‘I am sorry. I did not mean to,’ I was apologetic. It felt awkward, but we had to begin a conversation somehow.
‘No, don’t be. In fact, I am sorry,’ she answered, taking me by surprise. I was not expecting her to apologize, I just wanted to know if she was okay, and why she was so thin and pale.
‘I am sorry that I vanished like that after . . .’ she continued.
Seeing her after so long was like a soothing balm on my bruised feelings, and as she stood fidgeting with her tiny handbag, looking for words, my concern for her grew greater. Her hands, which were always so small, had lost a considerable amount of flesh. Her eyes were the same, lively and gorgeous, but her face had shrunk and all I could see were her eyes and the dark circles under them.
‘Are you okay?’ I asked her after the pause became unbearable.
‘Yes, I am fine,’ she lied, looking straight into my eyes. Anyone, even people who did not know her, could have immediately guessed that there was something wrong with her, and I silently prayed that it was not to do with her physical health.
‘But . . . but you look so pale and . . . weak,’ I said, concerned, and she looked back at me like a child who has been told that they were caught eating mud in the backyard.
‘My health is okay,’ she said, and looked away from me in a failed attempt to hide her tears.
‘I can see you crying. Tell me what happened,’ I said soothingly, even though I was getting impatient with all the beating around the bush. Sometimes words do not have the power to shake someone up as much as a tiny teardrop. Her eyes had gone red, and I could no longer resist the urge to hold her hand and pacify her, and tell her that all would be fine. Though I did not know what was bothering her, I was reminded of what my mother often said to me—there is nothing in the world that is stronger than positive thoughts and determination.
‘My parents have separated. They told me that they never loved each other, and that it was all a big mistake . . . a mistake . . . that they dragged with them for so many years . . . for my sake . . . Maybe, even I was a mistake . . .’ she said, sobbing and leaning softly against my chest.
For many more minutes, she cried like a baby as she leaned against me, using me as her rock. Later, she told me that all this time she had been with her mother who was quite devastated after the separation; despite being aware that it was inevitable for the past many years. Adira never cried in front of her mother or any of her friends. She had not talked about the consequences that her parents’ divorce had bought for her, not even with her best friend, Tamanna, as she was busy with her wedding, and Adira did not want to spoil her best friend’s mood on her much-awaited wedding day.
‘I am sorry about my behaviour after we came back to India,’ she told me after a while. Her tears had dried up, and she was unwilling to talk about her parents any more, but she insisted on talking about ‘us’ and clearing the air.
I felt so tiny in front of her that I wanted to bury myself in the ground. There she was dealing with such a big crisis in her life and standing by her mother and giving her strength, while I was busy putting the blame on her. She had grown weak and pale in her attempt to put on a brave face, and I stood in front of her, trying to hide the 3-kg paunch that indulging in junk food and drinking beer had given me since she had gone away from me.
‘You need not apologize to me. I have been in a much better state than you in the past months. In fact, I should be apologizing for going missing from your life when you needed me. For not being around when you were going through such a tough time in your life; for not being there when you needed a shoulder to cry on. I should have tried to find you and be with you when you needed a friend,’ I told her. ‘I should have been in touch regardless of what Angad said or meant that evening.’
‘What did he say? When?’ she asked me, raising her head. I narrated the whole incident that happened in Melbourne to her, and it turned out that she had never discussed anything with Angad or anyone else. ‘Why would I? You know that I am a private person.’ She was right. I knew that and should have called Angad’s bluff, but instead of trusting her, I believed him and played into his hands. Also, she never gave her phone to him to answer my call on her behalf. She was not sure how he managed to answer—just some bad timing on my part, I guess. Maybe I called when she was not around, and Angad exploited the opportunity in his best interests.
‘You are more than a friend to me, Raunak,’ she took me by surprise and held both my hands. We looked at each other and magic happened. I remember the moment as if it happened this morning. She stood so close to me with a weak but genuine smile on her face and tilted her head just a little. It was the moment when we were supposed to kiss—this is how it happens in all the movies and fairy tales, doesn’t it? But this was not a fairy tale or a movie; this was my life, so just when it was the perfect moment for us, I heard a loud female voice.
‘Adira!’ someone called her from behind.
‘You didn’t call me after that evening. I am still waiting for the call,’ she told me, and turned away to join her friends. I stood there like a fool trying to comprehend what had just happened and if it was all for real and not a dream.
Sometime later, as the bride and groom took their last phera around the sacred fire and the ceremony was about to end, I took out my mobile and dialled her number.
‘Adira! Happy Valentine’s Day,’ I said as soon as she answered.
‘Happy Valentine’s Day to you too,’ she replied, and later that year she became my valentine.
Deciding to tell the story is the natural part; the decision takes no more than a few days of contemplation. A few days of your mind telling you the reasons why you should do it, on loop, is all it takes for you to pick up a notepad and a pen and write down all that is in your heart. The tough part is finding the right words to tell your story. And being neutral, unbiased and focused while doing so.
