‘Ya,’ he says softly.
I try to read his face. He seems calm, but his eyes look forlorn.
‘I am sorry for doubting you,’ I apologize.
‘I am sorry too Meha. I never attended the finale event. I know we would have won,’ he says genuinely.
Oh! Of course, he doesn’t know about the ring and he is feeling responsible for having me lose the cash prize. It serves him right for not taking my calls! But I want to tell him now. So I tell him the whole story. He is not at all surprised to hear that Sonia is off to Spainier pastures. It seems he always knew that Sonia’s love for him was only skin-deep. He also never felt ‘the-same-love’ for her. Knowing that what he feels for me is special makes me feel, well, special. I feel all the pieces of my heart joining back together, and I am beaming with an unbearable happiness.
‘So, are you seeing someone?’ I ask after two bottles of beer are down.
‘Only you!’ he says, intently gazing into his eyes. ‘Are you in love with anyone?’
‘I think so,’ I admit at last.
‘And you think it will last forever?’ he asks, the longing evident in his eyes now.
‘Someone very close to me once told me that love is rather over-rated and nothing lasts forever,’ I say, looking straight into his honest eyes.
‘So will you be my nothing?’ I propose. Just like that. No ring. No fancy outfit. No candles. It’s just him and me by the beach where it all started.
‘Be My Nothing. That’s a nice line. Let me write it down,’ he says beaming with happiness and opens his phone to jot it down in his notes.
‘Hey!’ I say, mildly complaining and get up to grab his phone.
He swiftly slides the phone down his back pocket and grabs hold of me instead and then he starts to sing the Senorita song from Zindagi Naa Milegi Dobara.
‘Na main samjha, Na main jaana, jo bhi tumne mujhse kaha hai Senorita. Magar phir bhi, na jane kyun, mujhe sun ke acha laga hai Senorita.’
My mind tells me he is really out of tune, but my heart has never heard anything more melodious. I don’t know who makes the first move, but we start dancing, and our lips are locked together for a long time.
I wake up in the morning, safely ensconced in Samir’s arms, blissfully unaware of the torrential downpour, which has now become a trademark at beach weddings that are designed by me and shot by Samir. This is the third one in a row, after Goa, Phi Phi and now Maldives. I look out from our balcony to find the pier completely submerged under water with no sign of the mandap.
What follows is a flurry of action, a whole new floating mandap at the hotel lobby and a whole lot of unplanned fun.
Let’s Have Coffee
Six months later
I can tell that Samir is lost in his thoughts. He hasn’t noticed that I am wearing the vintage butterfly earrings especially for today’s occasion.
‘Feeling nervous?’ I ask him.
‘A little.’
‘You will be fine,’ I assure him, giving his hands a tight squeeze.
‘Want a drink?’ I ask as a waiter passes by with wine glasses.
He doesn’t. I guess he would rather retain his logical prowess so he can impress them. I would too for something so important in my life, although I find alcohol sharpens my logical brain cells.
‘What if they hate me and rip me apart?’ he asks, really concerned.
‘Of course they will rip you apart. It’s their job,’ I reply coolly. It’s so much easier to stay calm when it’s someone else’s neck on the line.
‘You are not helping,’ he says, slightly irritated.
‘What do you want me to do? Lie?’ I ask laughing.
‘No, please, never,’ he is earnest.
I smile lovingly at him. Not lying to each other is a pact we made six months ago as we embarked on our journey together as a couple in a LTR—committed, long-term relationship. And to my credit, I haven’t lied since then. I tell him about all my online purchases. I tell him when I don’t like a picture he has clicked. He is okay with all of those.
‘I will love you, no matter what,’ I say tenderly and plant a gentle kiss on his lips.
Immediately his tense muscles relax and a faint smile forms on his lips.
‘How about a quickie?’ he asks, his eyes brightening up at the prospect.
‘Now?’ I am surprised by his suggestion.
