Your Truth or Mine?

by Trisha Sakhlecha

  ‘Hmm.’ No matter where you go, people seem to love talking about the weather.

  ‘You Delhi? Mumbai?’ he probed when I didn’t reply.

  ‘London,’ I said, looking out of the window. Why are Indians so nosy?

  ‘Look Indian,’ he said.

  A pause. He swerved to avoid a herd of camels. Small dunes had cropped up on either side of the road. We were heading deeper into the desert.

  ‘Know story Kuldhara? Strange place.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Ruler of Jaisalmer wanted to . . .’ he traipsed on.

  I closed my eyes and leaned back in my seat, pushing it back till it was almost horizontal. Not only had I heard the story countless times by now, I had researched it and shot a segment on it. I didn’t need to hear it from him.

  I checked my phone. I had sent Emily a text earlier that morning telling her I was sorry. The kiss was no more than a drunken mistake. I loved my wife. I valued my marriage. I had asked Emily not to come tonight. This was more than three hours ago and she still hadn’t replied. I wondered if she’d stay away.

  She was a sweet girl, Emily. Perhaps in another world we could have been together but here, now, I was with Mia and I had to focus on that. There was too much at stake. I wasn’t about to mess up my marriage like I had all my other relationships.

  I was considering texting her again when the car jerked forward. We had arrived at the transfer point. We had to walk the rest of the way. I got out of the car and motioned for everyone else to follow. I felt like a measly tour guide.

  ‘About two hundred years ago, the residents of Kuldhara abandoned the village. No one knows where they went or why. There are a couple of theories, but the most popular seems to be that the governor of Jaisalmer, a man called Salim Singh, fancied the village chief’s daughter and ordered the chief to send her over to his house in the city,’ I started, my words rehearsed from the filming a few days ago.

  ‘So what? That was pretty common back then, right?’ one of Mia’s cousins interrupted.

  The angry glare from the sun pierced into my neck as I led the group through the crumbling walls of the once thriving community. I paused to take a sip from my water bottle. The queasiness I was feeling had nothing to do with the heat.

  ‘It was, but this man was known to be malicious and the young woman was something of a rebel. They say she vanished overnight, taking the entire population of Kuldhara, fifteen hundred people, with her.’

  A few people were taking selfies with the sandstone staircase that stood in the middle of what must have been a house. No roof, no walls remained. The staircase was leading nowhere. I waited for them to finish before moving on.

  ‘No one’s lived here since?’

  ‘No. Allegedly, the residents buried some treasure within the village before they left and cast a curse condemning anyone who attempted to dig for it or inhabit the land.’

  ‘That’s so creepy, man. What’s the other story?’

  ‘That Salim Singh picked up the girl and had the village evacuated.’

  In both stories, Salim Singh was the villain and the girl the victim. In both stories, the girl disappeared without a trace. I wondered if anyone had ever asked him for his version of events.

  I could feel the hot sand burning my feet through the thick soles of my trainers and I quickly led the group towards the dilapidated ruins of the community centre where lunch had been laid out. After elaborate Rajasthani thalis and sandy tea, we set off towards the cars, anxious to get back to the known comfort of the hotel.

  I adjusted the direction of the air-con vents and checked my phone as soon as we were on our way. Still silence. I waited. I typed another text, then deleted it, then typed it again before deciding to put my phone away. We were halfway to the hotel when my phone beeped.

  i understand roy. i’m sorry too. i let my feelings for you get the better of me. didn’t mean for it to happen. enjoy the rest of the wedding and thank you for being so sweet. i’ll see you in london xxx

  Emily dealt with, I tried to devise a way to tell Mia about the kiss, break it to her gently, but every script I ran through in my mind sounded more contrived than the last. I thought back to my conversation with her mother last night. Mia already had so much to deal with right now; I didn’t want to add to her worries. If I told her about last night . . . Mia saw the world in black and white; her inflexible morals would turn a kiss into something far more licentious. She would be devastated. She would be furious.

  She wouldn’t let it go.

  Telling Mia would only complicate things. It was just a kiss, after all. Emily’s lips had been on mine for a mere second. It wasn’t even a kiss really. It was a glitch – an insignificant, minor glitch – and it shouldn’t matter in the course of a marriage, I reasoned. A non-kiss didn’t matter. No one had seen me. I loved Mia. I wasn’t lying. That’s what mattered. I’d got drunk and made a mistake. Granted, it was a huge and incredibly stupid mistake, but I had fixed it. Emily had agreed to stay away tonight and I didn’t have to see her again. George could always find another assistant. It was really not a big deal and there was no point bringing up something that would only cause Mia more pain, I decided.

