Everyone Has a Story 2

by Savi Sharma

  ‘Isn’t that hard?’ I asked. ‘If you’ve put so much work into something, won’t it be hard to just make it go away?’

  Meera shrugged her slender shoulders. ‘Perhaps. But if it isn’t right, it isn’t right.’

  We slid into a comfortable silence for a few minutes and then I pressed on to my next topic. The reason we were really here.

  ‘Actually, Meera,’ I began a little nervously, ‘I wanted to talk to you about something else.’

  Surprise washed across her face. ‘Really?’

  I grinned at her confusion. ‘Yes. There is something else I wanted to discuss with you.’

  She lifted her beautiful shoulders in a shrug. ‘Well, okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll admit, I’m a little surprised. I thought we were just going to brainstorm ideas about Musafir. What is it you wanted to discuss?’

  I didn’t know where to start. As much as I had practised the words over and over again in my head, nothing would come out.

  Sensing my nervousness, Meera said my name gently. ‘What’s wrong?’ she said, her voice rising a little with concern.

  I cleared my throat. This is ridiculous , I thought. We’ve been together for three years. It’s a big move, but she is my best friend, and the woman I know I want to spend the rest of my life with. So why did this feel so odd?

  Meera immediately narrowed her eyes, piercing me with her questioning stare. ‘Where are you, Vivaan? You seem a million miles away right now. You’re not planning on running again, are you?’

  I let out a laugh. ‘No! Believe me, Meera, that is the last thing I’m thinking about,’ I assured her. I reached across the table and laced my fingers with hers.

  She let out a relieved sigh. ‘I’m sorry I even thought it,’ she said. ‘You just seem so—’

  ‘Marriage,’ I said, interrupting her when I blurted out the word. ‘What do you think about the idea of getting married? Some day?’

  Her eyes grew wide as my words washed over her. ‘Vivaan,’ she said. ‘What exactly are you saying?’

  I cleared my throat again. ‘Well,’ I began. ‘We’ve been together for a long time now.’

  ‘Three years,’ she confirmed.

  ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Over the last three years, we have shared a lot. But we’ve also been apart a lot. Your career is just starting, and you’ve had to put a tremendous amount of time into it. And I’m glad,’ I said quickly, afraid she would think I was complaining. ‘You knew what you wanted in life, you knew you wanted to be a writer, and you made it happen. I am so proud of you.

  ‘And while you’ve been going off to book signings and other commitments with your writing, I’ve been going in my own directions, travelling and learning more about where we live.’

  ‘Yes, that is true,’ Meera agreed.

  ‘I’m just thinking that maybe if we were married, our relationship would be more stable. We could still go off and do what we love, but we would always know we were coming home to each other.’

  Meera sat back and chewed on her lip thoughtfully.

  ‘I don’t have a ring or anything,’ I said. ‘I just thought we should talk about it for now. See if this is the next logical step for us.’

  I waited and watched Meera take a deep breath. And then another. I could see her thinking hard, but it was one of those rare times that I had no idea what was in her mind. Her eyes drifted away from mine, taking in Pune at night but I had a feeling she was barely seeing what was in front of her.

  Finally, I couldn’t take it any longer. ‘Meera, say something. . .’

  ‘Well,’ she began slowly, twirling the stem of her glass between her fingers. ‘I’m just surprised.’

  ‘You are?’ I asked. ‘But we’ve been together for three years.’

  Meera nodded. ‘And it’s been a wonderful three years with you.’

  ‘And this is the logical next step,’ I prodded.

  Taking another sip, she gently put the glass on the table and reached for me, wrapping both of her soft hands around mine. ‘In a lot of ways, yes. But, Vivaan, you surprised me because I never really thought it was possible with us.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Radha,’ she said simply.

  Even after all this time, hearing her name made my stomach lurch. Radha, the woman I was going to marry, was murdered on our wedding day. It broke me so deeply that I never thought I would be able to fully heal.

