‘It isn’t quite the way you put it, Aman. I did see the mails that you kept sending. But I was going through a very hard time then. I had made up my mind to marry Rishabh. We had broken up. Whatever we had, it was over. So I didn’t read your mails in detail. I merely glanced at them, without taking in the words. We hadn’t exactly parted on great terms, had we? We were so immature then, Aman. Or at least I was.’
‘What made you read them now?’ I ask.
‘Rishabh. He read all the mails between us and he was shell-shocked to know I had been in a relationship. He feels betrayed. He hasn’t been talking to me properly ever since. He feels that I have wronged him deeply.’
‘You hadn’t told Rishabh about us?’
‘No. In retrospect, I have wished a thousand times that I had. Maybe I wouldn’t have been here had I told him.’
I don’t know what to say to that.
God does have a cruel sense of humour. For two years I dream, wait and hope that Shruti will come back. For two years, I struggle to get over her by burying myself in work. I suffer. I hurt. And finally when I am healing, she is here.
I think about Anjali. I think about my mother. I think about how hopeful my mother is that things between Anjali and me will work out and how much she looks forward to welcoming Anjali as her daughter-in-law.
‘Aman, do you think… You and I… a second chance, Aman?’
I realise that Shruti has just said something and I haven’t been listening. I have been so caught up in my turmoil of thoughts which are coming down like an avalanche now. All I have caught are the words ‘second chance’.
‘Sorry Shruti. I haven’t been listening. What did you say?’ I ask.
‘Was talking about us, Aman. About how we deserve a second chance. Don’t you think?’ she asks.
I am quiet for a long time.
Or at least it seems like a long time to me.
I have made up my mind. Some things are just fated. They may not work out exactly like how you had wanted, but they are meant to happen so you learn to grow.
‘Shruti,’ I say and she looks at me with eyes so full of love that I have a hard time going on. The lump in my throat feels like a million jabbing pins. There is no way out but to end this once and for all.
‘Look…’ I say but I am unable to go on.
‘Aman, whatever it is, be honest please,’ she says and she is twisting her stole even harder now.
I take a deep breath. ‘Shruti, there is someone else in my life now. I am so sorry,’ I say.
I can see her face fall and I can see her wince. I hate myself for having to tell her. This is the same pain that she had inflicted on me when she had walked out two years ago. And God, I know how much it hurts. I do not want to do this to her. But prolonging it will be worse torture.
‘Who?’ She struggles to say it.
‘Someone I met and I like,’ I say. Then I find myself telling her about how I struggled to get over her, how I moved to Norwich and how the box, full of things that she had given me fell out of the attic, and how I struggled with her thoughts haunting me and how I had tracked her down on Facebook. Then I tell her about how Anjali and I started exchanging messages. I tell her about how much Anjali adores me and all that she has put up with. I tell her about how she has helped me laugh and smile once more. It was like I had gone into a zone where nothing mattered except work. I had been so numb but it was Anjali who helped me feel whole again. Who made life worth enjoying once more. It is she who has stood by my side, steadfast and loyal—a true friend. The more I talk about her, the more I realise how fond I am actually of her.
Shruti listens quietly. She doesn’t say a word. And finally when I finish, all she says is, ‘I understand, Aman.’
It is so hard for me to see her like this.
‘Look, Shruti, make peace with Rishabh. Give him time. He will come around. Trust me, I know,’ I say.
She nods.
‘Shruti, I think things like marriages are predestined. No matter what you do and how much you try to avoid it, you end up with certain people. Sometimes it is people you don’t even think you will end up with. But the universe spins a web and things change. And you have been married what—nearly two years now? Isn’t that too short a time, Shruti? Go back and make an effort in your relationship now. Be nice to him. Accept him for who he is. And you know what? When things go wrong, just keep doing your own stuff. Sometimes it helps. I know, because that is what I did. And that is what helped me.’
I feel a strange sense of relief as I say it. I feel vindicated. Light-hearted. As though a huge burden has been lifted.
There is no doubt in my mind anymore. Shruti will always be the one I cannot have. And I am now okay with that.
