Glitter and Gloss

by Vibha Batra

  ‘You said you wanted to talk to us about something important?’ Akshay begins.

  ‘Aren’t Jeejoo and Raksha going to join us?’ I chime in.

  ‘Jeejoo’s in Dubai,’ Akshay tells me.

  I suppress a smile. The real Dubai, I bet. Because his Hotel Decent days are so over.

  ‘Raksha’s spending the night at her friend’s,’ Didi informs us.

  ‘Oh, okay.’

  Akshay and I look at Didi expectantly.

  ‘There’s no easy way to do this,’ she begins, her expression grave, ‘so I’m going to come right out and say it. Something’s come to my attention. Something very, very shocking. Something that involves our family.’

  And instantly, my stomach knots. Oh no! Didi’s found out about Jeejoo!

  A worried look comes over Akshay’s face.

  ‘Misha knows what I’m talking about,’ Didi says.

  Shit! Didi knows about my involvement too! But how? I didn’t tell a single living soul. I did my best to keep it under wraps. Did Jeejoo crack under that intense gaze? I bet that’s what happened…

  ‘What are you talking about, Didi?’ Akshay asks, bewildered.

  Didi exhales. ‘Misha, is it true that your parents are separated…’

  Gasp! How does she know that!

  My guilty look gives me away.

  ‘… and your Mom’s living in with a man who’s half her age?’

  Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

  A flush creeps up on my face. I nod.

  ‘Didi,’ Akshay says quickly. ‘We were going to tell you.’

  Didi’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘You knew about this?’

  ‘Of course,’ Akshay says, playing arbitrator.

  Didi gapes at him. ‘And all these months you didn’t think it was necessary to—’

  ‘We were waiting for the right time to tell you, Didi,’ Akshay says, in an earnest voice.

  Me, I just sit there like a rock in shock. It’s like school and college all over again. My little secret has been exposed to the world again. Everyone’s looking at me like I’m one type. That weird, Pinocchio-ish nosed chick with family troubles.

  Didi looks mortally wounded.

  ‘I’m sorry, if we hurt you, Didi,’ Akshay says softly. ‘Believe me, it wasn’t our intention.’

  Didi takes her glasses off and begins to wipe the lenses with the edge of her dupatta. ‘Is there anything else I should know?’ The funny thing is, she looks directly at me while she says it.

  Sigh. It’s time to come clean. It’s time to tell her the truth, the complete truth, nothing but the truth. So help me god.

  ‘Actually, there is,’ I speak up, my voice shaky. ‘I don’t think I can quit non-veg for good, Didi. Believe me, I’ve tried, but it’s so damn tough.’

  I fall silent, wringing my hands.

  ‘Is that all?’ Didi asks, fixing her burning gaze on me. Ooh, the Agarwals are such an intense lot.

  My cheeks burn under her unflinching scrutiny. ‘And, I, um, may drink more than I let on—’

  ‘But surely these are trivial things, Didi,’ Akshay interjects. ‘They don’t really matter!’

  Didi fixes him with a look. ‘Family name and honour, do they matter?’

  Oh, it’s about my work then.

  ‘Didi, I’m sorry, but I can’t stop working, I just can’t. I love my job too much to even think about quitting.’

  ‘I’m not going to stop working after marriage, why should she?’ Akshay says firmly.

  ‘Maybe she should just stop conducting herself in a manner that brings disgrace to our family!’

  Didi makes the accusation in such a dramatic fashion that I almost swing my head in her direction in slow motion and go, “What? What? What?” thrice, like in those Hindi serials. I think I know what this is all about. She’s found out all about Sammy.

  ‘Sorry Didi, I shouldn’t have lied about Sammy being gay,’ I say in a repentant voice.

  ‘You lied about that?’ she gasps.

  My face burns. ‘Um, yeah, he’s not exactly gay, I mean, completely not gay.’ The words rush out of my mouth. ‘I-I’m so sorry, Didi. It’s just that you looked so shocked when you discovered my roomie was a guy, I panicked, I thought you’d disapprove—’

  ‘Of course, I disapprove,’ Didi says in a choked voice. ‘Anyone in their right mind would!’

  ‘Didi, it’s Mumbai, it happens,’ Akshay says forcefully. ‘We shouldn’t have withheld information—’

  ‘—or lied about Sammy’s sexual orientation,’ I add.

