by Zoe May
It does look incredible.
‘Yes, let’s,’ I reply.
We wander over to the canteen.
‘Haven’t you already eaten though?’ I ask Seb, recalling the dinner he was having back at the guesthouse.
‘I’ll eat again!’ Seb laughs.
We walk up to the canteen. The food looks so delicious and my stomach instantly starts rumbling. I realize I haven’t eaten since I was on the plane – hours ago. I’ve barely even registered my own hunger as I’ve been too focused on reuniting with Paul.
Seb and I take plates and trays from a stack and begin working our way along the canteen. The food looks so mouth-watering that I nearly stop thinking about Paul. Nearly. I still find myself looking over my shoulder every now and then, half expecting him to be behind me, registering my presence in disbelief, but he’s not there. I get the feeling he’s not in the hall at all. He’s probably having dinner at his guesthouse or one of the other eateries in the ashram.
I load my plate with food, unable to resist the delicious dishes. Seb practices a little more restraint, opting for just a couple of spoonfuls of the tastiest-looking curries and salads, rather than turning his plate into the towering mound of food that mine is.
We pay and then look around for somewhere to sit. The hall is pretty packed, but Seb spots a few free seats at the end of one of the tables. I do another scan for Paul as we sit down, but he’s nowhere to be seen.
I feel myself relax a bit. Even though I’m disappointed, I have a plate of tasty food and, although I probably shouldn’t think it, a rather tasty companion, too. Life could be a lot worse.
‘This looks so good!’ I gush as I tuck into my heaped plate.
‘Yeah, the food here is amazing. I put on weight at first. That’s why I try and eat at the guesthouse more now,’ Seb explains.
I eye his bicep, flexing as he raises his fork to his mouth and I’m tempted to say something about what great shape he’s in, but I resist. He might think I’m coming onto him and given that he’s avoiding sexual contact right now, it probably wouldn’t be appreciated.
‘Is there a gym here?’ I ask, before taking a bite of a garlic naan.
‘Yeah, there’s an outdoor gym,’ Seb says. ‘The equipment’s pretty basic, but it’s nice being able to work out in the sunshine.’
He tucks into his salad.
‘Sounds cool,’ I comment, although it didn’t occur to me for a second to bring gym clothes on this trip.
I try not to think about Seb working out in the sunshine, although images pass unwittingly through my mind. I picture him flexing in the sun as I chew my naan. What am I thinking? So he’s a hot guy and I haven’t had sex for a few weeks, but that’s no reason to be such a pervert! Could it be that ever since he’s mentioned that he’s taken a vow of abstinence, he’s suddenly become even more appealing? Like forbidden fruit in the sense that now I know I can’t have him, I want him even more.
‘So, tell me about this friend you’re surprising? What’s the deal with that?’ Seb asks.
‘Oh, yeah…’ I reply, having momentarily forgotten about Paul in favor of thoughts of Seb’s muscles.
‘He’s, uh…’ I hesitate, not knowing quite where to begin.
Should I tell Seb the truth or will he think I’m weird? I could just brush him off and be vague about it, say something about surprising an old friend, except Seb seems like such an honest person that it might feel uncomfortable to be so vague with him. I take a sip of water as I consider how to answer, when I feel a tap on my shoulder.
‘Rachel?’ A familiar voice says.
My heart skips a beat. It’s Paul. I turn to see him standing behind me, his face practically white from shock.
He looks completely different. He’s wearing the white ashram robes, he’s grown a beard and his hair has been wound into shaggy dreadlocks. No wonder I didn’t spot him. And yet, despite how different he looks, I feel a surge of affection for him. Finally, I’m here with him. Finally, we can talk things through.
‘Paul!’
His eyes are wide.
‘What are you doing here?’ he croaks.
‘I, erm…’ I try to think how to answer, but I’m aware of being watched.
A girl’s standing behind him. She’s also wearing the ashram robes. She looks mid-twenties and quite severe. She has no make-up on and her brown hair is scraped back into a tight ponytail. She eyes me coldly.
I glance back from her to Paul, trying to focus on him instead.
‘I’m here to see you. Why else would I be here?’ I say.
