Let's Have Coffee

by Parul A Mittal

  Talking to Anusha makes me see things in perspective. I am smart, witty and creative. And I am anything but a sex-traction, I reassure myself. So, when Samir finally calls me an hour later, I am sitting in Starbucks, sipping Frappuccino and feeling much better. I pick up the phone but say nothing. Sensing my silent protest, he tells me he was directing a long-distance video shoot in Singapore and hence he was couldn’t talk to me earlier.

  I still keep silent. I don’t know how to break the news of my public defamation without bursting into tears.

  ‘Sonia called me before going live with the video,’ he says.

  Oh! So not only has he seen the video, he knew about it even before it went public.

  ‘You didn’t stop her?’ I am appalled at his lack of concern.

  ‘How? By going and having sex with her?’ Samir replies sharply.

  What is he blabbering? And why is he so curt and cold? I am the one who is getting blamed by strangers online.

  ‘Sonia called me while in the bath tub at a hotel and asked me to meet her. She said she will post the video live if I didn’t reach her in thirty minutes.’

  ‘Is she in town?’ I ask apprehensively.

  ‘She is in Delhi, for an ad shoot,’ he replies.

  ‘I am glad you didn’t go,’ I say softly, calming down. I can’t imagine the stuff she would have put online had Samir gone to meet her. Not to mention, what all she would have done with him.

  ‘I couldn’t. I was caught up with work.’

  ‘You mean you would have otherwise gone…and had…er…?’ I ask getting all agitated again.

  ‘Well, if you can schedule a sex date with Vir so can I, right?’ Samir taunts.

  Oh no! I look at my messages history. I accidentally sent the message I had typed for Vir to Samir. I can’t tell him that Vir is just some lines of code in a computer system. He’ll think I am totally worthless. And a liar. He is rather touchy about lies, even the harmless ones.

  ‘Listen Samir, it’s not what you think it is,’ I try to explain guiltily. ‘Vir is not even in town. I was just…er…it was just sexting.’

  I am almost on the verge of tears again. The anxiety of reality show, the humiliation from Sonia’s video and the tension of being so close to Samir and yet so far is getting to me.

  ‘Calm down, Senorita,’ Samir says, sensing my discomfort. ‘I was just pulling your leg. Really your private life is none of my business.’

  I almost feel a tinge of dismay hearing this. I really want Samir to make my private life his business. But I am relieved that he is not creating a big fuss over Vir.

  ‘Listen, I am sorry about Sonia’s video. Don’t believe a word of it, okay?’

  ‘So you don’t think I have huge butts?’ I ask childishly.

  ‘Of course you have huge butts! And they make you B-U-T-full,’ he jests.

  I know he is joking, but I like jokes that imply that I am beautiful. Feeling happier, I ask him how I should explain the video to my Mom.

  ‘You are telling me? Sonia gifted my mom a diamond pendant few weeks back and had promised her a diamond string necklace for the wedding. Apparently, she had my Mom and sister in confidence for the wedding proposal,’ he reveals.

  ‘Fuck.’ I swear.

  ‘Who?’ He asks laughing naughtily.

  ‘You!’

  ‘Come over then.’

  ‘Where?’ I ask playing along.

  ‘In my office.’

  ‘I would have, except we have decided to abstain. Remember?’

  ‘Remind me again. Whose idea was that?’

  ‘All yours baby,’ I say flirtingly.

  ‘Oh fuck me for the fucking idea,’ Samir says and we both crack up.

  Laughing with him dissipates all my tension. Not to mention the message from NetGen saying that #MehaAndSamir is, in fact, in top trends because Sonia’s video has gone viral. Everyone in the country wants to sympathize with a sexy, semi-naked model. As a by-product, they are also watching our video and leaving comments, which are mostly distasteful, but some decent too. End of week one, Ds are ranked one, we are tied at the second position with As and Bs and Cs are fourth and fifth respectively. I feel this is pretty good, given the shaky start we had. As part of the show’s requirement, every participant has to share a new discovery about his or her partner from the first week of the #LiveInLoveOut reality show. We purposefully keep ours non-mushy and regular day-to-day stuff.

