Take One Arranged Marriage…

by Shoma Narayanan

  ‘OK, I guess,’ he said. At some point Lisa would tell his mother about her breakdown, but he didn’t feel like talking about it over the phone.

  ‘I saw some of the pictures her mother loaded onto Facebook,’ his mother said. ‘Lisa looked lovely. There was one of you and Tara, too. Isn’t Tara well? She looked very tired and stressed in the picture. Where is she, by the way? I tried calling her a while back, and her phone seems to be switched off. She hasn’t answered any of my messages, either, and that’s not like her.’

  ‘She’s gone out,’ Vikram said through his teeth, cursing Facebook and a world where mothers had access to mobile phones and the internet. If Tara had left him his mother would have to know, but if she was just staying away in a fit of pique there was no reason to get his mum worked up.

  ‘To the lab again?’ his mother asked. ‘Vikram, I don’t have anything against Tara studying as much as she wants, but you need to make sure she doesn’t overstrain herself. She works way too hard. You need to take care of her. It’s the first time she’s been away from her family.’

  ‘Right,’ Vikram said, not able to take it any more. ‘Amma, I’m sorry, I need to go. I’ll talk to you later.’

  He put the phone down and buried his face in his hands. He was missing Tara unbearably, and he was worried about her, too. If he was lucky she’d have gone to Dr Shanta, but knowing Tara it was unlikely. She wouldn’t want anyone to know how upset she was.

  He sat up suddenly. There was a way to find out where she was, he thought, picking up the home phone to call his bank.

  Ten minutes later he knew that the debit card had first been used at a movie hall in a mall, and that the cash withdrawal had been at an ATM in the same mall. The next time the card had been used it had been at an upmarket hotel on MG Road. His first reaction was relief. She was safe, and if she’d checked into a hotel in Bengaluru she wasn’t planning anything drastic like going back to her parents. At least not yet.

  His immediate impulse was to follow her to the hotel, but sense prevailed. He didn’t know her room number and, while he could quite easily bluff his way past the hotel’s guest confidentiality policy, it wouldn’t be fair to Tara. She’d left because she wanted to stay away from him, and he should respect that. It was hard, though, and it became even harder when he saw a message on his mobile phone from Tara.

  Will be back after a few days. Sorry about this. Need some time to myself. Don’t tell parents, please.

  He tried calling her, but her phone was switched off again.

  Vikram spent a sleepless night, with the day’s conversation with Tara spooling relentlessly through his head. He’d been careful to keep his own heart guarded, he realised, but, being a selfish bastard, he hadn’t given a thought to Tara’s. To be fair he hadn’t thought her heart needed guarding. He knew that women found him attractive, and several in the past had claimed to be in love with him. But those were infatuations that had burnt out as quickly as they had flared up, and in Anjali’s case she’d ended up hating him. He’d never thought that a woman who knew him as well as Tara did would fall in love with him. He was good in bed, he knew that, but that was all he had going for him.

  He went to work the next day, though he was heavy-eyed and had a pounding headache. Something in his face stopped people from asking questions, though, and Justin cancelled a few meetings after taking a long look at him.

  ‘You look like hell,’ he said bluntly. ‘I don’t want you scaring clients away. If you’re coming down with something you’d better go home and wait it out.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Vikram said wearily, and went back to his office.

  He was dreading going back to an empty house, but he wanted to be there in case Tara came back, so he left work at six. There was no sign of her, and from what he could make out she hadn’t come back during the day even to pick up her things. Her cupboards looked undisturbed, and her toothbrush and toothpaste were in their usual place.

  The cook had obviously been in the house during the day—yesterday’s uneaten dinner had been thrown away and a new one cooked. The table was laid for two, and Vikram’s appetite fled as he looked at it. He didn’t move the settings, though—there was still a chance Tara might come back later in the evening.

  He finally gave up hope around ten o’clock and went into the TV room, mindlessly staring at the screen till exhaustion claimed him and he fell asleep on the couch.

