Cheaters

by Novoneel Chakraborty

  Shayan thought for some time. She didn’t pester him for an answer. They were looking at other people in the park.

  ‘I think an emotional blindness does set in,’ Shayan finally said.

  ‘Emotional blindness,’ Priyanjali repeated and added, ‘I like this term. It explains a lot without any elaborate explanation.’

  ‘The moment we know someone is there, who won’t leave us voluntarily, the blindness starts setting in. We only have the person we know in front of us and not the one the person can be.’

  ‘I didn’t get the last part.’

  ‘When I met my wife last night she was certain that all I do these days is go to college to teach and come back home. Nothing in between. She can never imagine me meeting a friend and talking to her like this in a park.’

  ‘That’s because you will be the person she knows you to be and not the one you can be?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  ‘I would have loved to have this discussion with my husband. But I know he won’t be interested.’

  ‘Or maybe you think he won’t be interested. Maybe you need to know a different him?’

  Priyanjali suddenly felt a pang of guilt. What if Shayan was right?

  ‘I think I should leave now.’

  ‘Your husband is back?’

  ‘No. But I have some official work to finish.’

  Shayan wanted to request her to stay for five more minutes but she seemed edgy; she wouldn’t have considered his request.

  * * *

  Chapter Seven

  ‘I tried last night but I was right about my husband. He doesn’t like getting into the thick of things too much,’ Priyanjali said. They were taking a stroll around the park as the bench was occupied by a couple. But they had their eyes on it.

  ‘That’s why he will always be happier than you.’

  ‘You’re right. People who avoid getting too involved with everything are always happier as compared to others. That’s why he handled himself so much better than me after Binny’s death. I’m not saying it didn’t damage him. I’m sure it did but unlike me he didn’t seek a reason behind the damage. I did. He accepted things the way they were; I still haven’t been able to.’

  ‘Or maybe he isn’t that expressive? Maybe he pretends to be okay so you may not suffer more?’

  ‘I like the way you take his side most of the time. You need not but you still do. Really commendable.’ They exchanged a smile. Walking side by side seemed better than sitting beside each other. But the bench was empty now. However, Priyanjali didn’t propose the idea of sitting on it. Nor did Shayan.

  ‘To be honest I’m supporting myself here,’ he said.

  ‘As in?’

  ‘Since Titu’s death I’ve actually revisited my relationship with my wife a lot of times, trying to understand that which I think has changed and can be mended. It has made me wonder about a lot of possibilities. But alas! It’s so difficult to predict how someone is.’

  ‘And you have had a love marriage. Imagine my condition. Mine was arranged.’

  Shayan chuckled gently.

  ‘I don’t think we are heading towards a split,’ Priyanjali said.

  ‘Were you contemplating it?’

  ‘Honestly, I was. I think it was because of Binny that we didn’t break up. Now that he isn’t there any more and the fact that I can’t conceive again did make me feel that we should separate. Without Binny, we have no common thread.’

  ‘I think that’s where we falter. We always make it mandatory for our spouse to have the same tastes as us.’

  ‘You don’t think so?’

  ‘I think a relationship works out best when a couple is tolerant of each other’s differences; it is more important than having shared interests. Yet we keep looking for them and when we can’t find them, we tell ourselves we aren’t made for each other.’

  ‘Do you really believe in the whole made-for-each-other thing?’

  ‘As I said it is all about affinity, a natural chemistry, rapport. Why do you think we have been meeting for days now?’ Priyanjali stopped. Shayan paused after taking a few steps ahead of her.

  ‘We have a good rapport?’ she asked.

  ‘Don’t you think so?’ he said, walking back towards her.

  ‘I think so. But what do we do about it?’

  ‘Do we have to do something about it? Why can’t we just let it be?’

  ‘Like the kind of relationship that only stays alive in the present and fades into oblivion the moment we bid each other goodbye?’

  ‘Somewhat like that.’

