by Preethi Nair
Exhausted, I sat back and looked at the canvas. The painting was bright, vibrant and full of life without a trace of its fragility. Thinning the red paint, on the left-hand corner in bold capitals, I wrote ‘FORUKI’. If I had to get rid of all my pictures but could keep one, it would be this one. It gave me a great sense of peace, an energy – her energy, her boldness.
I packed my things up, changed into my suit, put some make-up on and went to meet Raj.
It was on Raj’s insistence that we met at Holborn tube station so he could meet me directly from work. I got there ten minutes late. He looked good in his suit, taller, and there wasn’t as much gel in his hair. Raj didn’t quite know what to do when he saw me so I kissed him on the cheek.
‘Sorry I’m late.’
‘I’ve just got here myself,’ he replied. ‘Where shall we go?’
‘There’s a nice Belgian restaurant here …’ and then I stopped, thinking maybe it wasn’t such a good idea in case I bumped into my old boss or some work colleagues ‘… but you normally have to book,’ I continued. ‘Let’s go somewhere you know.’
‘We’ll walk over to Covent Garden, there’s a nice little Italian restaurant. You don’t mind walking, do you, and you do like Italian?’ he asked.
‘Italian’s good and I love walking,’ I replied. ‘If I could, I would spend all day walking.’
‘Me too,’ he said. ‘It helps me think.’
I always thought that too.
‘You know there’s a theory that walking balances both sides of the brain’s hemispheres,’ he continued. ‘When you have a problem, it’s because you are predominantly using one part of your brain, so when you walk the physical act of walking makes both sides of the brain communicate with each other; that’s why the problem seems less of a problem when you go for a walk.’
‘Really?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ he replied, attempting to take my hand – he caught two of my fingers instead.
I laughed nervously.
His hand was moist and I could feel it throbbing. It wasn’t like Jean Michel’s grip that felt firm and safe.
‘How did you know that? About walking a problem out?’ I asked, feeling stupid for my childish laugh.
‘I have a fascination with personal development and ways we are able to improve ourselves. You know we only truly use a fraction of our potential.’
I understood all about not using potential.
Covent Garden had a real Christmassy feel; the streets were decked with lights and the shops were beautifully decorated. It was the first time in ages I felt there was something to look forward to.
‘So did you have a busy day,’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I got quite a bit done. Did you?’
‘Not much. I was just thinking about us and this crazy scenario.’
‘You can back out,’ I said hastily.
‘That’s the thing. I don’t want to. It’s never felt this right.’ He squeezed my hand tightly. ‘And I know my friends are going to love you, Nina.’
I wanted to tell him about Ki, what had happened to her, but it didn’t seem appropriate so I asked him about them.
He talked about each of them and then just as I felt he was going to ask me about my friends I changed the subject totally and asked him about the type of music he liked.
‘That’s what I love about you, Nina. I never know which way the conversation is going.’
By the time we got to the restaurant we had covered music, film and travel, and then we got on to the family.
My mother had asked me not to mention Jana to avert any scandal. Under this list system any family scandal would be red-penned and circled by the honchos and used against us at a later stage. But I told Raj about her and sent Jana to Australia instead, where I said she was living, happily married, and that we hardly got to see her.
‘It must be hard. You must miss her,’ he said.
I nodded. Later it would all come out, I thought. When I knew him well enough.
He told me that his parents were looking forward to meeting me. I checked if he was still coming around the next day to meet mine.
‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen them this happy,’ I said.
‘I have,’ he replied. ‘I mean, my parents. Twice before,’ he laughed, with not one trace of a grunt. Raj reached for my hand across the table and it felt warmer and safer. Maybe everything would be all right.
‘What’s good?’ I asked looking at the menu.
He ordered the food and wine for both of us. We ate, talked some more, and then it was time to go home.
He hailed me a cab and before I got in it, he kissed me. It wasn’t a passionate kiss, more of a ‘this is going to be just fine’ type of a kiss.
The next morning as I walked into the studio I felt incredibly optimistic. The red was striking and the buddha filled my studio with a different kind of warmth. After studying him for a while I sat cleaning my brushes, organising the paint and then reorganising it. I painted one more canvas white, changed back into my suit and went to Green Park.
It was cold but I sat eating a sandwich and drinking a coffee and imagined what Jean Michel was doing, and then as I found myself thinking too much about him, comparing Raj’s incessant need to fill silences with Jean Michel’s ability to listen or say nothing, I got up and went around the galleries in Cork Street. It wasn’t fair to Raj to compare them like that – his need to talk was because we didn’t know each other. As I looked through the gallery windows I envied the artists who were able to display their work. Mine wouldn’t even make it to a church fete. It was only three o’clock but I went home anyway.
‘Why are you home so early, beta?’ my mother said coming out of the kitchen.
‘You told me to be.’
‘Yah, yah,’ she nodded fiercely.
‘I’ll have a shower and I’ll come down and help you.’
‘No need,’ she said. ‘All done. You go and rest and then you can do your hair and make-up.’
