by Irfan Khan
The main course was grilled trout fish glazed with garlic butter and dusting of ground black pepper. We avoided the breads/roti’s and had chicken steaks with sweet potato chips.
The lunch was sumptuous and I stretched out on the charpoy as a prompt for Reema to mimic the same.
I was blissful in the moment “Isn’t it wonderful to see fruits hanging on trees. The stems that they hang from must be like their umbilical cord.” I caught myself speaking like a poet philosopher. Was I improvising on my personality to impress her?
Reema was in a dark mood “And then we go and pluck them off.”
I turned towards her to add positivity “They would ripen and fall off, if we did not pluck them. It’s such a satisfying visual. Don’t you think so”?
Reema agreed with me for the first time “Yes, it would be wonderful if my tree also had some more fruits.”
I could see that the tree in her sight was sparse. Before I could offer to exchange places, Reema came over to my charpoy and lied down next to me. This was pleasantly unexpected. I held my breath so that she would get comfortable. My quickened breathing would give away my state of mind. We lay there for a long time. After a few minutes, she snuggled closer to me and dozed off.
I was in a moral dilemma. This closeness with her gave me ideas that maybe I had a shot at being with her. Then, on the other hand, right now she is in a vulnerable position. This is not the time to woo her. She may be receptive now but it may be because of her state of mind. The noble thing would be to remain patient and wait for her condition to stablise.
I wished I could stop inhaling the fragrance of her hair. They spread across her back and blew over me in the gentle afternoon wind. What is it about the fragrance of a woman’s hair that makes one weak in the knees? Suddenly I heard faint sobbing. She was being very quiet but I could hear her sniffing. I let her cry to her heart's content. This would relieve her pain and the stone-faced Reema will get her smile back. Should I comfort her or maybe spoon her? That should not look like a sexual move, will that be considered a violation of her modesty?
The drive back was uneventful. Reema was composed and appreciated the whole experience and the scenery. I took that as a cue and asked her if she would be interested in visiting a Tibetan village which has many handicraft shops. She liked the idea and even though she was all packed to go back the next day I managed to convince her to stay back. I desperately searched for more things to keep her engaged. Then we reached her hotel,
“I had a wonderful time, Nikhil. Thank you so much for making time for me for lunch.”
I smiled and said “I hope you don’t mind but I think you should not stay in the hotel, at least not tonight. Don’t be alone. Please stay at my house. There are many spare rooms and it will be much more comfortable.
I could see that she was surprised by the suggestion. She looked at me hard as if to read the real reason behind the offer.
I saw the piercing stare and blurted “I am also worried about your safety. Alone girl in a hotel, small town, you know”?
“That's very generous but no thanks. I will be fine.” She refused my offer but I sensed it was not vehemently.
I knew that a little more nudging may change her mind “Okay, now I will not be polite. I insist that you will not stay at the hotel. After knowing this I can’t allow it to happen. Let’s go and get your luggage. Come on.”
I stepped out of the car nonchalantly and darted towards the reception. Reema looked flabbergasted and followed me like a puppy.
. . .
The Passionate Union
Old Residence
I lived in a rented bungalow which was colonial and spacious. The owners knew my parents and were happy to have me occupy the house. They were moving to Germany to be with their son and his family. I had furnished one bedroom for guests and sleepovers when my friends were too drunk to go home. On the way, we picked up some takeaway Paya (trotters) soup and kebabs. Reema was surprised with delight when she saw the house. I guess the change in her mood was because she was not going to be lonely tonight.
“You can’t call this a house, it’s a palace. It’s just frozen in time. I can almost see the British lady walking around in her gown as the gentleman sitting in that corner with his cigar and brandy.”
I was pleased that she was opening up and appreciating my choice “Yes, it’s great and I am blessed. (I put on a fake British accent) Would you care for some wine milady?
She laughed and kept strolling around taking in all the details of the woodwork and paintings. I brought out some Chardonnay with some cheese and crackers. We sat on the porch of the house. Reema sat on the cane couch, with her legs curled up and tugging at her shawl. The nippy wind’s message told me; the night would be quite cold. I stood at the banister and told her stories of the town. She heard me for some time and then asked,
“Are you still single”?
I nodded in agreement. This was not something that I was proud of.
Reema asked “Will it be rude if I asked you why”?
I replied candidly “Not at all. It’s simple. I didn’t find anyone and nobody found me.”
I chuckled as if I didn’t care about it. False bravado.
“How many girlfriends did you have, till now”?
I was about to be exposed “Including the one who died? None!”
She laughed and took a long sip of her wine
“Do you have a valid reason for that or maybe a theory? If you hesitate, I am going to presume you are gay.”
Now I laughed aloud and took a long swig of the wine.
“I can promise you that I would be perfectly comfortable if I felt gay but I know for sure that my heart rate is still affected by the face and form of the opposite sex.” She rolled her eyes. I looked away into the dark night “I had my share of casual flings but maybe I am too dedicated to my work. I would forget to chase girls because chasing clients was way more important.”
