A Forgotten Affair

by Kanchana Banerjee

  Akash and Sagarika exchanged business cards and promised to stay in touch. Both knew they wouldn’t. In a city teeming with millions of people, what were the chances they would meet again? The two had their doubts.

  But the universe shows us signs all the time. And destiny decides to take control. Akash and Sagarika bumped into each other a fortnight later in the lobby of an office they were both visiting on business. Both were in a hurry and apologized for not being in touch as they had promised.

  A month later, the cycle repeated itself, this time at the café of Prithvi Theatre in Juhu.

  ‘Isn’t it strange?’ Sagarika asked him, sipping on her favourite Irish coffee. ‘We just keep running into each other at weird places.’

  Her curly wild tresses weren’t tied this time and as she sat resting her chin on her palm, fingering the rim of the cup, Akash couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. A bunch of thin silver bangles tinkled on her slim wrist. She wore a cotton shirt that hung loose but gently hugged her full and mature breasts. A couple of buttons at the top were open. Dressed in a fitted trouser which flared a bit at the ankle, Sagarika looked every bit an artist. The colour combination, the touch of silver jewellery, the curly wild hair … the casual but carefully put together attire revealed that she had an eye for colour and aesthetics.

  The first thing Sagarika noticed in Akash was his hands. Not artist-like but with trimmed, smooth nails. She felt like touching the tips of his fingers and feeling the smooth skin. When they shook hands, his palm felt warm and comfortable – one that she would like to hold.

  His cotton shirt was rolled up. She noticed the gentle slope of his shoulders and smelled the cologne he wore that day. She had got a whiff of it when he sat next to her to watch the play at Prithvi.

  ‘Nice perfume,’ Sagarika said.

  ‘Thanks. It’s Essenza Di Wills Mikkel. My new favourite,’ Akash said.

  I feel like inching closer and smelling it some more.

  Sagarika felt a hint of arousal, but laughed it off.

  Don’t even think about it. You’re a married woman.

  Akash too was going through a similar cycle of emotions and was thinking about meeting her again, but he didn’t want to say it out loud. He had even thought of sending her a Facebook friend request. But he had stopped himself, thinking of the big rock on her finger.

  Stay away from this one.

  ‘I’m in a hurry today,’ Sagarika said, packing her things. ‘Why don’t we meet for lunch sometime … if you’re free,’ she asked tentatively. Later, she would smile thinking about her outright boldness.

  Akash wanted to make a polite excuse but couldn’t bring himself to do so. Inside his head, a voice was thundering: NO. But smiled instead, and replied, ‘How about next Tuesday? Will that suit you?’

  24

  Pack my suitcase for ten days of travel to Chicago. Check the temp and pack accordingly. Buy a gift for Aruna; between 5k and 10k. Amma’s birthday too. Buy gift for her too. Within 2k.

  ‘What am I exactly to this man?’ Sagarika asked herself after seeing the text message from Rishab. ‘A housekeeper? Butler? Arm candy to accompany him to office parties? Occasional provider for sex whenever his lordship needs…’

  She resisted the urge to fling the phone on the wall; she was increasingly getting fed up of his high-handed attitude – of just barking orders which he expected to be carried out.

  ‘You know,’ Sagarika told Roohi on the phone, ‘he’s more polite and tender with his secretary. If she leaves, that would cause great deal of inconvenience in his office and it would take time to hire another. But where the hell am I gonna go?’

  So when Akash entered her life, Sagarika told herself that she was entitled to some fun.

  ‘He’s just a friend I’m meeting for lunch. There’s nothing wrong in that,’ Sagarika reasoned with herself.

  But one lunch led to another, and then sometimes even dinner. On most days, it was just coffee and conversation for hours.

  She took him to art exhibitions in the city, while he took her along for photography gigs. The photos of Sagarika that Akash had clicked became her profile pictures on Facebook. They complemented each other well – a natural artist, Sagarika took to photography easily and with Akash’s guidance she too began to shoot some great portraits.

  In the beginning when Sagarika went out with him, she told herself, ‘I’m just learning how to use the camera well. That’s all.’ And Akash told himself, ‘I’m just learning about art, which I’ll use in my book.’

