Cheaters

by Novoneel Chakraborty

  I didn’t know what to say. This was not what I had expected. I was ready for her confession. And for not some profound take on marriage. I must say I was a little disappointed. Her mother called again. This time a little impatiently. I used it as an opportunity to let go off her hand and hurried inside.

  Minutes later, we were sitting opposite each other. In between dinner, I took out my phone and texted her: I promise. Looking at her I wondered what I was thinking. Sometimes we dwell too much on some things; we live our relationship so much in our heads that we end up pushing away our reality. And if your partner and you aren’t a part of each other’s realities, every other reason to be in the relationship becomes meaningless.

  I looked at her. Our eyes met. Suddenly, everything seemed right. And correct too.

  The Whore and the Wife

  12 a.m.

  This isn’t her first time in the room of a five-star hotel. But it’s the first time that she is free by midnight on a working day. Her code name is Meera. She is a luxury prostitute. Her real age is thirty-two while her professional age is twenty-seven. Her vitals are 34D–28–36. She has a rich café-au-lait complexion and high cheekbones, which put her in high demand. She charges Rs 2,00,000 a night. She gets Rs 50,000 in hand. She tends to five customers a month. She studied English literature in college. Any more information and you will judge her. Let her be a whore for now.

  Tonight Meera’s customer is a Gujarati businessman. Names aren’t disclosed to her, but she could easily tell thanks to his thick accent. The man received a few phone calls, which further confirmed her hunch that he was a businessman. Meera is always on the lookout for interesting clients. She loves to guess about their lives, cultivating them in her mind. Perhaps it helps produce a sense of belonging. How else does one become someone’s sexual slave for a night? The answer is simple: different people, different ways, but the method remains the same: use the mind to escape from what’s happening around and with you. Till you get used to it. Meera wasn’t up for it but it is work and it’s worship. She found herself in luck when her middle-aged, half-bald, potbellied, lecherous-looking client passed out in two minutes. She couldn’t believe it. He had money but he didn’t seem to have any class. She wanted to sip the red wine that she had ordered for herself; he had told her that she could order anything she wanted. But before she could finish her drink, he was stripping her. Then he stripped himself. The sight of him made her wish that she was drunk. He penetrated her wearing a condom. And the next moment he was done. Before he could even say anything, the man was snoring. Meera was thrilled. The super posh suite was now hers except for the naked businessman lying on the bed.

  Meera took a hot shower, taking her time soaping and shampooing herself. She eventually came out wearing a bathrobe and a towel wrapped around her head and drew the curtains of the suite. Mumbai was spread out below, a glittering criss-cross of roads and buildings. The city was an everyday tug-of-war between dream and reality. That’s what Meera loved the most about Mumbai. One simply couldn’t guess which side was winning. Or losing. And then one day the sudden realization of victory. Or defeat. She slid into a chair next to the study table in the room, spread her legs on the bed and took her time finishing her wine. She wished all her clients were like the Gujarati businessman. She was even ready to charge less. Of course, she will not be allowed to. Her pimp was waiting for her in his car downstairs in the parking lot; he will escort her out in the morning. He was also there if things went out of hand. She could call him and inform him that she was done for the night. But she chose to stay in the room. Except for the guttural snoring, the night stretched out in front of Meera, still and unperturbed.

  She put on some music on her phone and started dancing. She believed dancing to be the best form of expression. She looked at herself in the full-length mirror and clicked a few selfies. But stopped when she heard a sound, a beep. Three more shrill beeps followed. She turned towards the bedside table. Meera understood that it was her client’s phone. On an impulse, she tip-toed to the table and picked up the phone. It wasn’t password protected. She glanced at her client. He looked dead. Meera stared at the mobile screen. And two seconds before the screen light went off, she tapped on the WhatsApp message.

  Are you there? I know you must be with some whore. I’ve always known this. Please tell me. Are you there?

