‘I don’t know, Nandini. But you seem to know, and still you want more of the same. How would I know!’
‘Okay, forget that, didi. All I want to say is that Zara Didi is suffering for someone else’s deeds.’ Nandini was clearly avoiding the topic of her violent-only-when-drunk husband. ‘Men are like that only, didi. A woman has to adjust.’
‘Nandini, sometimes I feel that women like you are responsible for their own fate. You deserve to get beaten. You have to understand and teach Gudiya also, that men and women are equals. Gone are the days when women were responsible for everything bad that happened, and men took credit for all the good. Times have changed, understand?’
Nandini nodded, more to let go of the conversation than because she understood any bit of it. Rihana shook her head and grilled her further, ‘But what went wrong with uncle and auntie?’ Rihana asked.
‘The biggest issue dividing our country. In their case, it was like a weapon that cut their relationship into half.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Religion! Memsaab was a Muslim, while Saab was a Christian. Islam and Christianity, both religions, take you to one God, teach you humanity and encourage followers to diligently perform their duties. And in both, one prays after getting down on the knees, which is supposed to teach a person divine humility. Despite that, politicians have been exploiting us in the name of religion. Even the British used it for dividing and ruling us, and till today, those goras sit in their country and enjoy an India–Pakistan cricket match.’ Rihana was amazed at Nandini’s intellectual thoughts. This was the first time she was hearing her like this.
‘Only if uncle and auntie didn’t go down on their knees “together” for religion and kneeled only one at a time for more interesting things, they would still have been tied by the marital knot,’ said Rihana, shaking her head, and got up.
‘That I don’t know, didi, but I’m happy that you came to India and into Zara Didi’s life. Otherwise, she would still have been all alone. We are uneducated and sometimes find it difficult to understand certain things, but I know that the idea of thrusting your religious principles down someone’s throat is neither good for any religion, nor for any marriage. Zara Didi has two names also. One Muslim and one Christian. Saab had named her Zita and Memsaab named her Zohra. Finally, they decided to call her Zara.’
Rihana quickly googled the name Zita and found its meaning to be, ‘the seeker; virgin’. ‘She hasn’t taken the name, but is surely living up to it,’ Rihana murmured.
There was a knock at the gate. ‘Oh! Kanhaiya is here. He is late today,’ Nandini said as she went out to open the gate for him, while Rihana went inside, looking for Zara.
When she couldn’t find Zara anywhere in the room, she guessed she’d be in the washroom. She knocked at the door and said, ‘Stop pooping already and come out. Kanhaiya is here.’
‘Ugh, you are disgusting beyond belief, Rihana. You know I hate poop talk. Sometimes, you act like a typical boy. They start with their poop jokes when they are merely two years old, and pride themselves in narrating them when they are even over sixty!’
‘Being disgusting is better than being a virgin. Why are you not resting today? Work can wait.’
‘No, Rihana. I have to make it to work today, as this deal could make me independent forever. I’ll no longer have to rely on my parents for money if everything works out.’
Rihana didn’t say anything; she knew that the only motivation that was keeping Zara alive was her work and want of financial independence.
‘Is this the same client that you were talking about a few days ago?’ Rihana inquired, recalling their recent conversation.
‘Yes, it’s the same one. I’m positive it will work out.’
Rihana didn’t want to probe much and got ready to leave for her studio. She was also expecting some high-profile clients to see her work.
‘Nandini, please go with Zara today. Don’t leave her alone,’ Rihana instructed. She was worried about Zara and didn’t want her to feel vulnerable at any point. Any kind of anxiety could trigger another attack, and since it was important for her to go to work, sending Nandini along was the only feasible option.
‘Okay, Rihana Didi. I’ll just bring my dupatta.’
Rihana went to her studio in her car, Dhanno, while Zara went to her office with Nandini and Kanhaiya. Not wanting to leave Tiger alone in the house, Rihana took him along with her.
‘Okay, there you go!’ Rihana said, putting on the seat belt for Tiger. By now he was used to the drill. It was surprising how well he understood things from just the expression and tone of the humans he was interacting with. Tiger had completely convinced Rihana that it was better to live with a faithful pet than many men out there in the world—some even in the family.