  I looked in Meera’s eyes and remembered the day I told her about Radha. I watched Meera’s hopes for a future with me crumble as I confessed that I would never be able to love her the way I had loved my fiancée and that my heart was still committed to another woman, one long dead.

  Although I was always the one running away early in our relationship, that day Meera ran from me. She ended up on the path to Chor Darwaja and fell down the steep slope at Rajgad. For days, she was in a coma.

  ‘I don’t know if you heard me while you were in the coma, Meera, but even then, I was telling you that my heart had found its home with you. I loved you then and I love you now. You, Meera, are not someone in my life who replaced Radha in my heart. You are your own person. You are strong, wonderful, kind, caring.

  ‘You are you. You are my Meera.’

  Tears glistened in her eyes as she absorbed my words.

  We ate in relative silence, speaking only to make small talk over our delicious meal. At first, I was afraid that I had ruined our evening, but watching Meera’s delight as she ate her palak paneer, and then how she playfully took a bit of the dal paasha from my spoon, I knew her silence was because she was negotiating through a maze of confusion at my talk of marriage.

  I truly had no idea that she had dismissed the idea of marrying me because of Radha, but I vowed to make Meera understand that she was the most important woman in my life.

  ‘Vivaan,’ Meera started after we shared a delicious dessert of phirni, ‘I’m sorry that I’ve been so quiet about what you were saying. You surprised me but I do know you love me. And I love you too. This is just a new idea for me to absorb.’

  ‘I understand,’ I said, relieved that she was considering the idea.

  ‘Let’s take some time and think about it,’ she suggested. ‘You go on your trip to Bangalore and I’ll go to the Delhi Lit Fest as planned. When those are behind us, let’s talk about the idea some more.’

  6

  FATE

  We see inspiration all the time, on a warm day after a week of rain, in watching a parent bird feed its baby, in the laughter of a loved one.

  It doesn’t need to be something concrete. But, on the other hand, it can be someone giving you a piece of advice or challenging you to push yourself a little harder. Take that limit that you can see in front of you and plan to take one step beyond it. And then another, and another.

  Inspiration is that bird learning how to fly. It can sit in its nest every day from the moment it hatches, and watch its parents flying to and fro. That baby bird will then practise, standing in the nest and unfurling its wings, feeling the breeze weaving through its new feathers. It will take some tentative flaps, feeling its toes lifting away from that safe and secure home.

  But one day, it needs to stop pretending and throw itself out of the nest, flapping its wings furiously, its heart pounding in its breast.

  That is how people garner courage when they are inspired. They take chances.

  That baby bird can’t stop flying though. When there is no nest under it, it can’t just stop flapping its wings or it will go crashing to the earth.

  Sometimes, I’m not content to just watch people take flight and follow their dreams.

  Yes, life is about inspiration, but it’s also about struggle.

  After all, you can’t appreciate the sweet nectar of life without a little vinegar of challenges.

  How boring life would be if people just moved throughout the day, thriving in the monotony of their day. Work. Family. A little bit of fun, maybe. Or maybe not. Some people really don’t know how to have fun.
. . all they know is how to keep their head down, not make any waves, and just churn through life.

  That, to them, is what a ‘good life’ is all about.

  They are utter fools if you ask me. That isn’t a good life; that’s just plain boring.

  Oh no, it’s about taking your hand and smacking the top of the water, forcing the ripples into otherwise smooth sailing. It’s about the struggle.

  Struggles are what keep people on their toes.

  7

  MEERA

  The colours were amazing. Everywhere I turned, there was something new to take in at Dilli Haat, where the Delhi Lit Fest was being held. Banners, flags, clothing, it was amazing to me.

  The colours were a good analogy for my own feelings, I thought with some humour. I was so excited to be here; since my early days of wanting to become a professional writer, I dreamed of being here. I was also a little nervous. Writers should be used to criticism, but sometimes it was hard to shake off a particularly stinging critique. There was a little confusion as I navigated between the music and the workshops, but there was also a feeling of satisfaction. I belonged here, at this place, surrounded by people who had similar goals and dreams. My peers, I thought happily.

