Something I Never Told You

by Shravya Bhinder

  How was I feeling? I don’t know how to answer that.

  Honestly, I didn’t care a dime about the promotion or appraisals, or about the evaluations or reports that I worked on so diligently all through the day. They were mere distractions—I was distracting myself as I didn’t want to do something stupid again and make myself look like a desperate fool in front of Adira. My attempts bore fruit during the morning hours. I hardly had more than a couple of passing thoughts that reminded me of her. It was the nights which brought with them fond memories; the hours had started to scare me.

  I usually reached home at around 11 p.m., with an exhausted body which had to be dragged to the bedroom after a quick dinner at the table with Mother. She looked worried about me. ‘Is everything all right?’ she had asked me a few times during those awkward silences, and I blamed my lack of energy and enthusiasm on my great job and the workload it brought with it. ‘There is no need to work this hard, you know,’ she always suggested with a concerned look in her eyes. I knew that she knew it was not just work that was exhausting me and eating my soul.

  Every single night, as soon as I stepped into my bedroom and switched off the lights to get some rest, sadness overpowered tiredness. From the time my head hit the pillow till the time I painfully drifted off to sleep everything that we had done together in Australia, every moment spent in each other’s company haunted me. I wondered how she was and if she missed me even a bit.

  I knew that she didn’t at all feel the way I felt for her. Not even for a moment were we on the same page emotionally. For if she had even once felt these emotions as strongly as I did, she would not have just turned her back on me like this. Walking away from the person one has a special bond with, without even once looking back to see if they survived the unexpected blow of your exit, is something that no human, no matter how strong they are, can do. Such were the thoughts that kept me tossing and turning in my bed for many hours. Like clockwork, days and nights passed, but nothing changed.

  I tried to bleed on my diary, but the most persuasive words and the harshest of thoughts came to me whenever I decided to write. Writing them down made me sink deeper into gloom. I was in an emotional zone which was making me hollow from within.

  ‘Your eyes are losing their spark,’ Rajbir pointed out to me once when we were on a tea break together. I ignored his remark and avoided meeting his eyes for many days. He must have guessed what I was going through, but I had no intention of discussing my heartbreak with anyone at work.

  He should not be bothering about my ‘spark’ as long as his work is getting done on time, every time, I thought angrily before I fell asleep. In short, I had started hating almost everyone around me.

  Adding to my pain, Rohit had met a girl whom he called ‘the girl of his dreams’. ‘Cheesy,’ I said to his face when he told me excitedly, and I witnessed all his excitement melt away. He had been dating her for quite a while then and they eventually became each other’s happily ever after, but that is another story. Now, I am happy for them. Back in those days, I hated her for snatching away my best friend at the time when I needed him the most. The mere mention of her name spoilt my mood. I had turned into a selfish moron, to say the least—and I know that, now. But my situation was as it was; Rohit was my best pal, and I could see Sagarika as nothing less than the devil personified.

  A month of sadness ended when, out of nowhere, I received a text from Piyush with Adira’s new number. It was a cold, breezy evening, and I was out with my family for a picnic at India Gate. While my mother was arranging a plastic mat and Dad was following her instructions on what to take out from the basket next and where to keep it, I sneaked away just far enough so they could not hear me talk on the phone, but I could still see them. I took a deep breath and dialled Adira’s new mobile number with nothing specific in my mind. Actually, my thoughts were running like a freight train—there was so much to say; so much to ask for; so much to listen to; but I wanted to act cool, and not let her realize how much she had hurt me without even knowing, and how badly I wanted to hear her voice. So, I decided to generally chit-chat with her and ask her about her present situation. Do not talk about the past, my mind repeated again and again as the phone rang. I could feel my heart racing.

  She did not answer the call then but ten minutes later, there was a message from her to say that she would call back—a promise which she never fulfilled.

  ‘Stupid!’ I screamed aloud, and Mummy looked at me with her eyes wide and her mouth gaping open.