  She looked at the sender’s name: wife. She was online. Meera didn’t know why she did it but she texted back from her client’s phone.

  Yes, I am.

  * * *

  1 a.m.

  Wife: I know you’re probably thinking why I’m not calling you, right?

  Meera (from her client’s phone): Maybe.

  Wife: When have I ever called you? And when, in those rare occasions that I did, have you ever picked up? In fact, I can’t believe you are responding tonight.

  Meera: I’m free. What is it?

  Wife: Why, didn’t you get any whore tonight?

  No response from Meera.

  Wife: You are surprised, right? How do I know? Well, a wife always knows. I’ve known for some time now. You opt for paid sex during your business tours.

  Meera: Why are you telling me this now? Maybe I don’t enjoy it with you any more, that is why I go for paid sex.

  Wife: I read your credit card statement once. I understood there’s always someone else with you in the hotels when you are away.

  Meera: So why tell me all this now? Why not when you had read the statement?

  Wife: You know how much I respect you. I would never be able to even think of such a thing about you. But then when I checked again and again, every time you travelled, I was certain. Some characterless woman must have manipulated you. I know it.

  Meera (smirks): Oh! You already know she’s characterless?

  Wife: Which respectable woman sells her body for money? Or lures men from respectable families into such filth?

  Meera (impulsive): I have a family too!

  Wife: Of course, I know you do. But that woman doesn’t, I’m sure. All she wants and knows is money and lust. This time when you come back, I’ve arranged for a small puja at home. It will weaken the spell of this woman.

  Meera: Spell?

  Wife: My Babaji told me that women like these, who trade their bodies for money, know black magic.

  Meera laughs out loud. Then checks herself; she does not want to wake up her client. This is turning out to be more entertaining than she thought it would.

  Meera: You watch too much television, isn’t it?

  Wife: Only after completing all my duties as a wife and a mother. Why do you ask? I didn’t know you had a problem with me watching television.

  Meera: I don’t. You should watch whatever you want to. And let me do whatever I want to.

  Wife: I wouldn’t have a problem if you did it willingly but a witch has cast a spell on you. She is trying to snatch you from me.

  Meera: Which witch?

  Wife: The woman who stays with you in the hotels.

  Meera frowns at the message.

  Meera: You haven’t even met the woman and you are being so judgemental about her. That too being a woman yourself?

  Wife: There is a difference between her and me. I’m a wife and I belong to my husband. She belongs to nobody. All she cares for is money.

  Meera: Maybe she too has a family. Maybe she too is a wife, a daughter, a sister. Maybe a mother even, who knows.

  Wife: I really feel bad for her family then. They will die of shame if they ever knew what she was up to. See, she doesn’t even think of her family. What will she think of you and me? She is a home-wrecker.

  Meera: We talk about men being chauvinists but women like you are worse.

  Wife: Why would you say that? Have I done anything to upset you? You can tell me.

  Meera: Have you ever thought that it could also be because he doesn’t enjoy doing it with you any more?

  Seconds later she sends a correction.

  Meera: I mean I
don’t enjoy doing it with you.

  Meera hurls the phone on the bed. She is furious. A few seconds later there is a beep.

  * * *

  2 a.m.

  Meera thought she was done with what started off as mischief. When she texted back the businessman’s wife, she was going to delete all the messages before she left. But now the wife had given her something to ponder over. It wasn’t what she had told her; she had heard these things before. But they had never come from a woman. And it irked her. A woman is supposed to understand another woman. Did not the wife understand one basic thing: no woman sells her body as Plan A in her life? It’s a plan forced on her by men and the society. The phone beeped again. Out of sheer curiosity, mixed with anger, Meera picked it up.

  Wife: I know that you don’t enjoy having sex with me. I’m at fault here. I know I’ve gone out of shape. I tried to do some medical tests too without telling you (I’m sorry) and I’ve been diagnosed with thyroid. I don’t think I’ll be able to bring my weight down much. But I’m trying. I starve myself these days.

