like it used to before an exam. He suddenly felt awake and alert, like the way he would feel when his dad would knock him on his head when he dozed off while trying to study. All the fuzziness had disappeared. He could see things clearly. He could see objects like the doors in the hallway, the bulletin boards, the L among other alphabets in Dr. Xin’s name tag.
The university mascot on the walls stared at him like it had seven days back from the keychain on Lakshmi Subramaniam’s backpack. He reached for his cellphone and his notebook which contained the calling card number. It was going to be a long night with Sheetal on the phone….

(c) Payal Chakravarty,2008 - All contents of this blog are intellectual property of Payal Chakravarty.

Worlds Apart

noreply@blogger.com (Pi) — Tue, 16 Dec 2008 07:15:00 +0000

The sudden movement of the train jerked Shilpa out of her sleep. She glanced at her watch with sleepy eyes. There were seven more hours to go before the train reached Hyderabad. She dragged herself up to a vertical position on the train berth, pulled up her short hair with a hair band and picked up the mug to pour herself a cup of Complan from her white and green Milton flask. The co-passenger seated opposite her was a young girl probably in her early twenties, right about her age, occupied with some white headphones and a music playing device that she had never seen before. She was tall and dusky dressed in a jeans and white Nike jacket. She had shoulder length straight brown hair with bangs covering half her face, her kohl smeared eyes looking out, observing the sceneries of rural India framed by the rectangular glass windows. Shilpa offered her some Complan.
The girl paused her music, took off her headphones and said, "I don't mind. Thanks".

"I am Shilpa. What is your name?", said Shilpa in her Telugu accented broken English.
"Good to meet you Shilpa. I am Joyita.", replied Shilpa's co-passenger.
"Oh, very nice name. Never heard it before. Where are you from?"
"I am from Cal.. I mean Kolkata. Had gone home for vacations"
"You study in Hyderabad?"
"No am working there. I am a software engineer"
"'I'ngineer?!", said Shilpa with amazement in her eyes. "You look very young to be working. You must be very intelligent"
"Ha ha, not really. You barely need to be intelligent to be software engineers these days. You just need to have an engineering degree", said Joyita sipping from the thermocol glass that Shilpa had handed to her.
"Really? I think you are very humble. The school in which I studied, only the first ranker got an engineering seat."
"That's strange. I thought in Hyderabad everyone studies engineering and then heads off to the US", said Joyita whiffing her hand in the air across her head to indicate an airplane flying across.
"I am not from Hyderabad. I live in a small town close to Hyderabad. The place where we live the schools are very poor. If we clear our 12th standard exams it is almost as good as graduating"
"Ohh, that’s so not cool" , said Joyita frowning, beginning to lose interest in the conversation. She reached out to her backpack to take her laptop out.
"By the way what is that thing you were using to listen to music?", asked Shilpa pointing to the device she had not seen before.
"Ohh this?”, asked Joyita showing her nano. "It’s an iPod. You haven't seen this before?"
"No. I have seen disc man and I have a walk man in which I play cassettes. What do you put in the iPod? It’s so small. CDs or cassettes won't fit into it"
"He he", smiled Joyita, "You don't put anything into it physically. It has a hard drive to store music on it. You can store thousands of songs. Walkmans still exist? I thought they were extinct"
"Th..o..u..sands of songs? You must be joking", said Shilpa nodding her head in disbelief.
"No really. It’s almost like a mini computer. You can put your songs, videos, photos. You can watch movies as well."
Shilpa was completely amazed. Her mouth was wide open. "Can you show me?"
"Yeah of course. Come here, let me show you", said Joyita offering her one of her headphones.
Shilpa moved to Joyita's berth and sat next to her sharing the headphones.
"What songs do you like?", asked Joyita browsing through her playlists of Enigma, U2, ColdPlay and Nickelback hunting for something that Shilpa might like.
"Mmmmm.. do you have songs from Dhoom 2?", asked Shilpa in an excited voice.
"Oh Yeah ..I have the title song. Here you go", said Joyita selecting the song from her playlist titled “Bollywood Party Music”.
As Joyita played the music she took off her earplug , put it into Shilpa's other ear and increased the volume. Shilpa was loving it. She instantly started shaking her head like a child.
"The sound is sooooo clear", said an excited Shilpa in a loud voice, unaware of her volume.
Joyita smiled and made signs indicating that she could keep listening to it for sometime. She taught her how to browse through the songs, to control the volume and pause and forward or rewind. When Shilpa was satisfied listening to a dozen songs, she wanted to see the videos.
Joyita showed her a few music videos of hip hop numbers on the small screen of the device. Shilpa giggled while watching them asking several questions about who the singer was, who those girls in the background were, why were they all dark in complexion, what the lyrics meant, why they were talking about candies and lollipops etc etc.
"Hey! I don't know all the details, babe. I just like dancing to these tunes", said Joyita after she had tried to answer several questions.
"Oh , you dance also? Wow! Do you have photos of that?", asked Shilpa. "And what is babe?"
"I don't dance dance.. you know what I mean?", said Joyi looking at Shilpa with a question mark on her face, crinching her eyebrows slightly. "I mean, I just dance at parties with my friends. Not dance like dance in a performance or show"
"Ohh you mean in discos?", asked Shilpa.
"Yeah, clubs, discs , parties..that kinda stuff"
"Ok .. I only know about disco. Show me the photos na. And what was that you called me? Babe. What does that mean?"
Joyita was beginning to get a little irritated with Shilpa's questions and intrusion into her privacy. But Shilpa's excitement was entertaining.
"Ok, I’ll show you some photos and videos on my laptop.. And babe is just another way of addressing a girl friend. Like you say yaar in Hindi, we say babe in English. It’s actually a shortened form of the word baby"
"Ohh from baby? I find that so silly. Why call big grown up girls babies?"
"Dude! I don't have answers to that, man", exclaimed Joyita thinking to herself how her regular vocabulary was completely unknown to another girl of her age.
"Doodh (milk)?"
"Oh never mind! It’s not doodh with the Indian "d" it’s Dude with the English "d". It is also a way of saying yaar"
"So funny!", giggled Shilpa, "Babe, dude, baby hee heee heee"
"Yeah now that I explained it to you, it does sound funny!"
"Ok show show, please show your dancing photos. We can see all that on your computer?" Shilpa was amazed at what all the thin white book like computer could do. She imagined computers to be office equipment. Watching videos and listening to music on it was beyond her imagination. It was a whole new experience for her.
"Yeah you can see everything on the laptop", said Joyita. She continued to explain the concept of multimedia, internet and search engines in lay man’s terms. “These videos, however, can be scandalizing”, she said as she hit play on one of her videos at a party.
The video showed a loud, noisy gathering with many youngsters. It was quite dark but she could see Joyita and a few other girls and boys dancing in a straight row, very close to each other, with glasses in their hands , screaming out some song that ended with "It’s your birthday".
"Ohhh my God. You wear clothes just like film stars.", said Shilpa looking at Joyita's short sexy backless dress. "You look like Bipasha Basu in this video. But why are you dancing with all the boys? Shouldn't you dance only with your boyfriend?"
"Ha ha! They are all my friends, so I dance with all of them"
"So closely?"
"Dude, It’s just dancing. I am not... never mind!"
"Which one is your boyfriend?", asked Shilpa.
"I was single during this party. That guy you see in this photo with the tattoo on his arm, he is my ex-boyfriend"
"Ohh that tattoo is nice. I know tattoos.. Saif Ali Khan also got a tattoo of Kareena's name on his hand. But your ex boyfriend doesn't look as good as you. You should be with that guy in the other photo. He looks like Hrithik Roshan.", said Shilpa in an assertive tone.
"Yeah you are right. That’s why I ditched him.", winked Joyita with a wicked smile. "But yeah, Mr.Hrithik Roshan is cute and he is an awesome dancer. Dancing with a super tall guy like him is so sexy", said Joyita pointing to a photo where she was dancing with the cute guy they were talking about. He was indeed tall. She barely reached his shoulders. “But the sad part is Mr. Hrithik Roshan doesn’t like me. What to do?", said Joyita curling her lips downward to make a sad face.
"Why? You are prettier than all the other girls", asked Shilpa totally confident that Joyita was the only one who deserved Mr. Hrithik Roshan.
Joyita smiled at Shilpa's simplicity. None of her girl friends would ever openly admit that. "It’s not about just being pretty. The personalities should match also, right? He is too simple for me."
The train halted at a station and disrupted their conversation.
"Lets go get some food from the station. .. Babe", said Shilpa, happy that she had used the new trendy word.
"Nah! I don't eat all that junk. It’s not good for health. Plus I don't wanna leave my laptop and gadgets here and get off"
"Nothing will happen. Don't be spoilt. We live on all this food. As for your stuff - Aunty will take care of them", said Shilpa pointing to the lady seated in the adjacent berth. "Aunty, can you look after these things while we are gone?", asked Shilpa in Telugu. The old lady occupied in peeling and eating oranges nodded her head and said "Ok, Ok , Ma"
Joyita got up, took her jacket off and tied it around her waist revealing her flat chiseled lower waist bound by her ultra low dark blue jeans.
"Don't take the jacket off. People will look at you. You look sexy that way. Or what do you say... hot"
"Ok meri maaa! (my mother). I won't look hot, I’ll look cool. Now lets go", said Joyi putting her jacket back on as they walked out of the train towards the dosa vendor on the platform.
"Tell me something Joyita.. how are you so good in studies and an engineer when you have boyfriends and you go to parties and even drink?", asked Shilpa.
"What does that have to do with studies? You can do all that and still do well in your career you know. And all those people you saw in the photos and videos, they are all engineers, doctors, MBAs", replied Joyita.
"Really? Even the boys with the tattoos?"
"Yeah .. " , Joyi couldn't help but laugh at her questions.
"We all study and work really hard when we need to. We even stay at work till 11 in the night when we have to. Then when we get a chance to enjoy we party, we hang out"
"Hang what?", asked Shilpa, eager to expand her trendy dictionary.
"Hang out.. I mean go to places, sit , eat , drink, chat etc. Like go to coffee shops, malls and all"
"Ohh so lucky. Malls are sooo expensive for me. Once I went to the mall with my father because I wanted to buy a pair of shoes. Sneakers for my training. They said 5000 rupees. 5000 rupees is my father's one month's salary. We run our household with 5000 rupees. I felt very bad and told him I will never want to shop at the mall again. I will earn my own money and then buy shoes"
"Hmmm yeah, I agree. Malls are usually more expensive than ordinary stores. I am sure you can find a good pair of sneakers elsewhere.", consoled Joyi patting Shilpa on her back. "But what training were you talking about?"
"Ohh I didn't tell you. I am training for my first possible international race this year. I am an athlete. I run"
"No way! An athlete! Wow!”, said Joyita almost not believing the fact that Shilpa could be an athlete. “This is the first time I am meeting a professional Indian athlete. That's totally cool, Dude. I thought you had an athletic body, ", said Joyita, pausing to look at Shilpa from top to bottomm. "But never imagined that you could be doing that for a living"
"It’s not so cool you know. Lots of hard work and very little pay. No one cares for us. They think I am talented so I am in it. I am doing it because I will get scholarship from sports quota to study. Then I can get a job at a call center and then I can be like you all. Hang out and go to discs and buy iPods"
"What? Why would you want to be like us? There are so many software engineers but athletes are so few in this country"
"Because ultimately you are the ones making our country prosperous. You are the ones earning lots of money and living good lives. Not us. We still listen to cassettes on broken tape recorders and have roadside filter coffee and get enough money to barely make ends meet. We are only a few but those many big malls are still unreachable for us. You don't run but you wear Reebok shoes and Nike jackets and have iPods to listen to music from. Look at my shoes" , said Shilpa pointing to her old pair of old white sneaker like keds.
"But Shilpa that’s not the right attitude. You should do what you are talented at and work hard. Anyone can be a call center employee but only one or two can go to Olympics and win medals for the country"
"Olympics is a long way to go. I am not even aiming for that. Do you aim to be Narayan Murthy just because you are in software? No. You do your regular job and you can still do all the things you want at my age. Your one year's salary is probably equal to my life time saving. I don't want to be this way forever. I don't even have the basic necessities, I can't keep dreaming of being PT Usha. Chak De India doesn't happen in real life, you know. Anyway lets hurry, the train will leave in 10 minutes"