  But not too deep within, a fire was smouldering. They enjoyed each other’s company immensely. Not only did they look forward to spending time together, they also made plans and manoeuvred their schedules so that they could meet every now and then. With nothing in common between the two, to the outside world Sagarika and Akash must have appeared as different as the clichéd chalk and cheese. A married woman and a free-spirit nomad. She from the plush opulence of Malabar Hill and he from a tiny apartment in the suburbs. Her kitchen alone was larger than his flat.

  It was only a matter of time before they discovered that they were just two halves of one whole.

  ‘I’m going to Malshej Ghat to film the flamingos there. They arrive every monsoon and the place is breathtakingly beautiful now. Why don’t you come with me?’ Akash texted her one evening.

  Sagarika was getting ready for an important evening when she saw the message.

  ‘Should I go?’ she wondered, eventually deciding to think about it later. The evening ahead was an important one. A few of her paintings were being exhibited at a gallery along with the works of many others. Senior artists would be present to see her work and the admiration and appreciation from them would do wonders for her future as an aspiring artist. Importantly, she was looking forward to Rishab seeing her work in public for the first time.

  Rishab arrived rather late for the event, which peeved her a little bit. But what annoyed her was that as soon as entered, he didn’t even come and see her artworks. Instead, he walked off in a different direction and spent most of the evening hobnobbing with a senior artist, the guest of honour for the event. Rishab wanted a specific artwork by him and had been trying to connect with the man for a long time.

  ‘I especially like your earlier charcoal, Mr Roy,’ Rishab said, thrusting his visiting card into the artist’s palm. His credentials were enough to get anyone’s attention.

  Sagarika noticed that her husband was in deep conversation with the artist. She walked up to him.

  ‘My wife,’ Rishab casually mentioned before continuing.

  ‘Sagarika?’ Mr Roy said, interrupting. ‘She’s your wife? I didn’t know. She’s extremely talented. I saw her works exhibited here. I must say, she has a great future!’

  ‘Thank you for your kind words,’ Rishab said. ‘She just paints to pass her time. Nothing serious. Anyway, when do you think it would be convenient for me to visit your studio? I want five of your jewels for my office and one for my humble abode.’ Rishab knew how to hook people.

  The possibility of a lucrative corporate order was too attractive. Mr Roy excused himself and led Rishab into a private corner for an in-depth discussion. Sagarika quietly stepped back and looked around, smiling, although no one noticed her. She gulped down the contents of her wine glass. It helped swallow the humiliation.

  When they left the venue that evening, Rishab hadn’t seen even one of his wife’s paintings. He was just flushed with the excitement of having made the acquaintance of the famous artist.

  Rishab isn’t interested in me. How can I expect him to be interested in my work?

  As she sat in her bedroom removing her make-up, Rishab said, ‘Hey! I never got around to seeing your stuff. Anyway, when they come back home, I’ll see.’ If it was a veiled way of reminding her that paintings which don’t sell are returned to the artist by the gallery, he couldn’t be more mistaken.

  ‘All my canvases got sold,’ Sagarika replied calmly, removing her expensive di
amond-encrusted Omega.

  Rishab didn’t hear what she said or pretended not to.

  Before she got into bed that night, Sagarika replied to Akash’s message.

  Sure, wud luv to go with u. Gnite.

  25

  ‘You aren’t wearing your wedding ring,’ Akash said as soon as Sagarika slipped into the driver’s seat.

  ‘Yeah!’ Sagarika said, sighing. ‘It’s too big and expensive. So I thought I’d keep it at home, lest I lose it.’

  Nothing more was said about the ring. After that day, she never wore it when she met Akash. And Akash, on his part, never brought it up in their conversations.

  The ring she left behind at home, but a pale shadow of it remained on the finger. She had worn the ring for almost a decade. The skin underneath was lifeless and dead, a gentle reminder of reality.

  The drive to Malshej Ghat was not an easy one. It was pouring heavily, and visibility was down to just one or two metres. The tree tops seductively swayed to the fury of the rain and wind, and the rain fell in sheets. The green farms on either side lay under inches of water. The views all around were stunning.