Upon reaching the studio, she parked the car in the porch of the building and opened the door for Tiger. He quickly got out and walked in. He knew exactly where he had to sit in the studio—straight ahead, on a big beanbag reserved for him. He waited at the door patiently as Rihana handed over the keys to her help to open the doors for them. Rihana noticed Tiger sitting obediently and felt overwhelmed with love for him. Taking care of him gave her a different kind of high. The feeling of watching him grow from the time he was a puppy to now had been very satisfying for her, though she had never expressed it out loud.
Her paintings had reached as far as Sri Lanka, Dubai, Singapore, Mauritius, the United States and many European countries. ‘Your imagination has no reigns, Rihana. You’ll go a long way as you’re a wonder in the field of creativity. You’re an old soul with the hands and experience of a million years. Being my student, you’ve taught me to be uninhibited in my paintings,’ Habib would often tell her when he was alive.
Rihana was carrying on his legacy and taking his name forward. Habib’s kids had settled abroad and had no interest in his paintings. Habib’s wife, Rudali, had been competition for Habib, as she was a professional painter herself. It was this professional rivalry that had led to their separation. Shamita—who had met her at the pharmacy when Rihana was with Saif—had been trained under Rudali, and it would be unfair to say that Shamita wasn’t good.
‘What’s the client list for today, Reema?’ Rihana asked her assistant.
‘Ma’am, we have the CEO of Sheraton visiting us today. They want some paintings for their hotel. Then there is the Maharani of Jodhpur, who wants some paintings for her palace and her seven-star hotel,’ Reema read out before handing over the list to Rihana.
‘Ask Ram Lal to make arrangements for coffee.’ Rihana briefed Reema about what she wanted and where, and Reema took notes. Ram Lal was to Rihana what Kanhaiya was to Zara, the only difference being that Ram Lal didn’t know how to drive. He had worked for Habib for twenty years and was even happier to work for Rihana, as she was not only a good painter but also a very good employer.
Within half an hour, the tables were laid and the arrangements had been made. Rihana had been doing the groundwork for two days, but hadn’t come to the studio because she wanted to be with Zara.
The CEO of Sheraton arrived at noon and ordered three paintings, and the Maharani came by at two in the afternoon. While taking a round of Rihana’s studio, she liked a paining that the CEO had already picked. Though Reema had put a ‘Sold’ tag on it, the Maharani insisted that she wanted the same painting.
‘I’m sorry, Your Highness, but this painting is sold,’ Rihana said apologetically.
‘Can’t you make another one? Duplicate this.’
Rihana was rather amused by her remark and said, ‘Your Highness, my guru, Habib, was suffering from blood cancer. This woman you see in the painting . . . I used to see her in the cancer ward when I would go to visit Habib in his last days. I would see her every day, and there was something extraordinarily beautiful about that woman. Even if I wasn’t allowed to meet her or speak to her, I would just look at her for hours.’ Maharani gave Rihana a curious look.
Rihana continued,
‘You’d be surprised, but allow me to share one of my observations with you. Women look at other women more than they look at men. And in a very different way at that. You tell me, how many times have you admired a handsome man wearing impeccable jodhpurs? But I’m sure you must have secretly admired many women, maybe dressed better than you, or because you wanted to look like them. Am I right?’ The Maharani’s expression conveyed to Rihana that she was able to relate. The creases on her forehead had cleared. So Rihana continued with her story about the painting,
‘Her husband would take very good care of her. Maybe he knew that her days were numbered. While I couldn’t detect any emotions on her husband’s face, the lady was an amalgamation of pain, fervour, fear, love and hope—all in one. I had never seen any other person who could exhibit all those emotions at the same time. So I decided to capture her in a painting. It was difficult for her to keep awake for long hours, so I continued painting her even while she slept. Every time she would wake up, there would be a different emotion in her eyes. So this painting is the story of her storytelling eyes. The eyes that were soon to shut forever when she met death.’ Rihana stopped for a moment and then said, ‘Maharani, I can’t replace those eyes.’