They bought some masala dosa and munched on it together and talked some more about their lives. About mobile phones and shared landlines that went dead every other week due to rains, automatic cars and cycle rickshaws, abroad trips and life in a small town, boyfriends and girlfriends, Indian software and Indian sports, about call center employees and government employees, about life here and life there.

Back on the train Joyita checked her belongings to ensure everything was still there. She thanked the aunty for taking care of the stuff while they were gone. The two new friends chatted for some more time, saw some more videos and photos, played some games and laughed a lot. For both of them the conversation was a learning and teaching experience. Joyita was surprised to discover that all the things she took for granted were luxuries for a huge population of Indian girls like Shilpa. "You mean you get water for only a certain time during the day? Man, that can be so hard.”
“In your grandmother's village they still don't have electricity? Like not even light and fan?"
“I can’t believe that you have never seen a real pizza or eaten one”
"You guys still pay dowry, really? That's crazy. During your marriage if the boy's family asks for dowry just give me a call. I'll straighten them out with the help of my lawyer friends"

Shilpa on the other hand was amazed at the kind of lifestyle that girls her age or even younger led in cities. "You can come home with a boy when your parents are there and seat him in your room? Wow!"
"You pay 100 rupees for a coffee??!! Aiyoo! And 10,000 rupees for the iPod?!"
"You can talk to anyone across the world free of cost? Then why do they still have ISDs? Your hang out costs must be making up for all the free calls!", giggled Shilpa.

Hours passed in such discussions interleaved with music hearing sessions on the iPod. It was almost time for the train to reach it’s destination. Joyita gave Shilpa her mobile number and asked her to get in touch with her whenever she was in Hyderabad. "One thing I'll say again, Shilpa. Don't give up on your dreams. I know you want good things in life, but those are material things, they don't last forever. They are definitely not worth giving up your talents for. Don't join the herd, create your own path, babe!"
"Thanks for the advice but it’s easier for you to say all that since you are not in my shoes.", said Shilpa stretching her legs straight and raising it up so Joyita could see her shoes. "Literally", smiled Shilpa and they both laughed.

The station arrived. Joyita was going to get off at Hyderabad and Shilpa was to continue a few more stations down to her town. She helped Joyita get off the train with her luggage. "Bye babe. Thanks for teaching me so many things! And yes, think about Hrithik Roshan, he is nice", said Shilpa hugging Joyi. "Thanks to you too! Many things you said are an eye opener for me. And if Mr.Roshan ever works out, you'll be the first person to know. Anyway take care and call me. Bye!"

The train began to move. Shilpa returned to her seat and sat down looking out of the window watching Joyi walk off with her backpack and luggage. When the train had pulled out of Hyderabad station, Shilpa looked around and then reached into her pocket. Out came a shiny black iPod nano with white headphones. She had managed to keep Joyi's iPod for herself. She looked at it and smiled with admiring eyes, like it was her catch of the day. She put the headphones on and started listening to it on full volume. The sound was loud enough to reach the old aunty. She looked up from her stitching and stared at the new iPod owner for sometime. The new iPod owner was immersed in the sound with closed eyes, shaking her head to the rhythm.

Joyita had just stepped out of the station and gotten into a cab. Once settled she reached into her pocket to take her iPod out. She looked in the other pockets. It wasn't there. She frantically checked her purse. It wasn't there. She remembered distinctly that she had it in her jacket's pocket before stepping off the train. Her phone rang. It was her roommate. "Hey Nidhi.."
"Hi Babe, did you get a cab or should I come to pick you up?"
"No am fine. But I think I just lost my iPod"
"What? How? You spoke to me a few minutes back, did you have it then?"
"I don't know. I think I dropped it somewhere cause I am sure I had it in my pocket till I got off the train. Someone could have easily lifted it from my pocket at the station also. It was pretty crowded."
"Do you want to go back and check at the station?"
"Hmmm thinking...Actually chuck it. You know Nids, thinking of it I think it’s God's way of telling me that I can now buy the iPod touch that I have been eying for so long"
"Good heavens, babe. I think it’s God's way of telling you to be more careful!"

The train had reached Shilpa's town. She got off with her white headphones still plugged to her ears and kept the sleek new device in her hands to attract attention. She was excited about going for her practice with it. She had seen photos of Joyita working out with the iPod tied to her upper arm. As she walked imagining all the stuff she would do with this new loot, suddenly it stopped playing music. She took out the device, pressed all buttons but it would not turn on. "The batteries must have died. I'll go home and replace them.", thought Shilpa looking for a place to put the batteries in. She didn't find anything. "Maybe this needs small batteries like watches", she thought. She saw a wide outlet which did not make much sense to her. She couldn't figure out what went wrong. No one in her small town would know how to fix it either. She would have to wait to go to Hyderabad to get it repaired. She felt disappointed that after all her efforts to stealthily cheat a friend and steal from someone who trusted her, she wouldn't be able to use it. She continued to fiddle with it trying to do something to turn it on as she crossed the road. Suddenly a small boy riding a cycle bumped into her. The sudden contact shook her and threw the iPod off her hands on the road and before she could pick it up the boy rode the cycle on it shattering the small device into pieces. Shilpa screamed at the boy and knelt down on the road, tears rolling down her cheeks. Gathering the iPod shards in her hands she remembered Joyi's words "I know you want good things in life, but those are material things, they don't last forever"

(c) Payal Chakravarty,2008 - All contents of this blog are intellectual property of Payal Chakravarty.

