Instead Asha does something that adds fuel to the already blazing fire.
‘Hey, babes, there is only one way to get over him,’ she says.
‘How?’ I ask.
‘Meet him,’ she says.
‘What nonsense. How can I meet him? And why should I? And even if I do, how will that help me get over him?’
‘You will see for yourself that he has moved on. He will perhaps tell you about his life in whatever country he is in. Right now you are holding on to a chimera. A memory which belongs in the past. He is a different person now and so are you. Once you realise that, you will let him go and be at peace.’
Maybe she is right, I think when I finally hang up.
Maybe I should contact him and make a final closure.
Or at least that is what I tell myself—that I am contacting him, so I can move on.
But deep down I am not sure at all.
All I know is that the thought of being in touch once more with him is making my heart soar.
Chapter 15
Anjali
From: Anjali Prabhu
To: Aman Mathur
Sub: Oh no! Another mail from Anjali!
Hey!
Yeah, me again. On mail.
Could not resist even though I fought with myself. The fight I lost, but I am grinning as I get to write to you. I love it, you know—writing. After all, I make a living out of it.
How is work? Is India treating you well or do you want to run back to UK?
The ‘date’ (permit me to delude myself by calling it a date please) was awesome. The best I have had in ages. The bike ride was great too. Do thank your friend for it. (The friend who was so scared of me that he hid in his room. Was I that intimidating?)
Noticed one thing—you were so elusive at the guesthouse when I asked about Vikram and Dipika. Why?! And hey—between you and me, the reason I asked you about it was that she seemed a bit annoyed that I hadn’t mentioned we were going out. Struck me as a bit odd, and hence I asked you as you were the one right there, face to face with her! Hope you didn’t mind. If you did—too bad, it’s done now! I do tend to shoot off sometimes without thinking. I blame it on my zodiac sign even though I don’t believe in it, despite the fact that Praneeta Menon who writes the ‘Your Fortnight’ swears that astrology is a science and it is true. She is also into tarot reading, energy healing and all such stuff. Do you believe in it? Personally I think they are all placebos for the weak-hearted—but who knows! Maybe it is true too.
So are you asking me out for our ‘next time that you won’t take the bike’ or should I?
Take care!
Luv
Anjali
From: Aman Mathur
To: Anjali Prabhu
Sub: Oh! Look! Aman has replied super-fast!
Hey Hey
This must be the fastest reply I have typed. I have never emailed someone back this quick. Not even at work. And for the record, I have tons of work as I am now in a new division, after my UK stint which was laid-back and easy in comparison to now. The work-culture is so different in both places. My mental and physical faculties are taking a bit of time adjusting to the new regime. I quite like it though. Am not complaining.
‘Date’ was a date. No delusions there. And yes, I enjoyed it too. No—you weren’t intimidating at all—just that you looked so good the other day that most people would want to tidy up, just a little bit even to just appear before you. That’s why Shukla disappeared the other day. (For a shave and shower, but we were gone by the time he emerged. And don’t tell him I told you, he will kill me, as I have just broken the bro-code.)
About Dipika and Vikram—no comments. They were both okay with me.
About astrology—yes, I do believe in it. (Surprised?) My maternal uncle practises it and he learnt it from my grandfather. My uncle works in the US, in a multinational and had started doing it as a hobby for close friends. His predictions were accurate and now on weekends and holidays he is flooded with requests. So perhaps your Praneeta Menon may be right after all.
Yes, let’s meet again.
Soon. This weekend? Where?
Until then, take care.
Aman
I am so pleased to get such a prompt, warm and lengthy response from him that I read it thrice. I find myself smiling. Aman does like me and he too had a great time. Besides, he has asked me out again. It is only when I feel my phone vibrate that I am jolted out of my dreamy reverie. It is Sriram. He asks if I can talk.
‘I work for a magazine. Talking to people, quoting them, getting their stories is a part of my work, my dear,’ I say with a smirk.
‘Yeah yeah. We all know Anjali, the writer-journo. No need to boast or rub it in. How did your date go?’ he asks.
‘Why do you want to know? Give reasons in fifty words,’ I say and smile even wider. It’s an old joke between three of us—Latika, him and me. We used to have a science teacher, back at school, whose favourite question would be to state a science principle and then ask: ‘Why. Give reasons in fifty words.’
‘Reason number one, I am your good friend. Reason number two, I watch out for you. Reason three, you always tell me all that happens to you. And final reason, because I want to know,’ he says.
‘Ha ha, but if I tell you now, I will have to repeat the whole story to Latika too. After all, she too will want to know,’ I tease him, prolonging the moment a little more. Actually I am dying to rave about Aman. But I also enjoy teasing Sriram, as I know he is just as keen to know. This is probably the first date where I haven’t called him up to ‘rescue me’ like I usually have done in the past. So he must be curious.
‘So what if you have to repeat it? You can charge me money for it, okay? Tell!’ he commands.
