‘Sid, Neha already has a baby, over a year old. I mentioned that to you, remember?’
Sid’s ears were always his biggest giveaways – they now felt hot, on fire, and he knew they were flushing a deep shade of beetroot. Even as the words came out of his mouth he knew how pathetic an attempt at recovery it was going to sound.
‘Of course, of course, I know that – I know all about the baby. I was simply congratulating her for having had him, and…’
‘Her,’ said Aditi pointedly.
‘Her, of course…’ Sid went on, noticing Neha was beginning to look amused again. ‘… and you know, for having … delivered so well.’ He cringed inwardly as he heard himself blather on. ‘I was only asking when is the baby due to come here tonight.’ He put on a surprised look. ‘Wait a minute! You thought that I thought she was pregnant? Ha ha ha…’ The weak laughter died on his lips as he caught sight of Aditi’s face.
Aditi finished giving him her most withering look, then put a comforting arm around Neha’s shoulders, saying, ‘You know, sweetie, people continue to think you’re pregnant for a long time after you’ve delivered – it’s just so tough to lose that belly.’
Sid and Neha glanced down at Aditi’s flat belly. It was clear that she was trying to be nice but Sid thought it was just making things worse. Neha, however, seemed to have recovered already, an easy smile coming over her face. She shrugged and remarked, ‘I guess I should start cutting back on the calories now, huh?’
To his chagrin, Sid realized that she seemed to be addressing this question to him, of all people. What the fuck was he supposed to say now? He stood there, mouth opening and shutting like one of those goldfish in aquariums, as he considered and rejected all possible responses.
Aditi turned her head and called out, ‘What, Krish? Coming, Sweetie…’ To Sid and Neha she said, ‘I’ll be right back, guys.’
Aditi took a few brisk steps and it was at the kitchen door that she realized that someone was close on her heels. She whirled around and snapped, ‘What?’
‘Don’t leave me, Adu,’ Sid said, panic-stricken. ‘I just called a woman I’ve never met before fat.’
‘Yes, you did,’ Aditi admitted, adding, ‘why are you such an asshole?’
‘Yaar, hello, wait a minute,’ said Sid indignantly. ‘She called me Harish-bhaiya – did you see that?’
Aditi narrowed her eyes. ‘So is that why you insulted her? Was it deliberate?’
‘No!’ Sid sputtered. ‘It’s your fault – why did you tell me all the people with kids had left the party?’
‘Why didn’t you tell me your brain had left the party?’
‘Don’t go,’ he pleaded. ‘You can’t leave me alone any more. I don’t know anyone here, Aditi, and the first person I’ve met tonight probably wants to stab me in the eye with her fork. Actually, you know what? I think I’ll just go home now.’
‘Oh come on – don’t be such a baby,’ Aditi hissed. ‘I’m coming back in a minute – go and have some fun. Tell some people some jokes – you love that sort of thing. Besides, you should really go and make it up to Neha. She’s a great person – I thought you guys would hit it off. Go talk to her.’ She turned away from him and then turned back to say, ‘Just try not to ham, for god’s sake.’
‘I never ham!’ said Sid to her retreating back. He reluctantly made his way back to where Neha was now sitting alone, gazing at the plate balanced on her knees in a cool, meditative manner. He slowly lowered himself onto the sofa next to her, fidgeting a bit as he racked his brain for a safe topic of conversation.
Audiences he could talk to; in fact, he often regaled people with funny stories – he usually had them in splits within seconds. But that was ‘Performer Sid’. Putting on an act wasn’t all that difficult; one-on-one conversations, however, were a different story altogether – particularly with women, and particularly with women you had just called fat. Sid decided that the only way to proceed would be to not think about it. Just be spontaneous, be witty, come on, be ‘Party Sid’, he egged himself on.
‘So … hi,’ he said in a suave manner as if he were meeting her for the first time in the evening.
‘Hi,’ said Neha.
They didn’t speak for a few moments – thankfully ABBA started up again – another vile song, ‘Mama Mia’ or something. He was still trying to come up with something to say when he noticed Neha was holding the plate out to him.
‘Nachos?’ she said.