  My decision made, a deep sense of relief followed in its wake, the significance of that one moment with Emily fading easily into swirls of rosy desert sand.

  By the time I returned to the hotel, my hair was stuck to the back of my neck, my skin was clammy with grime and my head was throbbing from the sharp desert sun. I swiped my key card and flung the door to Mia’s and my suite open, wanting nothing more than a long shower and a few uninterrupted hours in bed. What I got instead was this.

  Mia was leaning against the edge of the sliding doors that separated the bedroom from the sitting room. She had her back to me. My mother-in-law was sitting on the sofa, clutching one of Mia’s lists and a pen. The glass coffee table in front of her was littered with papers. It looked like yet another wedding crisis and it wouldn’t have fazed me had it not been for my mother. She was sitting on the sofa next to my mother-in-law, wearing a concerned smile.

  ‘Namaste, Mummy,’ I said, addressing my mother-in-law first before walking over to my mother for the more formal greeting that Ma preferred. ‘You look well,’ I said as I bowed down to touch my mother’s feet, dainty under her stiff silk sari.

  Mia turned around when she heard me and gave me an apologetic shrug. She was on the phone.

  ‘Roy, good you’re here, beta. We were just running through the check-out schedule and travel arrangements for the guests leaving tonight. Your mother kindly offered to help.’ My mother-in-law smiled at Ma. ‘She’s so good with organization.’

  My mother is terrible with organization. She just wanted a way in.

  I forced a smile. ‘Sounds like a task. I’ll leave you to it.’ I walked quickly towards the bedroom, ready to slide the door shut.

  ‘Beta, we could use your help.’ Ma. She was wearing her characteristic my-son-disappointed-me expression.

  My eyes darted to my mother-in-law. She set her spectacles down and gave me a watery smile.

  She had been nothing but kind to me all these years.

  I settled down on the armchair across from the mums and smiled one of my perfect son-in-law smiles.

  ‘Of course,’ I said, picking up a handful of tissues from the side table and wiping the sweat off of my face and neck. ‘How can I help?’

  ‘There’s been an accident just outside Jodhpur. Train got derailed.’ She paused before going on to explain. ‘It was a goods train so no casualties. But all trains going through Jodhpur tonight have been cancelled. We’re going to have to arrange road transport for everyone flying out from Delhi tomorrow. Mia’s speaking to the hotel manager about rooms and extending check-out times.’

  She passed the guest list to me.

  About forty guests were scheduled to fly on the nine p.m. Delhi to London flight tomorrow. Emily was on the same flight. I wondered if she knew about the ca
ncellations. I’d have to call her and make sure she was okay.

  ‘Have we looked into hiring a bus?’ I asked.

  ‘The concierge says we can’t find an air-conditioned bus at such short notice,’ Mia said, hanging up the phone and disappearing into the bedroom. She reappeared a moment later, handed me an Evian and perched on the arm of my chair, peering at the list in my hand while I drained the bottle.

  I had driven down from Delhi with Emily and George. Twelve hours in a 4x4 going at eighty-five miles per hour. That had been some ride.

  ‘SUVs?’ I suggested. ‘If we get ones with luggage carriers, we should be able to fit seven people in each car. It shouldn’t be much more expensive.’

  ‘That would work,’ my mother-in-law said. ‘What did the manager say about the rooms, Mia?’

  ‘As long as they check out before eight a.m. tomorrow, they won’t charge us anything extra for up to fifteen rooms. For the rest, it’ll be half the day’s tariff and we can keep the rooms till midday.’ Mia beamed. She was a great negotiator. She insisted the entire concept of fixed prices was a hoax built up to fleece gullible civilians. ‘But we’ve got to run through the list of rooms with him right now.’

  ‘That’s great. Why don’t you guys go down and sort out the rooms? I can speak to the car service in the meanwhile,’ I said. For all our failed attempts at telepathy, I was hoping Mia would get my drift this time.

  It was thanks to her that my mother was even there to begin with, so I felt no guilt at all in letting Mia deal with whatever drama was coming next.