  ‘Why are you screaming? And whom are you screaming at?’ my mother scolded me, and I swiftly apologized to her. In our house, only my mummy could scream, that too at my father or me.

  I was losing my grip on my emotions. I knew that calling her had been a bad idea. After all, she had not shared her new number with me on her own. She wanted me to stay away, but I was behaving like a roadside Romeo.

  That evening, I revisited the pages of my diary and traced a few words which I had written out of desperation, a few days ago.

  You and I, I and You—we lived, we laughed, we loved, but we could never be ‘we’ because we were—I and You.

  I turned the page over; the ink had marked the same words on the next page too. The words stared into my soul, there was no escaping them—I could not escape the emptiness.

  13 FEBRUARY 2017

  The day had finally arrived when the lovebirds, Piyush and Tamanna, were getting married. We were all happy for them; some were even relieved that the saga was going to enter a new phase. From the day their marriage card arrived at our house, Mummy declared that I was officially late as per the general marriage standards. ‘Who are these people who decide who is late and who is early? Don’t they have some better work to do?’ Mummy’s declaration triggered my already-loaded gun of anger and frustration, and I was unstoppable. I said things which I shouldn’t have. Mummy replied to the initial few questions I screamed at her, and then she ignored the rest of my rant. She figured out that I had lost my mind and was not to be messed with. I want to apologize to my parents too through this book, for all the wrongs that I did during that phase, and afterwards: my unruly tone, my mood swings, the taunts, ignoring them—everything. And I want to thank them for being so supportive despite being unaware of the reason why I was behaving the way I was. I love them. Mummy and Papa—I love you.

  Coming back to Piyush’s wedding, his parents behaved as if their son were the first-ever boy to get married on this planet. No expense was spared; no opportunity to spend money was missed. Their wedding rituals and functions were to last for seven long days, and six of my evenings had already been spent in the lovely company of my family and cousins. It was the last day; the wedding ceremony was to take place at Tivoli Garden, Chhattarpur.

  Rohit had introduced his new girlfriend to his family, and they had been attending all the family functions together as a couple. We had hardly had a proper conversation with each other in days as I was behaving like his jealous ex-girlfriend. Every time Rohit approached me, I turned my back and walked away. It did not end there. Every time his girlfriend, Sagarika, saw me, I gave her the most disgusted look, and she immediately backed away.

  Why was I so grumpy, sad and annoying? It had been months since Adira had left. Initially, I did not want to talk about everything that had happened between us. That was when everyone was interested in knowing what was wrong with me. Now, when I was looking for someone to talk to, everyone had suddenly decided to accept my behaviour as it was and get on with their lives; like I didn’t matter. Silly as it may sound, I was more upset over this than I was upset about Adira.

  With no one else to talk to, I approached the groom. ‘Is Adira coming?’ I had asked Piyush quite casually a day before the wedding. I had not spotted her when we went to Tamanna’s house to give Sagan—a ritual where the groom’s family brings gifts for the bride. It is supposed to be a quiet affair with only the immediate families present, but Punjabis make it as grand as it can get with a minimum
of 100 guests.

  ‘Tamanna wanted her to attend the wedding so much. They are best friends, you know. We went to her mother’s house in Chandigarh to invite them as well. Let’s see if she decides to show up at all. Tamanna will be heartbroken if she doesn’t come . . .’ he shrugged his shoulders and replied. I could feel his eyes on me, but I dared not meet them. Despite all the time which had passed, I could not make myself move on. Thoughts of Adira still dominated my nights, and it was getting tough to fully occupy my days to keep my memories from invading my mind.

  ‘Ufff! Why are you not dressed yet? We need to meet a family before the varmala happens, as after that there is just too much noise, and one can hardly hear anything,’ my mother interrupted my thoughts, and started helping me with my blue necktie. It has always been tricky for me to tie a tie. I had learnt it in school but could never manage the perfect knot which other kids boasted of by opening the tie with a single pull. Mummy tied it effortlessly and gave me a satisfied smile as I pulled it up to my collar. ‘You look quite good today,’ she complimented me, and finally left me alone to put my shoes on.