I look imploringly into his eyes, trying to transmit just how much I’ve missed him over the past few weeks and how determined I am to save our relationship, but my expression, which is meant to be tender and meaningful appears to be having no effect. The look reflected back at me is one of anger and frustration. Paul’s eyes are blazing.
‘I can’t believe this!’ he hisses. ‘I came here because I needed to get away from my life back home. I needed space and you’ve chased me!’
‘I haven’t chased you!’ I object.
After all, he’s been here for several weeks without me. He’s had loads of time to himself. It’s not like I just hopped on the first plane.
‘I wanted SPACE!’ Paul states, raising his voice.
A few more people look around and I feel my cheeks begin to burn up. I can’t even bring myself to look at Seb, who is no doubt watching this horror show in complete shock. He’d naturally have thought that whoever I was here to surprise would be happy to see me, and instead they’re shouting at me, wishing I’d never shown up.
I lean a little closer to Paul.
‘I just wanted to show you how much I cared. I want to save our relationship,’ I tell him, trying to keep my voice low.
Paul sighs exasperatedly. ‘Rachel, if you cared, you’d have respected my right to move on with my life. You wouldn’t have stalked me halfway across the world!’
I shrink away from him. I’ve hardly ever seen Paul look so angry. I feel a rush of shame. Have I got this all wrong? Perhaps for once, I should have ignored Priya’s advice. After all, it’s not like she has a track record of taking the most traditional approach when it comes to matters of the heart.
‘I’m sorry. I was hardly stalking you though,’ I comment feebly.
Paul laughs sarcastically, shaking his head in disbelief.
‘I can’t believe this,’ he scoffs. ‘We break up, then you show up here, all the way from London, dressed like Princess Jasmine from Aladdin and you expect me to greet you with open arms.’
He gestures up and down at my outfit. The pale girl behind him snorts with laughter, before cupping her hand over her mouth.
Princess Jasmine? I hadn’t thought of her while I was getting ready this evening, but Paul’s right. I do resemble her. I have the same blue outfit, exaggerated make-up, even similar jewelry. I thought Paul would appreciate my efforts to dress differently and acclimatize to my new surroundings. I thought he’d realize I can be adventurous. I figured it would show him that I can be more than just the furniture-obsessed lawyer bore I’ve become in recent months. But no. I just look like a joke to him – a Disney character. My cheeks blaze with embarrassment. I feel two inches tall.
‘Can we talk about this privately, Paul?’ I suggest, eyeing him fretfully, before glancing at his bitchy sidekick, who is still sniggering.
Who is she, anyway? Surely, he’s not dating her?
‘No!’ Paul scoffs. ‘No, we can’t talk privately You just don’t get it, do you? I WANT TO MOVE ON!’ he stipulates, loudly and clearly, like he’s talking to an idiot.
He turns to the girl behind him, who’s now smirking at me.
‘Come on, let’s go,’ he says.
He turns on his heel and marches away, towards the exit. The girl throws a mean, pitying look my way before following him out.
I watch them despondently as they leave. Then I realize there’s a hush in the hall, protract
ed seconds of silence rolling by. I look around. Mine and Paul’s argument has somehow silenced the entire place. I suppose the ashram isn’t used to drama. People here are probably too busy meditating to have domestics. I look sheepishly down at my lap, hoping people will turn their attention back to their meals.
Eventually, I glance shyly up at Seb, aware that my cheeks are burning.
He looks at me sympathetically. I can’t think of a single thing to say and silence passes between us.
I reach for my naan and take a bite.
‘How’s your naan?’ Seb asks, smiling sweetly in spite of everything.
I swallow.
‘It’s great,’ I reply awkwardly, trying not to cry.
Chapter Nine
‘Damn!’ I grumble, pushing Seb’s laptop across the picnic table.
I give up trying to talk to the chat operator of my airline, who keeps parroting the terms and conditions of my flight at me.
I’d booked what I thought was a fancy flight insurance package that included the option of changing the return date of your journey home, but what I didn’t realize was that I could only change the date if I had ‘extenuating circumstances’ like bereavement or illness. Apparently, being ruthlessly rejected by your boyfriend in the middle of an ashram dining hall and being ridiculed for resembling a Disney character doesn’t count.
