THE ONE YOU CANNOT HAVE

by Preeti Shenoy

  ‘You know I had planned a surprise,’ says Aman.

  ‘Is it? What?’ I ask.

  ‘I will have to show you. I thought we would find a nice spot and park for a while? Then I will,’ he says.

  ‘Hmm… let’s not stop on the highway again, Aman. I have had enough adventures for today,’ I say. Even though I want to know what the ‘surprise’ is, I don’t have the stomach to be stopped by cops again.

  ‘I agree. See this is what I hate about India. All this moral policing. It isn’t like it was any of his business what our relationship was. Somehow in India the mindset of the society is still stuck in some archaic times,’ he looks angry now.

  ‘Yes, you’re right. You know what cops do? They frighten young couples hanging out in Cubbon Park, by pointing a camera at them and pretending to take their pictures. The couples bolt like frightened rabbits. One of my friends who works in Bangalore Mirror, did a story on it.’

  Aman frowns. ‘Okay. That I must say doesn’t sound too encouraging for the surprise I planned. I shall save it for another day then.’

  What is this surprise he is talking about? I am dying of curiosity. I debate on forcing him to tell me. But before I can ask, we have again come to the same place where the cops had stopped us and the same guy is still there. But as Aman slows down, he gives a big grin and gestures that we can pass through.

  ‘The small advantages of having Jagadish Chettiar on your contact list,’ laughs Aman and I chuckle with him.

  The moment is lost and we listen to music. I stare at Aman and he looks so handsome, his chiselled features, his short hair framing his face, his sharp nose. He looks lost in thought and he seems a million miles away.

  ‘A penny for your thoughts,’ I say.

  He smiles and replies that pennies are no longer in circulation.

  I tell him that I will substitute it for a hundred bucks then.

  He laughs and says he always thought his thoughts were worthless but now that I have put a price-tag on them how can he refuse. He then tells me that his mother is visiting as is Mark who is coming over to stay. Mark has finished a week of white water rafting in Rishikesh and he finds India ‘simply incredible’.

  ‘Oh. So you will have a full house then,’ I say.

  ‘Oh no, my mom is not staying with me. She is staying at the Agricultural College where she is doing a course,’ clarifies Aman. He then proceeds to tell me about his mother’s course and how she has been chosen. There is a gleam of pride as he says it. I can sense the strong bond between his mother and him, and how much he loves her.

  ‘You’re so lucky to have this connection with her, she sounds like a wonderful lady,’ I say.

  ‘Yeah, she is incredible. After my dad’s death, she has stood like a pillar of strength and has always been there for me,’ says Aman.

  I wonder what it is like to be that close to a parent. I have been out of my home for a while now and I haven’t bonded much with either my father or mother. In fact, during the annual trips that I make to Muscat, I start getting restless on the second day itself. I get bored out of my skull, especially with the forced visit I have to make to the homes of some folks from the Indian community, with whom I have absolutely nothing in common to converse about. By the end of a week, I think my parents are happy to see me leave.

  Aman drops me back home and I make him park a little away from the house. I remind him about my prying landlord. It amuses Aman no end. To be honest, I want to invite him in. Instead I assure him that I am better off walking up to the house alone.

  ‘I guess I will say bye bye and goodnight here then,’ he says. I lean forward and kiss him on the lips. He is taken by surprise. But he quickly recovers and grabs my head towards his. I kiss him harder, hungrily, my tongue exploring his mouth. This is electric. I am unable to stop myself and feel giddy. I am completely lost. It seems like we are interlocked for hours. Aman’s hand has slipped beneath my T-shirt and he is fiddling with the straps of my bra, breathing harder.

  Then suddenly he stops and pulls away, much to my puzzlement.

  ‘Want to come inside?’ I ask, barely recognising my own voice laden with desire.

  ‘I would love to, Anjali, but not today,’ he says.

  ‘Why, for God’s sake why?’ I want to scream. I want this man. How did I ever become so brazen? So shameless? So bold? I don’t know. All I know is that I have never felt this way before.