  When he awoke it was early morning. The light filtering through the green curtains made the room look like an underwater set from Titanic. Vikram sat up and picked up his phone to check his messages. There was nothing from Tara, a couple from work, and yet another message from the bank telling him that his card had been used at the hotel. On impulse he dialled Tara’s number. Switched off. He had the hotel number saved on his phone and, feeling pushed beyond endurance, he dialled it.

  ‘Can you put me through to Naintara Sundaram, please,’ he said to the operator. ‘I don’t have her room number.’

  Tara picked up on the third ring, sounding groggy. ‘Hello?’ she said sleepily. ‘Who’s this?’

  Vikram held onto the phone, tongue-tied for the first time in his life. The sound of Tara’s voice had unleashed a whole storm of emotions within him—he felt relieved, angry and vulnerable all at the same time. But uppermost was the realisation that he cared. He cared about Tara and he couldn’t live without her. Her absence was like a physical ache within him, the agony increasing with every hour she was away. And the worst part was that he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to win her back.

  The irony of the situation didn’t escape him. He’d been incredibly lucky to find a girl like Tara—he’d had the chance to build a new life with her and he’d blown it in every way possible. Even after that she’d fallen in love with him, and he’d blocked her off. He’d been so caught up with his own muddle-headed views on women and love that he’d let the most precious relationship in his life fall apart without making the slightest attempt to salvage it.

  ‘Hello?’ Tara said again.

  ‘It’s Vikram,’ he said, galvanised into speech by the thought that she’d cut the call off if he didn’t say anything.

  There was a long pause.

  ‘Yes?’ she said, and her voice sounded remote and unfriendly.

  ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Just the single word. No smart-mouthed comeback. His heart thudded uncomfortably in his chest. It might already be too late. If she’d given up on him she’d go and not look back.

  ‘When are you coming home?’

  ‘Home?’ Tara repeated, suppressing a hysterical urge to giggle. She’d been wondering if he’d want her back, or if he was so hugely relieved at her leaving that he’d suggest a divorce. It sounded as if he wanted her back, though. ‘I told you—I need some time to myself. I’ll be back in a day or two.’

  He was silent, and for a panicky few seconds Tara thought she’d misunderstood him and he’d been crossing his fingers and hoping she’d say that she wouldn’t return.

  When he spoke again his voice sounded oddly raspy, as if the words were torn from him. ‘I need you back.’

  For what? Tara wanted to ask him. Because she was a handy person around the house? Because she nicely filled up the wife-shaped gap in his social life? Because she amused him? She knew she’d start bawling if she got into an argument, though, so she just repeated, ‘I’ll be back in a few days,’ and put the phone down.

  Immediately afterwards she took it off the hook and, burying her face in the nearest pillow, surrendered to a furious storm of tears.

  Vikram was left staring at a phone that had suddenly gone dead, wondering if he’d made things worse.

  Tara got home on Thursday—four days after she’d left home. Her stay in the hotel had helped to the extent that she had been able to think out a course of action. It hadn’t helped reduce the pain in her heart, though—it still felt as if she’d been punched in the chest every time she thought about Vikr
am’s reaction when she’d told him she loved him.

  It was late evening when she reached home, and she hesitated at the gate for a while. Her courage was beginning to desert her at the thought of having to face Vikram, and she had to stop and take several deep breaths before opening the gate and walking up to the front door. She wasn’t carrying a key, and for a few panicky moments she wondered what she’d do if Vikram had gone out, leaving the door locked. But he opened the door a few minutes after she rang the bell, standing aside to let her in.

  Tara shot him a quick glance as she stepped through the door. He looked the same, she thought resentfully. He’d probably welcomed the peace and quiet in the house while she’d been away. And, though he wasn’t showing it, he had to be gloating about her having come back with her tail between her legs after her dramatic exit a few days earlier. And … She tried to think up some more reasons to fuel her temper, but it was difficult when he was looking at her as if he’d really been worried while she was away. Desperately she tried to hang on to her resentment—it was the only defence she had against him. She was inches away from throwing herself into his arms and bursting into tears.

