THE ONE YOU CANNOT HAVE

by Preeti Shenoy

  ‘Oh my God—sir. We have met a long time back, a few years back. In Bangalore,’ I blurt out, unable to contain myself and now that I have recognised him, unable to address him as anything but ‘sir’.

  His eyebrows knit in furrowed concentration as he tries to remember.

  ‘You were the key speaker for the entrepreneurial summit organised at STC college. I was the corporate interface of my college. and had come to escort you from Oberoi to my college,’ I say, the words slipping out in a rush in my excitement, now that I know who he is.

  He breaks into laughter, ‘Yes, I remember, Shruti Srinivasan, corporate interface—and your friend Aman and the spinach sandwich too,’ he adds.

  I am surprised he remembers the occasion and even our names. Those were days when Aman and I had been inseparable. When I had been nominated from my college to escort Mr Adani, Aman and I had found the perfect opportunity to bunk college and hang out together. I had left college at eleven in the morning, ostensibly to be with Mr Adani. I had contacted him from the hotel lobby and said that I was around if he needed anything and that a car was waiting and available at his disposal in case he wanted to go around anywhere in Bangalore. Mr Adani had arrived from Mumbai just for this event at our college, and to get him to speak for our summit had been a huge feather in the cap for us. He had replied that he was fine and that he had some business meetings scheduled and we would leave by five-thirty pm, as the talk was scheduled for six-thirty pm. That suited Aman and me perfectly. It was one of the best times we had had. We had gone to Ulsoor Lake for a while and hung around there, sitting on a bench, gazing at the calm serene water and I had leaned on his shoulder as he put his arm around me. We had talked a lot that day. He had told me about his mother, her passion for gardening and how much he admired the sacrifices that she had made in raising him and how she had never remarried. We had talked about how both of us were the only children. I had confessed that I longed for a sibling and he had said that every now and then, while growing up, he had felt that way too. Then, after a while, we had eaten lunch at a nearby roadside joint and then hung around in Cubbon Park till it was time to go and escort Mr Adani. I had met him at the hotel lobby. Aman and I had earlier agreed that I would ride in the car with Mr Adani and Aman would follow at a safe distance, on his motorbike. Aman had hung around inconspicuously (or so we thought) so that he could follow us, but Mr Adani was sharp. He had spotted Aman in a jiffy and I had been forced to confess that he was my ‘friend’ and I had to introduce Aman to him.

  Mr Adani had been a good sport about it and had insisted that Aman ride in the car with us. Both of us had been too embarrassed to say no and that Aman had a motorbike. So Aman had got into the front seat and I at the back with

  Mr Adani. Aman had said that he would have to get off much before we reached college. ‘Yes, yes, you don’t want to get caught in your girlfriend’s official car. We too have done all this in our college days. Don’t worry,’ he had said.

  On the way Mr Adani said that he hadn’t had lunch and was hungry. He had wanted a sandwich and Aman had told the driver to pull over at Hot Bread and Bagels. Aman had recommended the spinach sandwich which was the speciality of that place and Mr Adani had loved it. He was easy to talk to, unassuming and very down-to-earth. He behaved more like a lovable college professor than a renowned personality who had founded so many institutions. Aman and I had warmed up to him instantly. Mr Adani had quizzed us about our relationship and we found ourselves telling him about how we planned to get married soon as we finished college and got a job, how we felt lucky to have found each other and how good it felt to be in love. He had laughed and agreed and wished us the very best and after that Aman had got off.

  Much later, Aman and I had laughed about the whole episode as Aman had to take an auto and go all the way back to the hotel to fetch his motorbike. Aman had told me that the reason Mr Adani had spotted him in the lobby was because I kept darting love-filled glances in his direction and I had ‘given him away’. I am stunned how easily all these memories come flooding back. I am able to remember it all so clearly like it happened yesterday. A single meeting with someone from what seems like another lifetime has actually catapulted me right back into that very time.