  As all those different hues and sensations circled me and wove their way through my mind, I found that even the brightest colours are tinted with a tendril of confusion. No matter where I was in my day or what I was doing, the idea of marrying Vivaan was always present.

  From the first moments I laid eyes on my traveller, I was taken by Vivaan; even before I knew his name. I saw him first at Coffee & Us, where I had gone to listen to various authors and poets. Vivaan was there, but it took forever for us to connect until I convinced Kabir to text me the next time he showed up at the café.

  Bold? Perhaps, but he had captured my attention before we even spoke two words to each other.

  Consequently, a relationship with him was a dream come true, and the past years with him had been everything I could have wanted. Even when we were apart physically, I knew we were always connected emotionally.

  So, why was I so confused when he mentioned marriage? My first thought was of his fiancée and how he told me so long ago that his feelings toward me could never be the same as his love for her.

  But as I thought about it later, there was more to my hesitation than just Radha. It was time to be honest with myself. Was I ready for this next step?

  With my first session at the festival behind me, I was ready to take a few minutes to have some water and give way to all my thoughts. But there were so many people and I found myself jostled in the crowds in my drive to seek a bit of solitude.

  I bumped into a strong shoulder. ‘I am so sorry,’ I began before my eyes even met his.

  ‘It’s quite. . . Meera!’

  ‘Arjun! I wondered if I might see you here,’ I said with delight as it registered that I literally ran into my mentor, the man who inspired me to take the step and become a writer.

  ‘I would never miss it,’ Arjun Mehra said, giving me an enthusiastic hug. ‘It is great to see you. You look fantastic.’

  I pulled back and took a good look at him, smiling hugely. ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘You look well, too. You haven’t changed a bit.’

  He laughed and rolled his eyes. ‘Except for all the grey hairs.’

  I barked out a laugh of my own. ‘Barely,’ I said as I pretended to study the distinguished grey at his temples. ‘Well,’ I teased. ‘One or two, perhaps.’

  ‘It’s so nice to see you. . . you are a fresh breeze in this crowded place,’ he said. ‘Where do you go next?’

  ‘Just going to take a break,’ I said. ‘And you?’

  ‘Nothing that can’t be rescheduled,’ Arjun decided. ‘Let’s go catch up somewhere. I want you to fill me in on everything. It’s been too long.’

  He held out his arm in greeting and I happily linked my arm with his. Together, we navigated the crowds until the people thinned out and we found a relatively quiet place to sit.

  He reached into his satchel and pulled out two bottles of water, handing one to me. ‘It’s a little warm, but it’s better than nothing,’ he decided.

  I cracked the top off my bottle, and we clicked the plastic together in a toast. It may have been only water, but it felt delicious on a hot day. ‘Just what I needed,’ I pronounced. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You can thank me by telling me all about the gang at Kafe Kabir. How are Kabir and Nisha? And the baby?’

  ‘Everyone is doing very well,’ I said, slipping into the comfortable task of providing updates on everyone. I loved filling him in with Jianna’s tales. ‘The darling, even though she hasn’t mastered walking, is already taken with clothes. Nisha’s family sent her a box of hand-me-downs a few weeks ago. She spent an hour—a whole hour—peeling off clothes and pulling on new ones. She was like some princess trying on new ball gowns,’ I laughed. ‘And shoes. . . she is forever stealing other people’s shoes.’

  Arjun’s laughter matched my own. ‘I can’t wait to get back to Pune and meet this sweetheart,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to make it soon before she grows too much more.’

  ‘Bring her a new outfit,’ I suggested. ‘She will adore you forever.’

  ‘I shall do that,’ he determined, before abruptly changing the subject. ‘And Vivaan? How are you two doing?’ Despite my best attempt to mask my confusion, a sigh escaped. ‘Is everything okay?’ Arjun asked softly.

  ‘It is,’ I said. ‘We’re just reaching a bit of a turning point in our relationship and I have a lot on my mind.’ I leaned back and let my eyes wander to the colourful banners swaying in the gentle, warm breeze.

