Let's Have Coffee

by Parul A Mittal

  ‘It’s ditto like that awesome Meg Ryan’s movie, Addicted to Love,’ I blurt out frantically. I ask Mini if the judges think that Cs should be disqualified for deception, but she informs me that judges rather like the ‘meant-for-each-other’ twist in their story. It has given them a differentiating factor.

  I lower my head in dismay, when Samir who has been looking down my blouse all this while, suddenly exclaims, ‘You’ve got a tattoo, there?’ He points to the butterfly, inked right above my heart, peeking out my low neckline.

  I flush in embarrassment, while Mini is regarding us with a sceptical stare. Oh God, I know what she is thinking. She is wondering why Samir doesn’t know about my tattoo.

  ‘I…er…got it done just yesterday. For you,’ I say, in as sultry as voice I can feign on the spot. ‘I was going to surprise you with it tonight.’

  Samir gives me a girl-you-have-got-your-wits-about-you look and then adds, ‘Now we both have a butterfly tattoo, don’t we.’ And he rolls his T-shirt sleeve up to show the butterfly on his upper left arm to Mini.

  I have of course seen him shirtless before, but Mini goes all, ‘Aww, how sweet. You two are so tattoo-ally in love.’

  Soon enough, Mini wishes us luck, reminds every one of our hash tag and signs off. I turn to Samir to finally tell him about Vir’s virtuality and get him out of our way, but Samir is engrossed in reading a message on his phone. In fact, he seems to be bursting with an explosion of happiness inside him and then he leaves the house hurriedly like a gust of wind.

  By the time he gets back, I am almost asleep. He kisses me on my forehead, says he loves me and says something about his dream having come true. A dream he has been chasing for very long. I smile back in my sleep. I am too sleepy to tell him about Vir, but I soon will. It doesn’t matter now. I know he loves me and I have never stopped loving him. My MJ has a lullaby ready, ‘Tum hi ho…Meri aashiqui ab tum hi ho’.

  When the week’s results come, Samir’s hunch is proven right. His mom’s saas-bahu drama and our tattoo news works as our revival capsule. We are able to marginally defeat Cs and come out first at the end of week four.

  Reality Show: Week 5

  I am totally, madly and truly in love with Samir and I think he is in love with me too. I float through week five as if no trouble is so important that it can’t be ignored and I can even live in the dungeons if he is with me. Well, maybe not dungeons.

  I look at my laptop’s blank screen and smile. This week we are supposed to tell the world why we want to spend our lives with our chosen partner.

  I write, ‘Love is a journey of shared moments—movie with caramel popcorn, bike ride to Manesar, walking in the woods at dusk, dinner at a dhaba, followed by dot, dot, dot in a barn. I could get used to this.’

  Samir has posted a romantic poem for me.

  She is fun, she is witty,

  She is creative, she is pretty,

  She is a clean freak; she is sometimes a pain,

  She has a lovely smile, in kissing she still needs to train,

  She drives me crazy, she makes me jive,

  She is everything I want, she makes me alive.

  I can’t believe Anusha was right all along about Samir’s feelings for me. I am very happy that she also has finally found happiness with Varun. I guess sometimes God takes time to fix the grammatical errors he makes in our stories, but he does fix them eventually. While my love life was on a chapter break and my start-up was facing a big question mark—but now they have both been infused with fresh pages to continue their adventure.

  End of week five, we are a little behind Ds, but a little ahead of Cs and clearly on our way to victory. Bs seem to have disappeared off the net, no one knows where.

  Reality Show: Week 6

  ‘Meha, will you live-in with me forever…er…I mean, will you marry me?’ Samir asks, down on one knee.

  ‘Why do you suddenly want to marry me?’ She asks with an air of superiority.

  ‘Because you make me happy like no one else.’ He sounds honest. ‘And I have had a fair share of else,’ he chuckles, but then becomes serious again as he finds her measuring gaze watching him.

  ‘How do you know one day you won’t get bored of me? What if you find someone whom you start “preferring” more than me?’ She argues.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he says helplessly. ‘But if I do, I will be honest with you. I won’t go sneaking behind your back.’