  A much happier and simpler time. A time which was one of the happiest times of my life.

  My time with Aman.

  ‘Yes sir, the same Shruti. Guilty as charged. I am just so amazed that you even remember our names and even more amazed that I ran into you here,’ I finally manage to say.

  ‘I have an excellent memory for details my dear girl and as for running into me here, I always go for my jog along Worli sea-face around this time. Today in fact, I was a little earlier than usual. Maybe our paths were destined to cross again,’ he says.

  I have no idea whether he is teasing me or not as the twinkle is back in his eye. Whatever it is, I am grateful for his help and I tell him so.

  ‘It is fine. You can repay me when Aman arrives and then you both can buy me coffee,’ he says.

  For a moment I don’t get what he is saying. Then I understand. Mr Adani has presumed that Aman and I have got married. I wince.

  ‘Umm…Things changed, sir. I married someone else,’ I say. I feel so strange standing in a hospital corridor and blurting out personal details of my life to someone as eminent as Mr Adani. It feels surreal. Like I am in a dream.

  ‘Oh,’ he says. ‘If you pardon my asking, what happened? You guys were so sure of each other.’

  ‘It is a long story, sir. Circumstances changed.’ I don’t know how else to explain what happened.

  ‘You sure are making me curious, but now isn’t the time for stories. I would love to know though. Come, let’s first figure out how your father-in-law is doing,’ he says as he accompanies me to the emergency section.

  ‘My mother-in-law is panicking, the poor lady. I wish Rishabh would get here soon,’ I say.

  Mr Adani asks me to stay calm. He visits this hospital often as there are eight volunteers from his organisation working here. They do not have a medical background but they help and guide patients fill up forms, assist the elderly who are alone and soothe the anxious with a kind smile and take care of all their needs. They also volunteer in the cafeteria and the non-medical administrative work that keeps the hospital functioning smoothly. Mr Adani offers to assign a volunteer to my mother-in-law, just in case she needs anything. But I tell him that I will take care of her.

  After a while, Mr Adani takes leave of me. Before going, he hands me his visiting card and tells me to let him know of my father-in-law’s progress.

  Mr Adani has a heart of gold. I remember reading somewhere that his foundation has set up twenty-three public secondary schools in association with the Uttar Pradesh government. Here the underprivileged have access to world-class education and amenities. His venture has been very successful and he wants to extend it to other states.

  But more than anything, I am thoroughly impressed by how down to earth he is despite all his success. Moreover, I am astonished at his sharp memory. I also recall reading that one thing common in most successful people is their eye for details, a sharp memory, and a genuine interest in people. He seems to have the right combination, for sure. He tells me that he has now retired and the organisations he has founded have able people who run it well. He visits Sneha Kutir regularly, however, as he is a trained counsellor and enjoys counselling people on life-skills and emotional problems. He also nurtures and motivates over 200 volunteers to give free service in about twenty hospitals all over Mumbai.

  As soon as he leaves, I call Rishabh once again and this time he picks up my call. He is just out of a meeting and he hasn’t seen any of my messages nor has he heard my previous calls as his phone has been on silent mode. As soon as he hears what happened he says that he will come right over. He sounds frantic with worry. I tell him that it is all under control and not to panic and th
at I am taking care of everything.

  But deep down I am just as terrified as him. I fervently hope that my father-in-law is going to be okay. I tell my mother-in-law not to worry and that Rishabh is on his way in my best ‘all-is-well’ voice. Then I sit down on the waiting chair with her, outside the emergency room, and close my eyes and pray silently.

  By the time Rishabh arrives, the doctor has already told me that my father-in-law is fine and the wound on his head was just external and he has fully recovered his consciousness. The doctor says that the fainting was most likely caused because of a combination of diabetes and severe dehydration. But he says that he wants to rule out the possibility of a cardiac syncope and so it is better to keep him under observation for twenty-four hours and do a few tests to rule out the possibility. He will be shifted to a private room from the emergency and Rishabh and I complete the formalities. We are informed by the hospital staff that ‘one attendant is allowed to stay with the patient’. Rishabh says that he will stay overnight in the hospital and his mother insists that she will. They have an argument over that and in the end my mother-in-law wins.