  But I don’t ask him why. I just look at him questioningly.

  ‘Let’s both be certain of where we want to go with this thing before we venture further,’ he says and then looks away. Then he turns back towards me and then kisses me on my cheek. Like a consolation prize. Or an apology. He is looking straight into my eyes and it is a look I fail to understand. What is he trying to do? I don’t know. I have no idea.

  He squeezes my hand and smiles.

  I can only nod.

  My legs feel so weak and my mind is all dizzy, and I am unable to think. I somehow make my way back home. Aman waits till I am safely inside and once I am inside my living room I watch him drive away.

  ‘Damn, an opportunity missed!’ I think.

  I don’t know what Aman thinks. I don’t know what he meant by wanting to be sure.

  But I know what I want. I have never been more certain of anything in my life.

  I decide that whatever it is, I will have a heart-to-heart talk with him. Tell him what he means to me. Confess my love for him.

  It would take all my courage. But I know I have to do it. This on-now off-now thing that Aman is doing is killing me.

  I get a text from Aman the next morning.

  Hey. Thanks for a wonderful evening. I had a great time.

  I smile when I read it. I guess he expected me to text him last night and when I didn’t, he decided to. Whatever it is, a text from him early in the morning means that he is thinking of me. That by itself makes me happy.

  We could have made it amazing, you know! I reply and add a wink.

  I know. Patience pays, he writes back and there is a smiley and a wink.

  Patience used to be a nun back at my college. Sister Patience. I type back, enjoying this.

  Ha ha ha…Was she patient or impatient? he replies.

  That doesn’t matter but if you keep this going I will become a patient, I write.

  What ails you? What troubles you? Confide in Dr Aman? He types.

  Patience. All in good time! I reply and I add two smileys.

  Pat comes his reply, Ha ha ha… Touche, he says.

  There is a spring in my step as I leave for work. There is no greater recharge than having a guy you like (okay possibly the one you are in love with, I admit) flirt with you over text messages.

  I decide that I won’t bring up our ‘relationship’ just yet. Maybe it is far too early and I am terrified of scaring him off. Besides, he has texted me now on his own, hasn’t he? My rules for getting a guy you want, seem to be working. Now all that I have to do is follow them to a T. I hate myself for being so indecisive about where I am going with this. One day I want to pour out my heart to him, and the next day, I want to play it cool. I do not know how to handle this Aman-thing and so I turn to my work.

  I am mid-way through a small filler piece that I am working on (a boring piece about tips for single girls living on their own for which I am supposed to speak to at least four girls and get their views), when I am interrupted by a phone call from Dipika.

  ‘Hey there, how are you?’ she says.

  I am surprised as she hasn’t called me ever since I dropped in at their place with Aman. I had left a couple of offline messages for her, but she hadn’t replied. I had assumed that she was busy.

  ‘Hi Dipika. I am good. How goes everything? Long time,’ I say and stretch as I grab my coffee which has gone cold by now and I take a sip.

  ‘
Yes, it has been a while. I did get your offliners but sorry I couldn’t respond. Vikram has been travelling and you know how busy the kids keep me. I have to be on high alert all the time,’ she says.

  ‘Hmmm, I know. That’s okay. How are things now?’

  ‘Vikram is babysitting today. He got back this morning and is heavily jet-lagged. I was wondering if you want to meet? Also I have some news for you. A surprise,’ she says.

  ‘Oh! What is the surprise? Tell me!’

  ‘Not now. In person. So do we meet or not?’

  ‘Of course! It has been so long since we caught up. Let’s do it. I have a couple of interviews and will be done by three. Shall we meet at Phoenix Mall? Usual place?’ I ask.

  ‘Yes, perfect. Vikram would have finished his nap by then and he can handle the girls along with the maid. I desperately need to get away. If I stay in the house for any more time I will explode.’

  ‘Ha ha, I feel the same way about office sometimes. See you at three then,’ I say.