  ‘Let’s soak in the rain,’ he said.

  ‘Whaaaat?’ exclaimed Sagarika. ‘Are you mad? That’s insane.’

  ‘No, it isn’t. In any case it’s not possible to drive in this heavy rain. No point in sitting inside with the window pulled up. I’m going out to enjoy. Your call whether to sit inside and suffocate or join me.’

  Akash hopped out of the car. He walked for a bit, letting the rain pelt him hard. Watching him kick puddles, run his hand through the wet hair, the strong wind whipping his shirt, Sagarika gave in and stepped out of the car, tentatively at first.

  ‘You are insane. You know that?’ she said, walking up to him and jabbing him in the ribs.

  ‘Glad I have an insane friend too,’ Akash replied, looking at Sagarika getting soaked to her skin.

  The rain washed away whatever little makeup she wore. Her wild curls were damp and stuck to her neck. Droplets of rain streamed down her fair face. She looked beautiful and it was too much for Akash to bear – he looked away. After a while they got back into the car and drove up to a small roadside tea stall and sipped steaming cups of sugary milky tea.

  Sagarika looked around her and noticed how a few weeks of good rains had transformed the sunburnt Western Ghats to a magical, lush-green mountain range. As far as her eye could see, that’s all she noticed – a soft, green carpet of grass. There was mist curling up from the valley and the rain-heavy clouds hung low. At every turn or so, there were waterfalls – some gurgling and flowing furiously while some just a happy trickle, hundreds of them dotting the hillside. Sagarika knew those sights and sounds would stay in her thoughts forever.

  ‘This is so beautiful. Just too beautiful for words,’ she said, leaning out of her window as they hit the road again. The rain had stopped for a while. The air was cold and damp. She put her arm out to feel the wind tickle her skin. Akash noticed that she was shivering a little.

  ‘I hope you’re carrying a change of clothes, Sagarika,’ he said, smiling at her childlike happiness.

  ‘No. I’m not,’ she replied. She wasn’t worried though. She felt happy and carefree.

  Akash realized she wasn’t exactly prepared for a rainy day out. When they reached the MTDC guest house which Akash had booked, he offered his spare T-shirt to her. She initially refused, but eventually took it. Though Akash was more or less the same build as Sagarika, his T-shirt hung loose on her body. She had never worn a man’s shirt before. It felt kind of funny yet nice.

  As they walked out, Akash drew her close, and with a very serious face whispered, ‘I will never be able to wear this shirt again.’

  ‘Why?’ She looked puzzled.

  ‘Because … it will feel … like I’ve grown boobs.’

  He burst out laughing and ran as Sagarika tried to catch up with him.

  Since Akash was a writer, his conversations with Sagarika often led to discussions about other writers – both for TV serials and books. Noticing his love for literature, Sagarika introduced him to the world of Bengali art and cinema, especially those by Satyajit Ray. She scoured bookshops for English translations of famous Bengali books for Akash.

  ‘Read The Home and the World. It’s the translation of Tagore’s famous novel Ghaire Baire. Tell me what you think of the husband’s character,’ she told him once, referring to the character of Nikhilesh. An entire generation of Bengali women had grown up dreaming of a husband like Nikhilesh and Sagarika knew that most of them, including her mother, fought tooth and nail defending him.

  ‘So you too think the husband is a wimp?’ she asked him when he had finished the book.

  ‘No. I think he is extremely strong and a true man.’

  Sagarika wasn’t prepared for this sort of feedback.

  ‘What? Why? He stood by watching as his best friend seduced his wife. He knew what was happening and kept quiet.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Akash said. ‘And do you know how much strength that calls for? To know and accept that your wife has never known any other man, but you. To understand her attraction towards the charismatic Sandeep and yet not rebuke her. To accept that takes enormous strength of character. I think Nikhilesh is an amazing man.’

  That night, Sagarika pinged Roohi.

  I think I want to have sex with Akash. He thinks Nikhilesh is a true man.

  Roohi, with her very scant knowledge of literature, leave alone Bengali works, texted back:

  Who is Nikhilesh? How many men are u seeing?

