Meanwhile, Akash waited nervously at the flower show, glancing at his watch every two minutes. It was almost two years since that morning – that fateful morning when they met last, and decided to walk away from each other.
Dressed in dark-blue denims, a midnight-blue pullover worn over a white tee, and with a sling bag across his shoulder, Akash stood near the entrance where he could see everyone walk in.
Men, women and children were arriving in large numbers. As the minutes ticked by, Akash looked at his watch anxiously. It was 10.45 a.m. She was supposed to meet him at 10.30 a.m. ‘Where are you, Cheeni?’ he mumbled aloud.
A few minutes later, he spotted a young woman in black trousers and a grey jacket – she stood at the gate, hesitant and unsure about entering. She clutched her purse nervously. Her eyes were searching for someone, it seemed.
Akash couldn’t believe his eyes. It was her. His Cheeni.
Although her jacket hung loose on her, it added some bulk to her thin and weakened frame.
Akash stood rooted at his spot, barely able to move. This wasn’t the Sagarika he knew and loved. Gone was her sunshine smile, the naughty glint in the eyes, her luscious body that he craved and loved to ravish. Instead, there stood a frail woman with scared eyes darting from one face to another.
Akash had known Sagarika as someone synonymous with colour. But the woman who stood at the gate dressed in black and grey was totally different – the only dash of colour on her was the red scarf she had wrapped around her neck. Her beautiful dense curls that he so loved to bury his face in were closely cropped and only stretched till the nape of her neck. Had her head been shaved off for the operation, he wondered.
Akash closed his eyes and turned away. The sight was disturbing. It was too painful to think of all that she had gone through.
Taking a deep breath, he reassured himself, ‘It’s okay. She will be fine. She has to be.’
Sagarika entered the premises and began moving closer to the flower displays. Her eyes continued searching for the face she had seen on Facebook.
Akash walked around, carefully avoiding her line of vision. There were a few people between them. He didn’t want to suddenly walk up to her. He knew how fragile her mind still was. He saw her look around nervously.
‘She’s searching for me,’ he thought, smiling. He wanted to rush to her, hold her tight and feel her arms go around him. It had been so long. But all that would have to wait. He knew that.
A few minutes later, when he saw there weren’t any people around her, he went near her quietly and gently whispered: ‘Cheeni.’
Sagarika spun around, almost losing her balance. Akash held her hand and steadied her. She looked scared, not recognizing his face.
‘It’s me,’ he said. ‘Come, let’s walk in.’
Akash moved closer and held her at the elbow. That’s when she smelt it – it was the perfume, the same fragrance that drove her crazy over these past few months whenever Shekhar was around.
‘You have nothing to fear. You know me,’ Akash said. They walked towards a quiet spot away from the crowd.
‘Huh! No! I…’ Sagarika stammered, looking very scared. Although she found Akash friendly, with a soft and soothing voice, she was still wary of him. It was the first time she was meeting someone like this without Rishab’s knowledge.
‘Cheeni, you know me,’ Akash said, holding her hand gently, standing so close to her that she could get a whiff of the perfume he was wearing.
‘That same smell! Oh god…’ Sagarika was gasping.
A memory from deep within struggled to resurface. A wave rose inside the dark abyss of her mind. Eyes tightly shut, she staggered, about to fall. Akash promptly held her. When she opened her eyes, she instantly recoiled on seeing his yet unfamiliar face. She now looked scared and her lips trembled as Akash’s arm went around her shoulders.
‘Shhh … It’s okay, Cheeni. Just relax.’
‘My head,’ she said, weakly. ‘This smell … I know it. But … I … just can’t. My head hurts. I don’t want the convulsions … they hurt so much.’ Tears began to form in her eyes.
The two were now standing in a corner, away from the crowd. Akash pulled her closer. ‘Shhh … close your eyes. Just relax. Nothing will happen to you. You’re with me. I wouldn’t let anything hurt you. I promise.’ He held her lightly. Holding her in his arms after so many months felt strange. He had dreamt of this moment for months. He had imagined he would feel insanely passionate. But all he felt now was a sense of peace. Sagarika was finally with him. And that’s all that mattered.
