THE ONE YOU CANNOT HAVE

by Preeti Shenoy

  ‘Ma, I am so sorry, work has been hectic,’ I say as soon as I hear her voice. Then I ask her if she had been asleep and I apologise for waking her up.

  ‘Arey no, it is okay beta. You can call me anytime, you know that,’ she says graciously.

  This is the thing about motherhood—the unconditional love and acceptance, even though I have barely had time for her. (I haven’t even had time for myself). When I hear her voice I realise how much I miss her. I decide then and there that I will fly her down to Bangalore. After all, she hasn’t even seen my new place.

  ‘How are you? Are you taking care of yourself? How is your new place?’ she asks.

  ‘The new place is nice, but it has been so hectic that I hardly get time for myself these days,’ I say.

  ‘That’s good, beta. Hard work never killed anyone,’ replies my mother. She has worked hard all her life and doesn’t know any other way to be.

  ‘Ma, you should come and visit me. For the next fifteen days, things will be crazy. That is when it all finally takes off. After that, I will have some breathing time.’

  ‘I am coming tomorrow. I had called to tell you that,’ she says and I can picture her smiling.

  ‘What?! Tomorrow? Oh my God. Why didn’t you tell me? Are your tickets booked?’ I ask totally taken by surprise.

  ‘I did try to tell you,’ she says and now she is laughing, delighted at my astonishment. ‘I am one of the few who got selected for this course in Bangalore on organic terrace-garden farming at the Agricultural College there,’ she says.

  ‘Oh, Ma, That is wonderful news indeed! But how did all this happen?’ I ask.

  ‘There was an advertisement in the newspaper some months back from the local horticultural association here, asking for applications as they want to encourage organic farming. When I called them up and expressed my interest, they came over and had a look at my garden. When they saw it they were convinced and nominated me for the course. Once I complete this course, they will provide me with all the material needed to start an organic terrace garden, all the supplies, fertilisers, soil and all that. Later, they will buy my produce too. It is an excellent scheme for those interested,’ she says.

  I am very happy for my mother.

  ‘That is fantastic, Ma. I am so proud of you. And, Ma, you will like my new place,’ I say.

  Now that I know she is arriving so soon, I am happy and excited. It would be wonderful to have her over.

  ‘And I am happy about it too but I won’t be staying with you. It is a two-week residential course and I will stay at their campus. It is far-off from the city,’ she says.

  ‘Oh, but I guess weekends will be off?’ I ask hopefully. It will be wonderful to have her around.

  ‘Yes, I will see you on the weekends. In any case you will be busy on weekdays so it all works out perfectly, doesn’t it?’ she says and of course she is right as usual.

  I ask her how she will commute from the airport to the college and she replies that they have made all the arrangements. With a chuckle, she reminds me that when I was in college that was a question she would ask me, and now it’s the other way round.

  ‘Yeah, Ma, what to do? You and I, we are together and we have to watch out for each other,’ I say repeating her phrase which she used to tell me in my growing up years. She used to say it in Hindi, in a sing-song voice, and I do the same now.

  She laughs and I feel happy to hear the sound of her laughter. It’s funny how even though I am all grown up I am so childishly excited at the prospect of having my mother over. I am also glad that she is doing this course. My mother has kept herself busy after her retirement. She is an example for retired folks on how to live a productive life.

  I decide to have a beer and sit in the balcony for a while. The balcony is fairly large and I like lying on the large wooden swing and gazing at the stars. Some days I fall asleep here and awake around midnght and stumble to my bedroom.

  Today, just as I am settling down, my phone buzzes and I check it. It is a text message from Anjali.

  Hey—not sure if you are getting my instant messages or whether you are avoiding me! All well? Either ways let me know.

  I read it and wince.