An Unpublished Blog

noreply@blogger.com (Pi) — Mon, 22 Sep 2008 20:06:00 +0000

For the past eight hours Aaliya had sat beside Adhik in her denim hand-chopped capris and t-shirt, her hair tied back into a messy bun put together with a clip that resembled a shark’s jaw, her eyes staring out of the red square glasses into the blue computer screen. She was working on an article on “Blog Copyrights” for the online news portal she freelanced for. She sat in the midst of unwashed coffee mugs and print outs, scratching her head with a pen or nibbling at her nails once in a while. The only break she took other than the biological ones was to catch a breath of fresh air with Adhik in the small balcony of their apartment. As Adhik smoked, she stood their absorbing the noise and movement of vehicles and people in the narrow congested lane in front of their complex in Andheri, her mind pre-occupied with work. This was her technique to unwind; observing the world, storing them in her memory to reuse at a later time when she wrote. A tennis match was about to commence. Adhik stepped inside to switch on the television. Aaliya got back to her work.

"You know Adhi, freelancing is way harder than having a full time job”, she sighed still staring at the computer. “It’s so self-driven. I am tired of these sleepless nights" Adhik responded with a “Hmm”. The Williams sisters were competing against each other for a grand slam title and Adhik's engrossment in the game was difficult to distract.

It was time for dinner. Aaliya ordered pizza using the coupons from the previous week’s pizza delivery. By now the order taker at the local Dominos branch near Sangam Theater, knew her name and choice by heart. In fact they had even developed an intuitive friendship. Adhik always wondered why Aaliya laughed and shared jokes with the Dominos guy more than she did with him. They sat on their couch eating out of the box, watching television. During the commercials Aaliya switched the channel to catch some scenes from “Sex and the City” reruns. This was all the quality time that she could spend with Adhik these days.

Adhik, on the other hand, was much less busy. He did not enjoy what he was doing as a journalist. The newspaper he was working for had undergone drastic decline in circulation rate due to growth of online media. The company did not have money to invest in an online portal or even if they did, their competitors were already far ahead in the race. Instead they reduced their work force and concentrated on the mass that would not have access to internet and would depend solely on print media. And to those people, the only news that sold was celebrity or crime stories. There was no space for thoughtful articles on the deteriorating condition of Indian wild life, tribal India or history of modern Indian politics - topics that Adhik was passionate about. His boss had trusted his talent and had given him an opportunity to write a column on the front page of their weekend supplement. But he messed up big time. He wrote articles titled “A disease called Page 3 syndrome” and “Making news by breaking up”. Initially the chief editor agreed that these topics may instigate readers to think differently. But the reaction was entirely opposite. Readers didn't want to see any reasoning behind trash. They wanted the trash. Since then the newspaper was never published without the picture of a good looking face on the front page, no matter what the news was.

Adhik was moved to write a short column for some pages in the center of the newspaper, pages that a handful read and never commented on, pages that were used up to create conical paper cups for selling peanuts or lining shelves in the kitchen. He had attempted alternate forms of media like blogging. He named his blog “The India that goes unnoticed” and wrote about topics that were too narrowed and focused on issues that only retired senior citizens or the intellectual breed of aspiring journalists cared to read. It did not stimulate young minds which browsed the internet for gadget reviews, YouTube videos, celebrity gossip, or daily humor. The blog went unnoticed. His career was on a down slide. His pay had been cut twice. Aaliya's success that made him ecstatic earlier, made him irritable. He despised the page 3 journalists and hated the fact that his wife was one of them. They had stopped discussing these issues anymore. Their worlds were different and intersected only at dinner time discussions surrounding daily tidbits like household chores and phone messages and at outings with common friends to catch a night show at a multiplex or at a house party.

With her mouth full of pizza, her eyes fixed at the television screen admiring Carrie Bradshaw’s style of writing and sense of dressing in “Sex and the City”, wondering why her life as a journalist was not as glamorous, Aaliya asked Adhik, "Did you make the electricity bill payment, Adhi?".
“No, didn't feel like doing it", replied Adhik taking the remote from her hand to switch the channel back to the game to avoid missing a single second of it. “Didn't feel like doing it, what kind of answer is that?”, asked Aaliya turning around looking at Adhik with her eyebrows raised, holding a half bitten pizza slice in her hand. “It’s not about whether you feel like doing it or not. It’s a to-do, Adhi, a to-do. I think I should just stop putting up those post-it notes all over the house", she said waving the pizza slice in the air trying to depict everything she did. The game resumed. Now Aaliya needed something really interesting to entice Adhik’s attention.

"By the way did I mention who commented on my blog today?" said Aaliya with an excitement in her voice and a spark in her eyes that penetrated her glasses. "Prabir Roy, Adhi! Isn’t that exciting?", she exclaimed without giving him a chance to guess.
“Cool! What did he say", said Adhik in an unperturbed voice, his eyes still fixed on the television screen. He had idolized the noted television journalist since he had started writing.
“My post was about the downfall of Indian television. How Ekta Kapoor and her dramatic soaps and now these ridiculous swayamvar type reality shows have taken the simplicity of television away from us.”, said Aaliya sliding her glasses to her head to hold her hair in place. “I had mentioned how I missed watching shows like 'The World this Week' and 'Quiz Time', how having access to two channels on tv with fixed schedules for Ramayana and Chitrahaar had worked just fine at one time. He commented on that. He supported my thoughts but added how people had grown used to having multiple options and how news was … ”
"Cool, I’ll read it later", said Adhik intercepting her, pre-occupied by the match. “Come on ..”, he exclaimed in response to a missed shot. The sound of audience reaction filled the room.
“Adhi", asked Aaliya getting up from the couch, picking up the pizza box to store away the leftovers that would serve as Adhik’s lunch next day.
“Yeah", responded Adhik.
“Should I send your résumé to Trina? I had met her for coffee at Mocha today”, said Aaliya putting away a pizza slice in a zip lock bag to carry for lunch the next day. “She said that the HR firm she works for has been receiving a lot of requests for online journalists. Online media is booming, Adhi. Why are you so fixated on print?"
“It’s not print or digital, Aaliya. It’s the topics that interest me. It’s my subject, m..my domain knowledge. No one cares about those”, said Adhik in a high pitched infuriated voice looking back at Aaliya. “And this is not the first time I am explaining this to you. What do you want me to do, write bollywood gossip? Anyways, can we change the topic? The match is getting interesting."

“Ok baba, don’t scream. You don’t have to do anything. Sorry I asked", said Aaliya pouring some diet coke into her glass and taking out a beer can to hand over to Adhik. “God knows why you scream at everything nowadays”, she mumbled to herself sticking out the tip of her tongue to make a face at him jokingly.
“Adhi", Aaliya called again, this time a bit softly. She was perseverant in getting his attention.
“Hmm?" replied Adhik, swallowing the “Now what?” in his thoughts.
“There is this online contest for short stories and articles. Why don't you enter the one you wrote about the extinction of the fountain pens? I really liked that article. Or you could enter the one which you wrote on the tribal economy of north-eastern India. That was had great imagery”, emphasizing on the word great.
"Ok, will think about it", said Adhik interrupting her to somehow terminate the conversation. He detested contests. The thought of losing unsettled him enough not to try. Aaliya's constant nudging bothered him significantly. It was like being told by his mom to study for exams. The unspoken expectations were evident in every move that Aaliya made. He could not interpret the reasoning behind her pushy behavior. She wasn’t like this before. Was she genuinely concerned and trying to motivate him? Was she deriding him? Was she upset with his failure and did not like herself getting ahead of him? This wasn’t a race. Or was it?

Aaliya resumed work and Adhik continued watching the tennis match. It ended late. Serena defeated Venus. Adhik wondered whether it was easy or difficult to win against someone you love. Easy, because you know the other person will be happy for you, because the win stays within the family. Difficult, because you think that maybe you should have given the other person a chance, or maybe the other person really expected that chance.

Aaliya had fallen asleep on the couch, cradling her laptop. Adhik got up to tuck her into the sheet that partially covered her. As he was about to shut her laptop and put it away, he noticed a page titled “Journal” with lots of plain text in it. The text was in edit mode and the cursor was blinking. He was curious to read what she was writing. He bent down to ensure Aaliya was asleep. He sat down and started reading it, glancing at Aaliya from time to time to make sure she did not wake up. It was an unpublished blog. There were posts for the past few months which had all been saved as drafts, had never been published. As he read, he felt he was drilling through the shell that Aaliya surrounded herself with. All the posts were fictional stories spun out of her imagination. But Adhik could instantly identify the characters. Some resembled their common friends or acquaintances, people she hated or loved deeply. There were streaks of Adhik everywhere. There were scenes from their life, a striking resemblance with their relationship. He recognized some of his own traits and mistakes that he thought Aaliya had ignored or pardoned.

