by Vibha Batra
‘No, we’re not, Lavith.’
‘Don’t be stupid –’
‘I’m not interested in getting married to you –’
His hands were on my shoulders and he didn’t realize he was shaking me. ‘Do you know what it’s like to be illegitimate?’ He said thee word like it was abuse. ‘To carry the weight of that word around? To live your life knowing that you’re not wanted by the person who brought you into the world?’
I didn’t know, but I knew what it was like to be in relationship without love.
‘Have you even thought the whole thing through? You think living with the “unwed mother” tag’s going to be a breeze in a small town like Ludhiana?’
What did he think of me? That I was so jhalli, so stupid that I didn’t know that much?
‘First of all,’ I began. ‘Ludhiana’s not small town. It’s city. Second of all, I’ve thought of everything. After one month, I’m moving to Mumbai, big city, where no one knows me.’
‘And when people ask you about the father of the baby?’
‘I’ll say he’s dea –’ I saw his expression and changed my answer quickly. ‘Divorced.’
I pushed his hands from my shoulders and took one step back. From him, from thee discussion.
‘I know how you feel, Lavith, but –’
He pushed his hand inside his hair. He always did like that when he was in tension. ‘You can’t possibly know how I feel.’
‘I’m sorry, but I cannot marry you. Not for thee wrong reason.’
‘Having a baby together isn’t reason enough?’
No, you duffer, I wanted to shout. It’s not enough, I want more. But how could I? Oho, I wasn’t being proudy or giving him attitude, I was giving myself respect. If he didn’t understand this much by himself, what was thee point? He’d said we understood each other. I’d understood him, but my shoe only he’d understood me. He toh didn’t know thee M of Mahi.
I decided to give him one last chance. ‘But you always said you wanted to see thee world, eat at every restaurant with three stars –’
‘Three Michelin stars,’ he corrected.
‘…have exciting adventures, new experiences. But marriage, children, staying in one place, sticking to same routine? Is that thee life you want for yourself?’
‘It’s not the life I’d imagined for sure, I’ll give you that,’ he confessed. ‘But that’s life, Mahi, it constantly surprises you and –’
Bas, I didn’t want to listen to one more word. I’d got what I wanted, thee answer I was looking for. Finally, I was cent-percent sure that I was taking thee right decision.
‘You’re wrong, Lavith.’ My heart was broken glass, my voice was steel. ‘You should get the life you always imagined. Anyways, let’s not talk about this anymore. My decision is final. I’m not interested in you or marriage. So, please, leave me alone. Okay ta-ta bye-bye.’
I walked out of thee gym with straight shoulder, without backward look.
17
In which the air is cleared and bridges (at least, some of them) are mended
‘You’ve still not eaten?’ Bhooto slapped her forehead, looking at my untouched food tray. ‘Rabba, what’s wrong with this girl. Close thee laptop now, look at thee time. If not for yourself, eat for –’ She didn’t finish thee sentence. She picked up thee edge of her dupatta and started wiping her eyes.
It was few days after thee wedding. We were back in Ludhiana. I’d already announced my decision – thee Mumbai one – to her and Niku. They had taken thee news so badly, cried so much that I was worried thee whole Ahluwalia tabbar (oho, family) would move to Mumbai.
But how I could be so selfish? Bhooto’s kitty parties, her BBFs (oho, Bank Balance Friends), Niku’s business, his close friends, their whole life was in Ludhiana. So I’d used Brahmastra (oho, deadly heavenly weapon). I’d put both their hands on my head and given them my swear. They would stay back or else they would see-see my dead face.
They had already seen my half-dead face in Hawa-Hawai island. I’d not even smiled even when Muesli had gifted me five free hotel tee shirts. Also, he’d spoilt everything by adding, ‘Please give us five-star rating on Tlip Advisol, Madame’. As if I’d take bribe-shibe to say good-good things about Lembla Resort on Trip Advisor.
Anyways, leave. My heart was in too much pain. I’d hidden my inside feelings from thee world, but my family knew thee inside truth.
