Rohit had called me a few times since I’d sneaked out of his home without waking him up; he wanted to check on me and see if I was okay. I called him back and assured him that all was fine. After having a cup of tea, I decided to go to Nani’s home to complete the mission. I tiptoed up the stairs and reached Adira’s room. A dustbin was kept outside the room, and I hoped to find my treasure in it—thirty or more strands of her hair. The door is closed, great! That makes my work easy. I lifted the lid and scanned the contents of the bin with a lot of concentration leaving aside the disgust.
Suddenly, I heard a voice coming from Adira’s room; she was not alone. Tamanna was with her, and she sounded outraged, ‘What a swine! How could he?’ I froze as soon as I heard her. Hurry up, my mind said, or you will get caught peeping in the dustbin like a starving cat.
‘Do not talk about him please, Tamanna. I tried to make it work, but he said that I was not worth his time and that he is calling it off!’ Adira was weeping. Her voice was low, the saddest I had ever heard her. I left the task at hand and ran down the stairs; her words echoed in my head, and my heart thumped fast. I was so close to being caught with my hand in the dustbin of the girl I claimed to love when she was going through a crisis. I am such an ass! I thought, only thinking about myself. I looked at my reflection in the mirror with loathing for what I had become. I was planning to practise magic on the girl I claimed to be in love with. I never thought about her: her feelings, her emotions. I stayed away from Adira, and for the next few days I could not even meet my own eyes in the mirror. I was thankful that I had not disclosed this dirty little secret to anyone, and it will go with me to the grave.
The sound of my phone vibrating brought me back to the present—to my apartment in Melbourne. I looked at Rajbir’s bed. It was neatly made up, and he was nowhere to be seen. I wondered if he had already left for work. I had to reach work at 8 a.m., and the office was only a ten-minute walk from the hotel. I picked up my shaving kit and walked into the washroom. On the mirror was a note for me:
It can be just one day or day one . . . It is for you to decide. Meet me in the coffee shop if you are ready for day one—Rajbir
I read and reread the note to make sense of it.
CONFESSIONS OF A BROKEN HEART
Rajbir sat alone in the corner of the fancy coffee shop on the ground floor of the building. He had chosen a table overlooking the street. He was staring very intently at something outside and did not notice my arrival. ‘Good morning, sir,’ I said to bring him back from wherever he had mentally escaped to.
‘Good morning,’ he said, turning his face towards me. I noticed an empty coffee cup on the table and wondered how early he must have woken up to have been dressed and out here. He had even had a cup of coffee before 7.15 a.m., while I had skipped my shower to be on time to meet him. I had already taken a shower yesterday evening—a perfect excuse was handy. I had quickly slipped into a formal brown shirt and beige trousers, and rushed downstairs to find out if the note meant what I thought it did, and if so, I was ready to make it day one of my life—provided we were talking about the same thing.
I took a seat opposite Rajbir and placed his note on the table. ‘I am a very private person, but I think you need to hear this story as it would help you in doing the right thing,’ he said. I looked at him blankly, and he went on to tell me a sweet love story. ‘So, there was this boy—happy and jovial. He was adored by his friends, boys as well as girls. He had a friend whom he had known as long as he’d known himself. She was his neighbour and classmate. They spent their evenings together playing and fighting as kids and discussing studies, exams and tuition classes as teenagers. The boy knew that he loved this girl very much,’ he said after a pause, and removed an invisible piece of thread from his trousers, distracting me. Then he cleared his throat and continued, ‘He believed that the girl also loved him, as much as he loved her if not more. But they never spoke about it. He never thought that there was any need to talk about what was as obvious as the rising and setting of the sun. They finished school and joined different colleges. Naturally, they met new people—the guy, because of his smooth talking and confidence, befriended girls easily. He knew how to woo them, and soon he had more than a few girlfriends. In short, he was an arsehole.’ He laughed a sad laugh and looked away.
‘And then?’ I prompted him when he paused for too long.