Almost every incident was a rip off their real life and revealed a truth that Aaliya had tactfully concealed from him. For example, there were mentions of the day when she had missed an opportunity to meet an important person at work because Adhik had delayed her in the morning. “He was ironing his shirt and clearing away the breakfast table of all things. He hasn’t done that in all the time I have known him. And you expect me to believe that was just a coincidence?” she wrote. He remembered her being upset with him but didn't realize that she thought he had done it on purpose.

There were mentions of poems that he wrote which she thought were strictly below average and amateur. In reality she had actually stuck them on the refrigerator with a magnet and kissed him saying "Awesome!"

She wrote about her dilemma of having to control his expenses indirectly. “Does he not realize the fact that the finances are not doing well because of his limited income and immature credit card usage? Credit cards are not some magic formula, the money to pay for those bills go out of our own bank account and we don’t have any god fathers!” The fact that she earned almost double of what he did was something they both knew but never discussed. She lied to her friends and parents about his career progress. “Why did I overlook these things when I was dating him? I knew it then, not like he has transformed. I guess I have”.

There was the mention of how she had stopped being physically attracted to him because of his increasing waist line and his lethargic lifestyle that made him look and feel older than he was. “Every day when I return after an exhausting day at work, riding through Mumbai’s traffic and heat, it irks me to see him sitting on the couch in his shorts, sipping beer and watching ESPN. The house is in a mess, the bills unpaid, the ac in full blast, the beer cans and bowls of snacks lying on the ground next to the couch..”. She had grown tired of trying to motivate him to accomplish things, be it to resume playing tennis and lose some weight, or to contribute to household chores and keep the house clean, or to keep in touch with his family, or to look for a better job.

She wrote about the disappearing chemistry and the looming negativity on their relationship. “I find it difficult even to talk to him or discuss anything. ‘This is how it is’, is his answer to everything.” The love had flown out of the window exactly like her mother had predicted it would. The responsibility was huge. Their interaction was strictly practical or physical. The moments dull. The bond weak. Life was not what she had imagined to be when she said yes to the person she loved the most.

“Wow, Aaliya. This is you, really?!", Adhik thought looking down at her sleeping face. He shook his head in disbelief and let out a sigh. "Why the hell couldn’t you have confronted me instead creating dark character sketches of me in unpublished tales in a secret journal? ‘Cause you don't want the world to know what a loser I am? ‘Cause I am a part of your public image and you wouldn’t take a chance in tarnishing that? ". He felt angry, betrayed, bitter, yet glad that the truth was out. He sat there for a while, with the laptop on his lap, his hands holding his head, clutching his hair in frustration, with Aaliya sleeping like a child beside him. He needed a break. He stepped out in the balcony to smoke a cigarette. Staring out into the open sky he tried hard to recollect the moments that build their three year old relationship. But nothing appeared before his eyes other than the words in her unpublished blog. Aaliya seemed less ambiguous to him now. But this clarity had opened up closed doors that he did not want to enter. The reality had been clouding his mind for a while, nebulous enough to ignore. But now they were crystal clear. And it hurt him.

He returned to the living room, picked up the laptop and resumed reading. Now that he had started, he wanted to read it all. Adhik was reading the last story that was unfinished. It was untitled. The tale was the darkest of the lot. It had shades of his personality that he disliked about himself but never acknowledged. As he read, he was tempted to modify its ending. He wrote a couple of sentences and deleted them. He was in half a mind to publish the blog or at least this story, which closely resembled “their story". He felt sharing the stories would give him a vent for his anger and trigger a real honest conversation between them. He was nervous. But his rage, at that point, overrode all other emotions. After multiple doubtful mouse clicks, he clicked “Submit”. And the story was published publicly. With Aaliya's popularity, anyone who read her blog would read this and anyone who knew them would be know the truth.

A week had passed by. Aaliya was busy covering the news of an American-Indian student whose debut novel was accused of plagiarism. Her editor demanded more spiced up stories of the incident than the facts and Aaliya was working extra hours trying to put together articles and interviews. She met Adhik only for twenty minute dinner breaks during which all she discussed was her work. Adhik cooked, cleaned and served her dinner. She looked up from her work, smiled and said a thank you. He sat quietly with his hands on his chin, watching her eat and talk at the same time. He could better interpret her thoughts and comments now. She had never appeared more transparent to him before. He could finally read her.

After dinner when Aaliya returned to her laptop, the phone rang. “Aaliya!!”, screamed an excited Diya, “You guys never told me! Awesome stuff, man! Congrats on the first prize” Aaliya was surprised. “Diya, hold on, hold on. What fiction? What prize?”. “Come on, girl. Thought Adhik would have told you, already. Or oops, maybe he wanted it to be a surprise. Ok go check for yourself expressioncontest.com and pass the line to him”.

Aaliya was confused, yet excited. She entered the website while handing the phone to Adhik. There it was on the first page. First Prize Winner: “An Unpublished Blog by A.Rai”. She started reading the winning entry. Her excitement faded. She was shocked. It was her words, her thoughts, even her punctuation marks and paragraphs, her story! She was confused as she read every word. "Did Adhik discover my story and submit it to the contest? Wait, this means Adhik had discovered my unpublished journal and not told me about it. Why?" Too many questions crowded her mind. At the same time there was a tinge of happiness of another win. As she scrolled to the bottom of the page her eyes popped out. The story ended with an entirely different climax. It ended with a different author. Adhik Rai. Followed by a note from the contest organizers saying "Congratulations Adhik, we will be contacting you shortly with details of your internship with a noted author". There were several comments from critics and judges appreciating the work. "You are the face of contemporary fiction!", "Interesting twist". Aaliya did not feel like reading anymore. She closed the browser and returned to her work titled "Plagiarism under Pressure?"

Between Similar Sunrises

noreply@blogger.com (Pi) — Mon, 25 Jun 2007 01:41:00 +0000

It was the first time outside her comfort zone. Outside her home which she had left only for vacations with her family, outside the reach of people she knew and loved, outside the continent that she had ever been in, outside everything that she understood.

As she lay down half-awake, blinking to adjust her eyes to the light of the bedside lamp, Shyna tried hard to focus her view on the man sleeping beside her in this new room, on a new bed. She rubbed her eyes and lay there sideways, her head resting on her henna adorned hands, looking at Sunil, wondering what was in store. Not that she did not know Sunil. They had been speaking with each other for over a year now. They had gone on a few dates when Sunil had come down for the engagement ceremony to India. They had even stolen kisses in the car. They had exchanged long emails, chatted on the internet till wee hours of the night and slept with the webcam on. They knew about each others' past relationships, about their bad habits and their weaknesses. Yet somewhere deep within, she felt a strange apprehension. Some fear, some anxiety, some discomfort.

She dragged herself out of bed. Clad in a noodle strapped, knee length night dress she felt a sudden chill. She looked around for something to cover herself. The sweater she had worn the previous day, during the eighteen hour journey half way across the world, was the most accessible thing at the moment. The rest of her stuff were still packed in two big suitcases; suitcases for which they had paid baggage penalty since she insisted on carrying everything in her life that mattered. She had packed old greeting cards, albums, tops she had worn since teenage, all the cheap shoes she bought from Commercial street, stationery from her office that she did not want to part with and so on. She tiptoed lightly out of the bedroom to ensure Sunil did not wake up.

As she walked across the hallway of their one bedroom apartment, she tied her long hair into a ponytail and paused to glance at herself in the mirror. This was the first time since the ceremony that she had gotten a chance to look at herself carefully. The vermilion in her hair had barely faded and the henna on her hand was still fresh and dark. She thought she looked funny. The sweater and night gown with gold jewellery and henna seemed like a fusion of things she had never imagined herself to be in. She felt grown up and lost, a bit displaced. She continued to the living area. The switch appeared to be in the ON state but the light turned on when she changed it to the OFF state. She twitched her eyebrows and commented to herself, "Everything is opposite in this country!"

She found the place a little too small. The printed cloth couch was too big for the small living room and looked like it had been handed down several generations. The dining table looked more like a bar table and had only two high seats. There was a large flat screen television with multiple wires connected to it. She remembered Sunil mentioning how he hooked up his television to his laptop to watch cricket matches from the internet and how he experimented a lot with his home theater settings and audio video setup. The bunch of wires untidily emanating out of the television were proof. She went into the kitchen in search of water. She opened the refrigerator, casually inspecting the kitchen counter over her shoulder. There was everything in the refrigerator, beer, juice, coke, other than a bottle of water. Holding the door open she looked around the kitchen for a water dispenser like Aquaguard. She didn’t find anything that looked like potable water. “Where does he drink water from? The tap?”, she thought in her mind. She gulped down some apple juice to quench her thirst.

