Once they were safely out of sight, I emerged from behind the dustbin and was taking in long, deep and much-needed breaths of fresh air when I felt a pair of eyes on me.
Vikram.
I had no doubt that that I looked mentally deranged, sheepishly walking out from behind the dustbin. She cancels her engagement without proper reason and then goes around the city crouching behind dustbins; decidedly mad as a hatter. I prepared myself for whatever abuses Vikram was going to hurl at me for breaking his brother’s heart. Maybe I could explain to him. The chances were slim but I could try…
‘Bhabhi,’ he said simply and I looked up, stunned, my mouth open in sheer surprise.
Bhabhi. The word that I had once run away from was now music to my ears.
‘Vikram,’ I said stupidly.
‘I saw you hide,’ he said, grinning.
Why do I do such things? I craned my neck to make sure that Purva and, more importantly, Anju Aunty were out of sight.
‘I have to go but we need to talk,’ he gushed. ‘If, of course, you don’t mind?’
I nodded my head, vigorously. A piece of stale bread fell off my shoulders. Vikram stifled a laugh and pulled out a piece of green pepper from my hair.
‘Just tell me when and where,’ I said, grinning too.
‘I will text,’ he said hurriedly. ‘I’ve got to go now.’ He walked away, giving me a quick smile.
He had walked but a few feet when he abruptly turned around, came to me and enveloped me in a tight hug.
‘I missed you, Bhabhi,’ he said, avoiding eye-contact and leaving immediately without waiting for me to say anything. Which was a good thing, because his quick hug and earnest words had left me with a lump in my throat. Scream and shout at me and I will throw water bottles at you in retaliation; that is the kind of fight that I understand. Forgive me with a smile and I am as lost as a bright orange fish in the desert.
I don’t deserve to be forgiven so easily. Not this time, Vikram.
10.00 p.m.
I have not been able to push the little incident in Khan Market out of my mind. It is so true that sometimes a bigger lesson is taught by forgiving than by punishing.
I went to bed with a wide smile on my face, but only after having typed a lengthy email to the municipality of Khan Market, complaining about the unhygienic waste in dustbins that line their prominent streets.
8 August 2013, 9.00 a.m.
Letter of the day – U.
Flavour of the day – Chocolate.
Number of people gathered to receive my cake – sixteen.
I have been dropping off cakes at the hospital long enough for us all to have a schedule. The first thing I am told is Purva’s reaction to the box, which remains the same. Each day, after his rounds, he comes and has a look at the box. He never eats the cake and leaves the box at the same counter where I leave it each morning.
One of the ladies, whom I suspect is a convalescing patient, has recommended that I get pineapple cake instead of chocolate. Three others vehemently disagreed.
9 August 2013, 9.00 a.m.
Letter of the day – P.
Flavour of the day – Pineapple.
Number of people gathered to receive my cake – seventeen.
8.00 p.m.
Pitajee, Anu, Vikram and I sat in the living room looking at each other.
Love. A simple, four-letter word, yet it is so complicated and complex in its origins and ramifications. The things it makes the most rational of us do! And how docile it can make even the most boisterous of us. The power of love. The madness of love.
Case in point being Anu and Pitajee. Since Dad’s operation, they have been trying to behave as normally as they can, given that Anu is about to marry Saumen. An unhappy truce seems to exist between them, where they both pretend to be immune to the other’s presence.
Only they are not. The way they grab opportunities to just be near each other breaks my heart every time.
Every time.
‘He is just very quiet,’ said Vikram, telling me about Purva. ‘Not that he wasn’t before … but … just a lot more … you know … sad…’
I knew.
‘Vikram,’ I said, looking intently at him. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Bhabhi,’ he said, looking decidedly uncomfortable ‘Don’t say that … it’s okay. I understand … girls have doubts when they’re about to get married…’
‘I’m sorry, Vikram,’ I repeated, putting my hand on his and meaning each word.