  Priyanjali was walking towards the park’s exit. Shayan followed her.

  ‘I’ll be gone for the weekend to my mother’s place. I will be back on Monday.’

  ‘I’ll wait for you on the bench,’ Shayan said. Their eyes locked on each other.

  ‘Not here. Not where we visited with our children. We are friends now, right?’

  Shayan seemed lost for a moment. Then regaining his composure, said, ‘Two married people, kind of disconnected with their spouses, with dead children . . . I don’t think the society will see it as a friendship.’

  ‘To hell with society then. Give me your number. I will text you where we can meet on Monday.’

  Priyanjali and Shayan happily exchanged numbers.

  ‘With very few people do we strike the right chord in a relationship,’ Priyanjali said. ‘A little here and we become partners. A little there and we turn into strangers. Right now we are both strangers and partners. That’s an interesting point to be in, right?’

  ‘I’ll wait for the text, Priyanjali,’ Shayan said.

  Priyanjali smiled and left the park.

  On Bed with Strangers

  Sneha

  Date: 6 October

  Time: Night

  Place: Bedroom

  It’s funny when you don’t know a person at all. I mean at all. And still want to have sex with him.

  The lights are out. Tonight, I’m on bed with . . . I won’t you tell you his name. Let him be for you what he is for me: a stranger. I use carpool while going to office. I met him on one such trip. And right now I’m having sex with him. He is what I thought he would be in bed: a savage. I like it; I have always liked it this way. But my husband never understood it; he couldn’t live up to my expectations as he wasn’t interested. But I always knew what my body was capable of. I always wanted sex to be the language through which I understood my body and soul. But all that I could manage was some acquired knowledge. Where is the experience? Where is the feeling? I had read somewhere that sex is less about the organs involved in it than it is about the mind. I agree. But the problem is in finding someone who too believes in this. No man likes to match a woman on that level. And even if he does, he invariably ends up judging her sooner or later. That’s why there’s no experience. No feeling. That’s why I chose this man tonight.

  I moan loudly as he makes me come by eating me. At first I feel scared that the neighbours might hear me. Then a smile appears on my face. At least someone made me feel as wild as I felt I was.

  * * *

  Shekhar

  Date: 6 October

  Time: Night

  Place: Bedroom

  The one brutal truth that I can’t tell my wife, Sneha, is that I have no motivation to get intimate with her any more. I don’t get an erection even when I see her naked.

  The lights are out. Tonight, I’m with a friend of Sneha’s in our bedroom. You don’t know her so why bother with her name? I knew this woman since Sneha and I started dating, but it’s only recently that I thought of sleeping with her. I don’t know what exactly drew me to her. Maybe I needed another option and she was the easiest. And she hasn’t been disappointing at all. The way her tongue slithers down my chest to my groin makes me wonder why the same act when performed by Sneha fails to elicit any response from my body. Are we so used to each other that the sacred, unsaid unpredictability that keeps the spark alive in a marriage is dead?


  Sex is such a primal urge. And we can feel the need to satiate the urge with so many people. When we do, we feel guilty about it. If we tell others, we are made to feel immoral. I don’t understand why humans weren’t designed to distinguish between love and lust. Why do we have to see one through the lens of the other? Always! If I don’t lust for Sneha any more, my love for her is compromised, or so the world will like me to believe. It doesn’t matter how much I love her, if I don’t get it up for her, the society will judge me. And then people say sex isn’t important. Fuck them! My mind goes blank as Sneha’s friend blows me, making me come.

  * * *

  Sneha

  Date: 20 October

  Time: Night

  Place: Bedroom

  I’m loving this: to be with a stranger in my bed. And witness how my body reacts to the thought of different people.

