SHRAVYA BHINDER
Something I’m Waiting To Tell You
PENGUIN BOOKS
Contents
Soulmate
December 1943
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SOMETHING I’M WAITING TO TELL YOU
Shravya Bhinder loves to find hidden stories around her and write novels about them. Formerly a corporate employee, she managed to flee the madness after a few years of boredom to become a full-time writer. She is a sucker for romance and strives to pen down exciting stories. When she is not reading and writing, she is out enjoying nature, playing with her dogs or cooking for her family.
She lives in Melbourne with her family, in a house with a barren backyard and a lifetime’s collection of books.
Also by the Same Author
Something I Never Told You
To You, with Love
Soulmate
I grew up watching a lot of Hindi movies. Bollywood conditions us to believe that our soulmate is the one who is a perfect fit for us. Most of us think that we are one half of a puzzle that the soulmate will complete when they walk into our lives. They will just fit and mould themselves to make us whole.
After having gone through many ups and downs in my life, I now know that Bollywood is wrong. We are not a puzzle, we are not incomplete beings, we are, in fact, complete in ourselves. We just do not know it yet. A soulmate is a person who shows us what we truly are, a person who challenges us to be the real us, a person who brings out the best in us not by becoming a part of us but by becoming a mirror to our soul. They help us lose our inhibitions, addictions, ego, and transform our lives just by being there. They need not mould us into someone else, they need not fit into the gaps that we feel within ourselves but they need to be able to shatter every obstacle around us so that we can grow fully. They open our hearts so that light can reach even the darkest places; they sometimes make us lose control only to awaken us.
A true soulmate is the only person we need, and a true soulmate is the only person we seldom meet . . .
Whenever we meet new people, knowingly or unknowingly, we become a part of their stories. Sometimes we leave these stories midway and wonder what happened next.
When we exit a story, the story continues. The characters continue to live their stories and explore their fate.
When you exited our story, we continued to live. Life happened and so did many other things.
But before we get to our story, I have another story to tell you. Another love story that needs to be told because that was where it all began.
Let me take you to the year 1943.
December 1943
To be able to go to London and study law was a dream, a dream that he never saw, a dream that was someone else’s, and yet he was more than willing to fulfil it. It was his father’s dream. Young Mohinder Kapoor was at war with himself; his heart told him to follow its lead while his head had its own plans. Mohinder’s father wanted him to study law in London. He wanted Mohinder to make connections in the big city, which was the centre of the world for most people. The old man wanted only the best for his son and his business. He wished that one day Mohinder would be a man of influence, who would be more successful than the previous generations in the family; a man who could do as he pleased and not have to wait for others to decide his destiny. Senior Kapoor was not wrong as a father to wish the best for his child; he wanted a safe future for his son, a secure life that few people in the land could boast of.
What Mohinder wanted was not a question deemed important enough to be raised. Not that his father would have not let him fulfil his dreams, but it was never a question that was to be asked. In that day and age, it was assumed that all a son wanted to do was to continue the legacy of his family; all he should do was fulfil his parent’s wishes. It was an unstated rule, and no one ever thought that a child could have their aspirations too. A girl child suffered more because she was initially supposed to fulfil the demands of her parents and get married as per their wishes. And then, she had to follow the rules of the new household and work on the wishes of the new family, which was mainly restricted to a male heir. Have the rules changed over the centuries? On the face of it, yes; but the essence remains the same. And, you know what? We mostly do what others expect us to—look happy on the outside while bit by bit our inner self breaks into millions of pieces trying to keep our loved ones happy.
Mohinder, too, wanted to fulfil the said duties of a son. He wished to be a painter and a writer, but he knew that, being the only son, it was his responsibility to take over his father’s business of spices; to see that his family was well settled, financially. So he didn’t utter a single word when his father decided his career path without any consultation as if he was not a part of it at all. He was a mere doer. But Mohinder was anticipating it; he knew that painting or writing was not a serious career choice if he had to earn well and provide for everyone around him, at least not in those times. And yet, when his baba told him to start packing for London to get his law degree, something inside him broke. He was to go away for years and not return even during breaks. At that time, travel was neither cheap nor convenient. While he had no qualms about getting on the life path decided by his family, his heart ached for his younger sister Radha’s friend Raavi.
Raavi was their neighbour’s daughter. Over the last few years, she had become a woman many dreamed of. Her out-of-control frizzy hair was now always shiny and fell around her face like a halo. Her skin looked illuminated in the sun and reflected the dim light of the moon. Her laughter always filled the room she was in and her perfume intoxicated Mohinder. She was everything that Mohinder was not—outspoken, witty, happy, charming and, most of all, she did what she wanted and not what she was told to do. Even though she loved her like her own daughter, Mohinder’s mother called her a rebel and often jokingly warned Radha to steer clear of her. ‘She will fall in love and run away, I tell you, and then you will miss her the most.’ Radha just blinked rapidly, unable to decide on her reaction while Raavi stuck her tongue out and mocked the older woman. They were a family already and Mohinder marvelled at how good the entire set-up was. All he needed now was for Raavi to love him back, if not as much as he loved her, then just enough for her to agree to marry him. She was trouble and he wanted her to be his trouble.