Sagarika slowly made herself comfortable in Akash’s arms. Involuntarily, she moved in closer, curling her fist on his pullover, burying her face in his chest.
‘Who are you?’ she asked, looking into his eyes.
‘You know who I am. You know it. You just need to remember it,’ Akash said, stroking her jawline with his thumb, allowing it to trace a line down her long, fair neck. She tilted her head slightly, her lips close to his. A comforting smile appeared on his lips. He wanted to kiss her but stopped himself.
‘Here. Sit next to me.’ He pulled her closer. She bent her head towards his chest, closing her eyes and inhaling the scent of his perfume. He slowly massaged her temples, gently working his way through her curls.
He had a healing touch. Sagarika could feel her body relax.
This feels good. His touch feels comforting.
‘Who are you?’ she asked him again.
Akash whispered, ‘It’s me. You know me, Sagarika. Look inside your heart.’
He just couldn’t let go of her. He had ached to hold her, feel her. And Sagarika didn’t feel like leaving his arms either. She liked his touch; she felt at peace. Somewhere deep inside her, she could feel an ache, a pain that needed to be soothed. The storm that raged in her silent blank mind tired her and just being with him comforted her immensely.
It felt like coming back home.
‘Where are my canvases? I want to paint,’ Sagarika told Rishab the moment he walked in later that evening.
During her meeting with Akash earlier in the day, he had insisted that she get back to painting – it would help her cope. ‘You’re an artist, Cheeni, and painting might help bring back some memories of the past,’ he had said and made her promise that she would.
But Rishab was caught by surprise. He didn’t see that coming. He looked dazed, almost knocked out by her suggestion. Being totally unprepared to handle the question, he hurriedly walked towards the bedroom, hoping she would let go of it.
‘Where are my canvases?’ she asked again, following Rishab to the walk-in closet. ‘Surely I must have had many at home. I looked in the storeroom. There aren’t any. So where’s all my work?’
‘Where the hell is this coming from? And how do I get out of this?’ Rishab thought, feeling cornered. He had destroyed every single one of her canvases when she lay in coma. But he couldn’t possibly tell her that.
‘I’ll get you new canvases and colours. Okay?’ he said, hoping to put an end to persistence.
‘That’s nice. But what happened to my earlier work? I thought they would be there in the store. I looked and couldn’t find any.’
‘They’re all in the warehouse in Mumbai.’
Sagarika glared at her husband for a full minute before continuing. ‘Why? The thing that matters to me the most is locked up in a Mumbai warehouse. Why, Rishab? You take me away from a familiar city. You don’t take me to the house where we stayed. You put away my paintings … Why? What are you trying to hide?’
‘What are you suggesting?’ he said, his voice louder than before.
Sagarika didn’t reply. She turned around and walked into the bedroom.
‘Rika! You don’t just say something so incriminating and walk away. What are you suggesting?’ Rishab said, following her.
‘I’m in no mood for a conversation, Rishab,’ she said, getting into bed. ‘Please leave me alone. Unless of course … if you want to drag on til
l I convulse, faint and slip into coma again. Just leave me alone.’ She slipped into her quilt.
For the second time in his life Rishab wanted to scream.
The day had been a terrible one. The deal he was pursuing with the Korean company was proving to be tougher to crack than he’d imagined. Two of his best colleagues were leaving him at this crucial juncture to pursue their entrepreneurial dream. And then Deepa had sent him a photo accompanied by a brief text message: ‘I’m not entirely useless.’
The photo she had sent was of a woman sitting with a man on a park bench. Though taken from a distance, it was undoubtedly Sagarika.
Rishab had wanted to fling his mobile phone against a wall.
It must be the same fellow. The swine! How did he find her here?
He wanted to confront Sagarika, show her the photo and demand an answer. But that would open a can of worms about their past.
