The movie was a delightful assault on the eyes and ears, alternating between dialogue in English, dialogue in Hindi, and slapstick musical numbers telling a tale of two friends reminiscing about hilarious college antics as they search for their long-lost friend who inspired them to think differently. I smiled thinking of our merry trio of runaways, and how people must have thought we were crazy for what we’re doing. One of the songs that inexplicably featured a dance routine in a male dorm bathroom spoke of how to treat life’s worries. The movie’s take home message was to remember to tell yourself that, “All is well.”
And so as I thought of Adam, and what my revelation would bring, I told myself, “All is well.”
After nearly four hours it was finally time for the big kiss. As the two main characters finally locked lips, the crowd whistled and hollered like a sexually repressed sitcom laugh track on top volume, and I felt someone nudge my shoulder. Turning my head, I looked at Jade, who was looking down the row. I covered my shock as Lana stiff-armed Hari in the shoulder and wagged a finger in his face. Once she brought her arms back to her own body and folded them in front of her chest, they both looked our way, pleas for very different forms of help etched in their faces.
With my poker face strong, I turned back to the screen and kept my eyes there until the credits rolled.
On the drive back to the hotel, Indian pop music filled the air instead of Hari’s usual chattering. After killing the engine in the lot outside of the hotel, he insisted that he walk us to our room, despite the fact that the hotel’s security rivaled that of Fort Knox. Jade, Lana and I bounced off each other as we hurried through the door together, and as Lana turned to close the door, over her shoulder, I saw Hari standing in the threshold, eyes wide like a puppy begging for his new favourite toy.
“Miss Lana?” he said in a pleading voice.
“Goodnight, Hari,” she replied flatly before slamming the door in his face.
I could have sworn I heard a pained groan. Either emotional, or the door literally hit him in the face. With a frustrated sigh, Lana flopped onto the bed and covered her face with her hands.
“Can one of you please talk to him? I know it’s really high school of me to ask, but I’d really appreciate it.”
Seeing a chance to make it up to her for my bitchy attitude, I volunteered.
***
The following afternoon, Hari took us back to the Old City for lunch and more fabric shopping. And, as usual, he was unable to stay more than three feet away from Lana. From the wall of folded fabrics, she pulled out a sari the colour of ripe strawberries accented with a gold paisley trim. As the shopkeeper fumbled with the discarded silks, she told her that it was a wedding sari.
“Miss Lana,” he said with wide eyes turning wistful, “that sari would look so wonderful on you. Perhaps you could put it on for just a moment? And then perhaps miss Harper could take a photograph of us together.”
Lana shoved it back onto the shelf and glared at me. I tossed my hands in the air. Fine fine, I’ll go ahead and crush this poor man’s heart for you.
“Hey, Hari, would you mind taking me to see some of the sites of the city?” His face flashed with disappointment. “I would really appreciate it.”
The girls and I agreed on a place to meet in two hours and, with a sigh, he stood up and I followed behind as he trudged out of the door, turning back to Lana for one last look. We drove in silence through the city until we reached the shores of Man Sagar Lake.
“Miss Harper,” he said in his unceasing formal tone, “we have arrived at the Water Palace.”
After a couple of beats it came into view. Rising from the glittering waters stood a sand-coloured cube-shaped building, two stories tall from the surface (three more remained below), with elegant domed towers on each corner, arched windows in the walls and the tops of trees that spoke of perfectly pruned gardens fit for the Maharajas of ages past.
Pulling into a parking lot across from the pavement that lined its banks, Hari escorted me across the road. He pulled out a cigarette and began chain-smoking his way through a pack. I adjusted the settings on my camera, stalling. I had no idea how to bring up the topic. I mean, I could have just gone for the jugular: So Hari, Lana is in no way shape or form attracted to you so just cut it out already. But that seemed harsh. Or perhaps I could do the roundabout thing and say that she has a boyfriend, or she’s a lesbian, or she’s asexual, or that she has a rare disorder that leads her to be attracted to inanimate objects. But then I figured he might take it as a challenge and try and convert her.