  ‘Sounds like a plan.’ Mia got up and straightened her T-shirt. ‘Shall we go down, Mummy?’ she asked her mother and then turned to mine. ‘Ma, why don’t you come too? I wanted to show you the spa. They’ve got these amazing ayurvedic treat—’

  My mother held up a hand, silencing Mia mid-sentence. ‘I feel a bit ill. I’ll rest here.’

  I took a deep breath. Why did my mother have to be so difficult? All through my childhood, that hand had kept me at bay, disciplining me, silencing me, distancing me. Now she wanted a relationship? Tough chance.

  Mia and her mother left and I busied myself with phone calls. I rang Mia a few minutes later to let her know eight cars were booked for six thirty a.m. tomorrow.

  ‘You’ve lost weight,’ my mother said when I hung up.

  ‘Hmm . . .’

  I sent off a quick text to Emily.

  ‘I saw your article in the National Geographic. It was . . . interesting. It’s good to see you pursuing real writing. Are you doing anything else for them?’

  ‘No. That was a one-off. I’m working predominantly with Vogue and Harper’s Bazaar right now.’

  I could see the contempt creep up my mother’s face – the son of the country’s top neurosurgeon and an award-winning economist writing fluff for womens’ magazines. I had been raised to excel and excel I did: at disappointing my parents. It was their own fault.

  ‘And the documentary?’

  ‘A web series for Condé Nast.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Mia mentioned you’ve had another book published?’

  ‘Yes, have you seen it? Dr Manmohan Singh came for the launch.’

  Of course he did. Manmohan Singh – ex-prime minister, economist and her dear friend.

  ‘Great, I’ll pick up a copy.’

  The pause seemed to stretch for ages. So much had happened, neither of us knew what to say to one another anymore.

  ‘How’s Papa?’ I asked finally.

  ‘Why don’t you ask him yourself? You haven’t been home in a long time.’

  ‘I’ve been busy,’ I said.

  For fifteen years? Her unspoken accusation hung in the air.

  A sigh.

  ‘He’s better. He misses you.’

  ‘Never heard him say that.’

  ‘He’s your father, Siddhant. Everything he did was for you. Can’t you at least try to forgive him?’

  MIA

  Thursday, 10th September

  ‘Hey, we’re ready,’ I said into the phone, looking at the rows of wedding favours Mummy and I had lined up in her room. By the window on the left were three rows of neatly wrapped boxes. The smallest boxes contained miniature horse-drawn carriages in pure silver, to be given to a handful of people – Addi’s and my in-laws, Mum and Dad’s siblings, aunts and uncles; the slightly bigger boxes contained silver-coated metal trays filled with dried fruits, intended for first cousins and close friends; the third row was split between envelopes of cash for nieces and nephews, tiered based on their position in the family tree, and traditional bandhani saris and silk ties for distant cousins and friends. Across from these, on the right-hand side, were the beige and gold paper bags that Roy and I had spent the previous evening filling up with boxes of Haldiram’s sweets, makhanas in sheer gold pouches, and hand-written thank-you cards.

  I started putting the boxes into gift bags and labelling them as I waited, wondering how much damage control I’d need to do tonight. Roy’s mum had insisted on spending the entire afternoon with him, holed up in our suite.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I asked Roy as he pushed a luggage trolley in five minutes later, parking it in the centre of the room.

  ‘Mummy?’ he asked, looking at the organized chaos around me. He waited for me to shake my head, then added, ‘It was just the usual drama. Let’s not talk about her.’

  Silently, we started arranging the bags on the trolley.

  ‘I’m sorry, sweetie. I tried to—’ I began but he cut me off.

  ‘I know,’ he sighed, leaning over the army of glittering bags to reach for my hand. ‘I’m sorry too,’ he whispered.

  ‘Finally,’ Addi greeted us from her spot on the sofa. She was wearing a fluffy white dressing gown over her lehenga blouse and skinny jeans. One woman was painting her toenails, while another was fussing with her hair. The table in front of her was covered in make-up, hair products, tools and accessories. Her lehenga and dupatta had been laid out on the armchair next to her. ‘Did you bring the jewellery?’

  ‘Right here,’ Roy said, pulling out two velvet boxes from an H&M bag. He held them out towards Addi, but the hairstylist pulled her back.