  Samir–‘She buys way more stuff than she ever wears. I think she should do a charity sale so I can get some more cupboard space :) Also, can anyone help me understand why we need a bedcover on top of a bed sheet every day?’

  Meha–‘He makes amazing aloo parathas, but cleaning the kitchen after he cooks is a task. And he doesn’t always smell rosy. He sweats and stinks like a pig after a workout. But he makes me laugh when I am down and he likes me the way I am.’

  Week one of the reality show ends. It doesn’t get me the attention I wanted from the world, but it gets me attention alright. I am happy that Samir and I have become more comfortable with each other’s distinct ways. I feel almost as close to him as I do to Mansi. I guess becoming a friend is the first step to life-long relationship.

  Reality Show: Week 2

  It’s the second week of the reality show. We are sitting in Starbucks discussing the final designs for the Jaisalmer wedding next week.

  I have been enjoying the attention I am getting from Samir. I like it when he likes my posts, when he retweets my tweets and when he forwards me non-veg jokes. I also enjoy working together with him and that bit of the enjoyment is far more real and satisfying. Like just now when I told him that I intend to transform the swimming pool in the Jaisalmer fort into a hookah lounge, with deep blue tables matching the floor tile pattern, the praise in his eyes was genuine. And it made me happier than any praise from anyone else.

  Sipping on my favourite Frappuccino, I show him the elephant motifs being custom printed on tents, when a chubby woman in her mid-twenties walks upto me. She thanks me for making her proud of her body and asks for my autograph. I am taken by surprise. I was aware that Sonia’s video calling me fat had made me the voice of all busty and butt-sy women in the online world, but I had no idea I was recognizable-in-a-crowd famous. I think it’s my role as the new, brand ambassador for Veronica Secret ‘Body’ line bras that has made me this popular.

  Excited, I give the autograph, acknowledge Samir’s approving smile and try to continue the discussion on the elephant motifs. But soon I find myself surrounded by more girls seeking selfies and relationship advice.

  ‘I don’t like it that my boyfriend keeps telling me to lose weight,’ says a girl with smoky, captivating eyes and a charming smile.

  ‘You’re not exactly fat,’ sighs another, with boobs the size of pumpkins. ‘I can’t even see the next step when climbing down a stair. I fell over my last boyfriend and almost crushed him.’

  ‘Can the Veronica bra help me get a boyfriend too?’ A pretty face asks.

  I don’t know what to tell these girls. When Veronica bra had taken my recommendation to launch an entirely new ad campaign, featuring women with all body shapes and sizes, it had sounded all important to be their advisor but I had no idea of the impact it could have on real people’s emotions. Samir is watching me with curiosity. I want to say something meaningful. I think about the campaign’s new tag line ‘Be yourself—everyone else is taken.’ I tell them what I believe in, that relationships may start on the basis of physical attraction, but that alone cannot sustain them. We need to feel beautiful inside to look beautiful. If a certain bra, cosmetic or dress makes you feel better about yourself, go for it. But the only person you need to look good to is yourself. The idea seems to connect with my audience. More people come over and start listening and I start enjoying my mini-celebrity status.

  After a while, I look for Samir to ensure that he is not feeling neglected. He is surrounded by women too! Only his admirers happen to be the sexy-by-the-boo
k dames. Suddenly I find myself feeling not so beautiful. All my advice goes out of the door. These girls already have the oomph. What more can they possibly need? I get my answer as I overhear a size-zero girl, asking for gyan on how to hitch a boyfriend who can look beyond her body into her soul. I realize that all women irrespective of their body shape and size are really looking for the thing called love. I want to hear how Samir, a strong non-believer of love, responds to this.

  ‘Girls, men aren’t like women,’ Samir says, leaning back on to the sofa, his arms outstretched. ‘A woman seeks emotional understanding, while a man is looking for fertile soil to spread his genes.’

  I have to admit, he is certainly being truthful. And very often, girls are okay with just open honesty, especially when it comes from someone as dashing as him. He tells them the best they can hope to get is a guy who will make the bed after finishing his business in it.

  Well, that’s certainly more than what he does. I mean, he never makes his bed. It’s another thing that we are not doing any bed business anyway. Although he does cook aloo parathas. I feel he is being really good at being friend-without-benefits. I know we all think men only want benefits, but I think men can be great friends with or without benefits as long as we girls don’t go all needy and possessive.