“So maybe we could come back another time to see this,” I said as an idea formed. “I’m sure the girls would love to see this. Especially Lana.”
Please take the bait…
I glanced out of the corner of my eye. He dropped the cigarette on the ground, and a smile pulled at his mustache. “I think so, too. I would like to take her here.”
Bait taken. It was time to reel him in and club him over the head. “Hari, you know we leave India soon, right?”
His face dropped as he nodded. “I do, that’s why I am hurrying to make Lana fall in love with me. She is so beautiful and virtuous. It makes me red with anger to think of another man have her virginity on her wedding night.”
I disguised a laugh as a cough. If only he knew that ship had sailed long, long ago. Then I decided it was best to just come right out and say it.
“Hari, it’s not going to work.” I then proceeded with all of the rational explanations I could think of including, but not limited to, the distance, the cultural differences, the religious differences, she didn’t want to live in India, he probably wouldn’t like Canada, and finally, “I don’t think she likes you in the way you want her to.”
And each time all he would say was, “But I love her.”
“Hari.” I raked my fingers through my hair, struggling to find words that would make him understand. Heat blazed in my face as I pushed through the guilt I felt for having to break his heart and frustration that he just wasn’t getting it. I took a deep breath and out shot, “You don’t know what love is.”
Hari’s eyes bore into me like a wounded animal staring down a hunter. “And you do? You choose to be here, and your fiancé is thousands of miles away.”
“My relationship is none of your business,” I fired back, steadying myself against the railing.
“And my love for Lana is none of yours.”
We stared each other down, and then broke eye contact at exactly the same time. With no more words spoken, he pulled a cigarette from his pocket, and I raised my camera and turned it towards the lake.
Chapter 10
Anxiety twisted in my stomach as Hari drove me to the Internet café for my Skype date with Adam. Since our chat at the lake, things were awkward between us, but he didn’t let that get in the way of his job. I had yet to form a plan of how to tell Adam, and without a plan, I felt like a child lost in a crowded fairground.
As I paid my deposit for the computer, the man behind the counter gave me an unnerving look. In India, it is not considered rude to stare, and let’s say, he was being a bit too polite. And the fact that it was just he and I in the room made me feel even more uncomfortable. Under the harsh glow of fluorescent lighting, I buttoned up my cardigan as high as it could go, walked past the empty rows of computers, and took the one in the furthest corner away from Creepy McCreeperson, logged into Skype, and pressed call.
I chewed on my lip as the video kicked in. Adam’s face wore a solemn look. After a terse exchange of greetings and an awkward silence, he said, “I’m so sorry for what I said.”
“It’s okay.” I forced a smile and bit back an apology of my own.
“At first, I was so upset that you had left,” he continued, “and I hoped that you’d change your mind and come home, but now that I’ve had time to think about it I’m actually really glad you’re getting this travel thing out of your system.”
“Travel thing?”
“Ye
ah, babe, I have no desire to go to any third world countries. Not now and not when we’re married.”
But I wanted to build a career on traveling. I told him on our first date of my dreams of seeing the world.
“Why do you want to marry me?” That question surprised me as much as it did him.
He paused and pressed his fingers into his forehead. “When you told me you were leaving, I couldn’t let you go. You know I need you in my life. I love you. You are my happiness.”
Suddenly, I felt weighed down. I loved that he loved me, and I brought him happiness, but to be his happiness was a huge and unfair responsibility. I was barely managing to maintain my own.
I could feel my own truth kicking and screaming to get out. “I have something I need to tell you.” I had to say it. And I had to say it now. “Adam, when I was in Goa, I kissed someone.”
His mouth fell, and his face froze on the screen. I clicked the Skype box and moved it around the screen to see if the program had stalled. A sound croaked through the headphones, and he finally moved.
“You did what?”