Tarzan had left thee resort soon after our gym discussion. I got to know only next day, on thee day of wedding. I felt really upsetted and hurted by his behaviour. Oho, not because he didn’t have thee courtesy to tell me goodbye, because he didn’t have thee courtesy to stay back and wish Andeep and Dingy happy married life.
Then, I thought, good only he left. I could work in peace. And I did. I acted like complete professional. Made sure thee execution was as perfect as my idea. That was my surprise gift for Dingy.
So, in our Punjoo tradition, thee bride enters thee mandap area walking below Phoolon ki Chaadar (oho, canopy of flowers) carried by her brothers, cousins, friends. But I wanted nothing less than grand hero’s entry for my BFF. That’s why I’d organized special topless tuk-tuk.
Thee scene when Dingy entered thee wedding area, standing on it, wearing deep red lehenga choli and matching golden Aviators – oye hoye, don’t ask – it was ghaint (oho, cool-shool, awesome-shawsome). Everyone’s mouths fell down.
Amanjeet (Andeep’s brother-in-law) toh got so excited, he brought out pistol from his pocket and was going to fire shots in thee air.
Uff!
Just because you have gun licence doesn’t mean you’ve license to act like donkey. Typical mentality. Doing local nonsense at international level.
Luckily, Dumpy jumped on up and pulled him down before he could pull thee trigger. Or Andeep would have been honeymooning with male prisoners in Thailand jail.
Honeymoon. Thee word brought tears to my eyes. Oho, not because I would never have one with Lavith, but because I’d fulfilled my promise to Dingy. I’d made sure she did bang-bang in Bangkok.
Dingy. Thee word made me even sadder. Oho, not because she was moving to Delhi after her marriage, but because she was still not talking to me. I’d broken my promise to Dingy. I’d made her look like Number-Two (not shit, secondary topic) at her own wedding.
I was hundred-percent sure that even in Ludhiana thee Number-One topic of discussion was Mother Mahi. But if Bhooto or Niku had heard something, if anyone had called them to get gossip, they didn’t tell me. I toh was least interested to ask. Dogs bark, elephants quietly walk away.
TING TONG! TING TONG!
Thee doorbell rang broke my thoughts.
‘Sukhna’s gone to thee market. I’ll go and see,’ Bhooto said, rushing out.
I switched off my laptop, walked to thee side table and picked up my food tray. My room door opened:
THAANNNNN!
I dropped thee food tray, my mouth open in surprise.
Dingy was standing there! Bride Dingy! In bright pink suit and red bangles almost till her underarms.
‘Mahi!’ She ran in and threw herself on me.
‘Dingy! What are you doing here? I thought you were in Bangkok.’
‘I couldn’t stay away from you, Mahi!’
Hai, she had cut Andeep – means, cut her honeymoon with Andeep, because she was missing me.
‘Mahi-ve, lakh-lakh sorry. I behaved so badly, didn’t talk to you, didn’t say thank you. You did so much for me, you made me thee happiest person in thee whole world. And what did I do? I ignored you in your bad time. I’m so sorr –’ she burst out crying.
‘I’m sorry, Dingy,’ I burst out, my eyes becoming taps. ‘I didn’t want people to talk about me, I wanted you and your wedding to be thee talk of thee town –’
‘And we are, Mahi, we are,’ she said, wiping her nose. ‘Andeep gave his swear to his family, dare they said anything about what happened to anyone back in India. No one knows about your news, but everyone knows about
Dingy’s tuk-tuk entry.’
For thee first time since my return, I smiled.
So what if Mahi’s personal life was shit and shocking?
Her professional life was hit and rocking.
We wiped each other’s tears and talked – okay, okay, gossiped thee whole afternoon. I didn’t tell her about my Mumbai decision – I thought why to spoil her mood again? But she told me everything. What all she’d done in Bangkok (in detail), about her new family (they were not so bad also), about Dumpy and Simran (they had broken up). About Tarzan.