I wanted to say something but instead had a shower and watched Countdown. My dad came in from work but before he had a chance to say anything I said, ‘My boss told me to leave early today as I mentioned we had an important family function.’
‘Everything at work good, Nina?’
‘Yes, Dad, it’s fine.’ It had to be, this is what he’d sold me on, the fact that I was a lawyer with huge prospects. People like Raj’s family wouldn’t be interested in families like ours if it weren’t for this one fact.
‘Very good,’ he replied. ‘New clients?’
‘No, as I said before, I’m just busy with one of our most important clients. He’s got an exhibition coming up soon … in Mayfair,’ I added, so it would make him think about the first part of that sentence.
‘Good.’
‘See, Dad, artists can earn a lot of money.’
‘What?’
I knew he heard the word money. ‘Money – I was just saying that artists can earn lots.’
‘They are the fools the people who buy paintings. Anybody can put paint on the paper. That’s why the artists need you; people are taking them to court because they realise they have been the fooled.’
Raj rang the bell promptly at seven-thirty. My mum had changed into her favourite green sari and my dad had his red shirt on. Kitchen activity had commenced the day before and an array of dishes had been cooked with the best cutlery and plates being taken out. Dad had wiped them all with a tissue and my mum had gone over it once again so fluff or marks that the tissue had left were totally eradicated. The television was off, there was no background noise and so the bell rang loud and clear. My mother and father looked at each other, then my mother got up to open the door but my father glanced over at her. ‘Wait, Kavitha. I’ll go, don’t want him to think we are desperate to see him.’ She nodded and sat back down, then my father waited a few seconds before he went to greet him.
‘Pleased to meet you, Uncle,’ I heard Raj say.
There w
as a pause and then my father said, ‘Yes, good to meet the man who will make my Nina happy.’
He showed him into the sitting room.
‘This is my wife, Kavitha.’
‘Hello Auntie. How are you?’
She did her prayer-pose thing to which he couldn’t quite respond as he had his hands full with an enormous chocolate box.
‘These are for you,’ he said handing them to her.
‘Thank you but I really shouldn’t eat them.’ She patted her stomach, wanting him to tell her not to be so ridiculous; that she was fine without having to lose three stone.
‘Don’t be silly. You’re fine, Auntie,’ Raj replied.
She beamed.
He then came over to kiss me on the cheek. My parents smiled at each other and my mother raised that eyebrow that could converse on its own.
‘Drink?’ she asked.
‘Something soft, Auntie. I don’t really drink.’
Didn’t he guzzle a bottle of wine yesterday? ‘We’ve got some wine if you want,’ I said mischievously.
‘No, Nina, orange juice is fine.’
‘Whisky, Dad?’ I asked. He nodded.
There was silence and then Raj said, ‘So do you still work, Uncle?’
‘Soon I’ll retire, when Nina is settled. I have my own repair business,’ I heard him say, conveniently missing out his day job.
‘What kind of business, Uncle?’
‘Repairing electronic goods. You are an accountant, no, Rajan? Very good. What accountant?’
‘Tax,’ Raj replied.
‘I was having the problems with the taxman. He came to the house and then …’ I took the drinks and burst into the sitting room before he could say anything more.
‘No, Nina, the taxman …’
My mum skilfully interrupted by asking after Raj’s mother and family. He seemed confused at the different lines of conversation.
‘See where you get it from, Nina,’ he laughed before turning to my mum and saying, ‘they’re fine, Auntie, all waiting to meet you again. My mother says it’s been far too long.’
I remembered it had been too long because my dad had called her a ‘snub’ and didn’t want my mum to socialise with her, but now they were on their way to being best friends, family even.
‘And your daughter, do you think she’ll make it home in time for the engagement?’ Raj added.
‘Of course, Nina has to be there,’ my dad laughed.
‘No, no, your other one.’
There was silence. Mum looked shocked.
‘Australia,’ I said, ‘Jana’s in Australia.’
‘Australia. Couldn’t take cold weather,’ my dad added quickly, ‘and then …’
‘She got married,’ I continued, knowing that if my dad were left to his own devices he would lead everyone to a murky crocodile swamp where there would be no way of back-pedalling.
‘Got married to a pharmacist. I’ve told Raj already, Dad, so you don’t have to bore him.’
‘This girl,’ he said, pinching my cheek, ‘we will miss her.’
Mum regained her composure and asked if we were ready to eat and led the way to the dining room. She pulled out her circular rotis, which she had kept warm in the oven along with all the paneer, dhals and shak she had made, and we sat round the table.
‘You’re a brilliant cook, Auntie,’ Raj said.
To which she promptly got up off the chair and served him another helping and a roti.
‘Nina is not good,’ my father stated. ‘But she will learn now she’s getting married – too much hi and bye to stop at home and learn good cooking.’
‘That doesn’t matter, Uncle, I can help.’
My dad was horrified. ‘Man is not supposed to cook,’ he instructed as if it were one of God’s commandments. ‘Man is supposed to bring home bacon or … brinjals,’ he said, laughing at his own joke.
Raj laughed politely.
‘Victoria is not far from here so you can come to eat whenever you like,’ my mother added.