“I’m so sorry. It was stupid, I was drunk, it meant nothing, and I’ll never see the guy again.”
“I was scared that you were going to do this, but I actually didn’t think you would.” I rested my face in my hands, wondering what I could say to make it better. He continued, “Wait. Did you do it to get back at me for what I said?”
“No.”
Then I realized I probably should have said yes, we could probably work through me wanting to spite him, but the real truth, I did it because I wanted to, because I felt a strong attraction to someone else that was uncontrollable. Primal. Something I had longed to feel and never could with him was an issue we couldn’t work through.
“So why did you do it?”
“I…I… -”
But before I could finish my sentence, I was engulfed in darkness. The only sound I could hear was my speeding pulse. Panic set in as I gripped the edge of the desk unable to see anything, even my hand in front of my face. It wasn’t the first blackout we had experienced, but I was never alone in a strange room with a strange man before.
All is well.
Steadying my breathing and forcing myself to stand, I pawed about blindly in the pitch, trying to find my way. Stumbling over rolling chairs as I made my way to the door, it hit me: Creepy McCreeperson had not made a peep. Not even a, “Don’t worry, it’s just a power outage.”
With clammy hands I reached for the mace I kept in my pocket. As my breath began to labour, my mind flashed to a worst-case scenario. Tears pooled in my eyes as I thought of Audrey. But the fear I felt in that moment paled in comparison to how she must have felt staring down the barrel of a gun. Then I bumped into something, and I nearly barfed up my heart. Two hands grabbed me on the ass. I bucked wildly and shoved him, freeing myself from his grip. Pressing on the nozzle in the direction of the clattering sound of a body hitting a desk and chairs, I released the pepper spray into the air.
As it burned my eyes, I fumbled to the door, pushed it open, and ran down the alleyway as fast as my feet could carry me in the direction of the car park. Following the glow of headlights, I found myself drowning in the din of cars honking and men shouting as they thronged in the road, having deserted their pitch-black buildings. Never having felt more vulnerable in my life, I held myself with my left hand and held my mace high in my right hand in case someone else got some ideas about a non-consensual game of Seven Minutes in Heaven.
I called out, “Hari!” but it drew the attention of unfamiliar men. Keeping quiet to draw no more attention to myself, I pushed through them, searching for where he had parked.
A thin frame silhouetted against the headlights of a white sedan caught my eye. Hari. Gulping the muggy air, I walked towards it as if approaching a wild animal, and then past it, so the light would illuminate my face. The last thing I needed was to get in the wrong car with the wrong man. As I recognized those big almond eyes and bushy mustache, relief lapped over me and I nearly, oh so nearly, hugged him.
“Miss Harper, are you alright?”
“Please take me back now,” I said, fighting to steady my trembling lips.
On the way back to the hotel, the city lights illuminated again. As I stepped through the door, I walked in on Jade and Lana conducting a business meeting held in child’s pose on the bed. When I told them of my time in the Internet café with Rapey McCreeperson, we decided that no one was to be left alone again.
“I told Adam about what happened in Goa…” I said, giving them the events leading up to the blackout.
“So what’s next?” Jade asked.
“I don’t know.”
***
Date: February 6, 2010
Pushkar, India
The drive from Jaipur to Pushkar was one of our shorter trips, and after yet another sleepless night, I stared out of the window as we drove into the endless ocean of rolling sand dunes of the Thar Desert. The Skype conversation with Adam reverberated in my mind. It felt as if he didn’t know me anymore, or worse, he wanted me to abandon my dreams. He was neither drunk nor angry and made it clear that he saw what I was doing as a phase when I felt I made it clear that it was what I wanted to do with my life. I really loved him, and I didn’t want to lose him, but how could I marry someone who didn’t support me?
***
Our new hotel had a shaky Wi-Fi connection in the lobby, and as we were checking in, I looked at my messages. There was a stream of barely coherent angry messages all in caps lock, and I read them in his voice, shouting at me: How could you do this to me? What kind of person are you? I can’t believe I’m over here planning a wedding and you’re over there kissing other guys!