  ‘—and we’re really, really sorry about that,’ Akshay says sincerely. ‘But Didi, please, it’s just an unconventional living arrangement, that’s all. I really don’t mind—’

  ‘But surely you mind if your fiancée goes around borrowing money from your family friends?’

  It’s so unexpected that my breath is knocked out.

  Akshay’s forehead furrows ‘Sorry, what?’

  Didi leans back in the chair, a ‘Didn’t know about that, did you, huh?’ expression on her face. ‘Misha recently borrowed a huge sum of money from Rekha—’

  Akshay holds up a hand. ‘Didi, I’m sure there’s been a mistake. This is all a huge misunderstanding, Misha wouldn’t—’

  He turns to look at me and stops mid-speech at the guilty expression on my face. I meet Akshay’s eyes and cringe. He looks so stricken that I crumple inside my clothes and turn to ash on the heavily carpeted floor.

  ‘Please tell me it’s not true,’ Akshay says beseechingly.

  I grip my knuckles hard and stare at my feet. ‘I’m so sorry, Akshay.’

  ‘But why, Misha?’ he asks, his voice pained. ‘What did you need the money for?’

  ‘I-I’m sorry, I can’t talk about it, really can’t,’ I say in a small voice, tears pricking the back of my eyes.

  Forgive me, Akki, but it’s not my secret to share. Why can’t you read that in my eyes?

  He suddenly sits up straight. ‘Your family! I hope they are all right?’

  Even at this time, even after knowing that I went behind his back, he’s thinking about me. My family. Oh god. A tear rolls down my eye.

  Akshay looks so hurt, my heart nearly stops. ‘Mish! I don’t understand! If you needed money, why didn’t you ask me, why did you have to ask a family friend?’ Akshay thrusts a hand in his hair.

  ‘Good thing I hired a Private Investigator or we’d have never known,’ Didi declares.

  ‘You what?’ Akshay exclaims, springing to his feet.

  ‘Did you really think I’d let just about anyone come into the family? I hired the PI months ago, when you first told me about Misha.’

  Colour drains from Akshay’s face. ‘How could you, Didi?’ he lashes out. ‘I didn’t expect this from you!’

  The effect his words have on her! She does a jack-in-the-box type of levitation and nearly hits the high ceiling of the room. Clearly, he’s never used that tone with her.

  ‘I did it for your own good—’ Didi begins in a small voice.

  But Akshay cuts her off. ‘Have I ever disregarded your wishes, disrespected your decisions?’

  ‘No, never, but—’

  ‘Why couldn’t you respect mine?’ Akshay looks her straight in the eyes. ‘Don’t you trust me?’

  ‘I do, but I-I didn’t want you to get hurt—’

  ‘But that’s exactly what you’ve done, Didi!’ he storms.

  Oh god! After trying so, so hard, I’ve ended up exactly where I didn’t want to: at the frickin’ centre of a bloody family strife.

  ‘Akshay, please, don’t!’ I quickly wipe my eyes and get to my feet. ‘I’m leaving.’

  He grabs my hand. ‘Misha, you’re not going anywhere till you tell me what’s going on.’

  ‘I can’t,’ I cry out.

  ‘You can’t tell me, Misha, me?’

  ‘I gave someone my word,’ I whisper.

  ‘And you’re ready to jeopardise everything, willing to throw away what we have, for t
his person?’ Akshay asks incredulously. ‘Doesn’t our relationship mean anything to you?’

  It means more than anything in the world I want to cry out.

  ‘I’m asking you to tell me the truth, Misha,’ he says, a tone of finality in his voice.

  ‘And I’m asking you to trust me, Akshay!’

  His eyes flash. ‘I’m having a hard time doing that, under the circumstances,’ he bites out.

  ‘If that’s the case,’ I say in a shaky voice, ‘maybe we shouldn’t see each other again.’ I rush out as my composure cracks and tears threaten to overwhelm me.

  Akshay follows me out of the room. ‘Misha, wait!’

  I pause for a second, but only to whip the ring from the handbag and hand it back to him.

  17

  ‘Hai, Misha, you toh look like a choosa hua aam!’ Rekha Aunty clucks, concern written all over her face.

  The only time Rekha Aunty gets my name right and I’m looking like this. My face all blotchy, my nose like Rudolf the Reindeer’s, my eyes baggier than Snoop Dog’s jeans.