  ‘Can I call you sometime when I need advice?’ I hear one of the girls ask.

  ‘What’s your number?’ I see it’s the hep girl in uber-short shorts asking.

  ‘Are you open to, you know, affairs on the side?’ A fair, dimpled one eagerly inquires.

  I see Samir laughing, a hand on one girl’s shoulder. Instinctively I feel jealous and needy and possessive. All of which are the wrong things to feel. I literally pull Samir away insisting that we need to leave. He tries to tell me that it’s raining outside but I drag him out without waiting for him to exchange numbers.

  As we step out in the open, I find it is indeed pouring—completely offseason. We both make a dash for his car, which is parked further away. Suddenly the smell of fresh, wet earth transports me to my childhood. And I slow down. I am a schoolgirl, enjoying the rain in our backyard. I listen to the sound of the raindrops on the paved surface. I jump in the puddles to splash the water around. I try to catch the raindrops in my mouth. I dance merrily to the tune of ‘Mere khwaabon mein jo aaye’ from DDLJ that my MJ has picked for the moment from my school days.

  When we finally reach home half an hour later, both soaked to the skin and cold. As we walk past Mansi’s closed door, I can tell that she is inside with the CXO. These days, they spend a lot of time together. Indoors, fully clothed and talking. I know, because I have barged into her room a couple times, accidentally out of habit and found them doing nothing. My latest theory on this is that he is a shrink. Samir disagrees. Anyway, the relevant bit at the moment is that Mansi’s bathroom is inaccessible So Samir and I both head to my room. While I fetch dry clothes from my cupboard, he takes off his shirt. I look hesitantly at him, keenly aware that my pale-blue cotton kurta is clinging to my bare skin. I feel a sweet tension building in the room. He holds the bathroom door open for me. When I come out, I find that he has changed into fresh shorts, but he is still without a shirt. A shiver runs down my spine looking at his half-naked and devastatingly handsome frame.

  ‘Still feeling cold?’ He asks caringly.

  I vaguely shake my head in a nod, but my heart has begun to beat so fast that everything is becoming a blur. I think I am about to fall when he steps forward and holds my arms. His slight touch ignites my body. Warmth spreads like wildfire and fills me with liquid-ecstasy. He gingerly swipes a lock of wet hair stuck to my cheek. His fingers graze my lips, gingerly move across my cheek, and tuck the hair behind my ear. I want to kiss him, but I wait for him to make the first move. He slowly closes the distance between our bodies and places his soft, wet lips on my cheek, his hands now holding me in a loving embrace. I gently link my arms around his neck and listen to his heartbeat in tandem with mine. One moment he is looking into my eyes and the next, we are in this hungry, incredibly passionate, unrestrained kiss. His tongue invades my mouth, urgently exploring every crevice. Mad with longing, I reciprocate, the storm of my desire feeding his hunger. I am about to lose myself within him, when he stops. His heart still racing faster than a rollercoaster, he moves away.

  ‘I know you need to practise kissing. And I can help. But I won’t be able to stop at just the lips. Yeh dil maange more,’ he says, his eyes glinting with raw lust.

  Why is he saying all this? I step closer and wrap my arms around him. He looks down at me, with a forced smile on his lips, and says, ‘I know you are in a relationship with Vir and you don’t like sex-on-the-side and I don’t want to lose what we have, so I better stop while I can.’ And he loosens out of my grip leaving me cold and hungry.

  I want to fall back in his arms. I want to tell him the truth about Vir, but I have a reality show to win. I can’t risk Samir getting angry about an innocuous virtual lie and walking out of the show. I love him, but I love staying out of jail even more. And for that I need money. I say nothing.

  ‘I’ll make hot chocolate for us. You go find a movie to watch together,’ he says, tickling me on the side of my waist.

  I laugh faintly, my body still tense from the encounter. I guess I will have to settle for a hot chocolate and a movie.