I clenched my jaw, fighting the guilt. Finally the stream of messages calmed down. He said he wanted to talk about it some more after he returned from a work conference in Ottawa in a few days. Something struck me as odd as he had never mentioned this work conference before, but then again we hadn’t exactly been talking twenty-four-seven like we used to. I closed the window without replying.
With mango lassis chilling in our hands, we set out to explore Pushkar. Worrying wasn’t going to change anything, so I put my focus on my photography. As we walked along the sandy strip towards town, the girls entertained flirtatious young rickshaw drivers inviting us for tours. Still shaken up from the night before, I kept my head down and ignored them completely.
Buildings rose from the desert appearing to have been constructed from the caramel coloured sand, with no building standing taller than three stories. Mangy cows roamed the narrow roads, hand-painted signs plastered to shops begged for our attention, and Indian trance music pulsed through the arid air. Cigarette in hand, Jade popped in an out of Ayurvedic spas while Lana pawed at camel leather handbags. Raising my camera, I captured portraits of elderly women selling fruit and vegetables from burlap sacks, shielding themselves from the blazing afternoon sun under parasols.
Once we had gorged ourselves on freshly fried potato patty burgers, Jade led us to the town’s famous ancient Brahma Temple. Reading from the guidebook, she explained that according to Hindu scripture, the god Brahma defeated the demon Vajrayana with a lotus-flower (it seemed to be a much less violent time), and as the petals fell springs emerged, creating lakes. Pushkar was located on the shores of one of these lakes and, as a holy pilgrimage site, many Hindus bathe their sins away in the lake. I toyed with the idea of taking a dip myself. Perhaps it could wash away my Goan sins. Walking through a tall sandstone archway adorned with pillared canopies we entered a courtyard of white marble and stone ghats, or stairs, which led down to the lake.
Taking a look at the holy water, I glanced at Jade. Her serene expression twisted with disgust.
“I’d rather go to hell than go in there,” Lana said with a snort.
“Have some respect,” Jade snapped. “But yeah, there’s no way I’m bathing.”
The lake had receded into the sands, but ha
ving been prepared for the dry season, the locals constructed a pool to contain some of the water. Along with the feathers and droppings of the millions of pigeons that called the temple their home, the mold-green and stagnant smelling water looked as if you’d come out with a third leg and sepsis.
“Would you like to be blessed?” A string bean of a man said before claiming he was a priest.
Catching me off guard, he shoved a small bouquet of handpicked marigolds into my hand before leading me by the hand down the ghats to the water’s edge. Something told me that this man wasn’t a priest, and I think it could have been the flared jeans, but rather than fighting what was happening I figured, when in Rome. Inviting me to sit with him, he asked my name, where I was from, and how many family members I had. I told him three then realized that there were only two left. Then he asked me to close my eyes. As he held my hands he instructed me to repeat after him as he chanted words in what I presumed to be Hindi. Apparently they were prayers for luck and protection of my loved ones, but he could have been repeating his shopping list for all I knew.
“You may ask God for whatever it is you need. He is listening.”
Since that night in Goa, I couldn’t shake Audrey from my mind. She has never left my thoughts, but the urge to talk to her grew each day, but I knew she would never answer. I had grown up so thankful to have a big sister to talk to about life issues, jobs, friends, and especially relationships. But I needed to talk to her more than ever, and without her, I felt as if I were flying blind. I asked God if I could talk to her. If only for a moment. I would have given anything in the world just to hear her voice again.
A warm breeze caressed my face, and when I inhaled the scent of my “priest’s” Old Spice cologne, I felt very silly.
Peeking through one eye, hoping it would be over soon, I saw him pull a small tin from the breast pocket of his Saturday Night Fever shirt. He dipped his finger in the powdery contents. I squeezed my eyelids shut. Then, as I felt pressure in the space between my eyebrows, he branded me.
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