As she walked across the apartment she was apprehensive about adapting to the new environment. She had already started missing her spacious room with the balcony overlooking Ulsoor Lake, where she stood every morning enjoying a light cool breeze with a homemade cup of ginger tea and Good Day biscuits, talking to Sunil on the phone. She checked the time on the digital clock on the wall. It was 3 AM. She did a quick calculation in her mind. It was 1:30 PM in India. It was time for a lunch break at her work place. The sound of the congested road in front of her office on Airport Road; the pings from her colleagues to decide on a venue for lunch; the noise of her two-wheeler which had served her faithfully since tenth grade; her best friend’s constant chirping sitting behind her, complaining about how the new hire on their team was just wasting time on social networks, while she rode through the crazy traffic, filled her ears. She imagined her office cubicle to be occupied by someone new, her motivational posters and post it notes with her handwriting dumped in a trash can. Life continued as is for the rest of her colleagues and friends while she was the only one who wasn’t there. It was like someone had lifted a piece from a completed jigsaw puzzle and placed it elsewhere where it did not fit.

She seated herself on the couch behind the large windows of the apartment. As she looked outside into the dark at the snow-covered apartment parking lot, tears rolled down her eyes. The darkness and dampness in a bachelor pad which was supposed to be her new home, the unfamiliar smells and furniture made her long for home.

She realized not only was she missing the familiarity of her home and office, she realized she was missing Sunil, his warmth, his smile, his voice. She reminisced their long conversations ignoring time boundaries. Wiping her tears she lifted her laptop that lay on the coffee table, logged in and went on to check her email. Ignoring the emails from friends and relatives inquiring about her safe arrival, she opened the folder which contained Sunil's emails. It excited her to re-read those emails they had written to each other in the initial stages of their relationship. The smilies, the new nick names, the talks about a utopian future. She smiled as she read some of the emails.

“Shy-na is so apt a name for you. No shy!” Sunil had written in response to her attempt of seducing him in an elevator. As she browsed through her inbox she found another interesting one that ignited some of her favorite memories.
“I want to go biking now. I know its 2 AM in the morning. Don’t want to call and disturb you. But if you are awake come and get me, please? Please, PLEASE, PLEASE” read one of her emails. She knew emailing Sunil was as good as calling him since he was always on his blackberry. She remembered that morning when Sunil actually came by at 3 AM with his bike and they both went biking in the middle of the night while the rest of Bangalore slept. She had bribed the watchman with hundred rupees to keep it a secret from her parents. They biked through unknown lanes and roads for hours, discovering new short cuts, racing each other, taking breaks to sit by the roadside and stare at the vehicle free streets that shone with moonlight. At the break of dawn they had tea from a street side tea vendor and sneaked back into their homes. Going through those mails made her feel better, feel like things had not changed much.

She browsed to her online album of photos to recapture some of the moments in the past. She ran a slideshow of their trip to Ooty. Photos with the office gang as they hiked and rode on horsebacks and paddled a boat in the lake. She clicked Next quickly to run through all the photos till she reached the one she loved the most. This photo where Sunil hugged her from behind, squeezing his hands inside her sweat shirt pockets as they both gazed at the sunrise, was her all time favorite. She was in the habit of viewing that photo again and again to relive that moment. That was the first time he had ever touched her. She wanted to speak to Sunil right then.

She picked up the phone and dialed Sunil's number.
The voice on the other end said, "I was waiting for your call."
"Hmm, were you sleeping?", whispered Shyna.
"No I was viewing your wedding snaps. You look beautiful." said the Sunil on the call.
"Hmm. I was viewing our Ooty snaps", said Shyna softly, her fingers clicking the next and previous button on the laptop to browse through the photos again and again.
"You have not deleted them yet? ", inquired Sunil in a surprised tone.
"No, I tried.... I couldn't", Shyna responded nodding her head, sighing.
"So is this going to be our last conversation then, as you promised?" asked Sunil. His voice was mature, stable and assertive.
"Is that possible?" asked Shyna, her voice weakening as she tried to be firm.
"You want to go back on your words even now? I warned you, Shy"
"I know... I know", her eyes filled up again, "But what else could I do.. it was a mutual decision, right?" She sniffed to contain her tears.
"Right... and I would like to stick to my words. Delete me completely, Shy. We have to do it now. We have postponed this too long. It’s high time"
"How far are you, Sunil? Half an hour? One hour? I know somewhere in the outskirts of this city, right?" Shyna digressed, sounding optimistic.
"I don't live near you", said Sunil with a firm voice.
"I’ll look you up.”, said Shyna opening Mapquest. “It was some Chestwood Road, right? 212 Chestwood Drive .."
"You won't find me. Shy, I told you... don't do this. We have to move on now"
"Move on to where, Sunil? I married another guy who is exactly NOT like you! I have to live with some other Sunil. All so that I could come here.. somewhere close to you!"
"That’s the point, Shy. You MARRIED another man. You have to value that commitment and begin living like his wife", said Sunil trying hard to convince Shyna.
"I am willing to live like his wife.. and I will. Just tell me how far are you... just so I know you are somewhere close by... "
"I am close to you, Shy.. very close to you and will always be. That's all. Take care and have a happy life. Love you. Bye"
He hung up. Shyna forced shut the flip phone, crying. She deleted the number from the dialed numbers' list. She stared at the folder titled "Ooty" in her web album followed by the folder titled "Wedding". She wanted to delete either one of them. She was tired of switching back and forth between the two Sunils of her life, between attachment and obligation, between longing and belonging, between passion and a new relation.

She knew it was wrong, right from the beginning. A relationship in office between a team lead and a new hire with an age difference of a decade was never going to be right. She initially thought it would be a fling, just an infatuation towards a man who seemed smarter and more mature than any of the boys she hung around with, whose only interests were bikes, beer, and cute girls. But before she knew it, it had crossed a limit that she had not intended for it to cross.

In the beginning the relationship had been limited to coffee conversations about their common interests centered around technology, books and food. She admired his knowledge in so many spheres from politics to gadgets and his leadership skills that enabled him to handle any situation with ease and classs. She admired how articulate he was. His perfect pronunciation reflected his boarding school upbringing. He took an interest in her random questions that not all freshers asked and she went the extra mile to impress him. She would read tech blogs that he read and leave insightful comments that he noticed. She made an extra effort to improve her work that made Sunil happy, like putting detailed comments in the computer programs she wrote, a habit that most new programmers didn’t have. She would suggest eclectic cuisines for team lunches, and order books from the library that no one did. Her crush on him deepened the day he pushed her aside, away from the traffic as they were walking along the congested road back to office from a team lunch. She felt secured with him.

Sunil was a reserved person and did not voice his opinions very often. But he observed Shyna closely. He would drop by at her cubicle once in a while to give her good feedback or follow up on an issue she was working on. He enjoyed teaching her things, whether it was an old theory or a new programming language. Shyna waited for those brief moments when he came by to work with her on her computer, sitting close to her. The proximity gave her palpitations. She fidgeted in her seat. She diligently noted down everything he said since she would have a hard time absorbing anything when he was so close to her. She had never worked so hard or sincerely in her life. All so that she could hear Sunil say, “Good job Shyna. Keep it up”. And once in a while he would throw in a few compliments about her outfits or books she read.

The Ooty trip took the relationship to the next level. During the trip Shyna saw Sunil in his regular self outside the office environment, in shorts and tees, leading the trek and rowing the boat, swimming the fastest laps, and excelling in rock climbing. More than anything else she noticed his radiant smile and his willingness to help everyone. Whether it was first aid or a technique to do something, he was always there for everyone. And Shyna did notice him noticing her. When she looked towards him, he didn’t look away, but just smiled. His smile gave her goose bumps. Shyna was almost in love with him. Then came the morning that changed their lives.

They both were up early, much before the sun had risen. Sunil's thoughts and the unspoken words between them had been keeping Shyna awake. Sunil was up early to take a call with the clients in US. They bumped into each other in the hallway.
“Hey! How come you are awake at this hour?”, asked Sunil, surprised.
“Just wasn’t getting sleep. Thought I would step out to get some coffee and see the sunrise. My room is facing the west. So I was walking over to the lobby”, replied Shy.
“Oh really? I am headed out on a short hike to catch the sunrise as well. Do you want to join me?”
There was no reason why she would refuse. “I don’t mind”, she said trying her best not to sound over excited.
They set out on a trek by themselves. They knew the rest of the gang would not be up before another couple of hours.
“What’s your favorite kind of sunrise music?” asked Shyna attempting to start a meaningful conversation.
“Sunrise music?!”, Sunil laughed. “I don’t think I have music for every occasion. But if I had to think of a song now it would probably be .. ummm.. let me think”
“Mine would be Annie’s Song”, said Shyna intercepting, not giving him a chance to think.
“Mmmm, John Denver. Good choice. I like that song too. You fill up my senses like a night in the forest, like the mountains in spring time, like a walk in the rain..like… what was next?”, asked Sunil, squinting his eyes , trying hard to recollect the exact lyrics.
“Like a storm in the desert, like a sleepy blue ocean, you fill up my senses, come fill me again”, Shyna completed the sentence.

