Love Bi the Way

by Bhaavna Arora

  ‘And so are “depression”, “misery” and “death”. Seem like synonyms to me sometimes. And do you know anyone who has lived happily in a relationship? I don’t . . .’ started Rihana, but was cut short by her ringing mobile.

  ‘Oh! Where are you? . . . Ok! . . . Take a right after you cross the M Block market. You will find Blue Cross Medicals on your right. Stop right there, I’ll come and pick you up.’ Rihana hung up and asked Kanhaiya to take Dhanno out.

  ‘Zara, I don’t want Kanhaiya to know about Saif,’ said Rihana while putting on her boots, paired with a short denim skirt and a halter-neck top.

  ‘As if he doesn’t know about all your other wild escapades!’ said Zara, trying sarcasm for a change.

  ‘It was only once that I was drunk and he had to clean my vomit in the car!’ said Rihana.

  Zara give her a dirty look. ‘Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. I rest my case, your honour.’ With that, Zara put her glasses back on and went back to writing her blog post titled: ‘Why do women put up with abusive men?’

  ‘See, that’s why I prefer to drive my own car,’ Rihana said.

  ‘Drunk driving is banned not only in India, but everywhere across the world, Rihana. You first get attested as a drunkard and then you will be arrested for drunk driving. This will make brilliant front-page copy for any newspaper,’ Zara said.

  Rihana was a renowned painter, and the media is usually notorious with such kind of news. They would hit the jackpot and mint money if they printed any news on Rihana, because for the media, any bad news is good news, and any good news is boring. And who wants boring?

  ‘I know how to divert the police’s attention, Zara, and I did it last time,’ Rihana was now on the back foot, but like she wasn’t giving up on liquor, she was not going to give up on the argument either.

  ‘The last time you hit a lamp post, my dear,’ Zara reminded her.

  Rihana retorted, ‘No, I did not. The bloody lamp-post hit me. Don’t remind me of that incident, Zara. I went broke just to get my car repaired. I’m sure that lamp post never understood the damage it caused in my life. And roads are not meant to have lamp posts right in the middle. The government is at fault. One would never have such a problem in New York.’

  Zara saw no reason to respond to such childish defences. She knew she had won the argument and the point had registered in Rihana’s mind—or so she hoped.

  Rihana impatiently called out, ‘Kanhaiya, let’s go—fast! I’m already late.’

  Later, after covering some distance, she asked Kanhaiya to stop in front of the chemist shop; she called Saif, who answered on the very first ring.

  ‘Where are you?’ Rihana asked.

  ‘Right in front of your car,’ he said, dipping and beaming the car lights at Rihana’s car.

  ‘Oh! Let me come and get you,’ she said.

  Saif rolled down the window of his car when he saw Rihana, smiling flirtatiously.

  ‘Will you come to the chemist shop with me? I have to check for Nandini’s medicines. Couldn’t get one of them in the morning,’ Rihana said.

  Saif jumped out of his car, impressed that Rihana was so considerate about her house help, and walked into the chemist’s with her.

  The moment they walked in, Shamita—the daughter of Rihana’s mother’s friend—spotted her and greeted her with a hug that almost suffocated her. Shamita was a sculptor and had recently won the award that Rihana had bagged a year ago.

  ‘So what happened to your artwork this year, Rihana? Did it get moistened from your wine?’ Rihana blushed at Shamita’s sharp remark, but Shamita didn’t get the satisfaction of witnessing this—her five-year-old son had let out a wail just then and she bent to pick him up.

  ‘Oh baby! See, Papa is buying medicines for you. You’ll be absolutely fine after you take your medicines,’ Shamita said lovingly, pacifying her son.

  Rihana couldn’t stand the sight of wailing children, so she chose to ignore both mother and baby and went to the counter to check for the medicine she wanted. Saif followed her.

  ‘Have the medicines come?’ she asked the chemist. Shamita came and stood next to her, perhaps with the intention of passing another obnoxious remark. The professional rivalry clearly showed on Shamita’s part, and even Saif could gather what she was up to.

  ‘Yes, madamji, I’ll just get them for you.’ The chemist took the medicines out from one of the many cabinets and handed them to Rihana.