‘No luck?’ Seb pulls a face.
‘Nope,’ I sigh.
‘So you’re stuck here for two full weeks then,’ Seb remarks, fully aware of my predicament.
I told him everything last night once I got over the initial shock. Unlike Priya, Seb wasn’t particularly on board with my plan to win Paul back and seemed to be of the opinion that if he wanted to come to India to ‘find himself’ then that’s what I should have let him do. He made me sound like some sort of self-discovery saboteur, which was a little awkward, but of course, if anyone’s going to be able to relate to Paul’s quest for enlightenment then it’ll be Seb. Even though Seb didn’t exactly agree with my endeavor to win Paul back, it was good to talk things through with him. He was so sensitive and understanding, and even though I still feel a bit bruised, it was good to have someone supporting me. One thing Seb and I definitely were in agreement on is that Paul was a complete dick last night. We both firmly agreed on that.
‘Yep, I’m stuck here for two weeks,’ I reply.
Two whole weeks. God. I honestly don’t know how I’m going to cope. Thanks to my jet lag (and general stress), I was up most of last night tossing and turning. But it turns out that no matter whether you lie on your left side or your right side or your back, trying to sleep on bamboo stalks is simply not comfortable. It must have been 4am by the time I finally passed out, and then I was up a few hours later at dawn when it turns out that the ashram becomes an aviary. I’ve never heard so much birdsong in my life: hooting and chirping and singing. It was impossible to sleep over the cacophony, and just when I thought it couldn’t get any noisier, there was human singing and chanting too. I mentioned it to Seb earlier and he said it was Meera. Apparently, she does it every morning, performing a ‘vocal sun salutation’.
‘It could be worse,’ Seb reasons, gazing over the garden of the guesthouse, which I have to admit, is rather pretty.
‘I suppose,’ I admit.
The area where we’re sitting has been decorated in paving stones carved into the shape of leaves, which fan out across a grassy expanse, dotted with flowerbeds bursting with exotic lilies, sunflowers, marigolds, lotuses and small buds with petals like stars. In the distance are the palm trees and hammocks. I might curl up in one later and see if I can get some shut eye, although if I’m stuck here for two weeks then I really should stop sleeping during the day.
I drum my fingernails against the picnic table, eyeing Seb’s laptop again, even though I’ve just pushed it aside.
‘Do you mind if I…’ I reach for it.
One thing I’ve learnt about Seb is that while he may have given up sex, drink and drugs for an entire year, fortunately, he hasn’t given up the internet. Working in the travel industry has clearly made him a savvy traveler, because he managed to pick up an internet dongle at Mumbai airport, loaded up with a ton of data, enabling him to get online despite our guesthouse’s no WiFi policy. Although he insists he hardly goes online at all, only logging on once every few weeks to send emails to family.
‘What do you need to do?’ Seb asks, eyeing me warily.
The truth is, I want to check my work emails. I’ve already checked my personal account and let my family and friends know I got here safely, but I want to know what’s happening in the office. It’s 9am on Monday morning. Well, here it is. Technically, back home, it’s three or four in the morning. But it still feels really weird to not be working. I’ve set up my ‘out of office’ reply, but nevertheless, I’m curious to find out if there are any updates from the office, especially given Mr Pearson’s surprise visit, which still bothers me slightly since I have no idea what it was about.
‘I just… I, err…’ I stammer.
‘You want to go on Twitter?’ Seb raises an eyebrow accusingly.
He’s been keeping a pretty close eye on me ever since I got online, watching a display in the left-hand corner of the screen to see how much data I was using. I suppose when, like him, you’re here indefinitely, you want to make your data last. Apparently, there are a few computers in the main hall, but you have to book a slot to use them. This place is barbaric.
‘I… just…’
‘If it’s online shopping, they don’t deliver here,’ Seb jokes, smiling cheekily.
‘It’s not online shopping!’ I tut. ‘But it’s nice to know that in your eyes I’m a vapid consumer!’