So I rave to my heart’s content about Aman. I tell him what a gentleman he was, how he paid for the auto, how he got a bike and that he also dropped me home.
‘And?’ asks Sriram.
‘What do you mean by “and”?’
‘Didn’t you invite him in? Didn’t anything happen?’
‘Are you crazy? It’s just a first date!’
‘So?’
‘So I am content, okay? It’s not that I am dying to get into bed with him. Sriram, you have such a one-track mind.’
‘Okay,’ he says and he bursts into laughter.
‘What is so funny?’ I am indignant.
‘You think only you can tease me? Can’t I give it back to you?’ he is still chuckling.
‘Hmmmph,’ I say and hang up but I am smiling.
In a few minutes, I am on the phone again, this time to Latika, repeating all that I said to Sriram, giving her a blow-by-blow account of my date with Aman.
‘I am very happy for you, babes. Finally, you seem to have successfully completed a date without calling Sriram up to rescue you. Finally, you like a guy. Congratulations!’ she says and I smile.
She is right. I am so hard to please. Actually that is not true. All the ‘decent’ guys are already taken or married. There is seriously a shortage of good guys these days. And Aman fits my ‘requirements’. At least from what I know of him.
The rest of the day I am too distracted to concentrate on my work. The piece that I have to turn in is on ‘How to Get Over an Ex’. To be honest, I have never had an ex. I have just had a one-sided crush in school on my senior and he never even knew about it. But I know some of my hostel mates who were in relationships for two and three years and who have broken up. I have been witness to so many of them. And I have always ended up comforting either the ‘dumper’ or the ‘dumpee’. I have seen how ugly break-ups can get and how real and deep the grief can be.
I decide that I will speak to a few of the girls and take some ‘tips’ f
rom them for my article even though I know that back then, I had dragged them out, distracted them, made them feel loved, and not allowed them to think about that person at all. In the end that was all that had helped.
I can’t wait for Friday to arrive. I ask Aman what kind of place he has in mind. Does he want to go to a pub? He says that even though he enjoyed himself immensely the last time, why don’t we try something quieter and more peaceful now? Somewhere where we do not have to shout to be heard. So I suggest this lovely place at Koramangala which serves some authentic north-eastern cusine. Aman is okay with that and he says he is a non-fussy eater and isn’t much of a foodie either.
‘That makes two of us. For me even a packet of instant noodles and a fruit is fine,’ I say.
We don’t exchange anymore emails after that even though I am dying to mail him about my day. I follow my own ‘Rule No.1’ of the article that I had written, the one which was on ‘How to Hook a Guy and Keep Him’. I haven’t heard from Aman—no instant message, no mail and no text and I have to use every bit of my will-power to resist casually messaging him.
I hear from Aman promptly on Friday morning.
We’re on for this evening, right? reads his Instant Message on my phone.
I type, Yes, of course, but then delete it and instead type, Oh. I had almost forgotten. Since I didn’t hear from you at all, I wasn’t sure.
Aman: So sorry for dropping off the radar like that. It’s been crazy. I have been working till almost eleven pm every day. It is this new project that is being set up and I am in charge of a lot of things. Looking forward to today.
Me: Great. Will meet you there at seven?
Aman:Super. See you soon!
I am elated to have heard from him. I was beginning to worry that he had forgotten about the date. Rule No.1 was hard to follow.
This time, I make an effort to look my best. I wear a pale cream flowing dress, a designer one, which fits me flatteringly. I had spent a fortune on this. I make an effort with the mascara and eye-liner. As a final touch I splash on some Chanel. When I finish I realise that I do not want to take an auto as it will mess with my hair which I have left free. So I dial for a taxi.
When I arrive Aman is already waiting and this time I am ready with the cab-fare and I pay it as I alight, giving him no chance to grab it, like he did the last time we met.
Aman looks at me appreciatively.
‘Anjali, you look stunning!’ he says and I find myself blushing a bit.
‘Thank you,’ I smile and for the first time in my life I am actually a bit tongue-tied.
The terrace restaraunt we have chosen is done up in the earthy tones of terracotta tiles. Candles and tiny lanterns illuminate the space instead of electric lights. From here, we have a bird’s-eye view of the city. The atmosphere is romantic, warm and cozy. A cool night breeze adds to the charm and Aman draws a sharp breath as soon as we
walk in.
‘This is very nice, Anjali,’ he says and I nod in agreement.
Aman asks me what I will drink and I choose Shiraz, a wine which I have recently developed a taste for, and he surprises me by saying that he will have the same.
‘Oh! You drink wine?! I would have thought you were a whisky kind of a guy,’ I say.
‘I like whisky too, but the one you have chosen looked interesting. I have never tried a local wine before,’ he says, his eyes twinkling.
As the evening lapses into night, we finish a bottle of wine between ourselves. The food is delicious and the conversation flows smoothly. Aman is easy to talk to and we do not run out of conversation.