  Poor girl does not deserve this. She is sweet, effervescent and bubbly. I just am not ready for the relationship she wants. I remember reading somewhere that the person who cares less has more power in the relationship. As sad as it is, it is true. Right now, I care less. So I have more power. I don’t want to hurt her. Yet, I don’t want to lead her on. In my last relationship, I have been burnt so badly that I still hurt. I think a part of me still aches for Shruti. I do not want to get that involved with a woman anymore, and Anjali is breaking down my defences and my excuses.

  I don’t know if avoiding Anjali is cowardly or insensitive of me. Probably it is both. I am hiding from her and it isn’t right. Yet I continue to do it. She has stopped instant-messaging or mailing now. I do not know whether to be relieved or whether to feel ashamed. One part of me does feel relieved that the flood of messages has stopped and yet the other kind of misses it. I know I owe her some kind of explanation. Besides, she does have a right to know.

  So I pick up the phone and call her.

  She sounds surprised and so very happy to hear from me that I feel like an asshole to have called.

  ‘Hey, How have you been?’ I say.

  ‘Hey! Aman! I am good. How are you?’

  There is so much happiness in her voice—she hasn’t even asked where I have been all these days. There is no accusatory tone at all. And, for some strange reason, her happy tone makes me feel awkward. It makes me want to grovel and explain why I suddenly went quiet, even though she hasn’t asked.

  ‘I am so sorry to have dropped out of the radar like that,’ I begin.

  ‘Hey, that’s okay. I know you are a busy guy,’ she says simply.

  ‘Still, I should have replied to your messages. The thing is, it has been hectic,’ I say and that is of course true.

  ‘That’s fine, I have been busy myself,’ she says.

  ‘Oh. Okay. What have you been busy with?’ I ask. Somehow her being busy with her own life hadn’t even occurred to me and now I want to know the details.

  ‘Well, this and that. Meeting some people, hanging out with my friends, writing my pieces,’ she says.

  ‘Oooh! And who have you been meeting? Anyone interesting?’ I ask.

  ‘We’re doing this feature where we’re shooting some nice-looking guys who support animals. So the shoot is happening where all these guys pose holding a cute puppy. All the women in my office are going ga-ga over the idea and the shoot is so much fun. Jeena has put a strict cap though on the number of women who can go to the location,’ she says.

  ‘Interesting. Who are these guys?’ I ask.

  What I want to ask is if any of the guys have been hitting on her. It’s funny, how a moment ago I didn’t want to be involved with her and now that she is mentioning some guys I want to know details.

  ‘Oh some model types. Mostly dumb if you ask me. I prefer brain over brawn. These guys can’t even hold a conversation. Such narcissists and a self-obsessed bunch they are,’ she says.

  I smile. This is why I like her so much. She makes me feel so good.

  She asks me what is new and I tell her about my mother’s visit. She is happy to hear about it. She asks me details about my work and I find myself talking to her and telling her in detail all that I have been doing. I had forgotten how easy Anjali is to talk to and now it is all coming back. She asks me how my house is and whether I have settled down and whether I got the delivery of my car.

  I tell her that I have and she asks me how it is and when would I give her a ride in my new car.

  And I find myself saying, ‘Now, if you are game?’

  I don’t know why I say it.

  ‘Oh Aman
, that will be lovely!’ she says.

  And before I realise what I am doing, I find myself loading the car with a portable drinks’ case and folding chairs (all a part of the set I picked up in the UK, which I haven’t used up to now) and am driving to Anjali’s place.

  Chapter 23

  Anjali

  I know what I have done is blatant violation of point number five of my last article. I know I am supposed to act cool and busy and tell Aman that I will get back to him in three-four days. But I just am not able to do that. I am elated that he has actually called in response to my text. (I just couldn’t resist texting him one last time. I was dying and I just had to know where we stood. I had expected no reply and had thought that if he didn’t bother to reply, I would most definitely consider it a closed chapter and move on. But now not only has he replied, he is even on his way to see me. Gosh. This guy should get a Nobel Prize for sending confusing signals. What does he want?)