  Meera: Are you out of your mind? You are starving yourself to earn a man’s validation? That too when you have thyroid?

  Wife: Not for any man. Only for you, my husband.

  Meera: The way you put it, it seems your husband belongs to some other species.

  Wife: No! Please don’t take offence. I didn’t mean it that way. What I meant was you are my husband and you’ll forever remain special to me no matter what.

  Meera: Even if I go to a whore?

  Wife: The whore is to be blamed. That’s what I’ve been telling you. I know, given a chance, you will leave her but her spell is such.

  Meera: She has a name. Meera. And she knows no black magic. I called her. She didn’t call me.

  Wife: You will never understand it. It’s the spell.

  Meera (having an urge to fling the phone away): That’s forthright stupid. You know that, right?

  Wife: I’ll be patient with you. Babaji told me you won’t agree with me. It may cause a fight. And that too is what the witch wants.

  Meera: Why would she want a fight between you and me?

  Wife: She wants to take my place. The whore wants to become the wife.

  Meera: Just like you have sorted your ‘husband’ into a different category, you’ve done so with a ‘whore’.

  Wife: I know they too are women; but they are a disgrace.

  Meera: Really? What do you know about these so-called black magic practising whores?

  Wife: That they steal husbands and wreck homes.

  Meera: They have their own husbands. And all they care about are their own homes.

  Wife: They do? Meera has a husband? A home?

  Meera: Yes. She has a husband. He tried to sell her off after marrying her to some sheikh in Dubai. She somehow managed to run off when, unknown to anyone, she was two months pregnant. Her daughter is four now. After tending to her clients, she goes back home. And guess what she does there?

  Wife: What?

  Meera: Narrates a fairy tale to her daughter. A new fairy tale every day. She is her daughter’s emotional insulation from the world outside that is infested with wolves. But what’s her insulation?

  Wife: I’m feeling bad for Meera now. I can almost imagine her daughter’s innocent face.

  Meera (moist eyes): She is a fighter. She will sail through the turbulent times. You know the funniest thing about us is we never understand our inner strength when we have too many options in life. It’s only when there are no options, no Plan B, nothing to fall back on, is when we realize how strong we are.

  Wife: But why be a whore? Can’t she do something respectable? What will her daughter think of her when she finds out in a few years?

  Meera: All Meera cares about right now is how well she can bring her daughter up. Give her a good education and make her financially independent. If a so-called immoral cause is producing good results then what’s the problem?

  Wife: Hmm. Still . . . a whore?

  Meera: Body, sex, money. These are the three vertexes of the social Bermuda Triangle that consumes everyone sooner or later. All she hopes for is before her daughter learns about her vocation, she should learn about the ways of society. Then she would be able to see that there’s dignity in selling one’s body for money rather than being some man’s doormat.

  Meera: Do you think to keep a soul cleansed when the body is being toyed with all the time is easy? Is it a joke? Can anybody do that?

  Wife: I’m really happy I texted you tonight. You have made me see something in a completely different light. But now I have only have one question. May I?

  Meera: Sure.

  Wife: You did help me find respect for a whore, but why are you taking her side?

  An emotional Meera suddenly stifles a giggle even as her eyes are still moist.

  * * *

  3 a.m.

  Wife: What happened? Did I say anything wrong? I’m sorry if you felt bad.

  Meera: I’m not taking anyone’s side. I’m just telling you what I know about Meera and girls like her.

  Wife: I’m sorry again.

  Meera: Tell me something, why are you so meek? Why do you keep apologizing?

  Wife: You are my husband. I need to be apologetic in case I say anything that hurts you.

  Meera: That goes for everyone. If anyone says anything hurtful, he or she should be apologetic. But what is this you-are-my-husband thing that are you mentioning?