  Rika chuckled, deleted the message and went back to sleep.

  ‘Would you like to come to my flat?’ Akash asked Sagarika one afternoon. They had met for lunch, then followed it up with several cups of coffee. It was nearly 6 p.m. when Akash decided to invite her over. ‘I want to show you a painting I purchased from a tiny shop in Colaba,’ he told her.

  They had been meeting for almost six months now – movies, plays, art shows, photoshoots – but that day when he invited her home, he didn’t think much about it and neither did Sagarika.

  But once they were in his tiny apartment, the mood became rather intimate. Akash was making masala chai while Sagarika stood nearby. He reached out for the sugar container and his arm brushed against her breasts. Their eyes met.

  Akash turned off the gas and pulled her into his arms. She loved the cologne he always wore. She buried her face in his neck, breathing the smell in deep gulps. He pushed his fingers through her dense curls and kissed her. At first he gently nibbled on her lips. Then he plunged his tongue deep into her. She reciprocated, even as one palm of his stroked her back and the other gently cupped her breasts and made its way towards her nipples. She moaned softly. As he began sucking on her lower lip, she pulled him closer and pressed her soft body against his chest.

  ‘I … I have to go,’ Sagarika whispered suddenly.

  Akash was taken aback, but he released her promptly.

  ‘Of course. Yeah … if you wish to.’

  As she drove away in her yellow Beetle, she kept her foot on the accelerator. It was early evening, but she drove from Andheri to Juhu to Bandra and headed towards the Sea Link that took her to the Worli Sea Face road. On reaching there, she stopped the car and walked out to the seafront.

  She could still taste him in her mouth. His smell lingered on her face and neck. Her breasts tingled at the memory of his fingers. She closed her eyes and breathed in the salty, balmy breeze from the sea.

  How did I allow this to happen? I’m a married woman.

  Sagarika caressed her ring finger, realizing that she had made a habit of not wearing the rock whenever she met him. The paleness of that spot on her finger was gradually receding and merging with the natural colour of her skin. She was ashamed that she didn’t wear the ring often and felt guilty of having enjoyed another man’s touch. Yet, her body awash with desire, wanted more of Akash.

  No, this isn’t right. This is wrong. I mu
st never see him again.

  26

  Sagarika hadn’t slept well the previous night. It was end February but the cold spell in Gurgaon refused to go away. The damp and foggy morning did little to help her condition. The throb in her temple was back, thanks to the conversation with Akash.

  What was more disturbing was an episode with Rishab the previous night.

  A few minutes after the two of them were in bed, Rishab had begun caressing her. She felt uneasy but she didn’t protest. The moment he began kissing her and nibbling on her ears, she decided to speak up.

  ‘Rishab, please. I feel very weird about this. Can we please give this some more time?’

  ‘What is the matter, Rika? We haven’t made love in a year!’ Rishab sounded pretty upset and desperate. ‘Why don’t you just relax?’

  ‘But I’m still not ready for itit. Don’t you get it?’

  ‘Sagarika, there’s only so much a man can take. I’m being – and I have been – patient with you but I too have needs. If you continue to remain evasive, I’ll be compelled to go someplace else.’ Rishab turned over the other side and didn’t speak further.

  Sagarika couldn’t believe what she just heard.

  Did my husband threaten me right now?

  In the morning, Rika woke up with a mild headache which she knew would worsen. She wanted to curl up under the soft quilt and never wake up. Her phone glowed; she had new messages.

  Come on FB.

  It was Akash. Sagarika groaned on seeing his name.

  Why can’t everyone just leave me alone?

  Just trying to remember was proving to be harrowing. She deleted the message – she didn’t want to talk to anyone.

  As she put a shawl around her and stepped out of her bedroom, she noticed Rishab sitting in the balcony sipping tea and texting someone on his cellphone. When he saw her, he came over and smiled.

  ‘I’m heading to my study to make some important calls and I don’t want to be disturbed,’ he told her, leaving her grateful for not having to deal with him and the previous night’s situation. Sagarika herself didn’t know if she should say something. Besides, she wasn’t feeling too well; her headache had intensified.