While he knew that his mother loved the chatterbox who had frequented their home since they were kids, when and how he fell in love with Raavi was a mystery to him. All he knew was that he loved her; he loved her more than he had loved anyone before. He dreamt about being with her all his life. Initially, he had presumed that the recurrent thoughts about Raavi were the result of her constant presence in his house and life as his sister and Raavi had been inseparable since infancy. Then he started looking at her differently and noticed small things that he would have never seen otherwise. Like her smile—she had one crooked tooth that stood out as she smiled. It made her look so innocent and added to he
r charm. Her hair was darker than Radha’s and longer, too. She moved her fingers a lot in her hair and tended to curl a few strands around her index finger when trying to explain something. She made a lot of funny faces when she was forced to drink milk and she cheated whenever they played a game of cards, unabashedly, with no care in the world!
But Mohinder never could muster the courage to talk to Raavi about how he felt, how his heart missed a beat every time he saw her dancing with his sister in the rain, or how he thought she would be the perfect daughter-in-law to his mother every time the duo fought and made up. He could not as, during those times, if you loved someone, courting or dating was out of the question. There was only one way of being with your beloved and that was through marriage. While he knew that the families would have been more than happy to be tied together for life through their alliance, that was not the right time as he didn’t want his father to look at Raavi as a distraction in his son’s life. Neither did he want to get married and then have to leave her in India and be in London all alone for two years, while she stayed far away, thinking about him. He knew that getting married and taking her along was out of the question as it would have been a very costly affair.
Even though he was very sure of his future with her, since his father declared that Mohinder was to go away for a few years, he wondered what would happen to his love. Till the day he was to leave, he kept contemplating whether he should confess his feelings. But contemplation without action leads nowhere. So, he went off, with all his love still in his heart and words echoing in his head. He stayed in London for three long years instead of two; every day hoping and praying that Raavi would not get engaged to marry anyone else. He wrote to Radha every week and she, too, corresponded regularly. The girls were now almost nineteen years old, and his sister was engaged to a young man in Delhi.
Finally, he came back after finishing law school. Radha was getting married that week and he promised his heart that as soon as she was off to her new home, he, too, would talk to his parents about getting married to Raavi. But first, he had to tell her how he felt and also ask her if she felt the same way. Living in London for the last few years, he knew how important it was for her to love him back if they were to live happily. He wanted her to like him enough and to find him suitable at the least before the families fixed it all. The families would have no issue with the alliance—that he was sure of.
So, he looked for her one evening and found her sitting alone, basking in the January sun on her terrace, which was joined on one side with theirs. She looked like a painting that he wished he had created. Her full lips, long lashes and dark hair made her look divine. Her eyes shaped like almonds were fixed on something in her hands as she faced the sun bravely and her skin looked golden. It was a beautiful sight to behold. A part of him didn’t want to disturb her! All he wanted was to look at her for days. And that was all he did until he realized that someone was coming over to her, jumping several terraces—a man dressed in a black kurta-pajama. A man who was approaching Raavi with a smile plastered across his face, his eyes spoke of affection.
When he reached Raavi’s terrace, Mohinder shouted at him, ‘Oye! What do you want? Who are you?’ His voice broke the peaceful state Raavi was in, enjoying the winter sun warming up her body.
She looked at the man and then at Mohinder wide-eyed. Her fingers touched her lips and with pleading eyes and shaking her head, she requested Mohinder not to scream. He was puzzled. As the man came nearer, she said, ‘Please, for the love of God, do not say anything to anyone, Mohinder. We love each other.’
His world shattered in front of his eyes. But what else was he expecting? A girl as beautiful as her, as loveable as her, would remain hidden from the world? He was expecting a miracle when he had prayed that she’d be single when he returned. She was unmarried but in love with this man. He could see that in her eyes, the way her face lit up when he greeted her. She was in love with this man more than Mohinder was in love with her.
Later that evening when Raavi, Radha and Mohinder sat on the porch, she told him all about Raza, the goldsmith’s son. He belonged to a rich Muslim family. However, she was worried that her parents would never agree to the match. ‘His parents will not understand either. Even though our families are so close to each other, they won’t get us married, you know . . .’
Mohinder felt a little happy with this information. There was a silver lining, after all! But then, the floor beneath him shook, when she added, ‘But we plan to elope soon.’