As I sit at my desk thinking about all that happened in the next few months in my story with Adira, I am worried that I might end up making one of us the guilty party and the other one the wronged one. Most likely, I will be biased towards myself, and unknowingly my words might make you see Adira as a person she is not. With the power of pen and paper, and the determination to narrate the story to the end, I have the responsibility of letting you decide.
As a writer, I do not have the liberty to influence the decision; instead, I present the facts and details. Do me a favour as you read it: keep an open mind, do not judge her or me. We were young, and unaware of the games destiny was capable of playing.
I am trying very hard to concentrate and find the right words to begin writing about this phase of our lives. The room that I am sitting in to write is quiet and dark; my own shadow is my sole companion here. While I sit here, looking blankly at my bright laptop screen, the screen saver comes up, it is a picture of us—when we had first started dating. The only sound that I can hear is my alarm clock ticking. I look at it to check what time it is—3.30 a.m. In the dark shadows that form on the walls, I can see outlines where once her pictures hung in delicate golden frames. ‘Why golden?’ I’d asked her the day she told me that it was her favourite colour. ‘I love the colour. It is so magical. Just like the magical times that I spend with you.’
It is time to go to bed and close my eyes, for I have to go and meet someone extraordinary the next day. I shall tell you about this meeting at the end of the book.
For now, I consider the pop-up on the screen a sign from God and make a decision to recall everything I can from our first few days together after reuniting at Piyush’s wedding.
14 FEBRUARY 2017
Usually, the first date gives you butterflies in your stomach, and you are prepared to impress. It is the first of many days to follow, after all, or at least you hope so. Honestly, I feel that first dates are over-hyped. In fact, every ‘first’ related to love and relationships is over-hyped, from the first date, first kiss, first hug, first touch, the first blah blah blah.
/> The fact is that everything becomes better with time when you are in love. If your first day with your girlfriend is the most memorable one, it means that you could never really develop the spark you had into a fire. Love is like wine—the older it gets, the better it becomes. It can intoxicate you, make you forget all your worries, and be the relief that you have always been looking for. The passion should increase day by day, hour by hour and minute by minute. People who say that the spark dies after the first few years have never been in love.
So, coming back to my first official date with Adira. It was a perfect day to go out with her—Valentine’s Day—but the weather was definitely not ideal that morning. The sun never came out of the clouds, and the wind never stopped blowing on that cold, chilly day in February when all one could see, hear and feel was love. The harsh weather did not have the power to derail my plans of meeting Adira outside her hotel. The night before, I had asked her if we could go out the next day as she was staying in the city for one more day after the wedding. I was scared that she would say no, but like most things that we are usually scared of, this one too was just in my mind. She happily obliged and I was on top of the world. My first date with her—what else could I ask for? I could have asked someone to plan it for me, but I was not thinking of that at the time. Now, when I recall it, I think that a little planning would have hurt no one.
I had never been out on the streets or inside a mall on Valentine’s Day in the past. What was the point of lurking and ogling at love-struck couples who had eyes for no one else, at least for that day? So, till the time we attended college, Piyush, Rohit and I spent the day at Nani’s house. There was no point in attending the college either and witnessing all the red roses being passed around. That was the first year when all three of us had dates, and thus I had no one to talk to or to discuss what I should do and how I should approach the day.
When I called Adira on her mobile at 7 a.m. (talk about desperation), she was still in her bed and replied in monosyllables in a sleepy voice. She agreed to meet me outside her hotel at 12 p.m., and from there, I would take her to a mall. I thought it was the easiest and most practical plan.
Completely aware of the tricks luck was capable of playing on me, I sent her a text as well—just in case she forgot the time, or worse, she was sleep talking.
See you at 12 p.m. We are going to Great India Place, Noida.
Can’t wait, came her reply, and our Valentine’s Day date was officially on.
She is awake, I finally got busy looking for places to take her. Ten minutes later I had decided that we were going for a movie and then lunch. You need to gift her something, I reminded myself. As we were heading to a shopping mall, I could buy something for her on the spot. I was terrible at choosing gifts, so that made sense then!
Dressed in my favourite black UCB jacket and jeans, I was ready early. I hopped down the stairs to meet my first disappointment of the day; my ride was covered in dust. I had a beautiful, black, mighty bullet back then. I loved it more than my life, and at one point more than Adira too. It is hard to explain the kind of possessiveness I had for it—but I had had it for too long, and I was always very proud of my bike, and I loved it.
So, I picked up my bike, cleaned it to the best of my abilities, and reached her hotel in South Delhi half an hour early. I rang her number, hoping that she too was over-excited about the date and would be ready, but she wasn’t. So, after killing half an hour here and there, I finally got to see her. I distinctly remember everything about our meeting that day. At 12 p.m. sharp, Adira came down to hypnotize me. Dressed in a light-pink salwar suit, she looked like a painting, and I was smitten by her as I saw her walk up to me in slow motion (I am not exaggerating). I could see her every movement in detail. Her walk from the exit door of the hotel to the other side of the road where I stood, dumbstruck, is still embossed on my mind. I think that moment was the highlight of the day for me, as things went downhill after that. I should have expected my day to take a nosedive after such a sparkly start as things are never that good—in movies maybe, but never in real life.