  So Rishabh and I drive back together. He is quiet the entire duration of the drive. I try to assure him that his father will be fine.

  ‘Yeah, like you are the doctor and you know better than them. And frankly all this wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t decided to drag them all over Mumbai. They aren’t used to it,’ he snaps at me.

  I cannot believe he just said that. Tears sting my eyes at his tone. He is being so darn unfair now. When I texted him that I was taking his parents out he seemed happy. But now he is implying that his father fainting is somehow my fault? This is ridiculous. But I am too emotionally exhausted to fight. I have been through this entire episode of hospital, emergency and riding in the ambulance. All I want is to get home and collapse. So I do not retort or reply to him. I just keep quiet and stare out of the window. A few moments later he realises I am hurt and says, ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I am just very stressed.’

  I still don’t bother to reply back. If anyone is stressed it should be me. I have bent over backwards and made an effort to be nice to his parents. I have even taken time off from work and gone all around Mumbai for them. I have done my best and I am tired now.

  I turn up the music in the car and we complete the rest of the journey in silence. Rishabh has to introspect and figure out whatever it is about me that is bothering him. I have now given it all that I can. It is up to him now to decide whether he wants to keep this cold war going or whether he wants to forget about the past and move on. I am done trying.

  After we reach home, Rishabh calls up his mother to check on her. A few tests are scheduled for early the next day and his mother says she is managing fine. There is a cafeteria attached to the hospital, she says, and she will eat there. She assures Rishabh that she will be okay.

  I want Rishabh to talk to me. I want to tell him about

  Mr Adani and how helpful he was. But that would mean bringing up Aman’s name again. I contemplate lying and leaving out the part where Aman was involved. But then I remember that Rishabh might have read the mails in which Aman and I discussed Mr Adani, so I don’t bother.

  The day’s events have caught up with me now. I ask Rishabh if he will have anything to drink and when he refuses, I pour myself a large glass of wine. Wine always relaxes me and today I need it. My nerves are taut.

  I sit on the balcony sipping my wine and look at the city lights and headlights of the traffic zooming by. They look like co-ordinated fireflies, moving in a line. By the time I finish my wine, I feel light-headed and relaxed. All the stress and hurt has vanished. Rishabh hasn’t budged from in front of the television nor has he spoken a word to me. I am in no mood to make an effort at a conversation with him either. I have been trying to talk to him for so many days, but this husband of mine seems to have turned into a stone wall.

  I fix a quick meal of some readymade rotis which just have to be heated on a pan and served. There is some vegetable left over from the previous day that my mother-in-law had cooked. We eat our meal in silence and then Rishabh goes back to the television. I so wish he would switch off the damn thing and at least thank me for reaching his dad to the hospital on time. I wish he would just put his arms around me like the old times. I wish he would joke and laugh.

  But I know these are simply empty wishes. The time when we used to joke and laugh, like a normal couple, now seems so far away.

  So I go back to the guest room (which is now our bedroom) and switch on my laptop. I am in a daze, the wine having hit me. I now want to get to the root of all my problems. I want to know what the hell Rishabh has read in my mails that has caused him to be so hostile to me. I want to know how long it has been since Aman and I exchanged a mail. Then I want to confront Rishabh with all of this. I want to shake him up and tell him to stop behaving like this.

  I log into my mail account and type ‘Aman’ in the search box.

  There are thousands. God—seeing them all together like this has taken even me by surprise, even though I knew. I can now imagine what a massive shock it must have been to Rishabh. The last one was exchanged about three months before I got married. I open a mail which he has written asking me to change my mind. It begs me to come back. It declares his undying love for me. He says he will do anything that I ask of him and not to walk away. He says he will be shattered without me. Each word in that mail still feels like a stab in my heart. Before I realise it tears are flowing down my face and I am sobbing.