I see some people at the snack counter outside and hear many more talking excitedly in the adjoining hall. We are in a convention centre at Epicentre, Gurgaon, for Samir’s book launch. There are over fifty people gathered in the hall including my parents and Di. Some journalists have already arrived. Everyone is enjoying wine and cheese at the moment, but the event is about to commence. We are just waiting for the chief guest. Besides, I am wearing a new georgette dress, which I don’t want to get all crumpled. I didn’t exactly plan for sex.
‘It always helps me relax and ease the tension,’ he says to convince me.
I know it does. And he is looking rather hot, his hair all scrunched up in a freestyle look and his eyes rather pensive and dreamy.
‘Where?’ I ask, considering the option but not completely convinced yet.
‘Loo?’
‘There is only one each for men and women here. Can’t keep it occupied,’ I reason.
‘We could go to the store room. I know the receptionist has a key,’ he says.
‘Why am I not surprised? You have done it before in the store room here,’ I speak my mind out loud. It comes with the no-lying contract.
He just shrugs his shoulders vaguely.
‘With the receptionist?’ I ask unbelievably and then decide I don’t want to know his answer. Past is past, I try to remind myself. It’s immaterial.
‘Please Senorita, we only have ten minutes before I get called on the stage,’ he says desperately.
‘Oh! Sam, you know I prefer foreplay and I can’t do it under stress,’ I resist, although I am beginning to feel excited by the idea.
‘What if I tell you that your left nipple is pressing hard against the fabric of your blouse,’ he says, holding me tightly around the waist.
I feel a shiver run down my spine as his cold fingers find their way on my back, having slipped under my blouse. I can feel his hardness rub against my skirt, his back to the guests.
‘Sam, Ma is looking this way,’ I panic and try to pull away from him, but he holds me tight, his hand having found way to the front and now freely fondling my breasts.
‘She can see nothing,’ he reassures.
I peek over his shoulders and realize he is right. We are standing in one corner, secluded from everyone, and I am completely hidden behind his body. I am glad that no one can see what Samir is doing, but the idea of being seen by someone in the public heightens my desire immediately.
‘Meet me by the stairs. I will get the keys to the store room and see you in five,’ he says, withdrawing his hands abruptly and leaving me standing by myself, craving for more.
Highly aroused, I rush out of the hall to the other side, avoiding Tanu Di, Mansi and a whole lot of folks from Samir’s office whom I know. I am about to exit the hall, when Sharma Aunty stops me and asks about Samir. I know she has flown especially for his book launch from New York, where she now spends most of her time with her son, and she wants Samir’s help in getting Uncle’s poetry book published, but she will have to wait. I promise Aunty to send Samir her way as soon as I find him. And finish having sex with him.
We both reach the stairs together and climb up two steps at a time, his hand locked in mine, the desire driving us mad now. We quickly dash to the storeroom on the second floor, unlock it and shut it behind us. I am rushing out of my dress as he unzips his pants. His eager hands are all over me. I am wet. His lips have found mine. He is on fire and I am only too willing to burn along with him. Five minutes later he wipes the sweat from his forehead, tucks his shirt back in, gives me a peck on the cheek and marches out smiling gaily.
‘See you at the launch,’ he shouts back, already climbing down the stairs with a certain spring in his step.
‘See you,’ I say softly, glowing with happiness. I slowly inhale the musty smell of the storeroom mixed with his wild rose fragrance, as I fish around for my clothes.
When I reach the convention room after having fixed my hair and makeup a few minutes later, I find Samir near the stage surrounded by eager girls some of who are journalists. As I walk by, I hear a sexy looking reporter ask him how he likes his coffee. He pauses for a second, his eyes dancing mischievously and replies in a tone so seductive that it can make any woman go weak in her knees, ‘Without sugar, except when I have it with my girlfriend.’