  Before Shamita could open her mouth again, Rihana said to the chemist, ‘and a pack of extra-large condoms, please.’

  The chemist came back with two packets and handed them to Rihana. She deliberately turned to Saif and asked him in front of Shamita, ‘One will do?’

  Saif was thoroughly embarrassed and shocked, and fell utterly short of words. ‘Uh . . . yes, one’, he stammered, but Rihana had already turned back to look at the chemist and was nodding.

  ‘There is an offer, madam—buy one, get one free.’ The chemist told her.

  She then turned to Shamita and said, ‘I’m sure you won’t need extra-large ones,’ and deliberately looked at her husband. ‘I was thinking of sharing one with you. Never mind. I guess I will use them myself. Please be quick with the billing.’ Rihana moved to the billing counter after flashing Shamita a cheeky smile, while the latter stood open-mouthed, with a crestfallen expression on her face.

  Saif offered to pay at the counter, but Rihana stopped him. Although she personally loved the gesture of men offering to pay, she preferred to pay herself.

  ‘Okay! Let’s go to my place now. You can follow my car,’ Rihana told Saif as they were walking out of the chemist shop.

  ‘Hmmm! Is it okay if we go out for dinner? I mean, to a restaurant,’ Saif said hesitantly, like he wasn’t sure of what he wanted from Rihana.

  Rihana didn’t think for too long before asking Kanhaiya to make sure the medicines reached Nandini. She also asked him to inform Zara that she was going out for dinner and would be late and that she should not wait up for her. Kanhaiya left with the medicines and Rihana hopped into Saif’s car.

  Unlike many women, Rihana loved cars and machines. Checking out the cool features in Saif’s Audi, she asked, ‘Q5? German?’

  Saif was impressed with her expertise on cars. She had guessed the model perfectly in one go itself.

  ‘I just noticed that you use the indicator switch with your left hand.’ She paused for a moment before continuing, ‘You know, I love good cars and have studied machines and their owners. I firmly believe that the car one drives can tell a lot about the person.’

  ‘So what does mine tell you about me?’ Saif was fishing for compliments.

  ‘I definitely can’t size you up by the size of your car, can I?’ Rihana replied. Saif blushed at her remark, wishing he hadn’t asked.

  ‘You just bought extra-large condoms.’ Saif smiled at Rihana and continued, ‘I don’t know about you sizing me up, but whenever your friend sees a condom, she will think of you—and not very fondly at that.’ Saif grinned boyishly and Rihana grinned back.

  ‘So what car do you drive?’ Saif asked, bringing the topic back to where it was a few moments ago.

  ‘I drive a Boxster,’ Rihana said, in the voice of a mother talking about her adorable child.

  ‘So you drive a Porche?’ Saif said pronouncing it as por-sh.

  ‘It’s not por-sh, Saif. It’s Por-sh-a,’ Rihana said with a smile.

  ‘Oh, I see, mademoiselle,’ Saif said, playing along. ‘So your car says that you’re not a family person. Two-seater!’

  Rihana raised an eyebrow, assessing the expressions of Saif’s face mischievously. ‘If we go by that logic, then I guess your car says that you want to create enough to have your own cricket team! One short of a dozen?’ She was on a roll tonight.

  Not one to give up, Saif retorted, ‘Well, I don’t think I’ll have any success if I started tonight, what with all the condoms you’re carrying.’

  ‘Oh, so you have a big car b
ecause you intend to have a big family some day?’

  At a loss for words, he winked at her and, opening his glovebox, said, ‘So far, I have only used the condoms I store here. So no chance of procreating a winning cricket team just yet.’

  Rihana was happy that Saif was a sport and that they had broken the ice with the Shamita episode. What poor Shamita had intended as an offence had unwittingly helped Rihana’s romance.

  Saif stopped the car in front of ITC Maurya at Dhaula Kuan and both of them stepped out, handing the car over to the valet.

  ‘Nice to see you after such a long time, madam,’ the valet greeted Rihana. She only smiled at him in return.

  ‘What cuisine are you up for tonight?’ Saif asked Rihana.

  ‘Hmm . . . How about Japanese?’ Rihana said excitedly.

  Saif smiled and said, ‘Your wish is my command, princess.’ Amid a light conversation about nothing in particular, they walked into Tian.