Vikram was quiet for a minute. ‘It’s all right, Bhabhi. You were my bhabhi then and we need to make sure that you continue to remain that,’ he said, winking.
‘In that case,’ said Pitajee, taking over. ‘We really need your help.’ Needless to say, Anu, Pitajee and I had plans. Devious plans.
‘Sure,’ said Vikram, more than eager to help. ‘Anything to get them back together. What do I have to do?’
‘Nothing much … you just have to lie, spy and steal,’ I said, shrugging my shoulders nonchalantly.
28
10 August 2013, 9.00 a.m.
Letter of the day – I.
Flavour of the day – Coffee and walnut.
Number of people who came to receive the cake – Twenty-two.
‘Kasturi Didi,’ whispered Ravi Singh conspiratorially to me as he and the pretty nurse came running after me.
‘Yes?’
‘Umm…’
I looked curiously at ward boy Ravi Singh. The pretty nurse nodded encouragingly at him and placed a tender hand on his shoulder. I could see that Ravi Singh almost died then and there with sheer joy.
‘Has … has Dr Dixit responded in any way?’ he finally blurted his question.
‘What?’ I asked, shocked at the audacity of the question.
‘I mean…’ fumbled Ravi Singh, ‘do you guys stand a chance of getting back together?’
‘What?’ I asked, shocked further. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Er… you see, Kasturi Didi,’ he said, shuffling his feet, ‘people are betting.’
To say that my jaw dropped to the floor would not be an exaggeration. ‘Betting on what?’
‘On whether you will be able to win Dr Dixit back.’
I continued to stare open-mouthed.
‘So … if you … you know … give us insider information … we could … you know … make some money. There is a lot riding on this. We expect almost everyone on the staffing register to place bets, and then there are the patients too…’
‘What? The patients?’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Ravi Singh, ‘in fact, Sharda Aunty, the diabetes patient,’ he said, as if I would know her, ‘even pretended to have a fainting fit last night just to make sure they wouldn’t discharge her.’
‘Why?’
‘Just so that she can stay!’ chipped in the pretty nurse.
‘And do what?’ I asked, weakly.
‘See if you get the doctor and,’ she added ruefully, ‘then she can make some money.’
I was feeling very, very faint.
1.00 p.m.
‘Vik,’ I hissed into the phone.
‘Bhabhi,’ he hissed back. Right after my heart, this man, I thought warmly to myself.
‘Any news?’
‘No, Bhai has been in the OT the entire day.’
Today is the day we put our plan into action. To facilitate ease of communication, a WhatsApp group – rather optimistically titled ‘Mission (Let’s make it) Possible’ – has been created. We have been buzzing each other on the group the whole day and it is clear that all of us are on tenterhooks. The necessary things have been given to Vikram and now it is up to him and … well … Purva.
6.00 p.m.
WhatsApp messages on Mission Possible –
Pitajee – ‘Vik, has the spider entered the web?’
Anu – ‘What?’
Me – ‘What?’
Vikram – ‘What?’
Pitajee – ‘Just asking if Purva is home yet.’
10.00 p.m.
Vikram – ‘The spider is in the web.’
Me – ‘LOL.’
Anu – ‘LOL.’
Pitajee. ‘...’
11.00 p.m.
I am breathing easier now. After what seemed like an eternity, Purva reached home, tired and exhausted from the surgeries of the day. Once dinner was done and Anju Aunty had retired to her room for the night, Vikram went to Purva’s room and, without another word, handed him two bowls. Each of the bowls contained water and in the water happily swam a goldfish each.
‘What the hell is this, Vikki?’ Purva exclaimed, watching his brother place the two bowls next to his bed.
‘Gifts for you,’ he said.
‘Gifts? Fish? Have you lost it?’ Purva asked, laughing.
‘They are not from me,’ Vikram said.
‘Then?’
Without another word, Vikram handed him the little note I had written.