  Wife: Well, my mother was always meek in front of my father. She rarely did anything that could upset him. But one day, she forgot to add sugar in my father’s tea. To this day, the hair on the back of my neck stands up when I remember how badly he would beat her in front of my siblings and me.

  Meera: Did you do anything about it?

  Wife: I gave her medicines to soothe the pain from the beating.

  Meera: But you couldn’t hold your father by the collar and dare him to hit your mother again?

  Wife: How could I? He was my father after all.

  Meera: Meera had beaten her father with a stick once. Never again did he beat her mother or her sisters after drinking.

  Wife: Would you have liked it if I had slapped my father?

  Meera: That’s the point. You don’t need my validation or anyone else’s for that matter to take a stand. If you feel that something is wrong, you should speak up. Else men like your father will keep defining our space and roles for us all the time.

  Wife: Hahaha! You say ‘these men’ as if you aren’t one.

  Meera: I was just going with the flow. And don’t laugh. I’m serious.

  Wife: I’m sorry.

  Meera: Again sorry?

  Wife: I feel blessed to have such a husband who is so accepting of his wife’s feelings. I hope I’m not dreaming about this chat. Don’t get me wrong, but I’ve never seen this side of yours in all the time that we have been together.

  Meera: We will come to ‘how blessed you are to have me’ later. But now I want to know why you didn’t study? Financial problems?

  Wife: Financial problems? You know my family. Do you think we ever had any financial problem? Girls in my family aren’t allowed to study after class X. They say education ruins a young girl’s mind. In fact, I remember you were happy that I was just a matriculate.

  Meera: It’s okay. I was a pig then.

  Wife: Oh! Don’t say such things about yourself. I respect you.

  Meera: That is because your mind is trained to iron out all my creases.

  Wife: Wait a minute. Our youngest has just woken up. I will text you after putting her back to sleep. Please don’t go. I really want this to go on.

  Meera: Take care of her. I’m here. Text me when you’re free.

  Wife: Yes. May I call . . . ?

  Meera: No, texting is fine.

  Wife: As you say.

  * * *

  4 a.m.

  The client stirs in his sleep. Meera prays he doesn’t wake up. She is relieved to se
e him turn over in his sleep. The snoring continues. The very next second the phone beeps.

  Wife: Are you there?

  Meera: Yes. The kid has gone back to sleep?

  Wife: Yes. She’s asleep. Maybe she was having a nightmare; she was crying out loud.

  Meera: You are a good person.

  Wife: I take it as the best compliment in my life.

  Meera: Why, if I hadn’t said it, it wouldn’t have been true?

  Wife: A wife’s duty is to remain in her husband’s good books always. So this is special.

  Meera: Who taught you all this?

  Wife: Nobody. I just know these things.

  Meera: Hmm.

  Wife: ?

  Meera: Tell me if I, your husband, had not been there in your life, what would you have done?

  Wife: I would have been dead by now.

  Meera: Aargh! Can you just for one night stop acting like a doormat? You are an individual! Not someone’s pet. Your husband is just your husband, not your owner.

  Wife: I don’t know what to say.

  Meera: Say ‘I’m not anyone’s pet’.

  Wife: You are not anyone’s pet.

  Meera: Dammit! I mean ‘YOU aren’t anyone’s pet’.

  Wife: I’m not anyone’s pet.

  Meera: Better. And remember that always.

  Wife: Even when you order me to do things that I don’t like?

  Meera: Like?

  Wife: All right, I don’t know how you will react to this . . . but now that we are chatting I want to be honest. I don’t like it when you invite your friends home for drinking, and order me in front of them to serve snacks and prepare the drinks. I’ve cried in my room every time you’ve made me do it. Didn’t you see how your friends ogled at me?

  Meera: This is what I’ve been trying to tell you. It’s no use crying. You should have slapped me in front of my friends the very first time I did that. Humans only understand the language of the cane. Especially those in a wolf’s skin. Like me.