  ‘I think you are all set then,’ she says and gets back to her designs. Samir hovers around restlessly in her room.

  ‘Do you think it’s a good idea to propose to her in front of the judges during the finale?’ He asks Mansi, standing over her shoulder, watching her perfect the designs.

  Mansi turns to look up at his face. She wants to help Samir. After all, it is because of Samir that Soha Ali Khan has agreed to be the showstopper for her fashion show. Besides, this will make her BFF Meha truly happy. But she has loads of loose ends to wrap up. And Samir is over thinking the proposal.

  ‘Samir, we have been rehearsing for almost an hour,’ she says, trying to hide her exasperation. He is immediately apologetic. Mansi softens her voice and says, ‘Meha loves grandeur. She loves style. Believe me, she will love this.’

  He knows Mansi will not say something just because he wants to hear it. He likes her no-nonsense honesty. But he is still unsure.

  ‘But what if…what about Vir?’ Samir asks hesitantly.

  ‘You know what, let me tell you a little secret. I think Meha wouldn’t mind this one breach of BFF-secrecy pact,’ she says impatiently.

  ‘What the F?’ Samir exclaims as Mansi reveals Vir’s virtual reality to him. So there never was a boyfriend. Meha conned him into living in so she could save her own ass! Her lovely ass. Normally, he doesn’t like being taken for a ride, but this one has been rewarding. It could have been even more rewarding had he known there was no Vir. And while he wasn’t really worried about Vir, it feels good to have him out of the picture. He walks out of the room doing a celebratory jig. He is on his way to meet his Meha.

  It’s about six in the evening. I am sitting on Samir’s futon, amongst his mess, waiting for him. The clutter doesn’t annoy me anymore. It actually makes me feel loved. It holds memories of the moments Samir and I have shared in the last six weeks. I pick up his fountain pen with which he wrote the beautiful poem about me last week, on a pale brown textured paper, burnt at the edges to create an old parchment effect. There is a crumpled Starbucks receipt from a month ago when we got wet in the rain. I can still taste his wet lips claiming mine. A solved Sunday crossword bookmarks a page in the picture book that Rhea had lovingly offered him because she has outgrown it. I love the way he is become a part of me and my family. I pick up the T-shirt he had worn the night before to inhale his wild-rose fragrance.

  I haven’t seen him since the morning and am eagerly waiting for him to take me in his arms. He was supposed to join me for Anusha and Varun’s court marriage in the afternoon, but at the last minute he messaged that an emergency had come up and he would meet me at home later. To while away time, I look at the pictures from the wedding, although it wasn’t exactly a wedding, if you ask me. It was a rather small affair. Actually, it wasn’t even an affair. It was more like a case hearing with the judge. Varun’s elder brother, Deepak and I were the witnesses. Deepak looked handsome as ever. He excitedly told me that he and Radhika are expecting a baby. And he was very grateful to Tanu Di for having finally knocked some sense into Rad’s head. Huh? Now doesn’t Di always manage to do that? He offered everyone fine Lindt chocolates after the ceremony and I greedily took two. He gave me a knowing smile and then we parted.

  It’s almost dinner time. I am hungry but I want to have dinner with Samir. Rather I want to have him for dinner. I am mindlessly leafing through odd pictures he has taken, when a certain letter lying amidst the pictures catches my attention. It is a note from Neworld Publishers. I hesitantly pick it up and start reading.

  Dear Sa
mir Singhal,

  As discussed I’m happy to make an offer on your book Let’s Have Coffee (working title). The book reads well. I especially like the online reality show twist.

  I’d like to offer a Hardback royalty of 10 per cent and e-book rights for 25 per cent. This offer is for all languages rights.

  Do let me know if the offer is acceptable to you. If there are any queries, please feel free to call/e-mail me.

  Look forward to your response,

  Regards,

  Chief Commissioning Editor

  Neworld Publishers

  I feel the firm ground beneath me turn to a slippery slide. My whole world comes down around me, like an unauthorized colony being demolished on court orders.

  It was always the book, back then and now.