Dawn had begun to set in. Hues of yellow and red were lighting up the darkness around them. They reached the edge of the cliff just in time to watch the sunrise. It was the most beautiful moment of her life. There were no words spoken. No noise in the background other than birds chirping. No light other than the first fresh rays of summer sun. No other smell other than the raw fragrance of evergreen forests. Nothing surrounding them but the beauty of the mountains soaked in the warm tones of the sun. No feeling but the feeling of pure bliss. She moved to the edge of the cliff and inhaled a deep breath. He moved a step towards her and put his arms around her from behind. Shyna was not shocked or surprised. She looked back, tilting her head away from him and smiled. The rays of the sun made her skin glow, her hair shine and her eyes twinkle. He smiled his radiant smile and looked away at the sun. Thus begun a relationship with unspoken words that only the mountains of Ooty were witness to. After several minutes of silence Shyna spoke, "Can we capture this moment to preserve forever?". That's when he took out the camera and placed it on his tripod to take the picture of the moment they loved to re-live.

They returned to Bangalore and continued a relationship of an unknown future, of no name and of no knowledge outside themselves, their mailboxes, phone conversations and the mountains. Their relationship was unconventional. There were no expectations. They never admitted they loved each other. There was no expectation of having to meet after work, or having to talk on the phone. They never gifted each other anything or went out of their way to make the other person happy. Yet there was a bond that was inexplicable. They would meet to watch a street play, or a classical music performance. They would meet for a run in the morning or a walk in the evening to eat some street food. Sometimes Shyna would spend her Sunday at Sunil’s place. They would do normal things like cooking and cleaning, or read Calvin and Hobbes together or watch a movie that they loved and then argue about their opinions. All they cared for was each other's company. They never discussed marriage or a future. They knew they would have to face reality some day but they postponed those thoughts to later, to a time when there would be no choice. But in their minds they had accepted the fact that this was not going to work.

When Sunil's transfer to the US materialized, she was relieved that this was the chance to get over it. The day the proposal for marriage had arrived after Sunil left the country, Shyna had promised to delete the "Ooty" folder. When her mother told her the guy who was coming to see her was called Sunil and lived in the US, her heart skipped several beats. When she met the new Sunil, she came back to earth. Sunil was a nice guy, very much like her. Talkative, funny, intelligent. She liked Sunil and agreed to the marriage. But the mountains never left her. She divided her day equally between the two Sunils. The same name helped her avoid mistakes. The phone numbers were stored under the same name, she called them by the same name and she referred to them by the same name. Her life revolved around Sunil, sometimes even she lost track, which one.

Shyna re-captured the past year as she looked at the various photos. She had stopped crying and was feeling sleepy and tired. She closed the laptop and got up. She walked across the living room, pausing briefly to look at Sunil sleeping cosily in their bedroom. He looked content. She walked ahead to the balcony. Dawn was setting in. Hues of yellow and red light were lightening up the darkness outside. She stepped into her slippers and stepped outside to catch a first glimpse of the apartment complex which was going to be her new home. When they had arrived the previous night she was barely awake. The first rays of the sun had begun to melt away the snow on the railings. She stood in the balcony watching another sunrise in a new country, in her new world. Suddenly she felt someone's arms wrap around her. She tilted her head to look back. Sunil looked down at her and smiled. He spoke softly, "Welcome home, Shy. Welcome to our home, to our very own.. 215 Chestwood Dr" and looked away at the sun. Shyna looked back at the sun, her eyes wide open. Her heart had skipped a beat. A bird chirped in the background. The fresh air smelled of a new land. There she stood with Sunil and the sun. In her new home. On earth. On 215 Chestwood Drive .....

The Imperfect Relationship

noreply@blogger.com (Pi) — Sun, 30 Jul 2006 09:20:00 +0000

Jia was almost sure Arnab was not the one. As she sat at her desk toying with their red and gold wedding invitation and subconsciously nodding to what he was saying on the phone, she had the urge to say it once, once and for all, "Arn, this is it!".
But seven years had gone by, they had fought and broken up, apologized and made up, argued and agreed and everything else. Only she could never speak it aloud. There was no reason to. Arnab was perfect. Her parents loved him. He was a well-settled lawyer hailing from a family of eminent legal professionals and judges, good looking and that too a Bengali Brahmin. They couldn't have asked for anything more. Her sister thought he was the perfect b-i-l who took her shopping, listened to her relationship stories and helped with her assignments. Her friends loved him since he was so much in love with her. He would always remember important dates, surprise her with gifts for no reason, give her the space to spend time with her friends, escort her everywhere, handle her finances, respect her parents, keep in touch with her friends and cousins....there was absolutely no one who disliked him. All she ever heard was how lucky she was to have him. To Jia, though, the relationship felt like a permanent date where there was a constant pressure to impress the other person. Things were a little too perfect, unflawed. It made her feel claustrophobic. It made her miss being herself.

But this had been her decision, her choice. She had fallen in love with the smart and chauvinistic Arnab while they were going for the same twelfth grade Math tuitions. She was the one who had made the first move to take their friendship a step further by dropping hints like calling his number by mistake, or sitting next to him while hanging out with friends. She was the one who told the world that she loved Arnab. Jia ended up blaming herself for finding flaws in him now. "Of course no one is going to be perfect. And I fell in love with him for what he was, why should I expect him to change?" Jia consoled herself. She adjusted and made herself believe that they were made for each other.

She accompanied him to all the parties where Arnab was the center of attraction, playing songs on the guitar, complimenting people, cracking jokes and telling everyone how beautiful his fiancé was. She sat in a corner, playing with the wine glass, glancing at her watch from time to time keeping a check since she would have to drive him back home, making polite conversation with people she could not stand and wishing she had the evening to herself, reading a book, watching a classic or practicing Ikebana.
She also went with him to the pub on Friday evenings, pretending to enjoy death metal when all she had ever liked was The Beatles. But she could not refuse to go either, because whenever she had wanted to go to her favorite coffee shop, listen to some jazz and do a crossword, he had accompanied her and even solved the entire crossword. That too, had annoyed her. "Why does he have to make me realize I am not smart enough?", Jia would think to herself. "We solved it! ", he would exclaim as he deciphered the cryptic clues one by one, effortlessly. That had made her feel worse since she knew she could not have solved it by herself.

Arnab never understood what Jia scribbled in her diary from time to time. After a lot of requests Jia agreed to show him her musings about the world as she viewed it. She wrote about how rainy days had changed from being fun in childhood, to being romantic in teenage, to being dreadful now, especially on weekdays when she had to worry about the edge of her trousers getting soiled and the potholes damaging her car’s suspension. She wrote about how she disliked the way her best friend from school had changed after going to college in Delhi. He laughed as he read the first two entries in her diary, patted her on her head and said, “You are such a child, Ji!” before returning to browsing news feeds on his blackberry or diverting his attention to stock market news on the television.
"A child??!! Will he ever understand me??", thought Jia annoyed at the fact that Arnab perceived her sensitivity as immaturity.
These were some of the minor differences along with the regular she-loved-art-and-he-loved-sports kind of differences.
The wedding happened with everyone's blessings. Arnab surprised her with a honeymoon to Singapore. “A city for a honeymoon ??!!”, thought Jia. They shopped and dined and partied while she wished for a deserted moonlit beach or a hike in the foothills of the Himalayas.
After they returned Arnab shared their honeymoon photo album with all their friends, even the ones in which she wore a swimsuit. "You could have asked me once before sharing that album, Arn!", she said in a perplexed voice as she hung up the phone with a friend who had called to compliment her for maintaining her figure.
"What's the problem Ji, I think you look fantastic!"
"So you want all your friends to ogle at me?"
"Come on Ji. Stop being so conscious!"
The fight had continued for three days till he removed the share and sent her a sorry e-card.
She hated him being so open about their relationship, so un-possessive. She hated the fact that he was always telling people how beautiful she was and how much he loved her.
"Wow, you are so lucky Jia. I wish my husband ever said that loud" , her friends envied her.
Sometimes she wondered to herself, " I think I am the one who is weird!". Those were the few days when for no reason she would be excited, humming a song to herself and cooking Arnab his favorite dishes following recipes provided by his mom. But Arnab probably was so happy with her that he never noticed her extra joy or the lack of it.

Arnab always unhesitantly handed her the phone when Joy called. Joy was Jia's best friend in school, her philosopher, guide and soul mate. Jia sometimes made futile attempts in using Joy to make Arnab jealous. It never worked. "Joy understands me more than anyone else in this world", she said after hanging up the hour long conversation and getting back to folding and pairing Arnab’s socks. "Great. At least someone understands you completely the way you want to be understood. I am glad you have Joy as your confidante, Ji.", Arnab smiled as he hugged her from behind and kissed her neck. He expressed himself more than usual when she was in the midst of the household chores or in Arn’s words the “wifey stuff”.
"Is he out of his head?", Jia exclaimed to herself shrugging away.
Sometimes she wondered if he could have another relationship. But he was so hopelessly in love with her and that was known by everyone. It was a thought she was wasting her time on.