  ‘Seeing you after a long time, ma’am,’ said the waiter, pulling a chair for Rihana.

  Rihana again just smiled at him.

  ‘I guess you come here often,’ Saif mentioned, impressed to know that almost all the staff knew Rihana really well.

  ‘Not really! This is a part of their training. The hotel-management course trains them to strike meaningless yet courteous conversation with their clients. Their tips depend on that; make sure you tip him well,’ Rihana said in a demanding tone while picking up the menu from the table.

  ‘I’ll have a salmon sushi with an Indian white wine,’ Rihana told the waiter.

  ‘Chenin Blanc or Sauvignon Blanc, ma’am?’

  ‘Sauvignon Blanc, thank you!’

  ‘And I’ll have a ramen with a virgin mojito,’ Saif said to the waiter.

  ‘Anything else, sir?’ the waiter asked.

  Rihana said, cutting in, ‘That should be all. But we’ll let you know in case we need anything else. And please get the drinks with the food. Thank you!’

  She smiled at Saif and asked him, ‘Do you want your drink before the food?’

  ‘No, I’m all right. I’d rather give you company,’ Saif said.

  When the waiter left, Saif asked, ‘So . . . what do you do for a living, Rihana? You own a Boxster and live in one of the poshest areas in town. You’ve got me curious.’

  Rihana smiled her sweetest smile. ‘On weekdays, I work as a brain picker.’

  ‘And on the weekends?’

  ‘I rent my Boxster to needy, horny men so they can try to lure chicks to get laid. I make really good money out of that, you know.’ Saif looked surprised at Rihana’s confession-like statement. With Rihana, one could never fathom if she was being serious or just pulling a fast one on you.

  He cleared his throat and steered the conversation to safer ground. ‘What do you mean by “brain picker”? I’ve travelled the length and breadth of the world, but never heard of this profession.’

  ‘You doctors are too sophisticated for a profession like that. A brain picker is someone who places animal heads on a table, or on hooks in slaughterhouses, splits open the skull and extracts the brain, which is a delicacy in many cultures,’ Rihana said triumphantly.

  ‘Jeez, are you serious?’ Saif looked nauseated from the gory description.

  Rihana laughed her heart out at his reaction. But she quickly said, ‘I live on the fruit I paint. I’m a painter.’ She didn’t want to gross Saif out any further.

  As realization dawned, Saif looked suddenly animated and said, ‘Wait a minute! Are you Rihana Bahri? The painter who won the Emerging Artist Award last year?’

  ‘Yes, but this year it was the lady at the pharmacy who won the award. And I like to be addressed as Rihana. No titles or last names.’

  ‘Wow! I never imagined we’d be sitting face-to-face like this. I have heard much about your work. And what’s wrong with having a last name? Your name has a nice ring to it. Rihana Bahri . . .’ (When he pronounced her name in a deliberately slow husky tone, Rihana thought his face looked like he was having a mini orgasm.)

  ‘Because they make you lose your identity,’ Rihana justified.

  Saif’s orgasm look quickly gave way to a confused look. Rihana clarified her stand, ‘If I use “Mrs” as a title, it’s for my husband; and if I use the last name, it’s either for my husband or for my father. I would lose myself in between somewhere, you see.’

  Rihana’s answer raised a stupid but relevant question in Saif’s mind and he couldn’t help but ask, ‘So . . . is Bahri your father’s last name or your . . .?’ and trailed off.

  ‘If I said it was not my father’s last name, would you still have dinner with me?’ Rihana asked in response to his question.

  There was a pause for a moment as Saif avoided the question. But wanting to keep the conversation going, he asked a different one instead, ‘I believe your parents are in New York?’

  ‘Yes, they are.’

  ‘Then why do you stay in India? You could paint from anywhere, couldn’t you?’

  ‘You see, a painter needs a soul more than a canvas, paint or a brush. And the world then becomes the canvas. New York lacks soul, in my opinion. I’ve tried to live there, but this place seems to speak to my soul. India and I are like iron to a magnet. The attraction is the same as that of a horny man overcome with lust for a woman he fancies.’

  ‘Why do your conversations begin and end with sex, Rihana?’

  ‘You always tend to talk about something a lot when you get very little of it.’