‘I have to do something! This I can’t allow. I will NOT allow!’ he muttered to himself. He went into his study, quelling the strong desire to barge into his bedroom and accost his wife. But he knew he couldn’t do that.
The idea about painting and canvases … it must have been planted in her mind by him. So it’s clearly the same guy from Mumbai. But how on earth did he find her? Even her phone number is new…
He kicked the foot stool in his way. He sat down at his desk, burying his hands deep in his hair. Then he stood up and began pacing the room again. He was powerless – everything seemed to be slipping out of his grasp. The months of careful planning and execution, the new house, the maids … he was losing the plot. And that was unacceptable. He could not – would not – allow circumstances to get the better of him.
No. It can’t be. It can’t be possible. I will not allow her to get away with this. I can’t lose. I will not lose. I will not let her get away. I will not!
34
Akash, meanwhile, was deliriously happy. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this way. He stared at his hands, turning them around slowly. With a smile on his lips, he remembered Sagarika’s comment earlier in the day: ‘You have very nice fingers. The nails are so perfectly round.’
Akash knew she always loved his fingers, especially his nails. Wonder what she saw in them, he wondered. He just couldn’t stop smiling.
How I wish we had more time! If only I could kiss you, Cheeni … I’ve been so lonely without you.
He remembered what she said when they were about to depart: ‘Akash, how close were we? Lovers? Soulmates … what?’
Her questions tore him. They took him back in time to a confrontation he’d had with her over a year ago.
A month and a half before Sagarika’s accident, Akash’s manuscript for a novel was turned down by a publisher. ‘There’s no soul in your writing,’ he was told. Akash was frustrated and beginning to lose hope. This was his fourth rejection letter. His dream of being published was now looking increasingly impossible. Moreover, he wasn’t sure how long he could sustain himself on freelance projects. And he hated the thought of going back to a full-time job.
He wanted Sagarika to be there with him. He didn’t want to be alone at home. He decided to text her.
Meet me? Right now.
-
Not today. I can’t make it.
-
Why? Plz. I need u.
-
Rishab has colleagues over 4 dinner.
That sent him over the edge. ‘Bloody bitch!’ he hissed.
I don’t care. Meet me.
–
Don’t be stupid. I can’t. I’ll make it up. Promise.
‘Who the fuck am I? A bloody gigolo!’ he screamed aloud.
That night, Akash went to every watering hole in town and drowned away his sorrows in alcohol. Sagarika’s absence, the rejection letters for his novel, his increasingly insecure future – he tried to forget everything. Once sloshed, he even posed for photos with attractive women and uploaded them on Facebook. The caption to those photos read: ‘Love my life!!’
He had very little recollection of that night after the third drink. When he woke up in his apartment, it was because of the sound of loud banging on the front door. His head hurt badly. His cellphone was ringing too.
27 Missed Calls.
In his drunken haze, he fumbled, not knowing which one to attend first. He somehow got to the main door.
It was Sagarika. She pushed her way in and began screaming.
‘What is the meaning of this? What kind of crap is this? And why aren’t you taking my calls?’
Akash was too hungover to even comprehend what was going on. ‘Akash! I am talking to you. Is there someone in the bedroom with you?’ she said, pushing him aside and striding up to the empty bed. She drew open the curtains.
‘Answer me!’ she yelled.
‘Will you please stop screaming? My head is killing me,’ Akash said, shielding his eyes from the sun.
Sagarika could see that he was in no condition to speak. She pushed him towards the bathroom, walked to the kitchen and began preparing a tall mug of steaming black coffee. She really wanted to stuff a frying pan down his throat but decided to make him a simple toast and fried eggs.
When he got back from the washroom, he looked more presentable although his bloodshot red eyes were a grim reminder of the drunken revelries of the previous night. Sagarika kept quiet till he finished eating breakfast and had his coffee. She poured him some more. What she really wanted to do was slap the daylights out of him.
‘What?’ Akash asked when he saw her glaring at him. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’
‘Who are these girls?’ she asked, pointing her phone at him. At the photos on his Facebook page. As soon as she had seen those photos the previous night, she had become restless.