  ‘Bad cold, Aunty,’ I lie through my teeth, wiping my nose with a paper napkin.

  It’s been two weeks since the showdown—breakup, Misha, breakup—and I’m a wreck. A train wreck. A colossal freight train wreck. The word is out in the swish set, I bet. In my fast dwindling social circle, it most certainly is.

  Sammy has a fair idea. I mean, it’s hard to share a roof with someone and pretend all izz well. I don’t know how soon-to-be divorced couples do it. I don’t know how my parents did it.

  Speaking of parents, Mom called a couple of times, but I refused to answer. I’m not sure I want to talk to her. I don’t want to talk to Poulomi either. In any case, she seems more interested in talking to Sammy. I heard him chatting with her on the phone the other day. Nothing like having a common enemy, I guess.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ Rekha Aunty presses on. She was here last week. And something tells me she’s here again only to check on me.

  ‘A-okay, Aunty.’ I give her a wan smile. ‘Shall I show you the Viva Glam lipper again? You liked it, right?

  She grabs me by the elbow and pulls me aside.

  ‘Is all this,’ she motions at my face, ‘because of that thing?’ ‘What thing?’ I ask. Then the mist clears. ‘Oh, you mean, the thing I took the loan for? No, no, Aunty, this has nothing to do with that. In fact, I’ve been meaning to call you. I’m going to pay you back soon, very soon.’

  Not a chance! How in heaven’s name will I raise so much cash? HOW? I’ve a sudden vision, of voluntarily entering the flesh trade.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Beta,’ Rekha Aunty waves my earnest declaration aside. ‘I’m toh bas worried about you.’

  You and me both.

  ‘Acha, did you hear about bechare Maheshji?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Arrey, Jeejoo, I mean ki Akshay’s jeejoo—his father passed away…’

  Oh!

  ‘… everyone rushed to Delhi last night.’

  That’s sad. That’s also none of my business anymore. ‘Aunty,’ I say politely. ‘If you don’t mind, I really don’t want to talk about the Agarwals.’

  ‘Oh, of course. I’m sorry. Main bhi na!’ She slaps her forehead. The next instant, her eyes light up. It’s as if an idea bulb has gone off in her head. Courtesy, the goonj of the one tight thappad. ‘Wait one second for five minutes.’

  She reaches for her orange ostrich leather Birkin, roots around for something, and whoops softly when she finds it.

  ‘Here,’ she says kindly, slipping the card in my hands. ‘Just refer me.’

  I peer at it. Dr. Dhurandhar Naik, Counsellor and Cognitive Therapist.

  Gasp! Rekha Aunty’s referring me to a shrink. She thinks I need help. My first instinct is to crush the card and bin it right away. But how can you be rude to someone you owe money to? I promise Aunty I’ll check him out. She makes a pity purchase (the entire Viva Glam gift set), gives me a tight hug and is gone.

  Back at my front door, I’m emptying my hand bag to, what else, look for the house keys, when something falls out. The shrink’s visiting card. I roll my eyes. As if!

  I step into the flat, go straight to the kitchen and make myself a stale sandwich. Sammy hasn’t been leaving me treats anymore. God, how I miss having a house husband. And a bestie. And a Mom. I wish there was someone I could talk to, I think, trudging back to the living room.

  My eyes fall on the card lying discarded on the table. I don’t need help!

  Except that I do. So bad. It’s been two whole weeks since the life altering event, and I haven’t vented. Not to Mom, not to Poul, not to Sammy, not to Ak…

  God, I nearly said Akshay. It’s as if my mind refuses to believe that it’s over. But it is. I wish I could talk myself into believing it. I pause mid-step. Or maybe, just maybe, I could get some else to talk me into it.

  ‘I’ve an eleven o’clock appointment with Dr. Naik,’ I tell the receptionist.

  She motions at the waiting area. I pick up the latest issue of Prevention magazine from the table and slip into an uncomfortable chair. I’m mugging the Top Five Ways to Go from Drab to Fab when the receptionist calls my name.

  My heart starts hammering in my chest. Am I really going to do this? See a shrink? Correction, a counsellor. It’s my day off, I remind myself and I’ve nothing better to do. And if I don’t like the doc, I don’t have to come back. Simple.

  I take a deep breath and let myself in.

  ‘Morning, Misha,’ Dr Naik calls out from behind the desk.

