THE ONE YOU CANNOT HAVE
Page 22
I am not angry with her or even bitter.
I think for a long time whether to reply to her or not. I am not able to focus on my work. I am not able to concentrate on anything. I see two message notifications from Anjali and for the first time, ever since I confessed that I love her, I find myself unable to open her message and read it.
One mail from Shruti has caused such tumult inside my head. I was so sure until now.
I hate myself for being this way. I hate myself for still letting Shruti affect me this much.
I think for a long time on what to do.
And finally I hit delete. Then I go to the trash can and delete it from there.
‘Are you sure you want to delete these items permanently?’ pops up a message.
I hit yes. I am sure.
Almost.
But there is no option for that.
Chapter 27
Shruti
It is more than thirty-six hours since I mailed Aman and there is no reply from him. Maybe he hasn’t seen the mail? Maybe it went into spam? There could be a chance of that. I keep checking my mail every few minutes, on my phone, till I reach office.
When I finally reach, it is already lunch time. Asha is waiting for me.
‘Hey, how is your father-in-law now?’ she asks.
‘Looks like he will be discharged today. Rishabh is taking over from today. He is off for a week. Huge relief for me.’
‘Good thing too. I think you have done more than your fair share here. Actually I feel guilty, Shruti, as it was I who suggested you take them out that day.’
‘Don’t be silly. I hadn’t even thought of it like that. Besides, whoever anticipated his landing in the hospital.’
‘True. I was just thinking Rishabh should have been pleased that you are making an effort with his parents.’
‘Yes, he was too, till the hospital thing happened. After that, it has been so hectic there hasn’t been time for anything. And you know what, I met someone I know at the hospital. You might have heard of him—Sanjeev Adani.’
‘Oh! You know Sanjeev Adani personally? How?’ Asha is impressed.
So I tell her all the details.
‘Wow, you have led such an interesting life, Shruti. What fun you must have had at college.’
‘Yes, it was good,’ I admit. ‘Maybe that is why I am having such a hard time adjusting to being a married woman now.’
‘What rubbish. You were doing fine till Rishabh started this nonsense of not talking to you.’
I think about that. She does have a point, but she does not know the whole truth. On the outside, I was fine. Our married life wasn’t very exciting, but I had nothing to complain about either. Rishabh was a pleasant enough guy. But deep down, I know I longed for Aman’s vivacity, his ability to make me laugh and more than anything, the way he worshipped me and made me feel like a goddess. I missed that. Life with Rishabh was ordinary, mundane, boring. And it wasn’t his fault.
When I get home that evening, Rishabh is already home and so are my in-laws.
My father-in-law seems more or less okay now, except for the bandage on his head. He is able to move about very easily. I feel quite sorry for them now. In Hubli, they have so many people around them and my father-in-law is like a feudal lord. Here he is helpless and totally dependent on Rishabh or me.
I feel bad that their first visit to their son’s house has ended in hospitalisation.
Rishabh announces that they have decided to cut short their visit and go back early. He has already spoken to the doctors and they have said he is fit enough for air-travel.
‘I am so sorry,’ I tell my mother-in-law.
‘For what?’ she asks.
‘Had we not gone on that visit that day, all this wouldn’t have happened,’ I say.
‘What is destined, is bound to happen. We cannot control everything. We should be happy that nothing worse happened and he is okay. And honestly we enjoyed ourselves that day,’ she says.
I feel a surge of relief hearing this from her. They don’t hold me responsible at all. I like the pragmatic approach that my mother-in-law has taken to the whole situation. I hope that Rishabh has heard her. I look around to see if he has, but he is on the balcony busy on the phone.
Once my in-laws leave, the emptiness that existed between Rishabh and me, becomes even more pronounced. There is hardly any time left for me to travel to Bangalore and there is a lot to be organised for the recruitment drives. I come home late and Rishabh is conveniently parked in front of the television. He does not even bother to greet me or make any conversation.
The wall between us has been steadily growing and if I do not do anything about it, it will turn into a permanent one.
‘Rishabh, I think we should just talk,’ I say.
‘There is nothing to talk about,’ he replies.
‘We can’t go on like this.’
‘We are, aren’t we?’
‘Come on, Rishabh, you know what I mean. Why are you punishing me for something I had no control over? For something that happened before I got married to you?’
‘I wish I had known, Shruti. I was a fool. You lied to me saying there was nobody. How can I trust you anymore? Almost two years with you, it feels like a sham now.’
‘Rishabh, we keep going around in circles about this. You keep repeating yourself over and over again. Don’t you think we should find a solution?’
‘What solution? Don’t you think I have a right to be angry?’
‘Yes Rishabh, you do and I am sorry. I have begged you for forgiveness. What more can I do? I made a mistake and I am sorry, okay?’ I don’t realise that my voice has automatically increased in volume. I am mad at Rishabh for being so stubborn about this.
‘Don’t raise your voice, Shruti.’