He’d gone to Chennai for one week. Oho, he had house there. He’d been wanting to sell it, but something or thee other kept happening and it kept getting postponed. First, he was busy drowning in thee floods, then he was busy shifting to India, then he was busy working like mad dog, then he was busy fighting with me, then he was busy starting his new business.
Anyways, after Dingy left, I felt lightum-light. If my loved ones were okay, everything in life was okay.
I switched on thee TV to do some time-pass. Thee news channel was on and as usual, thee anchor was yelling. I was going to change thee channel, when my hand got stuckum-stuck to thee remote.
‘Cyclone Vardah devastates Chennai…life comes to a standstill…heavy rainfall…widespread destruction…’
Scary scenes filled thee TV screen. Fallen trees, electricity poles, lamp-posts. Upside-down cars, autos, shipping containers. Missing roofs, broken windows, waterlogged roads.
I stood like statue, not able to believe my ears or eyes.
Someone had pressed rewind button in my life.
Tarzan had gone to Chennai to die again.
Last year, he’d had lucky escape. What would happen this year?
It was thee day after thee cyclone. I was in Chennai, in local taxi. I’d contacted Andeep thee minute I’d heard thee news. Thanks to God Chennai Airport had reopened. Bas, I’d rushed to Delhi and taken thee first flight.
Bhooto had begged and cried, asked me not to do dangerous things in my state, but I’m like Bhai (not Niku, Salman). Once I make commitment, I don’t even listen to myself.
‘I don’t know how to thank you, Rakesh,’ I said in sincere voice. ‘I’m so grateful to you.’
Rakesh was Andeep’s bua’s daughter’s – oho, he was Andeep’s reporter friend from Delhi. He’d come with me to Chennai to save Tarzan last year, too.
‘Not grateful enough apparently,’ he muttered.
‘What?’
‘The name’s Dinesh. D-I-N-E-S-H, Dinesh.’
That was thee problem with him. He was good fellow, but even during emergency situation, he was bothered about silly things like name.
‘Okay, okay,’ I said in soothing voice. ‘Please, ask thee driver how long it will take us to reach Kott…Kottu…’
We’d been stuck in traffic jam for more than one hour.
Rakesh leaned forward in his seat. ‘Pah, how long will it take us to reach Kotturpuram, pah?’
Arre, why was he making thee taxi-driver his Daddy?
‘Local parlance for “friend or yaar”,’ he explained, seeing my confused look.
We didn’t speak anything else during thee journey. I was in too much tension. I’d tried to call Tarzan thousand and one times, but kambakht mobile networks were down. I’d called Neeru Aunty and Dhiren Uncle, too. They were in bad shape. I’d promised them that I’d be back with good news (oho, not THAT good news, good news about their son) soon.
Thee taxi stopped suddenly, cutting my thoughts.
‘What happ – ?’
I gasped as I saw in front. There was no road. Only fallen trees from here to there. It was as if we were standing in forest.
‘Could you try another route, please?’ Rakesh asked thee driver. ‘The lady here has to rescue her –’
‘Family friend,’ I supplied thee missing information.
‘Family friend, really?’ Rakesh was fully fed up. I’d given him same bull-and-cock story last year. ‘You’re still going with that?’
I gave him wooden look. Arre, I didn’t want to tell my personal life to every Tom, Dick, Harpeet.
‘Saar, do something. There must be another way,’ Rakesh please-pleased.
‘Chance-ey illa,’ thee taxi driver refused.
I paid and we got down.
‘F@#$! F@#$! F@#$!’ Rakesh cursed.
We started walking and kept going for one hour – oho, it felt like one hour – in some forest, asking people for direction.
‘That, that’s his street!’ I shouted as we reached familiar place.
Thee street, like all thee streets we’d crossed, was filled with bent trees, fallen trees and people trying to clear fallen trees.
Suddenly, I stopped. My heart started beating badly. In the middle of thee street was tall, broad man in bright pink tee shirt. I’d given Tarzan that tee as our first month anniversary gift! I couldn’t see thee man’s face, but I knew in my heart it was him.