‘Why do you want to know?’ he asked.
‘WHY? What do you mean why?’ she said, her voice louder than before.
‘No need to raise your voice,’ he said. ‘I am not answerable to anyone, certainly not to you for the way I live and what I do.’ He got up and walked away from the dining table.
‘What the hell is that supposed to mean, Akash?’ she asked and spun around to face him. ‘You and me…’
Sagarika couldn’t finish the sentence.
‘You and me WHAT? Tell me, Sagarika. What? It’s perfectly fine when you have to play the dutiful wife to your rich husband’s stuffy friends. You can have sex with him so that your apple cart isn’t toppled, so that he keeps buying you diamonds and takes you for foreign holidays. But I am the one who has to be chaste and pure. WHY?’
‘We aren’t having this conversation,’ Sagarika said. ‘Clearly you are still drunk.’
She collected her handbag and began to walk towards the door. But Akash blocked her way.
‘I am not drunk. And this conversation is just beginning. You are using me, Sagarika,’ he said. ‘I am just a convenient and available dick for you. You … you bored, married bitch. You want your kicks from me while you enjoy the perks your rich husband provides. Your type makes me sick.’
‘That’s a bit rich coming from you!’ Sagarika shot back. ‘How many times have you told me that you want only sex and conversation in your life? You don’t want more because you can’t handle commitment. This is your pathetic life. Sleeping with women. Living like a nomad…’
In a fit of anger, he slapped her. Not one to take a slap quietly, Sagarika gave it back to him. She kicked him in his groin and tried punching his face but could only scratch him before bolting out of his tiny apartment.
Days passed. Their tempers cooled down. All it took was a simple text message from Akash: ‘Sorry.’ Almost immediately, his phone rang. It was Sagarika, crying. She was sitting in her bathroom with the tap on, to conceal the sound of her sobbing.
‘Hey! Stupid,’ he said. ‘Don’t cry, Cheeni. I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry. Really.’
Akash wanted to meet her, hold her in his arms and console her. But it was eight-thirty in the eve
ning.
‘I’m on my way. I want to meet you,’ she said in between sobs.
‘Baby, don’t. It’s late…’
Before Akash could complete the sentence, she had hung up.
‘I’m going to Roohi’s house for the night. She’s unwell,’ Sagarika texted Rishab. While he disliked his wife’s best friend, he had accepted that the loud, garrulous woman with her shocking dressing sense would always be around in their life.
Before driving out, Sagarika sent a text to Roohi: ‘Told Rishab I’m at yours. Hope you are at home.’
Roohi replied instantly: ‘This has to stop. Now.’
‘Roohi. Please, just this once. Please. I really need to see him.’ Sagarika was almost pleading.
‘Reeks, you know I am there. Always. But like this? It’s wrong.’
Sagarika ignored her last message and drove away to Andheri. Akash, meanwhile, cleaned the house, laid out fresh bedsheets with pillow covers that didn’t match. He washed the dirty dishes, wiped the kitchen counter and the table top. He knew they would be used that evening and smiled in anticipation of the night that would be spent snuggled in Sagarika’s wild mane. Thanks to Mumbai’s traffic, Sagarika took nearly an hour and thirty minutes to cover the distance from Malabar Hill to Andheri. By then, Akash had not only cleaned up the house, but also showered and worn a fresh shirt. As soon as Sagarika walked in through the door, she flew into his arms. He grabbed her tightly. He could feel her heart pounding against his.
After an hour of wild lovemaking that followed, the two lay panting and breathless, cuddled in each other’s arms. Their naked bodies glowed with beads of sweat. Sagarika’s curly mane lay tangled as Akash fingered the dense curls. He traced a lazy caress along the curve of her waist. She stirred and gently moaned.
‘It’s time you forgot me,’ he said.
‘No … I want to hold you and your memory close to my heart like a candle. I want to protect its flame, lest the wind blows it out,’ she whispered, rubbing her lips on his chest and burying her face in it.
A Forgotten Affair Page 12