  There is hardly any time to think. He is on his way and I am in my sleeveless top, my oldest polka dotted purple pyjamas which even have a tiny hole that I have been too lazy to mend. I am not wearing a bra and I have no make-up on either. If he sees me like this, it would be a disaster and have the same impact as an earthquake of 7.5 on the Richter scale.

  I rush to my wardrobe and quickly put on my bra and contemplate what to wear. I have to look ‘casual’ and not too dressed. I am not able to decide. Finally I settle for a pair of shorts and a smart fitted tee. Then I quickly slip on a pair of earrings and dab on some lip-gloss. There. That looks casual enough. Like I was lounging around in shorts when he called.

  I don’t want my landlord to peep out and see me disappear with Aman in the car. He might give me a lecture on moral values and how it is unsafe for a woman my age to be out at this time of the night. So I call Aman and ask him where he has reached. He says he is taking the turn into the road that leads to my home and he will be here in two minutes. I tell him to park right there and that I will come out of the house and walk to where he is parked.

  ‘Oh! But why do you have to sneak out like that? Are your parents visiting or something?’ he asks.

  ‘Oh no. I have a landlord who acts like my father. In fact, my father probably won’t ask as many questions as he does. But this guy gives reports about my movements to my father. He is a distant relative and my self-appointed local guardian. I will explain when I see you,’ I say as I make my way outside as silently as possible, hoping that Mr Joshi is safely in bed. I hear the blast of television and am relieved as it means that he is totally engrossed and isn’t likely to keep a track on my movements.

  When I spot Aman, I am so happy, I feel like doing a little cheerleader dance. My heart is already doing that and I am glad he can’t look inside my head. I am insanely happy. He is wearing a light blue checked shirt and looks so attractive behind the wheel of his red car. He leaps out and comes to my side and opens the door for me. He is chivalrous and such a gentleman, this guy. I laugh in delight and I kiss him on the cheek and say, ‘Hey! So good to see you.’ He has the grace to blush and I find that adorable. I have to stop myself from leaning into his neck and nuzzling him. That is exactly what I feel like doing. God. Maybe Latika is right. Maybe I am madly in love with this guy. Or maybe it is just attraction because he is the first decent guy I have dated in ages. Who knows.

  ‘So when did you get the car?’ I ask as I slip into the passenger’s seat.

  ‘A week back and you know what I didn’t even have time to collect it. I had them deliver it to my office, like it was a Chinese takeaway, can you believe?’ he says.

  ‘Oh my God, has it been that bad then?’

  ‘I wouldn’t say bad, as I am so darn engrossed. I guess that it is good when your work interests you so much. I don’t even feel I am working. There just isn’t time,’ he says.

  ‘Drowning oneself in work is the best remedy for getting over heartbreak, you know,’ I say immediately and then instantly realise that I probably shouldn’t have brought it up now. Maybe he doesn’t want to be reminded of his past relationships. I should stop being an ‘advice-dispensing-ms know-it-all’. At this rate, instead of my regular column, Jeena would probably ask me to do an agony aunt column.

  But Aman is nodding in agreement.

  ‘Yes, that is so true. In fact, that is what took me to the UK where I drowned myself in work. My work is what keeps me going,’ he nods gravely and there is a sad and melancholy look in his eyes as he looks straight ahead and drives.

  I put my right hand over his left hand which is resting on the gear.

  ‘Only work keeps you going?’ I ask softly.

  He smiles in response.

  ‘Tell me!’ I persist.

  And he smiles even wider. I squeeze his hand and he makes no effort to move it away. He is wearing a watch with a steel strap and I caress his forearm and make small circles up and down. It is a shiatsu massage technique which one of the girls in the hostel had taught me.

  ‘Mmmm, that feels good. Keep doing that,’ he says and I smile in contentment.

  ‘So where are we going?’ I ask him.

  ‘I don’t know. I never had a plan. Shall we just drive around? A bit away from the city?’

  I nod. I don’t care where we go, as long as I am with him. This is lovely and I am enjoying every bit of it. Suddenly I have an idea.

  ‘How about we go to Nandi Hills?’ I say.