  I hesitate. He has a lot of facial hair, but his voice, it has just the right timbre.

  ‘Morning, Dr D, I mean, Doc, I mean, Dr Naik.’ I clumsily make my way to the chair opposite him.

  I look around, and am instantly disappointed. The office doesn’t look anything like I imagined. I mean, in the movies, the shrink always sits in a high backed chair, a clipboard on his lap, there’s a wall to wall wooden shelf overflowing with books, a leather upholstered couch. But this, this looks like Dr Swamy’s—the kind GP who used to give me sweet golis back in Pune—office.

  ‘So, how can I help you?’ he asks.

  ‘What makes you so sure you can?’ I blurt out.

  His eyes twinkle behind the dark rimmed glasses. ‘Let’s find out, shall we?’ He picks up his cell phone. ‘I hope you don’t mind if I take notes on this?’

  I give an indifferent shrug.

  ‘So what brings you here, Misha?’

  ‘Rekha Aunty felt I should see you,’ I mumble, checking out the framed certificates wallpapering the office.

  ‘And why did Rekha Aunty feel this way?’

  ‘Because I haven’t been myself lately.’

  ‘I see. Could you elaborate on that?’

  So I do. I tell him everything. About Akshay, Didi, Jeejoo. I’m panting by the time I’m done. Because I’m in a hurry to get everything out. For two reasons:

  (a) He charges by the hour

  (b) I’m worried I’ll lose my nerve and clam up

  I feel so good when I’m done. But a ‘Hmm’ is all I get out of him. Bah!

  If I wanted to blow tons of money on a feel good session, I’d have gone to the spa.

  ‘So, Misha, why don’t I review your case and see you again in three days?’

  It’s the same story three days later.

  I talk. He takes notes. And one hour later, he says, ‘See you three days later.’

  And suddenly, I’m suspicious. What if he’s been playing Candy Crush on his phone all the while? Gasp! Dhurandhar is so dhoort! He’s prolonging the visits, so he can milk the patient dry. I shuffle away to the door, feeling resentful, yet resolute. I shall get my answers and my money’s worth next week. Oh, yeah.

  But things are no different at the next visit.

  I vomit all my troubles (Mommy, Sammy, Poulomi). Doc D pats me verbally. Then he suggests I go home and think about my feelings.

  ‘Same time next week?’ Doc D smi
les. ‘What do you think?’

  Ha, not so fast! This once, I’m determined.

  ‘Yeah, sure, Doc,’ I say coolly. ‘But before that, I want to know what you think.’

  He considers it for a second. And I’m kind of sure he’s going to deflect the question. I bet he doesn’t know the answer…

  ‘Well, I think we’re dealing with self-esteem issues here.’

  Oh! I don’t know what I was expecting to hear exactly, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t this.

  ‘All the negative self-talk, the harsh criticism you subject yourself to, the perpetual sense of failure and lack of achievement, the constant comparison with others … these thought patterns, they are so deeply ingrained in your behaviour that you may not even recognise them…’

  @#%, I do now!

  ‘But doc…’ I protest weakly.

  ‘Okay, tell me something, Misha,’ he says patiently. ‘Would you ever consider saying these negative things to a friend or a family member?’

  I stare at him like a freshly minted zombie. Which is my way of replying ‘Hell, no!’

  He takes his glasses off, reaches for the lens cleaner on the table and begins wiping them. ‘It all starts in childhood. That’s when you get a sense of self. But certain negative experiences can hamper the development of healthy self-esteem. From what you tell me, it’s clear that you’ve plenty of unresolved issues with your mother…’

  Uh oh.

  ‘… and they manifest themselves in different forms, causing conflict in your current relationships.’

  Oh no.

  ‘Look at your complusive need to be seen a certain way, as a saviour…’

  Gasp.

  ‘Or your habit of seeking validation, your constant longing for approval…’

  Gosh.

  ‘It all points to deep-seated insecurities.’

  Hell.

  He inspects the lenses and slides the glasses back on. ‘What I’m trying to say is, you keep looking for acceptance outside, but you refuse to accept yourself for who you are. Maybe it’s time you examined your relationship with yourself before evaluating your relationship with others?’

  I’m so zapped. I just sit there gaping at Doc D. He’s not a fraudster, he’s a dudester. Why why why didn’t I know all this? I mean, I’ve lived with myself for years, years.