Purva,
The fish are a gift from Pitajee and Anu (not from me, so please keep them). The note is just to tell you the names of the fish. They do not respond to names other than the ones we have kept and the names have to be taken in a particular order. First the name of fish number one followed by the name of fish number two. Always together and always in that order.
Without further ado, here are the names –
Fish number two: Kasturi.
Fish number one: Silly.
Say the names together and in the correct order.
Love,
Kasturi
Vikram tells me that Purva stared first at the fish swimming gleefully in the clear waters and then at the letter.
He tried very hard not to, but, a few seconds later, he burst out laughing.
Strike one.
*Smug look*
Now for strike two.
29
11 August 2013, 9.00 a.m.
Letter of the day – D.
Flavour of the day – Banana.
Number of people receiving the cake – twenty-five. (Dear lord!)
Today is the day when we set part two of ‘Mission (Let’s make it ) Possible’ into motion and, needless to say, the stress levels are sky-rocketing. I had spent countless nights awake and in deep thought, trying to come up with something suitable for today, without much success. Without any solution in sight, I was very close to giving up when, one day, it took me one glance at a newspaper Anu was going through to slap the table and shout ‘I’ve got it!’ in sheer jubilation.
It remains to be seen whether my plan is half as good as I hope it is.
3.00 p.m.
Restless.
4.00 p.m.
Very restless.
6.00 p.m.
Purva should be home anytime soon. I hope Vikram can somehow put that paper in front of him.
10.00 p.m.
Anu, Pitajee and I were sitting at the dining table. The food lay in front of us, cold and untouched. I was exchanging another miserable blank stare with Anu, when our cells beeped simultaneously.
Vikram.
Vikram – ‘Bhai is home and I have placed that sheet in the newspaper.’
Pitajee – ‘Why the newspaper?’
Vikram – ‘Bhai always reads the newspaper before going to bed.’
Pitajee made a face and said, ‘Kas, are you sure you want this guy? He reads the newspaper before going to bed. I mean, really, he needs to get a life, you know.’
I managed a weak grin.
10.05 p.m.
Vikram – ‘I have told Bhai that I want to spend some time in his room while he reads the newspaper.’
Anu – ‘What did he say?’
Vikram – ‘He never says no to me ?.’
10.06 p.m.
Vikram – ‘The sheet fell out of the newspaper.’
A collective gasp at the dining table as Anu dramatically brings her hands to her mouth.
10.07 p.m.
Vikram – ‘He has picked up the paper.’
Me – ‘What is he doing now?’
Vikram – ‘He is staring at it.’
10.08 p.m.
Vikram – ‘Bhai is looking very restless and has just grabbed a pencil. He is scribbling something on the paper, thinking and then scribbling some more.’
I crossed my fingers and smiled in spite of myself, when I saw Anu do the same and Pitajee follow suit.
10.09 p.m.
Vikram – ‘OMG! Is he solving a crossword puzzle?’
Yes, he is. The sheet of paper that I asked Vikram to put in front of Purva looked like this.
PURVA’S CROSSWORD
Kasturi learnt to make these for Purva’s Mum (8)
Purva loves Kasturi’s ____ (5)
Doodh is actually known as ____ (4)
Your smile fills my heart with ____ (3)
Kasturi loves Purva’s ____ (5)
Govind Goswami eats like an ____ (2)
To cut a long story short Kasturi ____ Purva more than anything else in the world (5)
And wants to just say this ____ (8)
10.10 p.m.
Me – ‘When he puts his pencil down, please tell me.’
10.14 p.m.
Vikram – ‘He has.’
Me – ‘What is he doing now?’
Vikram – ‘Staring at the piece of paper, his face is expressionless and he won’t even blink.’
Pitajee looked at me. ‘Call him, Kasturi. Just call him,’ he said, earnestly.
‘Is this like you telling me to put the cake batter in the oven?’ I asked.
‘Shut up! No!’ he said, putting a brotherly hand on my head. I looked at Anu and she smiled too.