  ‘I don’t mind. Let’s go,’ he says and I look up the route on my phone’s GPRS and in no time we are zooming on to the highway towards Nandi Hills. Aman is playing some contemporary music and Rihanna’s ‘Diamonds in the Sky’ floods the car. It is the perfect song, the perfect ambience, the perfect mood and all so romantic.

  Suddenly we see a police car parked on the side and they are stopping all the cars and checking for drunk driving. I don’t know what it is about a police vehicle that sends a kind of fear inside me. Maybe it is because I have heard stories about couples being harassed by cops. Maybe it is because the Indian police aren’t the friendliest of people. Or maybe it is because in my previous birth I was a fugitive hiding from the cops. Whatever it is my hands go ice-cold as I grip Aman’s hand tightly.

  He realises it and asks, ‘Hey, are you okay? Relax. They are checking for drunk driving I guess and I haven’t had anything to drink, except maybe a beer, much within permissible limits.’

  Aman pulls over and rolls down his windows. The police officer is now bending down and he asks Aman, ‘Where to?’

  Aman says that we are driving to Mysore.

  ‘Girlfriend? Staying where in Mysore? In hotel, eh?’ The cop leers at me, staring at my breasts.

  I have never felt this vulnerable or exposed or frightened.

  ‘She is my wife and my father-in-law is Jagadish Chettiar. I can call him right now and you can clear all your doubts,’ says Aman confidently as he whips out his mobile and opens the contact directory in his phone.

  The cop’s demeanour, attitude and entire body-language changes instantly.

  ‘Oooh, no need, saar. Simply checking. Lot of people doing drunk driving. Lot of boys and girls doing immoral activity. We are just doing our duty. You can proceed, saar,’ he says and steps back and waves us away.

  We pull away and I am speechless, half with relief, half with surprise and totally flabbergasted at how Aman had handled it.

  ‘Hey relax. It is okay. Don’t be so frightened, ’ says Aman and it is only then I realise that I have dug into his hand with my fingernails in fright and there are red marks on his skin now.

  I exhale deeply and let go of his arm.

  Then I laugh in relief.

  ‘Aman, I am so sorry about clutching you like that. I don’t know why but I have this deep paranoia about cops. You know how it is in these parts of India, the moral policing. For a few minutes, I had visions of us being yanked out of t
he car and God knows what would have happened then,’ I shudder.

  ‘I know,’ says Aman quietly and this time he puts his hand on mine.

  ‘And who is Jagadish Chettiar?’ I ask.

  ‘To be honest, even I don’t know! The Jagadish Chettiar I have in my phone is the society plumber whose number I had saved two days ago,’ says Aman and both of us burst out laughing.

  ‘You know, I don’t want to go to Nandi Hills now. God knows there might be more check posts on the way and I don’t want to keep getting stopped,’ I say. Somehow this episode with the cops has spoilt my mood.

  ‘You are right. There might be more checks on the way. The only option is to turn back,’ says Aman.

  On the one hand I don’t want this impromptu date to end, but the prospect of being stopped again terrifies me. My heart is still thudding from the previous encounter.

  ‘Yes. Let us. I am sorry about my irrational fear. I can’t help it.’ I feel apologetic about spoiling what could have probably been a great outing.

  ‘Oh no, please don’t say sorry. In fact I owe you an apology,’ says Aman.

  ‘For what?’ I ask.

  He is silent and he doesn’t know what to say.

  ‘Hmmm… For… you know…’ he trails off.

  ‘Hey, it’s okay. I understand,’ I say.

  But actually I don’t. Aman has sent me totally confusing signals in the last few days. I wish I could get into his head and figure out what is going on. But the one thing I have learnt is never to push a guy. I have seen enough of my friends getting pushy, whiny and clingy if the guy doesn’t get back to them and sure as hell, nine times out of ten he has disappeared. I don’t want the same happening with Aman and me. I want to hold on to him. I have to be patient and it is bloody hard.