‘Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do.’
‘Suit yourself then. I am not here to take any nonsense that you dish out. I will speak to you when you are calmer,’ he says and he walks into our bedroom and opens a book.
I am fuming with anger. I want to shake him now. Make him see sense. I follow him to the bedroom.
‘See, Rishabh, we have a good thing going. Let us put the past behind us. Let us make a new start,’ I appeal to him, pushing aside my anger. If I stay calm, maybe he will be more receptive.
He does not even reply. He turns off the light and goes to bed.
I feel like I have been slapped. I slip out of bed and sit on the balcony, staring at the stars for a long time. I think about my marriage with Rishabh. I think about all that has happened.
And finally when I come to bed, I know what I have to do. It is not going to be easy, but I have to do it. There is no other way.
I have made up my mind.
Chapter 28
Aman
The sound of the doorbell seems to be coming from somewhere far-away. I struggle to open my eyes. I lie still for a few moments, groggy with sleep, trying to listen for another sound. But there is none. I only hear the comforting buzz of the fan. Then I think that perhaps I imagined it and I go back to sleep. Just as I settle down comfortably, it rings again. This time there is no mistaking it. I mutter a curse under my breath. Who the hell is it? I am in my boxers and I cannot be bothered to wear a shirt. It is probably some hired help who is ringing the wrong doorbell.
I walk to the door and open it a little bit so that I can peep out. I struggle to open my eyes because there is bright sunlight streaming in and all I can make out is that it is a woman.
‘Yes?’ I say not bothering to look at her, still trying to keep the sun out of my face.
‘Aman. It’s me,’ she says.
The voice sends an electric jolt through my body drugged with sleep.
For a few seconds I think that maybe I am hallucinating. And then it registers. Slowly.
I almost stop breathing.
Standing before me is Shruti. She has haunted me even in my dreams, stolen my sleep, given me such a lot and yet taken away so much from my life. And now here she is, standing before me now.
‘Fuck,’ is all I can say.
She smiles. A smile of familiarity. A smile that says a million things without saying a word. A smile that understands. A smile that can come only from years of shared intimacy and closeness. It is as though she was expecting me to say just that.
‘You look good, Aman. Can I come in?’ she asks as I step aside and she walks in, without even waiting for my answer.
She wears the same perfume. God, I can recognise it anywhere. Eternity by Calvin Klein. There are a thousand emotions running though me right now. Hurt. Confusion, Excitement. Disbelief. More confusion.
I realise that I am still staring at her, like she is unreal. She has walked into my living room and made herself comfortable now.
‘I am so sorry to barge in like this. There was no other way you would see me,’ she says simply.
I am still gaping and somewhere at the back of my mind I am aware that I am still in my boxers.
‘And yes, you look even sexier than you did the last time we met,’ she says as her eyes roam all over my body and smiles.
‘Excuse me, I’ll just be back,’ I say and I rush to the bedroom. I wear a pair of shorts and pull on a T-shirt that is lying around. Then I quickly wash my face and hurriedly brush my teeth, all the time thinking that this is so surreal.
Shruti is sitting just a few feet away in my house, in my drawing room. How the hell did she find me? How did she know my address? Why has she turned up here like this? What does she want? Does her husband know she is here? What has happened?
I hurry back outside and she is in the balcony now, staring out at the pool.
‘Nice place, Aman,’ she says.
I just nod and I am unable to talk.
‘Do you hate me so much that you don’t even want to talk to me?’ she asks
I am unable to speak. Now I know what it means when people say they are tongue-tied. For the first three months after she left me, I dreamt of this scenario, every single day. I prayed for it. I hoped and hoped that she would come back to me.
And now my prayers have been answered. Except that it is two years later. Just when I was certain that I was moving on and that Shruti was a closed chapter. I would have thought that not responding to her mail would have driven the point home. Made it clear to her that I want nothing to do with her. And yet she has turned up at my doorstep and now she is asking me if I hate her.
What do I tell her? How can you hate a person who was the ‘perfect one’? How can you hate four years of indelible, incredible memories, probably the happiest ones of your life? How can you hate the one you have tried so hard to get over and who yet haunts you in every single relationship that you have had since? How can you hate someone whom you compare every woman you meet to?
What Shruti and I had was pure magic. There was no other way to describe it. But she was the one who had walked away. She was the one who hadn’t answered at least hundreds of my mails. I remember the pain, the wait, the torture that she has put me through. And now two years later she has turned up out of the blue, asking if I hate her. What do I say?
‘Say something, Aman. Anything. This isn’t easy for me, you know,’ she says, twisting her stole around in her hands. It is only then that I even notice her clothes. She is wearing an emerald green top with a deep V-neck, casual jeans and a silk stole that she is clutching. She looks bewitching. She hasn’t changed at all in these two years. Short hair makes her look even younger and make her eyes seem larger.
They are fast filling up with tears now. I panic. I don’t want her to cry.