  ‘The book was his reason to do the reality show, his long-held dream that has come true. He never cared much for you,’ my mind taunts. ‘And why should he? Who likes a bouquet of rough and sturdy sunflowers that are easy maintenance? It’s always the aromatic, slender, soft roses that people love.’

  ‘But I have seen love in his eyes for me,’ my heart fights back meekly, drowning in my tears.

  ‘Ha ha. Don’t you get it? He likes a variety of flowers in his bouquet, you silly girl,’ my mind mocks.

  I have no idea for how long I keep sitting on his futon, among his things, my heart crying for him and my mind reprimanding him. I am so lost in my grief that I don’t hear the bell ringing the first few times. I trudge slowly to the front door, my eyes puffy and my hair a mess. I open the door and he is there. But he is not alone. He is holding an unconscious, and still gorgeous, Sonia in his arms. I say nothing. I just run inside my room and bolt it from inside. And then I cry my heart out.

  I am not sure if he can hear my wailing, but he doesn’t come running after me like I want him to, like he would if he loved me. It’s only much later that I hear a knock on the door. He calls out my name and requests me to open the door. I walk to the door, unbolt it and go back to my spot on the bed. He walks in and puts his arms lovingly around me. I am sobbing uncontrollably now. It’s unbearable to have him so close, to feel his caressing touch, to breathe his breath and know it is all a sham. He tries to hold my hands, but I push him away.

  He sits at the opposite end of the bed and starts telling me how Sonia was in town for a shoot. She wanted to meet him but since he couldn’t go, she tried to kill herself by cutting her wrist. Her assistant found her, managed to stop her and then called him. The doctor who had also been summoned told him to watch over her as she was emotionally fragile and vulnerable. He couldn’t leave her alone in the hotel, so he brought her here.

  My anger numbs a little on hearing about Sonia’s shocking suicide attempt. I didn’t know Sonia loved him so much that she would give up her life for him. Does she not realize that Samir doesn’t feel the same for her? Is Samir still giving her mixed signals by continuing to stay in touch with her? Perhaps somewhere in his heart he still cares for Sonia.

  I tell him I saw the letter of acceptance from his book publisher. ‘Why did you keep it from me?’ I challenge him. It’s easier to debate facts rather than feelings.

  ‘I had my reason, like you had yours to keep Vir alive,’ he replies coldly, his tone becoming defensive.

  I don’t know how and when he found out about Vir, but I doubt he really cares. I think he is unhappy because I caught him red-handed using me for his book.

  ‘I was going to tell you about Vir at the event this week,’ I explain.

  ‘I was also going to tell you something at the event this week,’ he says wistfully.

  ‘Have you been using our live-in experience for your book?’ I ask point-blank. This is no time to play games.

  ‘Of course,’ he says casually.

  ‘So none of it meant anything to you?’ I ask, the anger at having been wronged rising again.

  ‘How do you conclude that?’ He is now getting annoyed for no reason.

  I try to keep my rising anger in check. I just want to make sure I get all the answers and leave nothing to misinterpretation like last time.

  ‘You don’t believe in love forever, right?’ I continue my line of interrogation.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he says uncomfortably.

  But I know that he treats every relationship as a learning experience. ‘So I was just a creative-writing experiential class for you?’ I comment cynically.

  ‘Meha, do you even realize that you are talking rubbish?’ He is trying to sound calm, but I can see he is irritated, and I am reaching my break point.

  ‘Why do you still hang out with Radhika and Sonia and all your other ex-girlfriends?’ I ask one last question. I am desperately looking for a straw to hang on to. I am hoping he will to deny my accusations. I am waiting for him to say he loves me.

  ‘Because har ek friend zaroori hota hai, Meha.’

  It hurts. But I know it’s over.

  ‘We are very different Samir,’ I say devoid of all emotions. ‘Loving is like sharing an umbrella for you, while for me it’s much more intimate and much more meaningful.’

  ‘You are right Meha. We are very different,’ he says, with an edge to his voice. ‘You find it hard to believe that someone can actually love you. You have trust issues. Without trust, no relationship can last, as you so like to say, forever.’