  Sitting cross-legged on his futon, unbothered by the mess on the floor, I sip hot chocolate and dig into crumbling hazelnut cookies. Samir is sitting right beside, his hand hanging loosely over my shoulder, watching my all-time favourite movie Zindagi Naa Milegi Dobara and cracking jokes. The moment has passed and I am back to being content with being friends with him. I am absorbed in the emotional drama when I hear Samir sniffle. I look at him nonplussed as the tears flow down his cheeks. Between the two of us, if you were to ask, I would say that he is the practical one while I am more sensitive. For instance, I will be guilty and heartbroken for days for having spoiled my green sandals in the rain today. But he will just order a new pair of shoes online, probably the exact same one.

  ‘Are you crying?’ I ask, surprised.

  ‘Don’t you dare tell anyone about this,’ he warns me.

  ‘God promise,’ I pinch the front of my neck with my forefinger and thumb.

  He takes my hand, threading his fingers through mine, gives me a be-there-for-me-forever friendly smile and we continue to watch the movie.

  Sharing secrets with a friend is like letting them read an unpublished chapter of your story. It surely gives them the power to hurt you, but it also acts as a bridge connecting your story to theirs. I feel a certain joy at sharing a part of him. Knowing his little secret makes me feel far closer to him than physical intimacy with his body. I like this connection in our stories. I don’t know what hopes and dreams my heart is weaving, but I find myself humming ‘Ude, khule aasaman mein khwaabon ke parindey…Oho, ab toh, jo bhi ho so ho’ from the movie we are watching, for rest of the day. It seems like my dreams have found wings and I don’t care what happens next.

  In the middle of the week, we are expected to share this week’s special moment. Samir posts a picture of me dancing in the unexpected rain outside Starbucks. ‘Spontaneous and carefree—like when I first met her,’ he says.

  I post a picture of him surrounded by his latest girlfriends—the aunties in the complex who all dress up for their weekly cyber class with him. It’s hilarious to see that they may have lost their teeth, but they still love the candy. I title it ‘Surrounded by women—like when I first met him.’

  End of week two, Ds are still at the top of the charts, despite being criticized by the self-proclaimed preservers of India’s tradition. There is an entire controversy on Ds’ page about doing-it-openly to doing-it-secretly.

  While they are our competitors, Samir supports their stand in the controversy. ‘It’s not like the world doesn’t know how we have crossed a billion mark,’ he quips.

  I may not approve of Samir’s polygamous lifestyle,
but I tend to agree that sex shouldn’t be treated like a second-class citizen. With the ancient Hindu text Kamasutra being recognized widely as the seminal work on sex and internationally acclaimed erotic sculptures of Khajuraho temples, aren’t we Indians supposed to be torchbearers when it comes to sexual knowledge? Why are we then told to think of sex as a shady business? Seriously, I almost grew up believing sex to be a shameful act like swearing or stealing.

  Anyway, for us, there really is no sex to show or hide. Yet, we have managed to stay at the second position with the ‘Be yourself’ bra campaign and the support from Samir’s senior girlfriends and their girlfriends. As are trailing behind us now but only by a small number of votes. Bs are fourth having gained momentum with the festival of Eid around the corner while Cs are still coming last, serving more to amuse the viewers than garner their votes.

  I am happy with our second position right now. I don’t know how we will beat the Ds, but I am certain that it will take more than porn to win this show. Ma is also on top of the world. Not only because I sent her a free ‘Perfect Body’ bra but also because her kitty friends find Samir a very charismatic son-in-law. Dad is recovering. Business is looking up. Even our Facebook page has reached 39,990 likes and only needs ten more FB likes to get to a round figure, like myself. But for the steep fall from Samir’s heart, expected at the end of the reality show, life has never been better.

  I go to the old squirrel post on my Facebook page and scroll down to the last comment from Samir suggesting the sweet person to ask for another treat and reply, ‘I am glad I asked for another treat.’

  Reality Show: Week 3

  We are in an old, rustic Jaisalmer palace-hotel located on the outskirts of the city, having arrived here late last night. I am standing on top of a tall tower, still catching my breath, after climbing up five flights of stairs to get the network. This is the only place in the entire palace where there is any network signal. And it so happens that this week’s reality show activity is all about tweeting the differences between you and your partner and gaining twitter followers. With even NetGen having accompanied us here for the wedding, staying connected to the online world is going to be breathless and tiring.