I hear a collective sigh of disappointment from the girls and it fills me with utmost joy. I walk over to where Tanu Di is standing, busy giving advice on pre-natal classes to Radhika who is now in her third trimester. I am still not overly fond of Radhika, who manages to look sexy and gorgeous even with her bump. Radhika is also not as warm to me as she is towards Di, but ever since Samir and I announced our relationship officially on Facebook, she has stopped casting those ugly-duckling stares. Anusha, who is now Radhika’s sister-in-law, tells me that Radhika only disliked me because she thought I caused Samir grief and she really cares for Samir. I have begun to trust Anusha’s judgement, but I can never stop being jealous of Radhika for having had an affair with Samir. I guess it’s the same for Radhika.
I give a warm hug to Di and compliment Radhika on her pregnancy glow. Di inquires where I was hiding all this while. I ignore the question and instead ask her about the latest website she is designing. She is only too happy to talk about it having finally found her feet in web consulting. Not only has the work brought back a purpose in her life, she is also rediscovering a renewed love in her marriage, and the advantages of an unmarried younger sister.
‘Hey Mehu, can you babysit the girls next weekend? Your jiju and I are planning to get away for a night,’ Di asks in an extra sweet voice.
‘What’s in it for me Di?’ I reply smartly. You, see, she has exploited my needs so many times that I have finally learnt not to give free favours anymore.
We get involved reminding each other of the various favours from the past and who owes whom more. As we are busy settling scores, Radhika excuses herself to go to the loo. Ten minutes later when Mansi joins us, Di has reminded me of five more instances for which I owe her. It’s not fair that she has such good memory. Mansi can tell from my bewildered expression that I am losing the battle with Di.
A waiter passes by and both Mansi and I help ourselves to a drink. I also pick a small piece of the delicious, herb cheese.
‘Hey, you seem to have lost weight honey. Looks like Samir is not feeding you aloo parathas anymore,’ Mansi chuckles lightheartedly.
I smile. Mansi knows how to cheer me up anytime. Samir is feeding me parathas all right. It must be all the Vitamin S that he feeds me too, that’s causing the weight loss. I ask Mansi about her life and how things are going with the CXO. She tells me that she is really happy with Neeraj except he is scared of re-marrying as he just got out of a nasty divorce. I think Neeraj is insecure about having a designer girlfriend like Mansi just like I could never believe that Samir could be mine, for real, forever. I should have a chat with him.
Since Mansi has become a very high flying, celebrity fashion consultant and she doesn’t live with us anymore, I don’t get to meet her as often. So I ask her to come over with her CXO one of these Sundays for Samir’s aloo parathas. She misses our Sunday fun and is keen to come. I doubt she will, but I don’t hold it against her. I don’t need to meet her every weekend to prove our closeness. I know she is always there for me when I need her—like she has made the effort today to ensure that Soha Ali Khan comes as the chief guest for Samir’s book launch. It’s so apt that Soha should launch this book. I remember how Soha had told me in the first week of the reality show itself that Samir was totally into me. I find myself glowing a little more in his love and wonder how I landed up being the luckiest person in this world. And then I tell myself that sometimes love doesn’t have to be perfect, it only needs to be true. And then I drink some more wine.
The energy and excitement around me announces that Soha Ali Khan has arrived. Mansi excuses herself to go welcome her. Dressed in a flowing red gown with a front cut above the knees, Soha takes everyone’s breath away. I watch Samir joke with her on the stage as he hands her a copy of his book. Soha holds up the book cover of Let’s Have Coffee, Samir’s first novel, for everyone to see. The room is buzzing with sounds of shutters and phone cameras. Everyone applauds as Samir calls me over to the stage and introduces me as his inspiration behind the book. I blush at the honour and then soon get away from the limelight. This is his moment and I want to enjoy it from a distance. I take a seat in a corner and listen with rapt attention as Samir reads out a few passages from the book.
‘I woke up that morning to find her gone. I had so wanted to tell her that I love her. I rushed to the lobby but she had checked out. I called her number, it was switched off. Then I found this note under my phone. It said not to come after her. I still tried. I sent her an FB request. I tried calling her a few times but in no vain. I hadn’t realized it at the time but I had fallen in love with her. I kept moving from one relationship to another, all the time looking for her. Sometimes the girl had her laugh. Sometimes she had her humour. But none were her. It’s only when she fell from the sky in my arms six months ago that I realized I didn’t want to look for anyone anymore. I realized I loved her.’