  I reach the mall and walk to Café Monde where we usually hang out, much before Dipika. I call her and she says she is just outside and will be there in a few minutes. I see her walking in and I gaze at her in admiration. She is wearing black knee length shorts, a loose flowing white embroidered top, flat sandals, oversized sun-glasses and is carrying a tote bag. She can easily pass off for a woman in her early twenties, rather than a mother of two. She is very attractive and I can spot at least three guys that she passes checking her out and they are far younger than her. Dipika exudes sexuality and confidence. When I am her age, I would love to be like her.

  She breaks into a smile when she sees me and gives me a hug.

  ‘My God, Anjali, it has been so long, Time just flies,’ she says.

  ‘Yes,’ I admit.

  ‘So what have you been up to?’ she asks as she settles down on the sofa next to mine. This café has nice lounge-like seating. We used to meet a lot more often here, while I was in college, but after I started working the meetings have become far less frequent.

  ‘Oh this and that. Nothing important,’ I say as I scan the menu.

  The waiter appears and I order a cappuccino after dismissing almost all the exotic items like Cuban café, Irish café, Iced Frapuccino and Devil’s Own. When it comes to coffee, I am content with something that gives me my dose of caffeine. Dipika on the other hand likes to experiment and asks for a Black Currant Blast.

  ‘Hmmm. A little bird told us that someone dropped you home the other day and something is going on between you two. Who is this someone?’ she asks.

  I realise that Mr Joshi must have spied upon me and passed on the information to my parents, who in turn must have called up Dipika. My mum must have asked her to ‘see what I am up to’ and report back to her. I make a mental note to have a chat with my mom about this. And that Mr Joshi—it seems like he has no other work other than spying on me.

  ‘It is not a little bird. It is an ugly old vulture,’ I scowl.

  ‘So it’s true then,’ Dipika smiles.

  ‘Come on. They can’t keep tabs on me like that! I am grown up, an adult, and if I want, I can sleep with anyone I like. I don’t think I owe anybody any explanations! Please. This is ridiculous,’ I protest.

  ‘Anjali, they are your parents. They will be concerned about you. It is not as though they stop you for anything. So are things serious between you and this mystery guy?’

  ‘It was no mystery guy, Dipika. It was Aman who dropped me home. We had gone on a drive,’ I say.

  ‘Oh,’ she says and goes very quiet.

  ‘It isn’t like we are in a relationship or anything. I mean I do like him, but it’s early days yet,’ I find myself explaining.

  She is silent again.

  ‘You know Aman isn’t what he appears on the outside. He made a pass at me,’ she finally says.

  I am shocked. I can’t for the life of me imagine Aman making a pass at Dipika. He respects them far too much. Or at least that is the impression he has given me. Then again Dipika is so attractive, you never know. Maybe he was tempted?

  But the thought of Aman making a pass at her leaves me sick to the pit of my stomach. But yet, like a scab which you cannot stop picking, I want to know more. I want to know the details.

  ‘What do you mean, made a pass?’ I ask.

  ‘Made a pass, Anjali. Wanted to have sex with me. A no-strings-attached kind of a thing. Of course, I refused. Then I had to ask him to leave. Why do you think he moved to the guesthouse? I had to ask him to leave,’ she says.

  She looks uncomfortable as she says it. I have interviewed so many people in the course of writing my articles, that I can always sense when something seems odd. Something isn’t quite right here. But what it is, I am not able to immediately tell.

  ‘He never struck me as that kind of a guy,’ I find myself defending him.

  She gives a little laugh, ‘Yeah, me too,’ she says. ‘In any case if you aren’t serious about him, I guess it’s fine. And it’s best to discover these things in the beginning rather than after getting involved. That would be messy,’ she says. I notice that she doesn’t meet my eye as she says it.

  I shrug. ‘Yeah I guess,’ I finally say.

  ‘Anyway, let’s leave all this. I have some exciting news for you,’ she says.

  I am not at all interested in her ‘exciting news’ whatever it is. Her telling me that Aman has made a pass at her has taken the wind out of my sails. I feel sadly like a deflated balloon left propped up at a children’s birthday party long after the kids have left.