For a split second he considered making a joke along the lines of ‘Sures, let’s dances’, but rejected it. Wordlessly he took one Nacho from her plate and chewed it in a nonchalant manner, starting to feel very uncomfortable under her cool gaze. Why was she observing him so closely as if he were an interesting specimen of insect life? And where the hell was Krish with that beer?
When in doubt just bitch about the party – that always got the conversation rolling.
‘Yaar, can you believe this Aditi? Who listens to bloody ABBA any more?’
Neha’s eyes widened slightly. After a pause she said, ‘Actually, this is my CD – I thought it would be nice for all of us to listen to some old music for a change.’
Sid’s could feel his ears turning red all over again. ‘Of course … good idea!’
He knew there was no retrieving the situation, and so he said nothing more about the subject. Neha was still gazing at him coolly, and he now felt pressurized to say something else. Safe topic, safe topic, he told himself. Something that Aditi had just mentioned. Ah, yes.
‘So you’ve been in Bangalore for a while, right?’ he said.
‘All my life, in fact.’
‘Really?’ Sid couldn’t hide his surprise. ‘You don’t look…’ He paused uncertainly, realizing he might just be on the verge of putting his foot in his mouth again. What was he going to say now? He didn’t want her to think that he was surprised because she looked so different from his idea of someone from the south – as if he would have expected her to wear that curly hair of hers in oiled pigtails or something.
Neha’s mouth twitched a bit and then she volunteered, ‘Well, my mother is from Bangalore, but my dad was from Coorg.’ Ah. That explained her unusual looks.
‘Oh, so you’re part Coorgi,’ he said, relieved that she didn’t seem annoyed at him.
‘Yes, but it’s not called Coorgi. That’s just the language. The people and the place are both Coorg.’
He racked his brain to remember something relevant. ‘So Coorgs … they’re supposed to be partly of Greek descent, right?’
‘That’s right.’ She smiled. ‘Warrior background. Greek features. Long and bumpy-nosed in some cases.’ She indicated her nose, and for the first time he noticed the small bump halfway down her nose. She continued, ‘But people think we’re supposed to be tall.’ She grinned and shrugged. ‘Too bad I get my height from my mom.’
He couldn’t help grinning, liking her for the way she made fun of herself. He knew that he himself was proud and sensitive about his own looks. A thought struck him. ‘Hey, so where’s your husband?’
She seemed to hesitate for a moment, then said, ‘We’re separated.’
Just when he thought it was going well – typical. Instead of backing off, Sid found himself continuing to blabber, ‘Ah! Separated – is it? As in not by the distance between Bangalore and Delhi but probably you mean really separated, as in no longer together, right? Oh!’ He resisted the urge to smack his face with his palm. He was going to kick Aditi for putting him in this situation. Where was she? He heard himself say, ‘I’m married too. But my wife and I are still together. Oh, but she’s not here tonight, of course.’ For some reason he thought it necessary to clarify, ‘She had an office thing going on, though she really wanted to come and be here with me. We have a blast when we go out together, but tonight it was just not possible because … you know, but still, yes, we’re very much together – been together for fifteen years, actually.’
Neha had been listening intently with he
r head tilted to one side again which he found very distracting. She waited patiently for him to finish, and then nodded and said in a serious tone, ‘Heartiest congratulations.’
She continued to nod her head, now to the music, with a sort of half-smile on her lips. Sid decided to break away from her before he messed things up any further.
‘Listen!’ he said, standing up, suddenly. Neha stopped bobbing her head to the music, and looked up at him enquiringly. ‘I think I’ll go down for a smoke. Also, I need to park my car somewhere else.’ He knew he didn’t have to keep talking but having embarrassed himself so much already it was a compulsion now to explain his every action and thought. ‘There’s this garish yellow car I’ve parked a little too close to, and I think the owner will probably start squealing soon about not being able to get in – there are a lot of snobs who live here, you know.’
Neha didn’t say anything but her smile widened and she batted her heavily mascaraed eyelashes at him.
Sid felt the blood drain right out of his face and collect at the tip of his ears. ‘So,’ he said weakly, ‘it wouldn’t happen to be your car, right?’