A year passed. By now Jia had accomplished the art of making up excuses of migraines or work to catch up on for party invitations. She encouraged Arnab to go for a guys’ night out at the pub while she practiced Ikebana at home. Joy came over to give her company sometimes and they read poetry, laughed over their school stories, made beaten coffee, ordered Chinese food and watched black and white classics together. Arnab came home and joined them without an inkling of suspicion.
One such Friday evening when Joy was over, he mentioned meeting some long lost school friends on a social network.
"You should join, Jia. Everyone's in. We have an entire community for our school"
"Oh come on Joy, you know what a computer ignorant person I am. I don't have the patience to sit and browse through social networks"
"Even Megha and Shiv are in. They had a baby last month."
"Really. Is there a photograph?"
"Yeah. Log on, I’ll show you"
They logged on to the social network called Orkut. Every user had his or her own page or profile where they wrote tid-bits about themselves, posted pictures and communicated with friends. Joy created a profile for Jia and they had a good time going through profiles of childhood friends. Jia was so excited that she left a message for everyone she knew. They discussed how people had changed.
“My God, check out Srilatha Punnaswamy.”, exclaimed Jia. “She is wearing short dresses and all. When did she become so hip? I remember her pleating her dupatta and pinning it up in place and oiling her hair everyday. And her husband looks cute man!“
“Wow I didn’t know Ritesh was smart enough to become a research scientist. He was such a typical Delhi-ite. Good as long as he didn’t open his mouth!”, said Jia making gestures with her hand to indicate a talkative mouth opening and shutting itself.
“Isn’t that Ipshita Banerjee? She has lost so much weight. Ohh , is that Tarun Sukhani?”, asked Jia pointing to the picture of a couple which was evidently self taken by one of them extending their hand out to shoot themselves. ”When did Ipshita and Tarun hook up? Wasn’t Tarun seeing Ipshita’s older sister, Sushmita?”
“Aww look at Dev’s kid. So cute. Did I tell you I had bumped into Dev the other day at the mall. He looks like a man with a big beer belly!”
“Everyone has moved out of India or what? Brain drain, I tell you!”, she said noticing everyone’s location.
“And where is Anamika Sethi , Joy?”, teased Jia. Anamika was a bomb shell, the most sought after girl in school and Joy’s childhood crush.
“Wow. She still looks super hot!”, exclaimed Jia checking her photo out from head to toe. “Why did she marry this bald fellow?”, she said twisting her eyebrows, disapprovingly.
“He is an IAS officer, Jia. Must be smart. But yeah, I mean, if she was going to marry this bald guy I could have given it a shot”. She agreed and they laughed about other stories revolving around Anamika.
As she browsed through various profiles and searched for names, she came across a name that she did not believe could have been there.
Arnab Chatterjee.
She clicked on it, half wondering if it was him. “Maybe he had created it and forgotten to mention it to her”, she thought.
There it was. Her Arnab. The photo was one taken during one of his trips abroad standing in front one of those typical places of interest that she had difficulty remembering now.
Status: Single
Here for: Dating
Passion: Women
She did not believe what she was reading.
"He must have written all this for fun, you know", she said looking up at Joy.
She visited his scrapbook where visitors to his profile could leave messages or scraps for him. She followed every link to the people Arnab had communicated with.
"I think you are beautiful. Would you like to be friends with me?", he had written to some fair girl with fake blue contact lenses, whom Jia instantly classified as “slutty” in her mind.
"I like your smile. Lets talk", read another scrap to a girl in a short skirt and a spaghetti top who barely looked eighteen.
She looked at Joy in disbelief and then looked back at the screen.
"Do you really believe this, Jia? There are many people faking identities. It could just be one of those. And come on, you know Arnab. He is such a busy man. You think he has the time to do this bullshit?"
Jia did not reply. She continued doing what she was doing.
Joy excused himself.
"I think I should leave now Jia. And I think you should turn off the computer and go to sleep. Don't jump to conclusions"
Jia did not reply.
Joy left.
Arnab returned late.
Jia had gone to sleep by then.

Weeks passed, Jia logged in everyday to the social network and followed Arnab's scrapbook. Everyday there were new friend requests he sent to random girls. Some replied, some did not. Some abused and he deleted those.
She thought she would create a dummy profile and entice him to interact with her. She even went half-way through with it but then withdrew. She did not want to confront him. She considered this to be a blessing in disguise. This was her chance to tell him how she had stopped feeling for him, how she considered their relationship to be just another obligation.

After a month of playing hide and seek with her own self, a month of leaving Arnab’s food on the table and sleeping before he returned and leaving before he work up, a month of blaming crankiness on pre menstrual syndrome and then post menstrual syndrome, Jia was desperate to escape from this mess somehow. Arnab was traveling to Supreme Court on a case. It was a perfect opportunity for her to leave and take time away from their life to decide what she was going to do next, for better or for worse. She had no plan of action or an escape route. All she was looking for was an exit. She decided to take off impulsively somewhere. Somewhere like Darjeeling where there would be no familiar faces or places, no routine, no humdrum, no Arnab and no access to the internet. She called a travel agency to make a reservation. The next available flight was two days later. As she walked around their apartment in her printed wrap around skirt and cotton sleeveless top, speaking to the travel agent on the cordless phone while cleaning up the clutter in the living room, she noticed the various things around their apartment that reminded her of Arnab and their almost a decade old relationship. Their perfect photos taken in perfect outfits in perfect poses stared at her from photo frames of different sizes and shapes all over the house. The huge terracotta vases that they had brought from their visit to Arnab’s ancestral house in Krishnanager, the potted plants that they treated like their children and took turns to put out in the balcony, the collection of souvenir plates they had accumulated from their trips to Bhutan, Burma, Singapore and Sri Lanka, the shelves of non-fiction books that were Arnab’s prized possession inherited from his grandfather, the handmade hanging lamps at the corner of the living room that they had fixed together, the Persian rug that they bought from the Kashmiri carpet vendor whom her mother-in-law had sent on a Sunday morning, the expensive porcelain dinner set that had been taken out to serve meals on special occasions or to special people, the floating candles in the circular silver tray that they received as a first anniversary gift, every single object had a significance, a story; every single object spelt Arnab and Jia. As she stacked away the current month’s Business Week and India Today on their side table, hanging up the phone after her travel was confirmed, she noticed one of Arnab’s watches on the side table along with some business cards. His socks and handkerchief lay below the table next to their dark brown Rajasthani low seats. She didn’t want to put his things in place anymore. She didn’t feel like picking up his socks anymore. She didn’t feel like doing the “wifey stuff” anymore. The in-your-face Arnabness in their apartment made her uncomfortable. She realized the first thing she would need to do to escape was to get out of this house.

She changed into a kurti and jeans, packed a duffle bag with a couple of tops, undergarments and toiletries, picked up the book she was reading from her nightstand, called the maid and asked her not to come for work for the next week, kept the car keys and house keys on their wooden mantle piece and walked out of their apartment. She hailed a cab and directed the cab driver to Joy's house.

"I am here for a couple of days now", she said entering his apartment and taking her shoes off at the entrance.
"Jia, what's wrong? I hope you are not doing something silly", asked Joy taking the bag from her hand and placing it on the ground.
"Don't feel like talking now, Joy. Just let me sleep on the couch"
She took off her watch, placed it on the coffee table and sank into the couch; placed a cushion underneath her head and lied down. She picked up the remote and started flipping channels. Joy stood there and watched her for sometime. Then he turned off the television and sat down on the floor in front of her.
"If you don't want to talk about it, it’s okay Jia. If you need a shoulder, let me know."
He got up to go away. Jia pulled his hand and broke down.
"It’s ok, let yourself out. We will solve this", Joy consoled her.
She did not say a word, just cried on his shoulder and wet his t-shirt. Jia cried for the next two hours. As Joy comforted her and Jia lay in his arms sniffing and venting out her feelings, she, for the first time, felt the platonicity of their relationship losing itself. But she did not make an attempt to stop herself. Joy did not either. They made love that night. They made love several times; on the couch in his living room, on the beanbag in his study and finally on his single bed in the bedroom.

In the middle of the night Jia woke up. She opened her eyes and gazed at the ceiling. For an instant she expected Arnab’s familiar face next to her. Suddenly she wished this was just a nightmare. She got out of bed, tiptoed into the restroom and splashed water on her face. As she looked at herself in the mirror she did not know whether to feel good about leaving a man whom she couldn’t trust anymore or feel guilty about sleeping with her best friend. Either ways she was the one who seemed to have lost. There were a thousand voices disturbing her, questioning her: parents, friends, in-laws, Arn, Joy , even her own self. She could not look anymore.
She went to the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. As she hunted for the tea leaves and sugar container in the unfamiliar kitchen, it dawned upon her that this wasn’t her territory. She stared out of the window watching dawn set in while the boiling milk almost overflowed. She took the mug of tea and entered the study. The sight of the bean bag where they had made love last night perturbed her. She picked up her bangle from the floor next to the bean bag, where she had placed it last night in the hurried process of undressing herself. She sat at the computer table. Joy's screensaver did not have a password. She went inside her mailbox. The compose button seemed to invite her to write and tell the world. She closed the internet explorer window. She opened another one and typed the URL of Orkut in the browser’s address bar. The page appeared. It had remembered the last user. Arnab Chatterjee.