‘Then one day, this girl saw the boy with one of his many girlfriends. He had never told her how much he loved her. She assumed that he didn’t and that she was in a one-sided love affair. She stopped talking to the boy. All his charm and tactics failed in front of the girl he loved. At her parents’ persistence, she agreed to get married to an NRI who lived in the UK and went away from his life forever, all within three months.’
‘What happened to the boy, sir?’ I couldn’t help but ask about the fate of the boy who could not confess his feelings in time.
‘He died a death every night thinking about her, recalling the times she’d let him hold her hands; the times they’d gazed together at the stars and wished one would fall so that they could wish for togetherness for eternity—without telling each other. The boy still stalks her Facebook account to get a glimpse of her. He wanted to get the moon for her once, and now he looks at the moon and tries to see her face in it.’
‘How are you so sure that the girl loved the boy if she agreed to get married to someone else?’ I had to ask this, as somewhere in my heart I knew that Rajbir was narrating his own tale of love.
‘I know because she told me she did. Before she left, she wrote a note:
When I am gone, don’t look for me. A part of me will always be with you . . .
‘After receiving the note, I ran straight to her house. She was the bride to be and as expected was surrounded by her relatives and friends. We had been friends for so long that no one found it weird that I wanted to talk to her, alone. She didn’t want to talk at first while I tried to make her say something. When there was a knock at the door to tell her that it was time to visit the jeweller, she broke down. Crying on my shoulders, she told me how much she loved me and how she thought I did not. I tried to convince her that I loved her. But there was not enough time, the wedding was in a week’s time. Also, she told me that I was too late in confessing my feelings for her, and things were no longer as they once had been—she had decided to find love in the eyes and heart of the person her parents thought was fit to be her partner for life. “It is not that simple any more,” she told me, and I can’t blame her. It was all my fault that I’d taken her love for granted.’
I was shocked listening to the confession of my manager, and I saw the handsome, intelligent Rajbir break down in front of me.
Suddenly, I felt as if someone had hit me hard. Was I taking too long? Was I so worried about rejection that I was not even giving it a try? What if Adira also gets married? I instantly decided that I needed to give myself a chance. I did not know if she would say yes or no, but until I asked her, I would never find out. But I knew it would take me some time.
‘Sir, I do not think that you and I have anything in common,’ I told him sadly. I am shy and an introvert, while Rajbir was nothing like me.
‘I know,’ he said, and he told me something that I can never forget. His words were inspiring, and I have been practising what he said ever since, not just with Adira but with everything else in my life as well. Later, I noted down the words as I would remember them:
‘The answer is “no” until you ask. When you ask, you give “yes” a chance. There is a 50 per cent probability that the odds will be in your favour. Always give the other person a chance to choose between a “yes” and a “no” for you, for your love; instead of choosing a “no” yourself. I am sure you would have heard that saying that an “oops” is way better than a “what if”. I am a “what if”— what if I had asked her out? What if I had told her about my feelings? Do not be me. Do not be a “what if”.’ His words made sense, and I finally knew w
hat I had to do. ‘The mind governs it all. If your mind tells you that you can do it, trust me, nothing can stop you.’ His final advice gave me a lot to think about. That day, during my break I found myself making mental notes of what I loved the most about Adira—the list was endless. That is where I needed to start.
The rest of my day went by in catching up with the batch. Samantha, a tall, blonde trainer, took me through the modules I had missed.
‘We are planning to go to a Melbourne Central for some shopping,’ the girls announced in a chorus on our way back from the office. Of course, Angad was accompanying the girls! And naturally, I was not thrilled about it. It probably showed because Rajbir asked me, ‘All okay, tiger?’ placing a hand on my shoulder. Despite our conversation in the morning, I could not bring myself to discuss my personal life with him. He was my manager, after all.
‘Yeah . . .’ I replied, sulking.