She said nothing but moved her head forward slightly, raising one eyebrow in an eloquent gesture. As his shoulders sagged, she added brightly, ‘And … Sid, I’ll be one of the snobs moving into this community soon…’ The expression of horror on his face seemed to add to her amusement, ‘… and I really hope I’ll be seeing lots more of you around here.’ She seemed unable to control herself now and began shaking silently. Throaty giggles escaped her, and then, that laugh of hers started up again.
Once again people were turning towards the two of them. He felt rooted to the spot because a part of him wanted to just watch and listen to that laugh. But he had to get away from her somehow.
Krish sauntered up to the two of them and said, ‘Is Sid telling you a joke, Neha? Funny, isn’t he?’
Krish was an easy-going man whom Sid had always liked despite the fact that his burly six-three frame always gave him a complex. Right now, Sid was so glad to see him that he reached up to him with a ‘Heyyy, Brother!’ and an enthusiastic hug that almost knocked the wind out of Krish. Too late did Sid realize that he usually greeted Krish with manly handshakes, and not bear hugs, but there was nothing he could do about it now.
Neha’s laugh had slowed down enough for her to respond to Krish, her amused eyes still on Sid. ‘A joke? Several jokes, actually.’
She looked all set to start laughing again so Sid hastily told Krish, ‘Was just going down, man – I’ll be right back.’ He left the two of them and bolted out the door.
In the cool night air, it took a few desperate puffs of smoke for him to calm down before he could even think about moving his car. He went over to his WagonR and squeezed into the driver’s seat, keeping as much distance as possible from the yellow car that belonged to ‘That Girl’. He revved up the engine and backed out slowly. He drove around for the next few seconds, looking half-heartedly for another parking spot.
Then, with an air of determination, he strapped on his seat belt. Who needed parties, anyway?
Some nights, bed was clearly the only place for him.
3
Domestic Bliss
Sid knew it wasn’t real, but he wasn’t going to allow that to bother him too much.
He was standing there on the stage, dressed in his sharpest suit, and had just finished telling a really funny joke. He had the audience in splits, rolling in the aisles. He’d had this dream before, but this time there was an interesting variation – this audience consisted only of beautiful, naked women, breathless with laughter and clearly waiting to mob him after he finished his stand-up act.
Why would he ever want to wake up?
‘WAKE UP, SIDDHARTH’
His eyes snapped open. Mandira was standing by the bed, glaring at him. With effort he propped himself up onto his elbows. If she had called him Sid like everyone else, he would have cracked a joke about the movie Wake Up Sid, but he was all too aware that the fact that she was calling him by his full name meant trouble. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it, and said groggily, ‘I’m up, I’m up. What time is it?’
Mandira just sighed and started flitting around the room, picking up random objects and replacing them in a harried manner. Sid glanced at his phone, 7.10 a.m. It wasn’t that late – his alarm had only gone into snooze twice thus far. And that always annoyed Mandira –that he could ignore his phone alarm any number of times until he felt truly ready to get up and face the world. He shook his head trying to get his dream out of it. He then noticed that Mandira was fully dressed for work, wearing a peacock-green salwar suit that looked brand new and fit well on her slim figure. She was looking nice, he thought, and he was just about to compliment her when she curtly said, ‘I need to leave early – important presentation. You need to get up now – make sure to let Sunita in when she knocks. And remember to tell her not to cook dinner.’
‘Why no dinner tonight?’
Mandira shot him an irritated glance, and he felt his own irritation rising. No one deserved to be rudely snapped out of an interesting dream, and to be treated with such hostility on a Monday morning. She said slowly, in the manner of someone explaining something to an errant and particularly slow four-year-old, ‘Because, Siddharth, we agreed that we would have dinner with Vikas and Sunny tonight – remember?’ She turned to look at herself in the mirror, examining her big black eyes done up with kajal and added, ‘If you can take time out of your busy schedule, that is.’