  Probably he realised it as well, as he quietly took her bag from her and moved away. ‘Have you had dinner?’ he asked.

  She hadn’t, but she wasn’t hungry, so she nodded.

  ‘Do you want to go upstairs and freshen up?’ he asked awkwardly. ‘I’ll clear the dinner things and be with you in a few minutes.’

  Tara looked at him a little more closely then, and noticed the dark circles under his eyes, a muscle twitching in his cheek. Not as calm and collected as he looked, she thought, and a mean little part of her was feeling pleased at the thought of his having suffered at least a tiny bit while she was away.

  ‘OK,’ she said, and headed towards the stairs.

  ‘Tara?’ he said.

  She stopped, not turning back.

  ‘I’m glad you’re home,’ he said.

  She didn’t reply. Her heart was thudding too loudly in her chest to allow her to speak. He didn’t say anything else, and she continued up the stairs without looking back.

  She was in bed when Vikram came into the room ten minutes later, and she shut her eyes, feigning sleep. He slid into bed next to her and she felt a warm hand touch her shoulder.

  ‘Tara?’ he said.

  She didn’t reply, keeping her eyes tightly closed.

  ‘Tara?’ he said again, sounding weary and a little sad. ‘I know you’re awake, sweetheart. We need to talk.’

  ‘Not now,’ Tara said. ‘Please, Vikram.’

  He touched her hair lightly. ‘I’m sorry if I hurt you,’ he said.

  Tara flipped over onto her back to look straight into his eyes. ‘You can’t help the way you feel,’ she said. ‘But you could give me some space to deal with it.’

  ‘To deal with …?’

  ‘To teach myself to fall out of love with you,’ she said flatly. ‘I’ve been thinking about it. Other people fall in and out of love all the time. I’m sure I can manage it. Then we can go back to being the kind of couple we agreed to be, and everyone will be happy.’

  Vikram blinked. Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t this. She sounded so matter-of-fact that for a few dreadful seconds he thought that she was already over her feelings for him. Then he noticed her lower lip tremble slightly, and her over-bright eyes, and his heart went out to her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated.

  She sat up. ‘Stop saying that again and again,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t help. I told you I’ll deal with it. I don’t need sympathy.’

  Vikram stayed silent.

  After a few seconds she said, ‘Look, let me move into the spare room for tonight. From tomorrow everything goes back to normal and we pretend the last week didn’t happen. Deal?’

  ‘Deal,’ he said, wanting to tell her that he was hurting almost as badly as she was, admiring her for the way she was handling the whole mess they were in and, most of all, wanting to take her in his arms and comfort her.

  He didn’t make a move to touch her, though, knowing that her hold on her composure was tenuous. She’d never forgive him if something he did prompted her to break down in front of him. And it was too early to tell her how he felt. She probably wouldn’t believe him anyway. He needed to be sure she was ready to hear it before he plunged into declaring himself.

  Tara slid off the bed and gathered up pillows and a blanket. ‘Goodnight,’ she said, and walked out of the room, leaving Vikram to face yet another a sleepless night.

  She’d recently had the spare room done up in cheerful pastel colours, and she looked around it approvingly as she went in. This was all she needed, she told herself. Some time to herself and she’d be fine. As she’d told Vikram, she just needed to pretend that the week hadn’t happened.

  Having settled this to her satisfaction, she latched the door behind her and, flinging herself onto the bed, burst into uncontrollable sobs.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  TARA woke late the next morning, still feeling tired and heavy-eyed. She’d cried till late into the night, not able to stop even when the tears dried up and her body was racked with dry, hiccupping sobs. Around two in the morning she’d finally fallen asleep, and had got a fitful few hours of rest.

  ‘I probably cried as much last night as I have in the last five years,’ she said to herself wryly as she gazed into the mirror.

  Her face showed surprisingly little evidence of what she’d been through—her eyelids were slightly swollen, and her eyes weren’t as bright as usual, but that was about it. The advantages of youth and being blessed with a good complexion, she thought, splashing some cold water onto her face and brushing her teeth vigorously. Then she inspected herself one last time in the mirror and, satisfied with what she saw, went downstairs with a determined smile on her face.