My hopes climbing up, I started walking fast-fast towards him. I’d almost reached him when huge branch fell from bent tree, crushing him.
I screamed!
I don’t know what happened next. I think so I died and went up to heaven.
Because when I opened my eyes, my head was in Tarzan’s lap.
‘Mahi, Mahi.’ I felt his hand on my cheek, water drops on my eyes.
Hai, there was so much pain in his voice.
‘Lavith?’ I blinked, looking up.
There was small crowd around us.
‘Mahi? Oh thank god, you’re okay, Mahi!’ He bent down to hug me. ‘Please, she needs some air,’
Thee crowd started walking away.
I looked at him, feeling relieved. Tarzan wasn’t dead! Tarzan wasn’t crushed like sugarcane stem! He was fine!
‘For a moment, I thought –’ he shivered, unable to finish thee sentence.
‘That I was off?’ I closed my eyes and stuck my tongue out, giving dead expression. ‘I thought you were off too. I saw that tree fall on – oh, god,’ I gasped, struggling to sit up. ‘What happened to that poor fellow?’
‘He’s going to be fine, the volunteers are tending to him. But you, don’t ever do that again.’
‘Faint or come on rescue mission to save you?’ I smiled weakly at him.
‘Both.’
‘Then don’t keep coming to Chennai to die.’
‘I promise,’ he said, relief shining in his eyes. He reached for my hands. ‘I love you, Mahi.’
I pulled my hands away. ‘You only say that when I save your life, Lavith.’
‘So not true.’
‘Name one other time you told me that?’ I challenged.
‘God, I’m an idiot,’ he groaned. ‘But I was so afraid –’
I stared at him. Tarzan and afraid?
‘That I’d mess things up, that you’d leave me. And you did. You abandoned me. Just like my –’
Hai, he was comparing me to his father.
‘With him, I knew where things stood, but you leaving – it was just – I just went to pieces,’ he swallowed, shaking his head. ‘When I came back to that empty apartment, I’d never felt so empty, so alone.’
Tears started shining in my eyes.
‘I knew I’d screwed up, I knew that. All I wanted was another chance. And when I discovered that we were pregnant –’
I toh didn’t know why he kept saying he was also pregnant, but, by god, it sounded cute.
‘You were shockum-shocked.’
Tarzan nodded. ‘I was taken aback, yes, but I thought I finally had a chance to make amends, to make it up to you and to him or her.’ He put his big hands out and put them gently on my small tummy.
Oh, I toh felt my heart go diggy-diggy.
‘But all those things you said about your friends Prem and Romila?’
‘Pranav and Tina,’ he corrected.
Uff!
I toh didn’t know why everyone was so bothered about names.
Anyways, I contin
ued, ‘I thought you didn’t want me and baby. I didn’t want to us to spoil your life, come between you and your dreams. You only said it wasn’t thee life you’d imagined for yourself.’
‘I’d never imagined I’d find love, Mahi. I’d never imagined I could be so happy. I’d never imagined someone as sorted as you could love someone as messed up like me. I –’ His voice broke, repairing my broken heart. I’d put on weight, but suddenly I felt light as idli.
‘You’re not that bad also,’ I said jokily.
‘I am,’ he insisted. ‘But, boy, am I glad you see it that way.’
‘I love you, Lavith.’
‘I love you, Mahi, so, so much. Promise you’ll never leave me again?’
‘I promise,’ I whispered, joining my hands in his, my life with his.
Someone cleared throat very loudly or God only knows how long we’d have sat hugging-shugging in thee middle of thee road.
We looked up. It was Rakesh. No…Mukesh? Brijesh? Oho, same difference.
‘Set a date, will ya?’ he said in disgusted voice.
‘Can’t wait,’ Lavith said happily.
‘Can’t wait,’ I repeated like happy tota (not hot girl, parrot).
About the Author
Vibha Batra writes for children, tweens, young adults, adults, and senior citizens. She can be found in quaint cafes in Chennai, hunched over her laptop, writing away like a woman possessed or on FB: facebook/vibhy.batra or Instagram: @vibhybatra.