There is just one thing left to do. I go to my bedroom and I take out the black suitcase, my ex-box which I had shoved into the loft when I had shifted to this house. But this time, I know exactly where it is unlike that time in Norwich, when it had fallen out and surprised me. Even though it is just a couple of months since then, it feels like a million years ago.
But never in my life have I been surer of what I am doing than now. It is amazing to feel this certain.
I return to the living room and I hand over the box to Shruti.
She looks at me questioningly.
‘I have to return it to you, Shruti. I have held on too long,’ I say.
She opens it and I watch her as she slowly recognises all the things in it. She shuts it and tears are flowing now.
I look away.
‘I guess this is it then, Aman,’ she says.
‘Make it work with Rishabh, Shruti. Go back to him. The people who love us—they all deserve second chances,’ I hear myself saying.
‘Well, I’ll try,’ she says and shrugs and she stands up to leave.
I want to hug her, say a bye and wish her well. But I am unable to move and my arms feel like lead.
‘Bye, Aman,’ she says and she walks out with the suitcase and she pulls the door shut.
I stand for a few minutes looking at the closed door.
Then I walk to my balcony, the one that overlooks the road. I see Shruti emerge. She walks down the road with the suitcase and empties the entire content into a dustbin which is full of garbage. She leaves the suitcase open next to it on top of the heap. She walks for a bit more and hails an auto.
And that is the last sight that I have of her.
I continue sitting for a while in the balcony till I see the truck approaching to clear the garbage.
Then I get up and make my way in. I call up my mother.
‘Ma, I have decided that I am finally ready to get married,’ I say.
‘Ooooh. Finally someone has woken up and paid heed to my words. What happened suddenly? Did the sun rise from the west this morning? ’ says my mother.
‘I don’t know about that. It’s just that the sunshine reached my heart this morning and threw light on the cobwebs. Of course, I had to brush them away then,’ I retort.
And even over the telephone I can feel the warmth of my mother’s joy.
Epilogue
Aman and Anjali got married to each other. Anjali’s mother still cannot stop boasting about her son-in-law Aman, to all her friends in Muscat. ‘Sooo good-looking, very cultured and so suitable for Anjali. They make a perfect pair,’ is her constant gush. She and Aman’s mother get along like a house on fire, and she has already invited Aman’s mother to Muscat, who much to Aman’s surpise has accepted.
Shruti went back to Mumbai, after her recruitment drive in Bangalore. Rishabh came around eventually, just like Aman predicted. Shruti finally feels ready for a baby, and she intends surprising Rishabh as well as her parents and her in-laws with ‘good news’ sometime soon.
Aman’s mother went on to start organic terrace farming workshops in Gwalior and has provid
ed a means of livelihood to many rural women. Aman is extra-proud of his mother.
Anjali quit Tiara and started her own magazine called A Bit of Time which publishes true stories on romance, break-up, love, dating and relationships. The magazine has broken even within just six months of its circulation.
Mark went back to the UK, completely in love with India. He wants to start a travel venture to India, where he gets groups of tourists from the UK and gives them a ‘uniquely Indian experience’. He wants to tie up with Aman for the same, and Aman is considering it seriously.
Sriram is still single, ready to mingle and keeps asking Anjali to find him ‘a suitable girl’.
Latika gave birth to a beautiful baby boy and according to Anjali, Latika makes the ‘perfect mom’.
Asha still keeps in touch with Navin and they remain good friends. They can vouch that there will always be ‘The one you cannot have’ and it is fine if that is so.
Acknowledgements
Whenever I write a book, this is my favourite part. Here is where I get to gush unabashedly and thank the wonderful people in my life, who I feel blessed to have, and who inspire me to write.
A huge thank you to my readers (both blog readers as well as book readers, the two are not mutually exclusive) who shower me with so much love.
To my dad, K V J Kamath, who continues to be my biggest strength. He may not be physically with me, but his spirit is very much alive. He was a great guy and an amazing individual, my dad.
To Satish, my rock, my best friend, my support system, my first reader, my first editor and in his own words, my biggest fan. A big thanks for putting up with all my moods, whims and being an awesome partner. I couldn’t have asked for more. (Okay, a bit more perhaps, but I shall tell you in person!)