  ‘Don’t move,’ the hairstylist commanded and Addi rolled her eyes.

  ‘Bet James isn’t being held captive,’ she muttered.

  ‘Bet James isn’t looking half as stunning,’ Roy said, handing one box to me and opening the other one himself.

  I set them both down on the floor and crouched down next to Addi, taking her hand and slipping on the bangles and the rings one by one.

  ‘Can I get you something, Addi?’ Roy asked, hovering beside me. ‘A glass of water, tea?’

  ‘Wine, please, white,’ Addi said instantly. ‘I’m parched.’

  Roy laughed and walked over to the fully stocked sideboard – bride’s privileges – and poured her a small glass, then started fiddling around in the drawers.

  ‘What are you looking for?’ I asked, getting up to help Addi with her necklace, just as the hairstylist announced she was heading out for a cigarette, dragging the make-up artist with her.

  ‘She’ll need a straw, won’t she?’

  I smiled. No other man would have thought of that. ‘Oh, they haven’t got any in here,’ I said. ‘I’ll go and get one from the coffee shop; housekeeping is too slow.’

  I could hear Addi and Roy talking about me when I got back a few minutes later. I couldn’t help but pause outside the door.

  ‘I can’t thank you enough, Roy. I know all this can’t have been easy.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. It was nothing, and you know Mia, she did most of the work anyway.’

  ‘Maybe, but there’s no way she could get through this week without you. It’s always been hard for her, admitting she needs help . . . and with everything—’

  I pushed the door open, uneasy at the slant this conversation was taking, and both Roy and Addi jumped as I marched in, armed with a couple of straws and a plate of
cheese.

  ‘So,’ I said cheerily. ‘Wine?’

  ROY

  Thursday, 10th September

  I watched Mia as she stood in front of the mirror, her shoulders rising and falling rapidly, as if her lungs were trying to get in sync with her brain. She lowered her head and squeezed her eyes shut, fingers digging into the upholstered chair in front of her. She had changed into an ivory lehenga, embroidered all over with small white flowers. Her dull gold blouse was modest, but clung to her in all the right places, and was fastened simply with a sleek bow in the middle of her back. Her bright red dupatta lay crumpled on the floor. She had been trying, for some time, to drape it.

  She looked so beautiful, and so, so broken.

  She obviously had no idea I was in the room or her perfectly-happy-perfectly-fine mask would have stayed firmly in place. I wondered, not for the first time, just how much Mia hid from me about her problems with anxiety.

  I stood there for a few more seconds, and then, when I could stand it no longer, I went up to her and held her, burying my head in the back of her neck, my arms crushing her chest. I breathed her in. Flowers and rain. That Mia smell. The guilt hit me out of nowhere and I tightened my grip around her. I felt her tense up, then relax in my arms, and only when her breathing matched my own did I let her go.

  We looked at each other in the mirror and Mia gave me a small smile.

  Wordlessly, I picked up her dupatta and handed it to her. She tucked one end into her waistband, and then together we twisted the deep red fabric around her torso, draping it over her shoulder. She handed me a pin and I secured it to the back of her blouse, my fingers grazing her back as they fumbled with the tiny gold clasp.

  ‘There,’ I said, stepping back, ‘you’re perfect.’

  MIA

  Thursday, 10th September

  Addi’s wedding party was a flamboyant four-day affair. Mine was non-existent. When Roy told his parents we were engaged, they forbade him from marrying me. They said it would bring shame to the family, me being half English and all. Eager and obstinate, I decided, the way only a love-smitten twenty-year-old can, that our love was stronger than their hatred. We would wait. They would come around. It was all very Romeo and Juliet. But when, after eighteen months of tense Skype conversations, Roy told me his mother had announced they’d found the perfect girl for him, I conceded defeat. Their already fractured relationship crumbled. We agreed that a large wedding would lead to more friction and embarrassment for everyone involved – his parents wouldn’t attend nor would they let any of their family attend. Moreover, we were both at the beginning of our careers and entirely broke. So two years after Roy proposed, we married in an anonymous civil court in Udaipur on a bleak Friday morning. I wore a simple red sari and Roy wore a grey suit – his only suit. We danced and drank champagne with a handful of people at my mother’s house afterwards and flew back to London the next day. Whenever anyone asked why I had opted for such a small affair, I said both Roy and I had wanted an intimate wedding.