He is also a good listener. He asks me about what I am working on, how I got into journalism and why I studied in Bangalore while my parents were based in Muscat. I tell him that my parents wanted me to be independent, hence chose to send me to a school in Bangalore which they felt was better than the schools there. He teases me by saying that had I remained in Muscat, I would probably be the fourth or fifth wife of a rich sheikh. I tease him right back by asking what is wrong with that and I know he harbours a secret fetish for a sheikh’s wife. He throws back his head and laughs at that suggestion. He looks so good when he laughs. We get chatting about ourselves and he tells me about how his mother raised him after his father passed away. He talks about his childhood, about his life in the UK, the new project he is working on, and I notice that he does not mention anything about his relationships. So I ask him whether there is parental pressure on him to find a girl to marry, and tell him that my parents sure have started making noises in that direction.
He is quiet for a while and there is an awkward pause. I know I have touched a raw nerve.
‘Hey, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, you know,’ I quickly say, trying to put him at ease.
He looks straight into my eyes.
‘No, I want to. Somehow it is important that you know,’ he says. ‘It’s important that I talk about it and get it out of my system. It will help me let go as well.’ Then he goes on to tell me about the one and only relationship he has had. He tells me how they were inseparable for four years, how he had never seen anyone but her as his life-partner, how close they were and how madly in love. He says he wonders sometimes if he will completely get over her ever.
I am surprised that he has suddenly opened up like this. I could never have imagined that he would have been so deeply involved with someone. But then, Aman is that kind of a guy.
‘So where is she now? Any idea? Did you ever try to contact her?’ I ask.
‘Funny you ask that. For two years I didn’t bother. I tried to put the past behind me. But before moving from the UK, I did manage to track her down. I looked up her Facebook profile and God, it still hurts, Anjali. It’s crazy. But I have vowed never to contact her. She is married now and is hopefully happy. As far as I am concerned, she is a closed chapter.’
I don’t know why, but I feel hugely relieved to hear that. I know I find Aman attractive and nice. But I didn’t realise that I cared this much.
Finally when we leave, Aman calls for a cab. He says he will drop me home first and then would go back to his guesthouse. As it is quite late and it would not be safe for me to go alone, I gladly agree.
As the cab makes its way through the darkness of the city lights, I sit close to Aman, my leg touching his and my shoulder brushing against his. He makes no attempt to move away. It feels good to be this close to him physically. I desperately want to take his hand in mine, but don’t. I sit very still. He doesn’t talk and neither do I. We’re comfortable in the silence.
And when the cab reaches my place, I say ‘bye’ and quickly squeeze his hand and kiss him on the lips. A tiny peck. He smiles.
And as soon as I enter my room, there is a message from him.
‘You’re amazing, Anjali. I had a great time. Thank you for a fabulous evening,’ it reads.
I want to sing and shout and dance with joy.
Instead I type back that it was the same for me and go to bed insanely happy, happier than I have felt in years.
Chapter 16
Aman
Anjali is definitely a livewire. It is hard to have a dull moment with the girl. And yet she is perceptive and sympathetic too. Maybe it is all the analysing she does for writing her pieces! I am surprised that I have told her all about Shruti. I have never opened up like that to anyone but Anjali is so easy to talk to. Or perhaps after seeing Shruti’s profile on Facebook, I needed to somehow get it out of the system because I have bottled it up long enough. Or maybe it was the way she asked. Or maybe it was just the wine. Who knows!
Whatever it is, I am glad I did it. Shruti is a closed chapter now (forcefully shut I must admit, but closed nevertheless) and even though it hurts when I think about her, I think Anjali might inadvertently have given me a push in the right direction—a push towards moving on. She did surprise me with
that peck on the lips last night. I know she is ready to take this relationship to its next level. But I do not want to ‘get involved’ with a woman unless I am very sure about her. Till then it is best I keep Anjali in the ‘friend zone’.
I am neck-deep in work. I report to Vikram only indirectly. But I am one of the ‘star players’ as Rao puts it. All of that is good, but it just means that I don’t get breathing space. Our company has made an acquisition of a shared service centre, which is a part of the strategy to access a new business segment, dealing with financial services. As large global firms look to reduce their costs, they are turning to companies such as ours to become more efficient. My jump to this division gives me exposure to a completely new function. Vikram has the overall responsibility for the financial services vertical. He wants nothing to go wrong, and this in turn translates to micro-managing by Rao. Most of the time, Rao gets on my nerves. Honestly, I feel like telling him to sod off, but I control my irritation and get down to work. Anjali’s mails come as a welcome respite. They make me smile.
These days, I have got into the habit of checking my mail every now and then and quickly scanning through the deluge in the inbox to see if there is a mail from her. Today, sure enough, there is yet another mail from her.
From: Anjali Prabhu
To: Aman Mathur
Sub: Your forecast for this fortnight
Double hey!
You know I have a confession to make. After your last mail (the one where you told me about your uncle and his astrology), I actually went and checked the column by Praneeta.
THE ONE YOU CANNOT HAVE Page 11