To my mother, Priya Kamath, who gives me wonderful story ideas, and never gets tired when I call her up at odd times to discuss what turns the plot takes and what she thinks of it. I inherit my sense of humour and the ability to laugh at any situation, from her. She is a strong woman, my mom.
To Atul Shenoy and Purvi Shenoy, who think their mother is the coolest mom in the world and for being extremely proud of me.
To Mayank Mittal, for being a great pal, for giving me inputs about each and every chapter, for encouraging me and for being just a phone call away.
To Suresh Sanyasi, for reading the entire manuscript as soon as it was sent, and reverting promptly with feedback. Your support means a lot.
To Ramya Ramjee, for believing in the book and making me feel awesome. It feels wonderful to have a match of wavelengths. It was great to keep discussing the characters and the book with you. And your enthusiasm is infectious!
To Rathipriya, who is the sister I never had. Life would be empty if I did not have you. You understand me in ways which even I don’t understand myself.
To Jayashree Chinne, my wonderful friend who is so darn proud of me. A friendship of thirty years and still counting. Your support means the world to me, Jayu!
To Shabina, who believes in me and thinks the world of me.
To Niall Young, whose discipline, talent and perseverance motivates me a great deal.
To Sachin Garg, for being a great morale booster and an awesome buddy. I enjoy the time I spend interacting with you. You cheer me up and make me believe that I am a good writer.
To Nishu Mathur, into whose home I can pop into anytime, and I know I will be greeted warmly with a cup of tea. Thank you for your encouragement and thank you for telling me that the book was wonderful.
To Dipa Padmakumar, an awesome buddy, and each time we meet we simply pick up from where we left off. It is great to always be welcomed in your home and I value our friendship, Dipa.
To Gautam Padmanabhan, one of the most grounded and down-to-earth individuals I have ever known. Thank you for being so supportive. Also you have an amazing sense of humour and a sharp wit! You have my complete admiration and respect.
To Krishna Kumar Nair and Varsha Venugopal. It is a pleasure to work with you both, and you are the epitome of efficiency and professionalism. Varsha, I have so enjoyed discussing my characters with you, and you get me perfectly.
To Gunjan Ahlawat, for a brilliant cover. To Aradhana Bisht for being a very kind and sweet editor, Paul Vinay Kumar for bringing the book to life, to Sudha Sadanand and Deepthi Talwar for making the book better, Jayanthi for telling me that she loved my books, to Rajaram Rawool, Narayana Gururaj and Sathya Sridhar for the great support. All of you are a joy to work with, and make a marvellous team.
To Sonja Chandrachud, a great friend, a superb writer, a warm and kind-hearted individual. I so enjoy our long chats, Sonja!
To J K Bose, who I respect a great deal. But for him, I would still be an unpublished writer, with my manuscript languishing in my laptop. Thank you Mr Bose!
To Kiran Manral, Madhuri Banerjee, Ravi Subramanian, Milee Ashwarya, Vyshali Mathur, Rashmi Bansal, Shinie Antony, Vani Mahesh, Manreet Sodhi Someshwar, Manjiri Prabhu, my friends from the writing world who fill me with positivity. The discussions and interactions I have had with each one of you are enriching and I deeply value your support.
To Suma Rao, for being an awesome friend and Prathibha Rajesh (Prats) who is very encouraging towards me and supports me so much.
And as always to my darling Lostris, who teaches me to live in the moment, who gives the term loyalty a new meaning, who inspires me with her zest for life, who shows me every single day that nothing matters except love and if you love somebody, you will always forgive them, no matter what.
Also by Preeti Shenoy
THE SECRET WISH LIST
Does true love really exist or is it just a cliche? Can a single kiss really change your life?
At sixteen, Diksha like any girl her age, finds her life revolving around school, boys and endless hours of fun with her best friend. But one day, all that changes.
What starts as an innocent crush explodes into something far beyond her control. Eighteen years later, she finds herself at the crossroads of life. Urged by a twist of events, a wish list is born. But can a wish list help her piece back her life together? Will she succumb to the tangled mess of an extramarital relationship? Once again, Preeti Shenoy brings an extraordinary story that tugs at the heartstrings, with insight and wisdom, as she explores the delicate matters of the heart.
THE ONE YOU CANNOT HAVE Page 23