  ‘Ah. A “turning point”. So. . . he has proposed then?’ I watched his face split into a slightly impish grin, like a happy big brother. ‘He’s a good man; I admire his dedication a lot. And’—he cleared his throat rather dramatically—‘he has fantastic taste . . . I mean, not only is he with you, but, if I recall, one of his first gifts to you was an autographed copy of my book!’

  My raw nerves shattered into a relieved laugh; my mentor joined in. It felt like a weight was lifted off of my shoulders . . . temporarily. But then it settled back down heavily.

  I sighed again. ‘Can I be candid?’ I asked.

  ‘But of course, Meera. You are a wise woman, and I would be honoured if you felt you could trust me enough to be honest with me.’

  I reached down and picked at a stray weed that marred the grassy patch we were sitting on. ‘I truly appreciate that, Arjun.’ I ran the weed through my fingers, trying to decide how to broach the subject.

  With the insight of a writer, he seemed to easily surmise my quandary. ‘It’s the. . .’ I started, trying to find the right words. ‘Not proposal. He didn’t ask me to marry him, not with a ring.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘But he brought up the subject, I’m guessing,’ Arjun surmised.

  I nodded miserably. ‘Yes, he did.’

  ‘Tell me more,’ he suggested gently. ‘If you want to, of course. I certainly wouldn’t want to pry. I try not to pry, but I think that is something we writers always struggle with. We want to expose the truth, the raw emotions, don’t you think?’

  I chuckled at his insights. ‘It’s complicated, I’m afraid. I’m only just wrapping my head around the whole thing, and I’m afraid there is much more to it.’

  ‘Because of the woman he was going to marry.’

  ‘Mostly,’ I said, before adjusting my response. ‘Not mostly. Partly. When he told me about Radha, it nearly broke my heart. The moment he mentioned her name, I felt there was a great spirit that rose between us. It had obviously been there at the time, I just didn’t realise what it was then. His love didn’t die when she did; I knew that as soon as he said her name.

  ‘That was when I ran,’ I admitted.

  ‘To Rajgad Fort,’ he confirmed.

  My head dropped in defeat. ‘Yes.’

  ‘But, Meera,
that was long before he met you.’ Although he had been sitting back in a relaxed posture, he now sat up again, his attention on me.

  I squirmed. ‘It was,’ I said.

  ‘And after that, did his feelings change?’

  ‘Yes,’ I whispered.

  As if sensing his unblinking gaze directed at me was making me uncomfortable, his eyes left mine and I watched his attention sweep over the people who walked by. I found myself relaxing a little more and I took another big gulp of water.

  ‘Tell me how things are now,’ he suggested.

  My thoughts danced wildly over the past few years. They waltzed with our embraces, some passionate, others more familiar, warm and comfortable. Of course, we had disagreements, as did any couple, but they were minor and thinking of them now, I could barely discern the catalyst for an argument.

  ‘Things are good,’ I confirmed. ‘Very, very good. I am so very happy, with my life, with my work, and especially with Vivaan.’

  ‘Then what is wrong?’

  His questions, though short and concise, were like signposts, guiding my reasoning to the real crux of the matter. As if with a sharp knife, he was carefully peeling away the thin layers of excuses and arguments. I realised this as my thoughts were drawn full circle to the real matter at hand.

  ‘I think maybe they are too good,’ I began slowly as realisation emerged. ‘What I mean is, I have my career and Vivaan has his. He is in the process of starting his own travel company and is very excited about the niche concept he has developed.

  ‘Our relationship is strong as it is right now. If we get married, that will change. What he thinks will give us a solid foundation for coming back to each other. . . ,’ I turned worried eyes to his. ‘What if that ties us down instead of giving us the freedom to follow our dreams? Marriage would take away a degree of freedom that we both have.’

  Arjun drew his knees up and rested his elbows on them. ‘Do you really think your relationship and your freedom would be compromised by marriage? I can’t imagine either of you letting this tie you down. You love each other.’