Aha – so that’s what it was, she was still bugged with him for going to Aditi’s party. That evening it had all started with an argument about some inane thing which he didn’t even remember now, a rather common phenomenon of late, and she had claimed she wasn’t feeling well, adding that he could go ahead without her if he liked. It was only afterwards that he realized what she had really meant was that she expected him to stay home and take care of her the entire evening so that they could make up. He had tried to tell her that he would have, but he had taken her literally when she insisted she was fine and only needed a little rest. Why couldn’t women bloody say what they really wanted, instead of making you guess things all the time?
‘I’ll be there,’ was all he said now, keeping his tone neutral. He really didn’t want to get into an argument – both of them had busy days at work. Besides, he thought a trifle bitterly, talking never sorted out anything for anybody.
He really didn’t understand why they had to hang out with Vikas and Sunny so much. Vikas was one of Sid’s closest friends – you could say they had been in the chaddi-buddy category in college, especially if you considered some of the racier incidents in the hostel. Still, it seemed nowadays that they were doing this foursome number almost every other night. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Mandira and he seemed to get along a lot better with other people around. They were a far more bubbly and ‘together’ couple in public than they were in private. He sighed in a resigned manner – at least the conversation was more light-hearted when the four were together.
At home these days, discussions invariably led to an argument. Well, Sid thought determinedly, they had been through so many ups and downs over the last fifteen years, and this was just a slightly extended ‘down’ phase. Besides, maybe this was as good as any marriage ever got.
Why did anyone ever get married, anyway?
A brief memory from their early days together at Delhi University came back to him – they were in the college canteen and he was regaling her, his senior by two years, with imitations of their economics professor and more studious classmates. She had laughed till tears came to her eyes, tossing back her beautiful long black hair. She had caught hold of his arm, begging him to stop for a minute to let her catch her breath. He still remembered how that first touch had him feeling all hot and cold. And now? He couldn’t even remember the last time they had actually touched. Their sex life had gone downhill over the last few months. No wo
nder he had been having so many inappropriate dreams of late. He was sex-starved. Who could blame him?
‘See you at eight then.’ Mandira picked up her bag and headed out of the room. She called back over her shoulder, ‘We’ll meet directly at Vikas and Sunny’s.’
She slammed the door shut behind her with unnecessary force, and the sound made Sid cringe. ‘Bye,’ he mumbled, adding sarcastically, ‘sweetie-pie.’ He sank back into the bed and pulled a pillow over his head, willing himself to get back to the nice dream. In about four and a half minutes, just as he was drifting off again, the doorbell rang. He sighed and glared malevolently at the ceiling for a second. The maid was here.
Time to start Monday.
By about 8 a.m. Sid had finished his morning cup of tea and was feeling almost human. He got ready for a shower, humming to himself. The mornings that Mandira left earlier than usual for work were actually kind of pleasant. He had the house to himself, apart from the quiet part-timer that she had hired who stayed out of his way except to hand him his tea and lay the table for his breakfast.
He picked up his favourite large dark-green towel out of the cupboard where it lay neatly folded, all soft after a wash. The bathroom was done up with light-blue tiles, slick silver fittings and was spotless. He had seen living rooms that looked less posh. There were definite advantages to living with a woman and Mandira was particularly conscious about keeping the place looking nice. He decided that he should be more grateful for having her in his life. Sure, they had a few issues, but he needed to remind himself more often about some of the good things about being married. From now on, he vowed with determination, every time I think about Mandira I will remember our bathroom. No, wait, that didn’t sound too good. Scratch that.
He enjoyed a long, luxurious twenty-minute shower – something he couldn’t really do when Mandira was around because she always got hyper about his getting late or wasting water, or something or the other. He quite liked this apartment – they had moved in only last year, but it did feel like home. It was home, actually – as in owned and not rented. Of course, he thought, scrubbing himself absently with her loofah, the EMI was huge, leaving about four rupees at the end of each month in his bank account. But it felt nice to finally be a property-owner. Of course, it hadn’t felt so nice when last month, during a fight, Mandira had used the unappealing phrase ‘Get your lousy ass out of my house’. He didn’t know what hurt more; her impolite reference to his posterior, which he was actually a little vain about, or the fact that she had referred to his, okay, their house as her own.
Sorting Out Sid Page 2