(c) Payal Chakravarty,2008 - All contents of this blog are intellectual property of Payal Chakravarty.

A Feint

noreply@blogger.com (Pi) — Tue, 25 Jul 2006 17:21:00 +0000

He said are you in for it?

She smiled and said yes.
You know the consequence right?
Yeah.
There's no coming back from this point.
I trust you.
Love you.
Love you too.
And they jumped.
From a height of 143 feet.
Headed straight towards the ground.
They got the biggest adrenaline gush of their life.
Bungee jumping was awesome!
She was thrilled. She screamed her lungs out.
He held on to her, tightly.
And then the stop never happened.
There was no snap, no pull, no recoil.
They headed straight towards the ground without anything to hold them back.
Life flashed before her eyes.
And they landed.
Smashed against the earth.
Shattered bones, blood and two deformed bodies lay on the ground. And their lay the swiss knife he had held in his hand to cut the last bit of the rope that he had already sawed into.
It had been a long month trying to preserve the secret.
The secret that she had been diagnosed for the last stage of cancer.

The Known Stranger

noreply@blogger.com (Pi) — Tue, 25 Jul 2006 17:20:00 +0000

Misha was 28 and successful. An investment banker on Wall Street. She travelled to work everyday by the bus she boarded right in front of her studio in the heart of Manhattan. Most of the times she sat by the window solving crossword puzzles, looking up a couple of times through her black framed oval glasses at boarding passengers, not necessarily noticing them but just letting her eyes wander, thinking of a solution that she had almost guessed.

During one of these short glances just as she was about to look back at her smartphone, Misha spotted a familiar face....no not a regular co-passenger she did not know, but a new passenger she had known long back. For a second she convinced herself he was just a look alike. But as she concentrated on the face as he purchased his tickets, she was sure it was him. The boyish face had matured into a 30-something smart young man. Yes it was him. All the scenes flashed before her eyes.

The rainy afternoons when they had floated paper boats in the narrow water clogged street separating their houses; the bars of Dairy Milk chocolate they had shared in school uniforms; the books they had exchanged and read together sitting on their terrace on sunny winter days; the park where he had taught her how to ride a bicycle; the evenings before exams when she taught him mathematics while he tried to follow cricket match commentary on the radio. She remembered the first time they had held hands, the song he sang for her and the poem she wrote for him, the first gift he got for her, the affectionate names they called each other, the first time he told her to wear a longer skirt because he did not want other guys to stare at her legs, the times they spent discussing their children's names, the temple and mosque where they prayed together, the diwalis and eids they celebrated together when he taught her how to burst crackers. And then came the day that changed things. She topped her school and he failed in class. The following year he started smoking and hanging around with the guys she didn't like. She had begged and pleaded him to stop and he had agreed. She remembered distinctly the night when her parents found out about them, when they stopped her from taking calls and going out. "He doesn't have a future, don't you see that, Misha? That boy is going to ruin your life!", her Dad had screamed. Then there were the secret phone calls she made in the middle of the night and got caught red-handed, the day her mom called his family and warned them not to let him meet or talk to her, the clandestine relationship that she managed to carry on through friends in school, letters and sign language. But he did not change for the good. Before soon she she discovered he was doing drugs. She stopped talking to him altogether. Her parents were after all right, he did not have a future. She remembered the day she got an admit to Brown, the evening she met him for the last time to tell him that she was leaving...forever, when he said he hated her for the first time, when he accused her for ruining his life,when he promised he will never want to see her again.."You selfish ambitious bitch!", he had shouted. She had cried on the plane,she had cried during her first year in Boston when the bitter winter and loneliness devoured her,she had cried on their birthdays and anniversaries, she had given him blank calls on ISD, she cried for the last time the day her best friend informed her that he was seeing someone else, how hard it had been for her to get over that fact, but then she had moved on, got busy with her career, had been in a couple of relationships and wiped away those memories completely.

As she sat there that day she couldn't believe it was him. And what was he doing in Manhattan? The last she had heard was that he was trying to manage his dad's business. Was he here on some business? Difficult. Was he married? Single? She tried to notice his ring finger. Nothing. How would he react if he noticed her? She suddenly felt the urge to look at her reflection to see if she looked alright...the same, different? She realized she looked different enough from what she was 11 years back. Of course she was no more lanky and pale, her hair was colored, she had glasses, wore makeup and formals. So much different from her tomboy avatar, the shorts, tees and sneakers she would roam around in with ponytails. He had had to persuade her to wear a salwar kameez one day and she had agreed on condition that he does his homework himself for a week. Maybe he wouldn't recognize her. As he approached her she looked away in nervousness. He passed her looking straight without noticing her. For the rest of the journey it was difficult for Misha to concentrate on anything. As her bus stop approached she wished that she did not have a meeting at 9 o clock. She had no choice but to get off.

Next morning he boarded the bus again. This time he noticed her....he paused to look at her in disbelief and then just continued. Misha wasn't sure what to do. Should she approach him or just let it be. He hated her, she knew.
The saga continued. He boarded the bus everyday at the same stop. Looked at her and walked on. She never understood what his look meant. Was it a "I hate you! Why do I have to see your face again" kind of look? Or "I am sorry. Lets meet" Or "I think you look like my ex-girlfriend" kinda look. She never could comprehend. But he looked.

She was dying to find out what he was doing in New York. Had he known she was here from before? She thought of calling some common friends but then she wasn't sure she wanted them to know that she still thought of him. She thought she would wait one day till he got off. But that would be too obvious. By now Misha had lost her sleep and appetite.

One of the days he entered the bus wearing a Columbia University t-shirt. Wait...is he really going to Columbia? Suddenly she felt guilty for having lost her faith in him. For believing that she wouldn't be happy because she was going to be more successful than him. The entire reason why she had given up on the one and only meaningful relationship in her life. She regretted being proud enough to underestimate the only man she had truly loved.

Another day she decided to play a trick. She did not sit at her usual front window seat. She sat far back from where she could notice him. He boarded the bus and looked straight at the seat where she usually sat. On not finding her there he looked around. Misha was relieved. She bit her lips to suppress her smile. As his eyes wandered in search of her,Misha made up her mind that she would initiate the communication next week. He spotted her and looked satisfied. He did not express anything, not joy, not pain, not even surprise! He seated himself right in front of her. This is the closest Misha had gotten to him. She could see his neck, his t-shirt, his ears. She could smell his cologne. He never looked back. He continued to read his newspaper listening to the iPod.

Three weeks had passed and Misha was impatient by now." Oh wait, next Tuesday is our anniverssary. I will speak to him then.", she thought. Misha rehearsed what she was going to say to him. She decided what she would wear.

On Monday the bus was extremely crowded. Misha did not get a place to sit. She stood, trying to balance herself holding on to the handles, trying to avoid stepping on anyone with her pointed heels. The stop came. He entered. He came and stood right behind her. Her heart had started pounding, her stomach hurting because of nervousness. She could feel his breath on her skin. His hand brushed hers when the bus halted. She dared not look back, just hoped her hair smelt nice.
Then something happened which she had not dreamt of. As the bus stopped at the stop before the one she usually got off at, he bent forward and whispered in her ears, "Mish, why did you leave me? I could never stop loving you, never".

Misha was too stunned to answer.... she was not expecting this. She had frozen. He brushed past her and got off the bus. "Wait, where are you going....this is not even your stop!", she said in her mind. She could not speak up. By the time the thought occurred to her that she should get off too, the bus had started moving. She glanced out of the window trying to catch a glimpse of him. He stood at the bus stop smiling. She did not understand the smile either.

As she was trying to gather herself, half happy, half sad, guilty, confused yet feeling good that he at least spoken to her, Misha suddenly heard the loudest sound she had ever heard in her life. And then there was a blackout. After some unknown time span she regained consciousness. She couldn't see anything, she couldn't breathe. There was smoke and heat. All she could feel was pain, terrible pain, pain that she had never felt before. She felt that she could not lift any part of her body. She was dying. All she saw was her blood-smeared bag lying next to her, the bag that she had hung on her shoulder while standing in the bus that day, the bag that had carried the bomb! The faint noises of ambulance sirens, police, people, journalists and the words "Islamic activist group", "terrorist attack" reached her ears. But all she heard loud and distinct was her dad's voice "He doesn't have a future, don't you see that, Misha? That boy is going to ruin your life!"

(c) Payal Chakravarty,2008 - All contents of this blog are intellectual property of Payal Chakravarty.