  ‘I am ready,’ I said, walking out of the door. Both my parents were looking their best and so was I—I think. They waited for me in the dining area. Papa tossed his car keys at me. I was always the chauffeur at family functions—a role I did not mind taking up since Papa usually drank a little too much for everyone’s safety and could not be trusted. That evening he was half a bottle down even before he was in his party clothes. Why? A family member getting married was reason enough to go to a place already tipsy.

  Thanks to the horrendous traffic and many other wedding parties interrupting our way, we reached Tivoli Garden on Punjabi time, two hours after the time given to the bride’s family. Surprisingly, we were pretty much the best performers when it came to timelines. We were definitely better than most at 90 per cent of the wedding parties we attended.

  As always, just outside the wedding hall the groom’s party decided to make an endlessly long haul and danced like there was no tomorrow. Coins were thrown in the air for the bandsmen to pick up—this was done to avoid the evil eye.

  Fifteen minutes later, Mummy decided that it was all too exhausting for her and we could not step into the banquet hall with the rest of our party; we had to go in immediately. She held my hand and dragged me out of the Nagin dance challenge amongst cousins, which was being judged by the groom sitting in his carriage.

  ‘Aunty Ji, let the groom cut the ribbon first, and only then we will let you guys in,’ Piyush’s pretty sisters-in-law protested.

  ‘That is not needed,’ Mummy declared, and held the delicate red ribbon in her hand. The girls looked at her in horror, fearing that she might rip the ribbon off. I heard them all breathe a sigh of relief when Mummy lifted up the fabric and made space for us to pass under it.

  That’s my mother for you—I wanted to say out loud but did not. I grinned at my mother, who followed no rules, ever. We heard the group of girls mumble as we passed them, but there was little me or Dad could do about it. Once Mummy puts her mind to something, nobody and nothing can stop her.

  As expected, a girl and her family sat in the centre as we arrived. Honestly, she was the best-looking girl I had met so far in an arranged match. She had a sweet smile and lovely dark eyes. Like a ritual, my mother first talked to the girl’s family about some random stuff and then started questioning the girl. I was asked similar questions by the girl’s father and brother. I had become a pro at the wedding questionnaire and could almost predict the questions even before they were thrown my way:

  ‘Where is your office located?’

  ‘How much do you earn every month?’

  ‘Is there a chance that you might think of settling abroad? Canada, maybe?’

  ‘Will you mind if she works or doesn’t work after marriage?’

  Blah blah blah . . .

  We sat chit-chatting until the ribbon was finally cut and everyone else walked in. Piyush’s sisters-in-law earned a little over Rs 50,000 that evening for the task.

  ‘I want to see them exchange the garlands,’ I declared, and excused myself from the table. The ladies, including my mother, muttered behind my back as I walked away from them.

  Piyush, all my cousins and their friends stood on the beautifully decorated stage. A couple of mighty chairs were placed on it for the bride and groom to sit while the photographers got to work. The set-up was just like any other wedding, yet I knew that by now the ladies would have figured out the good and the bad things about the stage decoration, the bride and groom’s attires and the music and made mental notes. These notes would be revisited at every other kitty party for the next many weeks.

  After approximately fifteen minutes, the DJ, who had been playing peppy Punjabi numbers, switched to an old Hindi film song and announced that the bride was to enter. All eyes were fixed on the main gate, and mine were no exception—even though my reason for looking in that direction was completely different. While everyone wanted to get a glimpse of the beautiful bride, I could not kill the small flicker of hope in my heart. She might accompany Tamanna to the stage, my love-infested mind hoped, and my eyes forgot to blink as my heart raced faster than Piyush’s—this is an assumption though, based on no facts or data.