  ‘What is it?’ I force myself to ask.

  ‘Your parents are excited about this marriage proposal that they have received for you. The guy is educated at MIT and Stanford. His name is Vipul. He is with IBM and lives in Washington DC. He is good looking and he happens to be Vikram’s second cousin. Their family is keen to meet you.’

  I draw a sharp breath.

  ‘Dipika, you know how I feel about arranged marriages,’ I say. ‘I think it is preposterous that you get married after two or three meetings. What do you know about that person? What about feelings? What about love? I need to connect with someone and know them well, before I can even think of marriage. I do feel strongly about it. You know my views. And so do my parents.’

  I have always told my parents how strongly I feel about this and my parents have always maintained that they are fine with whoever I choose. Their only condition is that I should tell them about it. Hence springing this surprise on me through Dipika has caught me offguard.

  ‘Oh, Anjali. You have idealistic views. You think this so-called love survives marriage? Ask anyone who has been married five years or more and they will give you the true picture. Love and all that is okay in the initial years. Once the kids happen it is a complete different ball-game. After that it is just adjustments and compromises.’

  ‘How can you say that, Dipika? Aren’t you and Vikram happily married?!’

  ‘Ha ha, Anjali. You have so much growing up to do. You know, you can either be happy or married. You can’t be both. As for me, let’s just say I am married. You know it is ages since Vikram has even noticed me. He is absorbed in his work all the time, and once he comes home, Ria and Reema monopolise his time. I hardly know the man I married anymore.’

  Her voice is laced with bitterness and I am taken aback. I know that every now and then Dipika has hinted in her conversations about it, but this is the first time she has spoken so openly about it.

  ‘I had no clue it was that bad. But why don’t you do something then? Ever considered getting out? A divorce or something?’

  ‘I have thought about it. But then what grounds do I have? How can a little thing like being taken for granted or feeling unappreciated be cause for divorce? He is a good father. He does take care of the children and me. He earns well. Besides I have both
sides of the family to consider. His parents would be heartbroken and so would mine. All this is just a part of married life,’ she says.

  I look at a couple seated a little away from us. The lady is obviously pregnant. The guy who is with her, presumably her husband, helps her out of her seat. He puts his arm around her. She whispers something in his ear and he throws back his head and laughs. They are so lost in each other.

  ‘See that? That was Vikram and me in the early years. But things change, Anjali. Which is why I say things like love and all that, even out in the long run. You just have to make sure that the guy is a good guy, earns well and isn’t a male chauvinist. In the long run, marriage is all about adjustments and compromises. Take my word on it.’

  Dipika’s words are draining me out completely. What she has said is completely challenging all the beliefs I have held about marriage so far. I had always felt when I married, it would be because I loved the guy and he loved me in turn, and we couldn’t live without each other. But Dipika’s views are making me think.

  ‘That is why I strongly suggest that you should at least meet this guy. What do you lose anyway? Your parents will be delighted. Just my thoughts. Nobody is forcing you. If you want to meet him, I will set it up when he visits us. Let me know,’ she says as she gestures to the waiter for the bill.

  Then she says that we can go shoe shopping as there is a sale happening. By now, all my mood for shopping is gone. I feel dead and drained out. Like a vampire Dipika has sucked out all my energy. I trudge reluctantly behind her. She buys three pairs of shoes, all stilletoes, one of them studded with semi-precious stones and runs up a bill of Rs 23,000 which she pays with her credit card. I stifle a gasp.

  I remember reading somewhere about ‘revenge spending’. When the female partner is angry, feels ignored on unappreciated, she usually spends money aggressively on stuff that improves her appearance. I wonder if this is what Dipika is doing.

  Later when I am back home I call up my mother. I ask her if they do want me to meet Mr Washington. My mother says that it is entirely up to me. She says I should tell them if I have someone in mind, so that they can turn down proposals straightaway. I assure her that I do not have anyone in mind, and the guy who dropped me home was just a friend.