Maharani fell short of words after hearing this. There was definitely no way emotions, especially those, could be duplicated. She instead asked Rihana, ‘Who has bought this painting?’
‘The CEO of Sheraton.’
‘I’ll pay you ten times what he is paying. I love how you have captured her.’ The Maharani was surely making this offer in an emotional state, Rihana thought to herself.
‘I’ll have a word with the CEO. It’ll be better if you can make a request yourself, Maharani. I’m sure he will not say no to you,’ Rihana suggested.
‘Okay, I’ll have a word with him.’
‘Coffee, Your Highness?’ Rihana asked.
‘No, thank you, Rihana. I just drank in all of life through your story in that painting.’ Rihana was overwhelmed at the compliment that the Maharani had just given her.
They bid adieu soon after. When the car disappeared from sight, Reema asked Rihana, ‘What do we do with all the food we laid out, madam?’
‘How long have you been working with me, Reema?’ Rihana questioned with a twinkle in her eyes.
‘For over a year, ma’am,’ Reema answered, not sure where this conversation was heading.
‘And you still don’t know what to do with the food? Knock yourself out!’ Rihana then called it a day. She whistled for Tiger. He jumped off the beanbag and bounded into Dhanno.
‘Let’s go, Tiger! We have made good deals today,’ Rihana said, scratching Tiger’s head lovingly.
Meanwhile, Zara struck a deal with bigger brands to supply elastics to them. Where her father had made enough money with one, she took it to another level, with two companies in her kitty. After two years of fighting her depression and lots of arduous work, the best part was that the deal with the other companies was exclusively hers, with no share going to her father. Joseph Andrews would have been happy to give everything to his only daughter. All that he wanted was a little time from her.
Nandini was keeping a close eye on Zara, but still staying out of her way. To bide the time, she tried making conversation with Kanhaiya. ‘I’m happy to be employed by madam,’ she said to him.
‘I’m sure you are, because they don’t wake you up in the middle of the night.’ He smiled and added sarcastically, ‘But you do. And I have to also suffer in the bargain.’
She ignored the sarcasm and continued, ‘Where do you get such no-nonsense employers these days, Kanhaiya?’
‘That I totally agree with. Money and freedom are two things they have in abundance, and believe in giving us the same too.’
‘Only if Rihana Didi could give up alcohol,’ said Nandini, concerned. She had seen Rihana’s drunken phases in the past and worried that she would end up ruining her health. But then there was this assurance at the back of her mind: if her husband, Harish, was still alive and kicking, literally, despite drinking desi spirits so frequently, she was sure Rihana and her health would do better with the expensive drinks she indulged in.
‘You couldn’t change your husband in all these years. How can you expect Rihana Madam to change?’
‘Change is constant and universal. My husband changed for the worse, but I want Rihana Didi to change for the better.’
4
A Much-needed Release
Rihana and Zara reached Cupid from work within a half hour of each other. Both were bursting at their seams, eager to share their good news.
The expressions said it all when the girls first set eyes on each other. Even before words were exchanged, they opened their arms to each other and indulged in a long, warm hug that conveyed much more. Tiger saw them and wagged his tail, as if he wished to hug them both too.
Rihana saw Tiger and laughed lightly. ‘Ok, you first,’ Rihana said generously, watching Zara’s eyes sparkle like she always imagined they would when they were not consumed with sadness. Rihana saw a new spark of life in Zara’s eyes and wondered how nobody had fallen in love with them. She was so warm, so lovable, that it would be pure ill luck for someone to be away from her. Rihana felt satisfied about having all of her attention to herself for now. She smiled when she realized how she had been thinking of Zara like a lover. She swatted away the thought just as Zara began telling her about her day.
‘I’m officially financially independent. Starting next month, I will be working entirely on my own.’ Zara could barely control her excitement. She hugged Rihana again.
Rihana had never seen Zara so uninhibited and animated. It was like she was an entirely new person.