  I read the mail before that, and the one before and the one before. They are all identical. Aman has begged me to stay and that things will be fine. That he is still waiting for me. I remember how I used to not read any of his mails.

  I remember how I used to open them and then log out of my account as I couldn’t bear to read whatever it is that he had to say. I simply did not want to know. I had stopped reading his mails when I had decided to break up with him. I used to merely skim through them and not read the contents as it was hard for me. My parents had been so happy that I had agreed to let go of Aman and marry Rishabh. My mother was still under medical supervision. The endless rounds of hospitals and check-ups had left us all weary and battered. I couldn’t have pulled another shocker on them saying that I want to go back to Aman. So, as hard as it had been, I had felt that this was for the best. The wedding dates had been finalised and I didn’t have the courage to tell my parents that I cannot go ahead. The best way forward was to not acknowledge Aman’s mails. Just like how I had not answered his phone calls. I wince now at the memories. I had felt guilty about doing this to Aman and I had hoped and prayed he would move on.

  But now when I read his mails, I realise that it is me, who hasn’t moved on. Even after nearly two years of marriage, I crave for Aman. I have tried hard to get over him.

  And I have failed.

  I wonder how he is now. In his final mail he has said that if he can’t have me as his life-partner, he definitely wants a friendship for life. He says no matter what happens he will be there for me and for him, our relationship is for a lifetime.

  And today, after a gap of more than two years, I read his words over and over. They seem to be leaping out at me now, taunting me, prodding me, pushing me, questioning me, begging me. They seem to have a strange power of their own.

  Finally I cannot resist it anymore.

  I have to write to Aman. I just have to contact him again.

  So I compose a new message and I begin to type.

  Chapter 22

  Aman

  Work has been all consuming, crazy, hectic in a world-will-end-if-I-don’t-do-this-now way. I have hardly any time even for a meal. Earlier I would eat leisurely (okay, somewhat leisurely) at the company cafeteria located on the top floor. But these days I don’t even realise when the lunch hour comes and goes. Often, when I look up from work, it is
already three-thirty pm and I hurriedly order a sandwich because my stomach feels empty and hollow. I have never been this involved in work. I thoroughly enjoy the challenge even though it is gruelling. It is a field completely new to us and we cannot afford to make any mistakes. The days mostly begin with meetings and the updates and what is expected is laid out by Vikram. It is more like a commando-drill brief and work then proceeds on a war-footing.

  In fact, it has been so darn hectic that when the car dealer called me and told me that my car had arrived, I had told him to deliver it to my office address. He had been so surprised. He said that usually people come to the showroom and take delivery. They also do a small puja and there is a formal ceremony of ‘handing over the keys’. I had asked him if it was a problem to deliver and he had hastily assured me that it wasn’t and of course they would do what I preferred. The sales-in-charge had driven the car to my office and I had instructed the security to let him in. Then I had asked him to park it and bring the keys up. Later, long past midnight, when I was finally ready to leave, I had gone downstairs to the basement and seen that they had decorated the car with a huge bow and a ribbon around it—gift-wrapped it for me. No wonder the sales guy had been so surprised when I had not even come downstairs to see it. In most people’s lives taking delivery of their first car is a big moment. I guess it was in mine too, but I had been too busy to notice.

  The car sure feels good and I feel on top of the world driving it.

  It is during one of the morning meetings that my mother calls. I put the phone on silent and I mean to call her back. But I remember that she called only after two days. I feel terribly guilty as I look at my phone (which is always on silent these days) and see two missed calls from her. What if it was an emergency? What if she had been calling me for something urgent? I decide that though this pace of work is excellent for me career-wise, I should make time for my mother. I call her back immediately. After I have dialled her number I realise it is already ten pm and she must be fast asleep. But before I can hang up, she answers and she sounds like I have woken her up from sleep.