‘I don’t know what to say. I am sorry. Please don’t cry,’ I blurt out without knowing what exactly I am saying.
‘Can I have some coffee please? I have come straight from the airport,’ she says, and I can see that she is trying to blink away her tears, not wanting to create a scene.
God—I know her so well.
‘Of course,’ I say and I walk into the kitchen and switch on the electric kettle and Shruti follows me.
She stands at the kitchen doorway and stares at me while I make the coffee. She likes it strong with just a spoon of sugar. I like mine with a little more milk. I silently hand her the mug and she carries it to the dining table and pulls a chair and sits down.
It is like I have turned into a zombie on auto-mode in her presence. I follow her.
‘You still remember how I like my coffee, Aman? This is perfect,’ she says as she takes a sip.
It is not only the coffee but I remember every single detail about you, Shruti. About us. About the magic that we shared. About how good we were together.
And how carelessly you threw it all away.
‘Yes, I remember,’ I finally manage to say.
She smiles again and her smile is something that does me in. But I notice now that it is tinged with sadness. There is something in her eyes that I cannot comprehend.
We sit in silence for a few seconds sipping our coffees and I cannot bear it anymore.
‘Shruti, I think you owe me some kind of an explanation. What is all this about? Where is your husband? Is everything okay? Why have you suddenly turned up like this? And how did you find me?’ The questions tumble out.
‘Whoa, slow down. I will explain. Let me recover,’ she says.
‘If anyone has to recover, it is me Shruti. You at least knew you were going to see me, but heck, I am totally unprepared for this.’
‘I know. That was the plan,’ she says as she looks at me over the rim of the coffee cup as her hands go around it.
I have now got over the initial shock of seeing her and I am angry now. But yet I am not able to ask her to leave. Every sane and sensible bone in my body is telling me that it is what I should do. I should just ask her to disappear just as she appeared. I can then go back to my life.
‘Look, I am sorry, Aman,’ she says as she reaches out and places her hand over mine. I withdraw my hand quickly, like she has touched me with burning coal.
‘Do you hate me?’ she asks again.
‘Why do you keep asking me that? Don’t tell me you caught a flight from Mumbai just for that?’
‘So you knew I was in Mumbai?’
‘Yes,’ I admit. ‘I looked you up on Facebook once. Even though you had blocked me. And changed your name.’
‘Aaah… yes. I am sorry, Aman. I can now say with certainty that I was not in my senses then. You know, I so desperately wanted my marriage to work. I so badly wanted to get over you and trust me I tried. I tried hard Aman. But…’ She is unable to go on.
Is she telling me that her marriage is over? Is that why she is here? God—this cannot be happening. Just when my life was beginning to fit back together. Just when I finally thought that I was over her.
‘Is your marriage finished? Is that why you are here?’
‘I don’t know, Aman. I do not know. Nothing makes sense anymore,’ she says. The earlier coolness and assured demeanour when she had just rung my doorbell and walked in, is gone now. Shruti looks so sad and vulnerable that all I want to do is to rush to her, take her in my arms and assure her that everything will be okay. I fight hard to control the urge.
‘What happened, Shruti? Are you okay?’ I say. I cannot bear to see her like this.
‘I have never felt so uncertain in my life, Aman. Things between Rishabh and me, they aren’t so good anymore. We have
n’t spoken properly to each other in months. I do not know what to do,’ she says.
So her marriage isn’t over. A part of me is sad to hear that but another part of me is hugely relieved. Had she ended her marriage and walked out, I don’t think I would ever have the strength to bear it, face it or accept it.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’ I ask.
‘I don’t know where to begin,’ she says.
‘How about we start by you telling me how in the world you found out where I lived?’
‘Hmmm. I have my ways.’
‘I can see that. But who told you my address? How did you track me down?’
‘It wasn’t so hard, Aman. I knew you were with the same organisation from your Linked-in profile. But I wasn’t sure if you were in India. So all I had to do was call up your head office and ask for you. I told them I am from your college and we were trying to gather all the alumni for the golden jubilee celebrations and hence wanted to trace you. I got to know you were in Bangalore. They told me you are in the company guesthouse and even gave me the number. I called up the guesthouse and came to know that Shukla is there. I pestered him and he had no choice but to agree. I made him promise me that he won’t breathe a word to you.’
‘He sure kept up his promise,’ I say dryly.
Shruti’s eyes are damp now. ‘I feel miserable now to have walked out on you like that, Aman. I was such a fool. But at that time, what I did seemed right. My mother was too ill back then. All I wanted was for her to recover.’
I don’t want her to cry. She is looking at me now, waiting for me to say something.
‘Two years is a long time, Shruti. I was devastated after you left. I think I must have written a hundred mails to you? Did you even read them?’
‘I did. Except that I read them a week ago. And that is why I am here,’ she says.
I am stunned.
‘You read my mails after two whole years? And then you decided to see me?’