  Vikram was already downstairs. He must have let the cook in earlier that morning as the breakfast table was loaded with a casserole dish full of idlis, with a pot of sambhar next to it and three little bowls of chutney.

  ‘Good morning,’ Tara said airily, sliding into a chair opposite him and heaping her plate with idlis. He looked worse than she did, she thought, giving his rather haggard face a critical look. Anyone would think he was the one who’d had a terrible night. ‘Has the cook left?’ she asked. ‘I wanted to tell her to pack lunch for me. I have a full day at the lab.’

  ‘She’s left,’ Vikram replied. ‘She did ask about lunch, but I didn’t want to disturb you so I said we’d figure something out.’ He’d had an entire night to think about his plan of action, and he’d finally decided to play things by the ear. If Tara wanted to pretend everything was normal, he would, too.

  ‘I’ll take some leftover idlis, then,’ Tara decided. ‘She’s made enough for a whole troupe of akhaada wrestlers.’ She looked up and caught Vikram’s eye. He had a worried expression on his face, as if he was expecting her to go into meltdown mode at any minute, and she gave him a reassuring and rather saucy wink.

  He relaxed almost immediately, his lips curving into a smile. ‘Work going well?’ he asked.

  ‘Extremely. I think Dr Shanta’s almost as impressed at my brilliance as I am myself.’ Tara finished her fourth idli and got up to find a box to pack her lunch in. ‘If I’m lucky I’ll be able to move to the next phase of my research before summer is over. I might even be able to get my PhD a little earlier than I’d initially thought.’

  She leaned over his shoulder to reach for the chutney and a whiff of his aftershave teased at her nostrils. The familiar scent almost made her lose control. She managed to stay focussed, though, even dropping a light kiss on Vikram’s forehead before she moved away from the table.

  ‘I can’t wait to be Dr Naintara Sundaram,’ she said. ‘Though I guess people will keep confusing me with a medical doctor and be disappointed when they find out I’m just a botanist.’

  ‘You’ll probably do far more good than the average money-grubbing
GP,’ Vikram said. ‘The last time I spoke to Dr Shanta she told me she had very high hopes for you.’

  In spite of herself, Tara felt a little glow of pleasure suffuse her face. Damn Vikram, why did he have to start being so unexpectedly nice today? As it was, she was finding it difficult not to keep staring at him hungrily all the time. It would have helped if he’d gone into one of his distant moods and ignored her, or replied to whatever she said in monosyllables.

  ‘I’ll go and get ready to leave for work, then,’ she said. ‘See you this evening.’

  ‘See you,’ he echoed as he watched her climb the stairs.

  He was conscious of a strong sense of loss. Tara seemed like a stranger—a Stepford wife version of the feisty girl he’d married. Perhaps he’d already let things go for too long—he should have followed her and got her back the day she left rather than letting his damn scruples get in the way.

  Tara made sure she kept herself busy for the next few days—so busy that she didn’t have time to think. She threw herself into her lab work with a vigour that made even Dr Shanta frown and suggest that she not overstrain herself. She gave the house a thorough spring cleaning with the housekeeper’s help, and invited some of Vikram’s colleagues over for dinner at the weekend, spending the whole day cooking.

  Vikram let her do what she wanted, overriding the instinct that prompted him to force things to a head. She was still too vulnerable, he told himself as he watched her rush about in a manic buzz of activity. Mere words wouldn’t help—he’d probably end up making things worse. All he could do was try and show her how much he cared for her, and hope that in time he’d be able to convince her of his love.

  She was leafing through an old stack of magazines in the TV room when Vikram came home the following Monday. He paused by the doorway and asked, ‘What are you hunting for?’

  Tara looked up and gave him her most cheerful smile. ‘I saw this picture of a bag some weeks back—it looked really cool and I thought I could try and copy it. But I’ve forgotten which issue it was in, and all the magazines are jumbled up now.’