  He says this and stomps out of my bedroom. I hear his phone ring on the way out. He picks it up. It’s Sharma aunty. I only overhear ‘fallen down, ambulance’ as he talks in the corridor and then he is out of the house without any explanation.

  I cry some more as that’s about the only thing I feel like doing. After a while, I wash my face, apply some lipstick, and pat some powder to hide the red blotch around my nose and go to see Sonia. She looks like a sleeping beauty, even in this frail state. There is a bandage on her left wrist. I hold her fingers gingerly. She doesn’t wake up. I look down at her pale hand. I see a ring on her engagement finger, with two diamond studded S’s, facing each other to form a heart. I literally fall off the bed in shock. She doesn’t hear the loud thud. She is heavily sedated. I carefully slip the ring out from her slightly swollen finger and turn it around to confirm the jeweller’s mark. It’s the same ring. Sonia has had it all this time and I have been paying all my meagre savings towards the interest accruing on my card. Did Samir know? Forgetting our hurtful break-up just moments ago, I dial his number. But he doesn’t take my call. He never takes my call. I disconnect angrily.

  I can call Anusha. She will hear me out even in the middle of her honeymoon, but it feels mean. And Mansi is on a flight to Mumbai for work. I couldn’t have chosen a worse time to get my heart broken. It’s depressing to wallow alone in my misery. Emotionally exhausted, I fall asleep, clutching the ring tightly in my fist.

  It’s already half past eight when I wake up, not because of Surya, since I finally got the curtains up just last week. What a waste. There is a note on the coffee table from Samir that he is taking Sonia back to the hotel.

  I walk to the jewellery shop. The owner tries to tell me that he cannot return jewellery items like this after two months. And I burst out crying. I don’t intend do. But it’s like all the piled up stress and sorrow that is finally spilling over. The shop owner gets scared. There are a lot of potential buyers in his shop. It’s festival season. He quickly orders a Campa for me and credits the full amount to my bank account. I walk out of the shop, with a major burden off my chest, but my heart still feels saddled with grief and I can’t stop crying. My ever faithful MJ tunes up ‘Kabira’ from Yeh Jaawani Hai Deewani, replacing it with Samir’s name. The lyrics seem to be written especially for me, imploring a lover, free spirited like a wind-storm, who has selfishly forgotten his old love, imploring him to return.

  ‘Samir…aaa…maan ja

  Kaisi teri khudgarzi,

  Tujhe preet purani bisri…

  Mast maula, mast kalandar,

  Tu hawa kaa ek bavandar…’

  I don
’t care to win the reality show any more but I don’t want the world or Samir to know how heartbroken I am. So I post my last comment of the reality show, ‘True love stays with you forever.’

  Samir posts nothing.

  Sharma Uncle passed away two days back, on the night of our breakup. Samir has been busy with his funeral and other ceremonies. Their son has come from abroad, but he knows nothing of the local places. So Samir has been making all the arrangements. I go visit them for a little while, but I can’t bring myself to see Aunty or even Samir. I stay mostly by myself. He comes home very late at night, sleeps and leaves early in mornings. It’s back to the way we started, like strangers.

  The reality show ends. Ranbir and Kareena make a guest appearance at the finale event, but we don’t attend it. Judges announce the results. As expected, we would have won it, if not for the finale event yesterday which we never attended. So C’s win the popular-couple award.

  Back to Square One

  When you get into a fight with a live-in boyfriend, you can’t just walk away and play who-calls-first-to-apologize. I so wish Samir and I were still living together. Not only would it save me the anxiety of checking my phone every five minutes, but also because I still seem to love him with every broken piece of my heart.

  It’s been crazy busy arranging the standees, posters, brochures, etc., for the biggest Indian wedding carnival starting tomorrow. I sit at a coffee shop to take a break and browse through an app trying to find the few things I want to buy from among the billion items on sale. With my credit limit back to healthy, I can now finally experience the unmatched joy of impulsive and often unnecessary, discount shopping. I ought to be thrilled, but I find myself incapable of feeling anything these days.