  ‘Bah! A beautiful woman like you just has to pick and choose . . .’

  ‘Maybe I end up getting very little of it because most men I meet think like that. Plus sex is like a painting. If you really want a good one, all your senses have to be alive and kicking. You can derive the most out of your passions only when all your senses are awakened.’

  ‘Nothing a woman says or does usually surprises me, but you are something else, Rihana.’ Saif had locked his fingers and was cradling his well-chiselled chin on them, his elbows resting on the table. The look in his eyes vouched for each word he said. He looked spellbound.

  ‘Thank you, and I take that as a compliment. But along with the senses, one should also keep the mystery alive. And I like the word “surprise”,’ Rihana said, winking at Saif.

  ‘So you stay alone here?’

  ‘I used to. But now I stay with my friend Zara, whose brain I would really like to pick. Her mother is in some retreat and her father is a businessman here.’

  ‘What is he involved in?’

  ‘What underwear are you wearing?’ Saif wasn’t prepared for this and went pink at Rihana’s question.

  ‘Hmm . . . Jockey. Where did that come from?’

  ‘Almost half of the middle- and upper-middle-class males in India wear Jockey, and he supplies elastic for that brand. He has made his fortune from just supplying elastic. Some people are players, I tell you,’ Rihana said with a pretentious snort.

  ‘Yes, they are, but you should hate the game, not the player.’ Rihana merely nodded, so Saif changed tracks. ‘If he is based in Delhi, why does your friend not stay with her dad then?’

  ‘I like her father and he really does take care of Zara, but parents have committed their share of sins in the past. Children should never get exposed to a parent’s sins if they are to remain scar-free. And there are some things about our parents that we could do without knowing.’

  ‘And I repeat again, hate the sin, not the sinner.’ Saif thought he had given her a conclusive reply, but Rihana gave him a weak smile.

  Just then the waiter came with the food and drinks. As he was laying down the plates with the exquisite-smelling food, Rihana’s phone buzzed. She saw ‘Rohit’ flashing on the screen and ignored the call.

  ‘A stalker?’ Saif asked.

  ‘No, my ex,’ Rihana said, blatantly honest.

  ‘So why don’t you take the call?’

  ‘Your ex will call you only in two situations—either he has had a brea
k-up with his latest flame, or he is drunk and horny and needs to get laid.’

  This was Rihana’s experience speaking. But Saif seemed a little uncomfortable with her directness and, after what seemed like a long silence, asked her, ‘So did you use the extra-large condoms with him?’

  Rihana burst into laughter and took a sip of her wine instead of answering him. Saif squirmed visibly this time.

  They finished dinner and Saif asked if she would like anything else. She declined politely, hinting that her dessert could not be some‘thing’, but rather some‘one’. She poured the last bit of wine left in the bottle into her glass and said, ‘One should never leave something that one begins, whether it’s a bottle of wine or a woman in bed.’

  Saif chuckled and asked the waiter to bring the bill.

  Rihana had downed an entire wine bottle and was sure that Saif wouldn’t be the one taking the initiative. From day one she had been calling the shots and she took the lead here as well. She met his gaze squarely and asked, ‘Do I get you for dessert?’

  ‘You’re direct, aren’t you!’ Saif pulled out his wallet for his credit card and placed it with the bill. Looking at him place the credit card, Rihana reminded him once again, ‘Please tip him for all his exhibition of chivalry.’

  Saif took out some change and placed it along with the bill.

  ‘One should never ignore expecting people, especially when they have done their work well. Their curses can give you a bad stomach ache in the night,’ said Rihana, giving Saif a piece of advice.

  When she had finished the wine in her glass and the bill had been taken care of, Saif pulled Rihana’s chair back gently as she got up and led her to the exit. She was leaning against him while walking.

  ‘How do you feel after the wine?’ Saif asked her.

  ‘Horny.’ Rihana was abrupt and frank. But that was the truth.

  ‘Alcohol, when consumed in the right amounts, will make you feel horny. But an overdose is surely a downer,’ said Saif, trying to show off his knowledge in the area that Rihana had done her PhD in.

  ‘You seem to know a lot about alcohol. Just theory couldn’t have given you such an insight,’ said Rihana.