  Suddenly, a big screen descended out of nowhere above our heads, and a live video started playing. Apart from the groom, everyone else turned around to see what was being played—it was a close-up of the bride entering the banquet hall. The cameraman kept his focus on the feet and moved the camera up—painfully slowly. It was easy to identify the bride. The quality of the video was not the best, but the bride had to be dressed in red and was walking in the middle of the crowd of other females. To her left was someone dressed in golden attire, and to her right was someone in pink—very bright pink.

  The cameraman moved from their feet to the base of the varmala in Tamanna’s hand. Purple and pink carnations, in an identical garland, were handed to Piyush for the ceremony by the bride’s brother. I heard people tease Piyush as the bride came closer to the entry to the hall. It was all going well until I noticed the hand movements of the girl in gold. When you love someone and have been close to them for some time, you tend to recognize them from the simplest of things. The way her hands moved, the shape of her arms, the way she was walking—I instantly knew it was her! Suddenly, memories of Melbourne and before that flashed in front of my eyes, I felt a my blood gush to my head, and I was warm all over. Finally, the cameraman did us the immense favour of moving his lenses to the pretty faces, and I had eyes for only one among the crowd. She smiled as she accompanied her best friend. She has lost so much weight; she has not been taking care of herself, I felt small when I realized this. I had been so engrossed in pitying myself for the last months that I had forgotten to even consider whether she had a genuine problem, and that was why she had left all of a sudden.

  The varmala ceremony ended, and I creepily kept on staring at Adira’s face all the time—she did give me a brief look and a shy smile, but she was happily enjoying her best friend’s wedding while I grinned like a monkey on drugs. How do I know how I looked? Well, I have evidence. I was standing closest to the groom as Adira was standing closest to the bride, and the cameraman captured my acts in candid close-up shots. If you are thinking of meeting the girl you love at a wedding and live in Delhi, check who the photographers are. If you hear the name Hunny and Bunny Lenses, and you are sure that it is Hunny who will cover the event, then take my advice—abort the mission, my friend. Do not attend the wedding if you do not want to be the butt of all jokes for months to come.

  After the varmala I tried to talk to Adira a few times, but it is challenging to speak to a girl at her friend’s wedding. Adira was always surrounded by other girls or guys till the time her friend was on the stage getting pictures clicked. There was not even a moment when our eyes met and she was free to talk to me. After the photo session was over, she became Tamanna’s wing woman and climb
ed on the stage to help the bride manage her excessively burdensome attire. Why do girls wear such heavy dresses that they need an army to help them walk even ten steps at their wedding! Not that it makes any difference to me, nor do I care, especially if they are happy doing so. But on that occasion, I was being directly impacted by the weight of her dress and was not pleased about the situation.

  The girls vanished into the den they had emerged from an hour ago to bedazzle us all, and I was left sulking in a corner. Adira was nowhere to be seen throughout the dinner and afterwards too. I had a quiet dinner with my dad while Mummy and other aunties in the family laughed and gossiped, hopping all over the venue. Finally, the guests started dispersing. The incredible thing about a north Indian Hindu wedding is the fact that people do not stay and witness the real wedding—the phere, the circumambulation around the sacred fire. The phere is usually after midnight, and only the close family stays back at the venue to see the couple getting married. The rest all disperse after enjoying the dinner.

  This wedding was no different. After dinner the party thinned, and finally it was time for the mantras. The bride came back to the main hall where all the people, including Piyush, were eagerly waiting for her. Adira was family to her and could not leave her side. Later, as the pandit started chanting mantras, I spotted her standing alone, leaning against a wall in a quiet corner. Mummy and Dad sat sleepily at a table like most others. There was no one around to disturb us, so I approached Adira.

  ‘Hi,’ I whispered from behind her. I did not want to scare her, but my unintentional creepy act startled her a bit.

  ‘Ohh! You scared me,’ she said, with her eyes wide. I saw her forehead furrow, but she looked relieved, even happy, to see me.