‘She does seem to be very fond of Angad,’ Rajbir said to me, out of the blue over dinner. ‘Jealousy will take you nowhere. She has a life, and will always have friends. Some of them will be men, while some will be women. If you want her to love you back and respect you, then the first thing you need to do is to chuck the word insecurity out of your dictionary. I understand that girls like their guys to be involved, and a little insecurity is cute but just in the beginning. As the relationship grows, it is this insecurity which causes the most harm. As a man, have confidence in yourself, and trust her enough to let her have friends.’
‘But we are not in a relationship yet,’ I corrected him.
‘Exactly! You are not even in a relationship with her, and you have a problem with her friends. Just imagine how quickly this will drive the girl away.’ He was right, but old habits die hard. I did resolve to work on it though.
That night too Rajbir worked on his laptop, while I thought of ways to get to know Adira more, little by little. I still believed that the key to successfully beginning a conversation with a girl was with a compliment.
WHEN I WAS LEARNING TO LOVE
The next day, I went to work with a compliment ready in my mind. I shall say it to her the moment I see her, I decided. But nothing goes as per my plan, does it? I sat next to her through all the training, and the group had lunch together, so I had more than a few chances to tell her, and yet I couldn’t. Why? Because every time I looked into her eyes, they made me forget the world.
My dad had once told me to fake confidence. ‘How do I do that?’ I remember asking him innocently.
‘Close your eyes and visit your happy place,’ he’d responded.
‘Okay, here we go,’ I said aloud to myself, sitting alone in the room that night after dinner, and I closed my eyes to visit my happy place. My happy place was the time when I had accidentally managed to accompany Adira and her friends to Goa, this was after her break-up. One evening while all of us were merrily partying in a shack, Adira walked out alone to take a stroll along the beach.
I too left my seat and walked to the stairs, but I did not follow her. I saw her walking along the beach, with her slippers in her hand. The water touched her beautiful feet as if the sea were kissing them. Slowly, as the minutes passed by, the orange sun melted into the deep-blue ocean, painting the sky in different shades of red—the colour of love. Soon, the ocean and the sun became one, and the place became darker, giving them the privacy they needed. Distant rays fell on Adira’s face, making her look even more beautiful. All I could hear was the crash of waves rising and falling like a song; all my eyes could see was Adira, at a distance. She closed her eyes to savour the beauty of love, and I closed mine to freeze the moment forever, and this has been my happy place ever since.
The next morning, coincidentally, I bumped into Adira at the coffee shop at the apartment building. She was dressed in a formal dark-blue dress and blazer. I instantly noted that she was looking different that day. Her hair was tied in a ponytail, and she reminded me of the early morning sun—bright, warm and enigmatic. We sat at the same table, and once our order had arrived I grabbed her attention. There she sat, opposite me, looking pretty as a picture. I felt my heart thump so hard that it would have burst out of my chest, had it been possible. ‘Blue suits you,’ I told her in a low voice, and in my heart, I knew this was the beginning of a new relationship for us. How? You may ask. It was the way she replied that told me. Adira tilted her head slightly and thanked me with the brightest smile, and then started fidgeting with her coffee.
That day we took our lunch break together at work, thanks to Rajbir, and chatted our half an hour away. We mainly spoke about Piyush and Tamanna, but it is still one of the most memorable times in Melbourne for me.
Days passed, and conversations with her became more exciting and personal. A week later, Adira planned an outing for all of us. ‘Let’s go to St Kilda Beach,’ she suggested, and everyone agreed. However, I was in no mood to go out in such a big group, and when I voted out, she walked up to me at work and jolted my world.
‘Raunak, are we not friends?’ she asked me. Friends? No, I dream about you way too often for us to be just friends, I wanted to scream. I did not want her to friend-zone me. I had been lingering somewhere in that zone for so many years! How do I tell her to not see me as a friend? I wondered as she stood over my desk.
‘What happened?’ I asked her, instead of responding to her question and starting a war of words. I kept my eyes constantly glued to my computer screen. I could still feel her glaring eyes shooting daggers at me.