  The lights are out. I’m with a man I saw the other night in a pub when I was there with my husband, Shekhar. I didn’t know then that I would end up in the sack with him. Unlike the carpool commuter, this man is gentle, but he is good with foreplay. I like that. A man should respect a woman’s mood when it comes to sex. If she is in the mood to tumble around, play rough, only then should it be that way. I rarely struck that balance with Shekhar. When I’d want it rough, he’d come too quickly. When I’d want it to be slow and sensual, he’d want to jump on me and devour me like a sex doll. With time I stopped expecting anything. I surrendered to his mood else the sex only got worse. But this man sure knows how to build things up. Like a novel. Chapter after chapter till we reach the climax. I hate men who try to climax in the first chapter itself. Make a woman feel like a detailed and engaging read, and watch what she does for you. But no. All that some men like Shekhar know is to finish things. There’s an intoxicating magic in prolonging the inevitable. Who will teach this to these men? Where’s the experience? Where’s the feeling?

  I know he is reaching the climax. He is thrusting faster now. In no time our insides shatter, which can only be put together after a deep sleep.

  * * *

  Shekhar

  Date: 20 October

  Time: Night

  Place: Bedroom

  Will I be a freak if I say the girl I’m with tonight resembles Sneha when she was in her early twenties? And that’s the only reason why I’m with her?

  The lights are out. Why did I choose a girl who resembles a younger Sneha? Does that mean I miss her? Could be. The younger Sneha was an enigma; the one I’ve been living with for the last ten years is a thoroughly read book. There were reasons for me to go back to the enigma, there’s no reason for me to consider the present Sneha, even though I have looked for reasons a lot of times. I want our marriage to work out but when I ask myself why . . . nothing comes to mind. Till our fifth year I used to say it’s because of love that we are together, but now I know it is possible to feel entirely nothing for the person you share your domestic life with. We just don’t say it aloud. Who will say it first? Who will ask for a divorce? Who will answer questions by our parents, friends, the society? Too much emotional labour. Better to go on pretending everything was exactly the way it was when we’d met for the first time. But we know in our hearts that the fairy tale got over a long time ago. At least I know that.

  Honestly, Sneha was better than this girl at her age. This one is a novice. I have to tell her a lot of things. Who likes to explain so much while having sex? Is this a college lecture? Sneha was a natural in bed. And yet how things have changed. Or maybe I have.

  * * *

  Sneha

  Date: 1 November

  Time: Night

  Place: Bedroom

  Will I be considered wicked if I confess that I’ve been comparing the strangers I’ve been having sex with, with my husband and getting a kick out of it?

  The lights are out. Tonight I’m with a college friend of mine. He told me he had been fantasizing about me for years now. I’m certain I’ll get multiple orgasms tonight. A rarity for me. I remember the time when Shekhar used to devour me. His performance has decreased over the years. Am I not attractive any more? Then how come these men show such intense interest in me? Is attraction subjective? Maybe it is short-lived. Anyone who has been in love will know the difference between lusty fucking and love making. There was a time Shekhar and I did the former, then it became the latter and now it is neither. We do it because we feel we owe each other something as husband and wife. But we never give each other what we really require: honesty. Why can’t we tell each other that ‘we are done’ as casually and easily as we had once professed our love for each other? To let go of a person you once loved with all your heart so that she can have a free life is also part of the responsibility stemming out of the love you once felt for her, right?

  Tonight was bad. My college friend fell short of my expectations. But then, I wonder, both Shekhar and I have too fallen short of our own expectations of each other. Who can be blamed in such a case? I find that my eyes are moist. I don’t know why. I didn’t want to . . .

  * * *

  Shekhar

  Date: 1 November

  Time: Night

  Place: Bedroom

  How can you deliberately hurt someone? That too someone with whom you have had the most beautiful memories of your life? And that’s why I cannot tell Sneha that we are done.