After we got married we would be moving into Raj’s three-bedroom flat in Victoria. Although he had bought it years ago it was vacant as he still lived with his parents. He had asked how I would feel about moving to Victoria the day before and I said it didn’t bother me. Only when she made this comment did the reality sink in. I had to live with a virtual stranger; I hadn’t even lived with Jean.
Sensing my panic, Raj said, ‘You too, Auntie, come around whenever you want to see us. I don’t want you to feel like you are losing a daughter. You’re gaining a son.’
That one sentence gave her enough voltage to illuminate the whole of Croydon.
‘Thank you, thank you, my son.’
Seeing how happy Raj made everyone I tried to convince myself that by the time the wedding came around he wouldn’t be a stranger – he would be someone I loved … hopefully.
The rest of the evening went pretty smoothly. Raj smiled politely at my dad’s comments and mum kept getting up off her chair and serving him some more. When it was time to leave Mum wouldn’t let Raj go. She became the tidal wave she so feared would engulf her, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him in to her bosom so that there was no way out. ‘Thank you, thank you,’ she kept repeating.
‘No, thank you, Auntie,’ he managed after somehow releasing himself.
‘Thank you too, Uncle.’
My father shook his hand and patted him on the back, except it wasn’t a pat, more of a wallop. ‘We’ll talk tax next time, son.’
‘I’ll see you out to the front door, Raj,’ I said.
We got outside to the gate. ‘I’ll completely understand if you want to back out.’
‘It makes me fall in love with you even more, Nina.’
I was taken aback by the use of the word love. Love wasn’t supposed to enter into the equation – not yet, anyway.
‘Oh, right,’ was all I could manage and then he kissed me goodnight.
Over the next few days I painted six more buddhas on one canvas in different colours and backgrounds like an Andy Warhol picture, except it wasn’t as good as the original. It was more an exercise in experimenting; placing contrasting colours next to each other and then seeing what that did to the painting. During that week I came to the conclusion that the relationship with Raj couldn’t progress any further unless I was completely honest with him.
So on Friday, when I was due to meet him, I decided I was going to tell him about the other part of my life he knew nothing about. He would understand – he came across as an empathetic type of a person. Perhaps I wouldn’t start from the very beginning but tell him about my three-month unpaid sabbatical which was helping me sort out my thoughts.
We had decided already that we would go to the cinema, but because Raj was running late he arrived slightly agitated and rushed and so it didn’t feel appropriate to bring up the conversation on our way there.
‘I am so sorry, Nina, this never normally happens.’
‘It’s OK if we miss it, Raj,’ I said as he drove faster.
‘We can’t be late,’ he insisted.
‘It’s only the cinema.’
‘Yes but it’s booked and paid for.’
If it had been Jean Michel we would have gone and done something completely different – plans were there to be made and broken.
Somehow we got there on time, missing only the trailers. As we sat watching The Matrix he grabbed my hand and I leaned against his shoulder. Nobody would have guessed that two weeks earlier we had been complete strangers.
Throughout that evening it never felt like a good time to bring up the painting subject. Would he understand? Stability, and his need for having to know exactly what was happening when, was completely opposite to what I was doing.
‘Just be yourself and they’ll love you,’ he said as he dropped me home.
‘Sorry?’
‘When you meet my parents tomorrow all you have to do is be yourself, Nina.’
The way he said my
name felt as if he were talking to someone else. ‘I don’t think they would,’ I replied.
‘What do you mean?’
It was the perfect opening. ‘Do you ever feel that you can’t really be yourself?’
‘All the time.’
‘Do you really?’
Just as I thought we were getting somewhere, he said, ‘Except when I’m with you.’
No, not a cheesy line. I wanted a story about deception, about secrets and untruths, but he didn’t have one.
‘I have something to show you,’ I said pulling up my sleeve so he could see the scarring. He had to ask me where I had got it and then at least we could start from the very beginning; the inability to express pain except on paper, the feelings of inadequacy, how painting made me feel that none of that really mattered because what I did with the colours made me feel good about myself as a person.
He was taken aback but then quickly said, ‘Is this what you’re worried about, Nina? It doesn’t make a bit of difference to me.’ And then I thought he was going to pull up his trouser-leg and show me a wound and ask where I got mine, but instead he gave me another cheesy line and said I was beautiful and he still couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have found me.
Raj came the next morning to take me to his parents and as he parked outside in his black BMW my dad was jumping up and down asking my mum to look out of the window to see his car.
‘I knew we made Nina the good match, he’s a nice boy. Close the curtain now, Kavitha, he’s coming to the door.’
‘Hello Uncle, hello Auntie, it’s nice to meet you again. You know my mother and father have asked you to come around tomorrow?’
‘Yes, yes, your mother called me to tell us,’ my mum beamed.
I didn’t want Raj to sit down and never find his way out of the sofa so I said, ‘I think we’re running late. Shall we go, Raj?’
‘Not even stopping for a drink?’ Mum asked.
‘It’s not good to be late, is it, Ma, especially when you’re meeting for the first time.’
‘No, but remember, beta, you met Mrs Mehta at Auntie Leena’s house.’