‘Why are you not coming with us to the beach?’
To avoid being just a friend—I want more, I wish I could have said that. ‘I need to visit a temple instead,’ I lied, knowing very well that she was a religious girl and the excuse would spare me any further questioning.
To my surprise, she replied, ‘I too have wanted to go to a temple ever since I came here. Why didn’t you ask me? I thought you knew that I usually visit a temple every weekend!’
I had to take my eyes away from the flat screen and look at her then; her voice had a sudden sadness in it. I had never heard her sound so disappointed. Is she disappointed in me for not asking her out? Or for forgetting that she visits a temple? Does she expect me to remember such things about her? I did remember that she visits a temple every weekend, but I did not take the fact into account while making up an excuse. Honestly, I had no plans. I did not know where to find a temple in Melbourne, or even if there were any.
‘I am sorry . . .’ that was all I could mutter after getting drenched in guilt from her words. ‘Would you like to come along?’ I asked her, trying my luck at some damage control.
‘Yes, of course, you idiot!’ she replied in excitement, and pressed my hand. All my life, I have despised the word—idiot—but coming from her mouth, it sounded like the sweetest sound in the world. Butterflies danced in my stomach, and the world around me spun at a speed unknown to mankind.
‘What about St Kilda?’ I asked her, forcing the stuck breath out of my lungs. By then Adira had already walked four cubicles away.
‘I hate beaches,’ she said, and turned around, dazzling me with her smile. And like that, my friend, a day at work was successfully wasted. I could think of nothing else. I got no work done and hardly ate. My mind kept replaying her words, and my senses fooled me by revisiting the sensation of her hand on mine.
That night I didn’t sleep a wink. No, my brain was not still acting up. I was up and awake because I could not find a mandir anywhere in Melbourne where I could take her. My Indian colleagues mostly stayed forty to fifty minutes away from the city and hardly visited temples. Google searches do not help you when you need them to. Finally, at 3 a.m., I found what I was looking for. I dozed off next to my laptop on the sofa and was woken up by my manager the next day with a jolt.
It was 8.30 a.m., and I had promised Adira to meet her at 9 a.m. in the cafe. Late as always, I sprang up from my bed and quickly took a shower. I put on my favourite pair of jeans—they were my favourites because they were
the only pair I owned. I chose a red T-shirt to slip over them and was ready. I didn’t have a lot of time to check or improve my appearance as I already had three missed calls and a couple of messages from my lady. Yes, we had exchanged numbers only last night, and one more reason why I was up till 3 a.m. was that I was constantly checking her display picture and status on WhatsApp—I was as love-struck as one could be! I browsed the messages quickly. One said that she was furious as I was not picking up her calls, and the second was to tell me that she was waiting for me in the coffee shop. It was delivered two minutes ago, and I was relieved. I wasn’t that late after all.
WHEN I FELL IN LOVE WITH HER—ALL OVER AGAIN
Missing a few stairs and escaping a couple of falls, I managed to reach the coffee shop unhurt. The place was deserted at 9 a.m., which was quite a contrast from what I was used to seeing. It was usually full of people all hours of the day. It was a Saturday morning, and most people either begin their day late or super early on weekends in Melbourne. Adira sat at the corner table. It had an unhindered view of the street outside, which was also quiet as compared to the other days. She felt my presence in the coffee shop as I walked towards her, and turned her face towards me. I froze midway and could not take my eyes off her. She was dressed in a bright-yellow salwar suit with her beautiful, long hair spread loosely over her back. She looked more beautiful than I had ever seen her before. Adira gave me a warm smile. I observed that her almond-shaped eyes were beautifully lined with dark streaks of kajal. She also wore a sparkly golden bindi on her forehead. It was not the first time I had seen her dressed in traditional Indian wear, but the way she sat there was pretty as a picture; she looked like an artist’s muse—captivating and alluring.
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