I figure a lot of reporters will soon be looking to hear my side of the story and while it would be nice to see my name in print, I would rather my personal life stays private. I know you are thinking about the reality show, but that was only a game. Even though my feelings for Sam were real even then, now, my relationship with Samir is too important for me to have it analysed in media.
I take refuge in the digital world. I respond to an NRI client whose wedding I am planning in Greece next month. I like a post by Pyare. He is standing amidst his freshly delivered cow babies having gone back to full time organic farming. He never said anything to anyone but he calls me every now and then and indirectly enquires about NetGen. I tell him the latest on her boyfriend scene—last month it was a real-world chef from a five-star hotel, the month before it was an upcoming guitarist, and previous to that was an online gamer like herself. She is really on an experiential spree. I know, Pyare still loves her. Something tells me theirs will be a story much like ours, five years from now.
I spot Ma carrying twenty copies of the book, one each for each one of her kitty friends, to get them signed by Samir. Papa is standing in a corner, lost in his own world. He wasn’t very supportive of our continued living in without marriage so Samir and I gave him the green signal, but he hasn’t said anything about us getting married lately. I guess he is just waiting for an auspicious date. Of course, there is no way for me to know the real reason behind his matured silence. Even Mom and Di don’t have a clue about the latest prediction by Chugh uncle that while I need to mate with wind to stay safe, I can never be married to Samir. That marriage with Samir will calm my stars, but it will create havoc for Samir eventually causing his death. I don’t know why Papa hasn’t shared the prophecy with anyone. He likes Samir even more since Samir took him for the Mansarovar yatra in a helicopter.
Whenever Papa will deem it necessary to tell me about the prophecy, I am sure I will tell him that the prophecy needs my belief to become real and I only believe in loving Samir till the end.
Please wish us luck, so our love can develop like wine, slowly, tastefully forever over years, even if we end up like the two butterflies following each other with no binding of marriage and yet together forever.
Acknowledgements
I am truly grateful to be able to publish my third novel. Both my previous novels were, to some extent, based on incidents from my life. This is my first novel that is
largely fictional. For those who have read my first two novels, my favourite character Tanu continues to exist as the protagonist’s elder sister.
Few years ago, I recall reading a newspaper article on Invisible Boyfriend app. I wondered how I would behave if random hookups and sex were so accessible and acceptable when I was in my twenties. Is my belief in love outdated and overrated? Why do people get (and stay) married? I asked my social media friends for book ideas and while most of them wanted me to write a book on midlife crisis, I chose to untangle love and relationships in today’s digital world.
I couldn’t have written this book without talking to real people from the current generation. Foremost, I would like to thank my neighbour Ritu Lall’s niece, Devika Narain, who is a rocking wedding planner. She told me all the interesting stories behind a wedding and allowed me a peek into her personal world. I am also thankful to Payal, Varun, Deepika, Joyita, and many more who openly shared their life stories and enlightened me.
I also want to thank my BFF, Sonal Bansal, the one person who keeps me sane. It was while I was telling her how having sex has become as casual as having coffee that the book’s title took shape.
Shivani Kapoor, for her encouraging smile and readiness for beer (or chai) meetups while I iterated various ideas for the book. It was her enthusiasm for the plot that helped me see it through.
My girl’s trip gang—Shalini Jain, Pooja Goyal, Puja Gupta, Priyanka Aggarwal—and especially Shilpa Malik for her unknowing (and possibly unwilling) inspiration for the protagonist Meha’s sense of humour. Thanks girls, for always being there and helping me shape my story.
I would like to thank Ritu Uberoy, my co-founder at RivoKids, who understood my desire to write (yet again) and let me off the moral hook as I divided my time between our e-venture and the book.
I would like to express gratitude to my friend and bestseller author Nirupama Subramaniyan. As always, she read my manuscript and gave me valuable feedback. I also thank Anita Vasudeva for her critical feedback on the characters and storyline. I know I can always count on you.
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