‘Call him, Kas. Fight for him. Don’t let him go,’ she said in a quiet voice.
Pitajee looked up at Anu with a startled look on his face – a look that I saw but did not pay much attention to.
‘Show me the completed crossword, Kas,’ Anu said.
I silently handed another sheet of paper to her. If Purva had filled his in correctly, the sheet of paper in his hand would look a lot like the one that Anu was now staring at.
She read through the clues and the correct answers and then silently handed me my phone.
‘Call him, Kas. You guys need to talk,’ she said.
I picked up my phone and slowly started punched in the numbers. My heart was beating furiously as the call went through. What would Purva say? Will he … won’t he?
10.15 p.m.
Vikram – ‘Someone just called on his phone. He stared at the phone for a minute, looked at the sheet of paper, paused for a few seconds and then cancelled the call.’
Pitajee, looking at me – ‘And now, what is he doing?’
Vikram – ‘He says he needs to head back to the hospital. I have never seen him so agitated.’
Pitajee, continuing to look in my direction as Anu wiped the silent tears that were streaming down my face – ‘And I have never seen Kasturi look so agitated either.’
30
10.30 p.m.
I sat still. Thinking. Grieving. Wondering if I had lost him forever.
‘How is it that I miss him more than I love him,’ I muttered, more to myself than to anyone else, tears streaming down my face. I had lost it. I had lost him.
‘Go to him,’ said Anu, her voice low.
Pitajee and I turned around to face her at the same time.
‘Kasturi,’ she said, her face grave, ‘if Purva is truly lost, you will lose him but not the memories. The memories will haunt you, day and night, and whoever you finally end up with will never be as good as the memories in your heart. Do yourself a favour – spare yourself the torture, and go fight for him.’
I knew that Anu was speaking from first-hand experience. Pitajee shuffled his feet and stared uncomfortably at the floor.
‘He will reject me again,’ I said, feeling it in my bones.
‘Then you go to him again. You don’t stop till the world ends,’ she said, dramatically slapping the di
ning table.
The three of us stared at the table which rattled its indignant dissent.
‘Come on,’ said Pitajee, gently pulling me by the arm
‘Come where?’
‘To AIIMS. You have to fight him to get him, kid.’
11.00 p.m.
As I ambled along the corridor leading to Purva’s office, I was too scared of how the night was going to end to notice Ravi Singh. Ravi Singh, however, almost doubled up in shock when he saw me approach.
‘Kasturi Didi? Cake? Right now?’
‘No cake,’ I moaned to Ravi Singh. He was almost as good a buddy now as, say, Vikram. ‘I wish I had come to leave cake.’
‘Then?’
‘Purva?’
‘Oh.’ His eyebrows shot up.
‘I don’t know where this will go, Ravi Singh. I wish I could help you win more money but I can’t,’ I said ruefully.
‘I don’t care about the money, Didi,’ he said in a low voice. Startled, I looked up at the concerned face of the Bollywood-crazy Ravi Singh and felt my throat tighten. Ravi Singh nodded towards Purva’s office. ‘Dr Dixit just went into his cabin.’
‘Does he have rounds?’
‘No.’
‘Surgery?’
‘No.’
I took a deep breath.
‘Is he inside?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay,’ I said and stood at my spot.
‘I think you should go inside, Kasturi Didi.’
‘I think so too,’ I said and stood still.
‘Now?’ prodded Ravi Singh.
‘Now?’ I asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Okay.’
‘Okay.’
‘Okay.’
I exchanged a look.
‘I will go in now.’
Ravi Singh looked exasperatedly at me and, before I could stop him, he had opened the door and announced my arrival to Purva.
Scared and anxious I stood at the door with no idea of how the night would end.
11.10 p.m.
Purva’s usually cheerful office was eerily quiet and dark, except for a lone lamp that lit his table. He sat there, my crossword in his hand, his face expressionless. On seeing me, he put on his glasses and got up.
I swallowed hard.
Can This Be Love? Page 14