She sighed loudly “Work is your mistress. That’s so much better. No chance of heartbreaks.”
This was a wrong turn. I knew where this would lead to. I had to change the gears fast.
“Tomorrow on the way to Tibetan village, would you want to stop by my parent’s orchard”?
“Oh yes! Is that where you grew up? I would love to meet your parents too.”
I would have also loved to have Reema meet them “They are no more. Lost them when I was 12 years old. I like to visit, there are very few memories, so they are precious. Running in the orchard with my parents, riding on the back of my father….”
The wine must be working on me. I felt my eyes go moist. Reema caught the voice breaking and trailing off. She got up from her cozy perch and hugged me. That made the matter worse. My tinge of sadness swelled into a wave of emotions. The moist eyes welled up like a stream of tears. Her arms around me felt like a warm quilt in the chilly night of Sugaoni. She whispered and shushed me as she nuzzled on my chest. I could feel the gust of her warm breath on my bushy chest. She rocked me with an inaudible lullaby. I felt calm instantly and, in that moment, I learnt what real meditation can be. I was soaking in the moment, with a heightened awareness of the tepid breathing, the fragrant hair, tight embrace and her heartbeat inside her firm breast. I was transporting from sadness to madness at the speed of thought. I embraced her now and followed the rhythm, rocking to the beat of her breath. My arms squeezed her closer to show my appreciation as she sighed in response. We were sailing in the river of energies created by our union. I could swear there was music playing inside the house. I was getting overwhelmed and felt over the moon. This girl and her embrace felt special. There was no rush to undress or clumsiness to start making out. I bent my head to see her eyes and then I kissed her forehead. As yet it was a platonic kiss. She looked up at me with her eyes swimming in tears. The moonlight shined on the beads of fluid emotions and turned them into pearls. I kissed her on her eyes and then her nose. She was submissive but her embrace became firmer, encouraging me
to continue the passionate shower. Her lips were quivering and parted to receive the promised nectar. Her face was arched as I went down with my eager lips and started with a peck on her lips followed by many more pecks gradually building up into merging of our mouths. We were eating off each other’s face as the tongues darted and clashed happily. There is some ethereal energy that is generated when two people kiss with compassion rather than lust. There is no beginning or end to this energy. The way it flows, who can tell whose energy it is? It is just two souls – sparking and sparkling.
Soon we were on my bed under a warm quilt. We had shed the garbs that never ever depict our true beauty. Reema was in a trancelike state and let me be the navigator. Though my passion was a blazing house on fire, I wanted my lovemaking to be a statement, symphony of the love that I felt for her. If I allowed my banal instincts to take over than it would be ravishing and invigorating sex. It would be like so many meaningless encounters. That kind of intense sexual ecstasy was like a drug which would make you feel empty and depressed the next day. I wanted her to feel love and the comforting satisfaction of being loved, the pleasure of being desired. Her moans were coaxing me to continue, her writhing body was responding to the thrusts from my hips. Our movement synced almost like we were doing the salsa on a dance floor of ecstasy. Finally, I poured my love like an applause for the magnificent performance that we staged together. I cuddled up to her as she rested her face in my chest and slowly brought her breath to normal. I felt blissful and expressed it by caressing her hair down to her lower back. We didn’t know when we lulled into sleep.
. . .
Next few days were magical. We spent most of the day and nights together. I showed her my small office and she met the team. She had to head back as her parents were getting worried. I cooked up a business trip to Jammu and offered to drop her home. I became aware that I was a goner and Reema was the girl for me. To some extent, I sensed that Reema also enjoyed spending time with me. Though it took a while, soon we were seeing each other officially. Weekends would be either me in Jammu or Reema in Sugaoni. When we crossed six months, I decided that I must meet her parents. Reema too was excited with the idea.
. . .
Hate at First Sight
Eleven Years Ago
I truly believe fortune favours the brave.
The day I went to Reema’s house. Her dad was still at work and I spent an hour with her mother, Hemlata. She did not hide her delight of meeting me and gushed about Reema’s choice. She regaled me with Reema’s childhood stories and unconventional approach to social customs. All was going well until her father Shiv arrived. Now you know what I meant by fortune favours the brave. If I met the dad first then things could get worse from the start.
Shiv started the firing as soon as he sat down in his arm chair “So, Nikhil, what do you to earn money”?
It felt like I was in an interview “I am a computer engineer and I have my own software development company in Sugaoni.”
Shiv shot back instantly “You repair computers”? I was flabbergasted with the crudeness of the false observation.
Reema jumped in to defend “No, not like that. He writes code and software for running computers. Papa, you don’t know anything.”
Shiv did not acknowledge that he had made an error. Instead, he looked sternly at Reema. He fired the next salvo “What is the scope in that field? Google, Microsoft, Infosys are already there. What can you do better than them? (I was stunned. He shook his head in disbelief) Doing your own business is very risky. Don’t you want to get a good job in an MNC? Software people get jobs easily in Bangalore.” Shiv looked at Reema and Hemlata to get endorsed for his insightful analysis.