‘What? Are you mad?’ he said suddenly, shrieking a bit. Radha punched him on his arm, ‘Shush . . . Dheere bolo (speak softly),’ she reminded her elder brother.
Radha was Raavi’s confidante and she wanted her best friend to find her happiness even if it meant eloping with the man she loved and ‘bringing shame to the family’—like her own mother had predicted she would do.
‘You know that her father will have a second heart attack, don’t you?’ Mohinder reminded the young girls sitting in front of him.
They looked at each other with sad eyes for a moment and then Raavi said, ‘Then you talk to them and make them understand. They love you so much, they can never say no to you.’
They loved him so much and could never say no to him . . . was the stupid reason why he had delayed the whole thing. It was why he never confessed his feelings, it was why he assumed that they would one day get married to each other, because her parents loved him so much and never said no to him!
Anyway, wounded and ready to get further scarred, he told Raavi that he would talk to her family after a few weeks. He needed time to align his thoughts and tame his heart. If he was to be the man that his parents had raised him to be, he had to be in the right frame of mind. So, Radha got married and moved to Delhi and every few days, Raavi reminded him of his promise.
It was in July 1947, when talks of Partition had begun. Mohinder and his family decided to move to Delhi to be close to Radha until all the hype had subsided. ‘We will then come back and resume the business,’ his father told his family. They planned to take only some possessions and, like most of their neighbours and friends, they too believed that it was a temporary move and things wouldn’t change much. A few days before their journey, they dug a hole in their backyard and put all their cash there. ‘Papa, we might not be able to come back. I have heard that we should carry our gold and property documents with us.’ Mohinder had his sources and, if they were to be believed, this move would be permanent. Honestly, he didn’t mind a permanent move. He wanted to be safe and any place close to his sister’s house was a good move for the family. Raavi’s family was also moving with them; they were all to take the same bus and then a train to Delhi.
His father decided to listen to his son, and they took all of their gold as well as documents along. The night they were boarding their bus, they had a visitor—Raza. Raavi and he began trying to convince his parents about their getting married. When they did not agree to the match, Raza decided to accompany Raavi’s family to Delhi. ‘I have my uncles there; we can get married and settle near Lucknow. They will help me get some work and I have some cash and jewellery to keep us going, if you allow,’ Raza pleaded with Raavi’s father. He was not happy; none of her family members were, but it was not the right time to argue. The boy was willing to leave his family and home for the sake of their daughter’s love; they knew the boy and liked him too. Moreover, it was time to move and everything else had to wait.
So, all of them made the move. Raging with fury, Raza’s brothers and father met them at the bus stand and warned of consequences that no one paid heed to. The news was that violence had broken out and it was safer to reach Delhi than to remain in the part of Punjab they were in. They, along with several others, boarded the bus.
After midnight, they reached the station and crammed into a train going to Delhi. Everyone was scared; the future was so uncertain suddenly. Looking around, the thought that they were moving permanently crept into everyone’s mind. Mohinde
r’s family was small—just him, his father and his mother. They found some space to be together. Raavi’s parents, her three young brothers, one unmarried aunt and Raza couldn’t fit in the same compartment.
‘I will take care of them,’ Mohinder said, as he held the hands of one of her three brothers and made the boys sit on the laps of the members of his family. Raavi’s father just nodded and took the rest of his family to the next compartment.
Within minutes, they heard screams. When Mohinder looked out of the nearest window, he saw people running everywhere. Just outside the window stood Raza’s elder brother, Mushtaq. He had a sword in his hand. And he was clutching someone’s hair. Rage ran through Mohinder’s body like an electric current when he realized that it was Raavi whom Mushtaq had forcefully pulled out of the train and was now holding at the point of his sword. Before he could react, do something, say something—Mushtaq dug his sword deep into her and her lifeless body dropped instantly. Tears filled Mohinder’s eyes, and he heard a roar—it had come from his mouth. He was shivering, the realization hitting him that she was now dead.
All because she loved someone.
One by one, Mushtaq and his brothers killed Raavi’s mother, father, aunt—even Raza. Mohinder froze where he was. No, he was not a coward. He wanted to kill them all with his bare hands and he knew that he could kill a few. He was a strong man, but they were armed and he was not. He also looked at the pale faces of Raavi’s brothers who were so stunned that no words escaped their open mouths. His parents were crying, shocked at the horrific spectacle. They loved Raavi and her family, he loved Raavi and her family, but they were dead and all that remained were her three brothers. The train started moving slowly. People desperately wanted to cram into the train, so they stomped over the dead bodies. He couldn’t bear the sight. Mohinder hugged the three kids in front of him. She was gone but he had to survive in order to give the ones who survived a life she deserved. His love for her was too strong. He had to do the right thing. She was gone but his love remained and, at that moment, he thought that it was all he needed to survive: his love for Raavi and his responsibilities towards the ones that mattered to him.
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