‘Oh my good lord, that is amazing news! My news isn’t half as exciting, but yours is definitely reason to celebrate tonight. This one calls for a toast. Jim or Johnnie?’
Zara, for once, did not seem hesitant at that thought. ‘Who is your favourite?’ she asked, surprising Rihana with her reply.
‘I like both my boys Jim and Johnnie, but you can start with wine,’ Rihana said, picking up a wine bottle and raising it for Zara to see.
‘Do you really think I can drink?’
‘Why not? You know what William Shakespeare says? “Alcohol is like a thief that steals your brain.” Let it steal the bad part of yours. I presume most of it is bad.’ Rihana was making light of Zara’s condition, but knew it would go down well.
‘Okay! Pour me some wine then.’
‘That’s my girl!’
Nandini baked some pizzas for them that night while they sat over their drinks and chatted. Gudiya offered to help her mother.
At one point, Nandini gestured to Rihana and called her aside. ‘Rihana Didi! Come here.’
‘Didi, don’t make a drink for Zara Didi. It could interfere with her treatment.’
‘Don’t worry, Nandini. I know what I’m doing. This poison is less dangerous than the ones she has been prescribed. I’ll take care,’ Rihana assured her as she knew well by now that feelings paired well with alcohol.
Tiger seemed taken in by the cheerful mood in the room. He wasn’t accustomed to seeing both the ladies at home in the evening and jumped around the living room, wagging his tail wildly to express his happiness.
Zara finished one drink and looked hesitantly at the bottle of wine. She was enjoying the feeling, but wasn’t sure if it would go down well with her.
‘One drink may be good for your celebration, but it won’t do it justice. Why have one when you can have two?’ Rihana winked at Zara as she poured her another drink.
‘You know, Rihana, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me—ever. I don’t know where I would be without you.’ Zara was clearly getting a little tipsy or she would never have said that.
‘You’re a very nice girl. But such a little devil. An attractive devil at that,’ Zara continued, pointing her two index fingers on either side of her head, making two devil horns.
Rihan
a was happy to hear Zara talking like that. ‘But devils are evil, Zara.’
‘No, a devil is just a drunk angel. He he he . . .’ Zara giggled in a drunken tone and got up to give Rihana a peck on the cheek, losing her balance mid-air. Rihana rushed to hold her up and almost caught Zara in her arms. She was so delicate to touch. Rihana sat Zara down on the couch.
‘Oh boy, if only I could hold my drink like you, I would have broken G.G. Casanova’s record!’ Rihana said playfully.
‘Oh yeah, and why is that?’ asked Zara, amused.
‘It’s because men don’t leave a drunk girl, Zara, and I need a bottle to get to the stage you’re in,’ Rihana clarified. She had been so used to alcohol by now that a few pegs didn’t even register. She had to work hard to get drunk.
‘I feel like taking off my clothes. I’m feeling hot . . . suffocated,’ Zara confessed.
‘Go ahead! Do it, Zara! It’s just you and me, and you can relax!’ Rihana encouraged her.
Zara looked at Nandini and Gudiya, who sat in one corner, as if enjoying the show. On seeing the girls’ attention on them, Nandini asked, ‘Rihana Didi, should we give Zara Didi her medicines?’
‘No, Nandini, I don’t think Zara will need them tonight. You can close the door and leave.’
After Nandini and Gudiya left, Rihana helped Zara wriggle out of the top that she was struggling with.
‘I feel good now,’ said Zara with a sigh of relief. She sat next to Rihana in a bra and jeans. Rihana noticed that there was nothing fancy about Zara’s lingerie—it was just a plain cream-coloured seamless soft bra. Rihana had started to realize that comfort was perhaps paramount in lingerie. She had been stuffing her DDs with extra cups, more for others than herself, of course.
Rihana looked at Zara and wondered: Some men love to see sexy lingerie, but is it worth all the pain and effort for the less than five minutes of display time? She felt that with men, women were like a binary digit—0 or 1—either completely decked out or naked. Even if the women were dressed, the men were always undressing them in their minds. There was no in-between state.
Love Bi the Way Page 6