‘Hi, where are we headed?’ she asked the fool who was looking at her with his mouth open as he built pop-up air castles in his head at lightning speed.
‘Noida.’ I regained control of my open mouth, and suggested after an abrupt pause, ‘Ammm . . . Great India Place?’
‘Great!’ she exclaimed, like a child who had just been promised a candy. I had to meet her expectations, and suddenly I felt a hefty weight on my shoulders, I had planned nothing, and she was looking forward to the day. I was less than impressed with myself, let down maybe.
Adira kept her delicate hands on my shoulders as she adjusted herself on the back seat, and became the first girl, who was not my relative, to sit on the back of my bike. Much to any guy’s disappointment, she carefully placed her handbag between us and held on to the back support of the bike to keep herself steady as we rode. My dreams of being held by my waist went down the drain (damn all Hindi movies, for planting such expectations in the hearts of innocent young men)! I looked at her reflection in the rear-view mirror and smiled. Finally, we were on our way.
I had been to this mall a few times with my family and friends. It was usually a little more than overcrowded on weekends, but weekdays were quiet and relaxed. It was a Tuesday, and I had expected it to be more or less deserted. Much to my surprise, the mall was flooded with people in love. As far as my eyes could see, I saw the colour red and nothing else: red balloons, decorative banners, sale announcements, lights. Blood-red colour was everywhere, so much so that it was nauseating to look around. I love the idea of love, but who decided upon the colour of love? And why this overdose? I think love has no specific colours. It changes colours, as per the need, as per the relationship, as per the stage in your relationship, etc. Back then, I believed in the concept of Valentine’s Day too. Now, I don’t. After all, why is there a need for a particular day of love when every day should be special?
Anyhow, thanks to the raid by love-infected humans, none of my plans worked out. There were no tickets available that day, because all the other people who wanted to watch movies had booked in advance, unlike me. No decent restaurant would let us in as they had bookings. The tables which were not reserved had a wait time of at least one hour. With a rumbling tummy, I couldn’t even think of what to do next. To add to my misery, people had been stomping on my feet every few minutes, as if they were punishing me for the date blunder.
Thankfully, Adira was not upset over the entire goof-up. ‘Let us get some burgers, shall we?’ she suggested, looking at me with bright eyes which had not lost their spark even after all the disappointment which had come our way.
‘Sure,’ I could not help but agree.
McDonald’s was our saviour that day. In all the hustle and bustle, my plans of having a quiet conversation with her, holding her hands and maybe even hugging her, turned to ashes in front of my eyes. And just like that, it was time to head back. Time flew in her company or more to the point, in looking for a place to enjoy her company. Adira was staying with her mother who had come down for some legal work. She was waiting for her daughter to return so that they could head back to Chandigarh.
‘When will you be back?’ I asked her on our way out, hoping she would say ‘soon.’
‘Let us see,’ she disappointed me with her answer as we headed towards the parking space.
So, nothing significant happened on our first date apart from her telling me that she had no immediate plans to come back to Delhi. However, that day was important for two reasons. Just as we got out of the elevator and stepped into the parking, she took out her phone. ‘Let us take a picture to remember the day,’ she said.
Her phone camera turned on, and our dark, blurry images froze in time. It was not the brightest or the best picture as the place had hardly any natural or unnatural light, yet it is one of my favourites till date, and it has been the screen saver on my laptop ever since. And some firsts are
indeed special, like our first picture.
After we zoomed out of the parking, I remembered that I had forgotten to buy her a present. I apologized to her as many times as I could, all the way back, since it was too late to turn around and get something for her. When I had finally stopped apologizing for being so unprepared and forgetful, I tried to convince her to come back to Delhi. ‘It will be great for us,’ I recall telling her, and seeing her smile in the mirror.
Forty-five minutes later, we were outside her hotel. ‘Bye. I like you a lot, and I’ll think about it,’ she said. Standing next to me and taking me by surprise, she gave me a gentle peck on my cheek—our first kiss. I know, it was just a peck, but it was worth a mention. It was cute, and it made me lose control of my bike a few times that evening as I replayed it in my head. It was magical. No violins played in the background; time didn’t stop, I felt no sparks of electric current, but it did make my heart warm and told me that we were more than friends, finally.
By the time I came back home. Adira had sent me the picture she clicked of the two of us in the parking. The to and fro of messages lasted all night. At 2.13 a.m., I told her that I loved her, and at 3 a.m. she confirmed that she too had some feelings for me and wanted to get to know me before these feelings could be given a name. Sometime around 4 a.m. when she stopped messaging, I knew she had fallen asleep, and it was time for me to doze off as well, as the absences which I had taken for Piyush’s wedding had come to an end, and I had to be at work in another five hours. But before I hit the sack, I had much more important work to finish. I spent the next half an hour going through our chat that night and grinning foolishly.
Maybe she was also in love with me.
LOOKING BACK IN TIME
Our lives were the happiest they could have been for the next three weeks. We were both always in touch over phones, emails, chats, and yet we could not get enough of each other, virtually. She was still in Chandigarh, contemplating whether getting a job near me was a good option for her mother. She was trying too hard to be a good daughter, and it made me fall for her all the more crazily.
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