There were so many things wrong in the entire roster of questions fired at me. I understand a person may not know about a particular line of work. Then, the person must ask. You do not start making assumptions which only demonstrates your ignorance and arrogance of ignoring that ignorance.
I took a deep breath, “Sir, with due respect. First, Google and other companies don’t make software for all companies.” I spoke like I was addressing a high school class in career guidance “Businesses require customised solutions and we provide that. Second, I like doing my own business where I am the master of the game and no one questions me. Third, I hate becoming an employee who is just a cog in the wheel. The man whose company is the most valuable in the world never did a job and was a college dropout.”
I thought that was enough for Shiv to realise what I was doing but his prejudice was always ahead of his manners “His father must be super rich.”
I was now going to be firm “He was an orphan and grew up in a foster home. His name is Steve Jobs and his company ‘Apple’ is the most valuable company in the world.”
My firmness and Steve Jobs must have done the trick. Shiv seemed to understand “Okay, I understand. You want to experiment and try to succeed but eventually, I can bet, you will fail and then you will agree that jobs are more secure. Everybody is not so lucky.” I felt sorry for this man’s mindset. Instead of giving credit to the man’s genius he is crediting it to ‘luck’.
Hemlata intervened “That's very rude of you, Shiv! I think his entrepreneur spirit and passion will help him succeed.”
Reema had told me about her father’s work. So, I did my analysis. Shiv worked with a big corporate company and reached the level of General Manager in the HR department. He handled the workforce of the factory and had to deal with union leaders. He was the typical safe player who wanted a fixed salary and fixed work hours. He had no idea what is ambition or how entrepreneurs work and why they succeed.
After the chiding from Hemlata, Shiv decided to change tracks “Your surname is Kumar. That is a neutral surname that Bihari people took up after Jay Prakash Narayan’s movement, but what is your caste name? What is your gotra”?
This was the limit for me. I had no problem with discussing this if the person requested this information, pleasantly but Shiv was abrasive “Sir, my parents died when I was 12. I was brought up by my grandparents who were quite progressive. They never discussed these things and till today I never had any reason to know more about this. So, what I am saying is that I don’t care for these things. How does it matter”? Reema caught the hint of defiant aggressiveness in my voice.
If Shiv heard my displeasure, he chose to ignore it “These things are seen to properly match the boy and girl. It’s scientific and you can find the answer in genetic science.” He introduced the science aspect to justify his claim. Typical of bigots to invoke science selectively to support a point and dismiss entirely when its contrary.
I was not going to be soft with him anymore “Then, in that case, your daughter and I should not have been attracted to each other. The science of genes should prevent different castes and gotra people from falling in love. (I was conscious of my voice rising) The thing is Sir; I have come to meet you so that you get familiar with the person your daughter is marrying. We are not seeking permission; we will accept your blessings. (I got up. I was done with this bigot) Aunty, thank you for your hospitality. I will leave now.
Hemlata’s expression was of protest and disgust as she stared at Shiv. Reema rushed by my side and walked me out apologising profusely.
Reema was genuinely upset and tried to salvage the situation “I am so sorry for my dad. He is a little prehistoric in his value system.”
There was no need to be upset with Reema “I understand that. We need to give him some time to process the new relationship of his daughter. I will start driving now, it’s going to be dark soon and the mountains are not friendly at night.
She kissed me and said drive safely.
. . .
I was disappointed that things did not go the way we had hoped for. Her father was an obnoxious person who was very sticky about caste and gotra. Reema’s mother Hemlata was simply happy for Reema and poor thing tried to play the referee.
I guess he was looking for a guy who would be highly educa
ted and gainfully employed in a big corporate company. A lone ranger like me scares the middle-class shit out of him. I was more upset with his lack of respect for my work rather than the caste nonsense. I did not respond to Reema’s call or messages for a few days.
After a week I cooled down and reasoned with myself. Reema was getting the brunt of the whole thing. Her dad was an idiot but she, in all fairness, was a bystander. To expect her to shut her dad up would be too much. I finally took her call and we met.
She drove down to Sugaoni on a Sunday. I chose to meet in an open-air café making sure I am not sending out any impression of intimacy. Reema wore a simple top and skirt with a scarf blowing around her neck. She looked gorgeous. We met and exchanged pleasantries avoiding the passionate kiss. The situational protocol was peck on cheeks and we complied strictly.
“Dad doesn't want me to marry outside the caste and to a small businessman, those are his words, not mine. I am confused.”
Was there a point in trying to convince her? I didn’t want her to choose between her dad and me. “You can do what you feel is right, I want to marry you but cannot force you to leave your parents. They brought you up and made you what you are. Although they should respect the future you want for yourself.”
We meandered in that conversation with no real breakthrough. She was deeply pensive. I guess she was weighing the possibilities. Reema went back and things were quiet for a few days.
. . .
Diwali Morning
Reema called that morning “Happy Diwali Nikhil.”
I was happy to hear her voice “Hey, happy Diwali to you too.”
“What’s your plan for the day.”
I was wondering what was on her mind “Just going to chill at home after putting up some decorations.”