Seb laughs. ‘Okay, fine. My bad. Work then?’
I smile guiltily. ‘Rumbled.’
Seb shakes his head in mock disappointment and reaches for the laptop. For a moment, I think he’s going to push it back across the picnic table towards me and allow me to indulge myself, but instead he just presses a few keys and ejects the dongle.
‘I’m doing you a favor,’ he insists, regarding me over the top of the screen, before snapping the laptop closed.
‘How?’ I balk.
‘You’re here in India and you want to check your office emails. I mean, come on!’ He rolls his eyes indulgently.
I feel like explaining to him that something’s going on with my company’s CEO and that it could potentially mean something significant, in terms of redundancies or restructuring, and yet, I still get the feeling that office politics, no matter how drastic, will be of no consequence to Seb. That kind of talk is kryptonite to ashram-dwellers like him.
‘Alright, fine,’ I relent. ‘No office emails for me.’
Seb smiles.
A peacock struts into the guesthouse garden, its beautiful feathers vibrant and pearlescent, shimmering in the sun.
‘Wow!’ I utter as it approaches our table, looking regal and proud.
Seb and I both admire it as it parades ostentatiously around the garden before strutting back out onto the path and disappearing from sight. As it retreats from view, I realize Seb’s right. I am in India and office politics is irrelevant right now. If I’d been staring at his computer screen, clicking through my inbox, I might have missed the sight of that beautiful peacock. What else might I miss if I keep obsessing about life back home? I don’t exactly expect I’m going to fall for ashram life, but I may as well at least try to appreciate it.
‘So what do you do here then?’ I ask, fixing Seb with a curious look.
‘There’s plenty to do,’ Seb insists, smiling.
His smile really is ridiculously cute. The narrow gap between his front teeth gives him such an adorable look. Combined with his hippy tattoos and his shaved head and his slightly quirky character, his handsomeness has an intriguing and uniquely captivating quality.
‘Like what?’ I ask.
‘Well, there’s yoga, meditation, Tai Chi, massage, art c
lasses, swimming, gardening, whatever you want!’ Seb insists, gesturing expansively.
I smile weakly. Yoga? Yoga is the one craze I’ve never even remotely got on board with. Show me a yoga studio and I’ll show you a wanker magnet. I’ve tried it, once or twice, but it’s just boring. And I’ve never experienced any kind of physical benefit. People talk about yoga bodies but I think it’s a con. I mean, have you ever seen someone overweight walk into a yoga studio and leave slim? Hardly. The type of people who go to yoga classes always seem to be in good shape in the first place. I reckon yoga is just an excuse to wear nice Lycra and have tasty smoothies afterwards and catch up with yoga pals. And gardening? Do I look like an OAP?
‘Cool,’ I reply weakly. ‘So, erm, which of those activities are you doing today?’ I ask, hoping that his itinerary might offer something slightly better in the way of entertainment.
Even checking out this outdoor gym he frequents would be a lot more interesting than getting green-fingered.
‘I’m going to meditate for a few hours,’ Seb tells me.
Meditate? For a few hours?
I must be gawping, because Seb starts to laugh.
‘It’s not that bad,’ he claims.
‘A few hours?’ I echo.
‘Buddha meditated for forty-nine days to achieve enlightenment,’ Seb tells me.
‘Oh, come on,’ I scoff.
‘He did!’ Seb insists.
‘What? So he didn’t eat? He didn’t go to the toilet?’ I protest.
‘No, he reached a higher plane,’ Seb insists, although his eyes lack conviction. ‘He rose above bodily functions.’
‘Hmm…’ I eye him cynically.
‘That’s what his followers believe.’ Seb shrugs.
‘Well, obviously that’s rubbish! Even if he was grabbing the odd bug here and there off the ground to sustain himself and drinking rain, he would have needed to go to the toilet,’ I point out.
Seb snorts with laughter. He looks down at the picnic table and shakes his head, his lips tight, as though he’s biting his tongue from saying something.
‘What?’ I ask.
He looks up. ‘It’s just you. I haven’t met anyone like you in this place. Two minutes into contemplating meditation and we’re discussing Buddha’s bowel movements.’