  The lights are out. Tonight, I don’t care who I’m with. All right, I had spurned this woman once, chosen Sneha over her. Back then I was in love with my wife. But this woman claims to still be in love with me. I can’t claim the same for Sneha. Is it because we have already had what this woman couldn’t and didn’t? The fundamental difference between lust and love is that the former dies if sated and the latter only fades if requited. And what fades may well become prominent some day. That is why love is more dangerous, I believe. What if my love for Sneha resurfaces after I tell her we are done? How will I be able to get her back then? I can’t take the claims of this woman seriously because we haven’t lived together for ten years. Domestic life changes a lot of things. The first being how you look at your partner. She transforms from someone desirable to someone so bloody achievable and approachable that all sense of an adventure is killed. We are all vagabonds, hunting souls. Adventure is important in domesticity whether we realize it or not. Hunger is what made us hunt for food. The mind makes us hunt for the body. Marriage is a cleverly designed blinker for our wild desires. We know there’s so much outside it but aren’t allowed to look.

  I only pretend I liked the session with her. I flash the same fake smile at her as the one I give to Sneha after coming back from office. Has she understood it? If so, why isn’t she confronting me about it? I wonder as the post-coital bliss soon lulls me to sleep.

  * * *

  Sneha and Shekhar

  Date: 15 November

  Time: Night

  Place: Their bedroom

  Lights are on.

  Sneha and Shekhar are with each other in bed. They don’t talk much these days. Ten years of being together has eaten into their once romanticized idea of togetherness. Only humans are capable of churning out such ironies. They are lying side by side. Some small talk is made about how the day went, how work was, a little gossip, some news about their relatives, and then one of them yawns. The other understands it’s time to say good night.

  Sneha turns around, her back to Shekhar. She feels his hand on her shoulder. Their touch has a new language these days. She grasps his hand. The new language is a little confusing at times. Shekhar switches off the lights. In their minds they are with strangers. They surrender themselves to these unknown people in their bed.

  For how long will they communicate with cryptic gestures hoping that the other will bring up the issue at hand? Shekhar wonders.

  Where are the words? Sneha wonders.

  Suddenly, Shekhar thinks about the woman who moved into the flat next door. Sneha thinks about the man she saw at a colleague’s marriage last week. Both husband and w
ife switch off from each other’s reality.

  Acknowledgements

  I had always wanted to come up with a short story collection, where I could write about myriad people in different situations bound by a common theme. ‘No man is an island’; what touches me could also touch someone else somewhere. Perhaps it’s our reaction to different stimuli that makes our stories different. Cheaters took a lot out of me because it was a task to strip down the characters to their bare minimum and reveal them in their emotional nudity. Even though this collection had been at the back of my mind for some time now, it wouldn’t have possibly reached you, my readers, without the help and support of certain individuals.

  The foremost being Milee. Thank you so much for showing faith in this collection as well as the storyteller in me time and again. Such an experiment is next to impossible to conduct in the commercial zone without the love and support of an enterprising publisher like you.

  Thank you, Indrani, my editor, for bringing your value to the collection and also for letting me know that you found the flavour of the magnificent Buddhadeb Basu in the stories. You don’t know how happy you made me feel that day. Cheers!

  The entire sales team at Penguin Random House India: Nandan, Vijesh, Pinaki da, Nirmalya da, Gopal, Harish bhai, Sunil, Raghavendra, Saleheen. And my publicists: Sudhanshu and Peter. A heartfelt thanks to you guys for the constant support.

  Gratitude to my family for always being there.

  To my close friends who need not be named here: double thumbs-up for the love in all situations and seasons.

  To all those boys/men and girls/women (sorry, I can’t name them for that would be a breach of trust) who opened up to me and poured their hearts out, making their darkest confessions about their marriages and partners. Cues from these make up the stories in this collection.

  Special mention: Thank you, Ranisa, for those soul-stirring conversations. Who else can emotionally disturb me as well as satiate me at the same time?

  R—every moment with you is a realization. And the ones without you are a lesson. I can now safely say that we don’t belong to each other. We ARE each other. Thank you!