The Accidental Wife (9 page)

“No, she isn’t,” he said.

“Then perhaps she is getting ready; I can go and help,” Rima suggested, starting up from her seat.

It seemed to Rihaan like she had adopted Naina as her younger sibling already. “You won’t find her in the room, sis.”

An immediate uproar of anxious and scandalous whispers along the dining table was heard among those gathered.

“Then where
is
she?” his mother asked.

Rihaan looked her straight in the eye; it was important he did. “She had to leave on an assignment.”

“Assignment? What assignment? Isn’t she supposed to be a teacher of some sort and shouldn’t she be on vacation?”

“Naina also happens to be a much sought after photojournalist,” Rihaan said, his brain racing as the falsehoods came pouring out. “She had signed up for a few projects a while ago that she’s obligated to fulfill. The wedding was planned in haste.”
That much he knew was true.
“She got a call last night. I wanted to go with her but…”

“What? Unplanned wedding? I don’t believe it! What is going on, Rihaan?” Shobha said rising from her seat.

“Mom, listen…” he protested.

Then for the first time in his life, his phone rang and miraculously saved him from further discussion and embarrassing himself.

“It’s her!” He shouted in genuine excitement. “She wants me to come right away. Got to go!” He was out the door in a flash.

Journeys

T
he few hours that followed had Rihaan seriously questioning his rationalizing skills. Truly he seemed to have taken leave of his senses. Feeling his skull gingerly with both hands, he sincerely prayed the wiring was still intact—his livelihood was at stake!

“Aww… Crap! What in hell was that?” The aggrieved frustration he’d been so stoutly keeping a muzzle on eventually found a release.

“A pothole,” she said. “Don’t you have potholes in America?” His beauteous companion replied with a sweet smile.

That maddened him even further. “You call that a pothole? It’s more like a sinkhole! And no, we don’t have potholes in America. And even if they do crop up now and then, they get fixed right away. We could’ve got killed back there! You should report it to the local authorities!”

“Really? You think that’d work?” she snickered, turning to look out of the window of the bus. “Dr. Mehta, what world are you living in? Even if they do take action, it’ll be a patch up job, to be washed away with the next rains. Our society eats and breathes corruption; it’s part of our lives. We’d be lost without it.”

Then she burst into a hearty laugh at his astounded expression. “Don’t worry. We made it this far, didn’t we? It’ll get better once we’re on the highway.”

Rihaan settled back, preparing to brace his frame against the worn out seat cushion.
Had they really made it?
He was having a rough time figuring out his wife—not in ‘
that’
sense as she seemed so often to admonish him. She had proved once again that she was a personality of extreme opposites—at times a silly school girl prankster who pitched in at a lark to help her ‘friend’ and at others, this compelling, brilliant young woman who spilled acidic
gyan
at the drop of a hat. Even a chameleon would be put to shame!

Why did he sense there was more to this beautiful disaster than she was willing to reveal? She sat by his side, unassuming and carefree like a village belle, swathed in pleats of gay silk, the edge wrapped tightly around her head like a makeshift shield against the gusty wind, with her pensive eyes trained into the distance. What did she see? The vast stretches of chaotic third world urban sprawl or something far different? What mysteries lay camouflaged inside those exquisite depths of her eyes? He urged to probe further, delve deeper, and have a conversation—an intellectual powwow with the brain behind that proud brow. It’d surely be well worth his while.

Just then, his body was clobbered by another bone crunching jolt.

Rihaan! What are you thinking? She’s a female! And you want nothing to do with the likes of them, remember? Women, especially wily ones like her, can ruin your life! Just follow her advice, finish the task at hand and move on.

Yes, move on! Resolute, he shifted his attention in another direction and chanced upon a pretty young girl staring wide-eyed at him. He acknowledged her with a smile; she colored; her male escort sporting a particularly luxurious handlebar appendage bristled, and Naina giggled.

Rihaan balked.
Now what on earth coerced me to take this godforsaken journey?

He didn’t have to venture too far for the answer.
It’s my brain,
he thought.
My wonderful eternally pragmatic intellect that of late has launched itself on an acid trip! What else can possibly explain the goings on?

Earlier that day, just prior to receiving Naina’s message, he’d almost been at the verge of wishing her to Timbuktu or another equally remote location for an indefinite period; notwithstanding whether his parents believed him or not. Perhaps he should have.

I need your help. Can you come to my place ASAP?

He had stared at his phone nonplussed.
What is with this girl?

He didn’t try to reason how she’d come by his number. It was glaringly obvious she was far sharper than he when it came to practical matters. Yet, he hadn’t paused to deliberate. He had run like a lovelorn blockhead, leaving his bewildered family behind. His mother must have figured it out by now—he was insane.

“Sorry, I must have the wrong apartment,” he blurted, stepping away when he saw a stranger open Naina’s door.

“No, Rihaan, you are exactly where you’re supposed to be. Thanks for coming so promptly.”

The voice arrested him in his tracks. He swung around and gawked at the woman. Sure enough, it was her, but in an entirely new avatar. With her slim figure ensconced in a vibrant ethnic sari, a smattering of simple jewelry, and face bare of all makeup—not that she needed any—Naina presented the image of a chaste and comely
desi
bride. A sight beautiful enough to melt the most discerning of hearts.

He must have worn a profusely befuddled expression because she burst into a peal of laughter. He composed himself and mustered a straight face. It took some doing. “Care to clue me in?” He asked rather brusquely.

She sobered up. “Can you help me out? Accompany me to my hometown?”

His interest was piqued. “As what?”

“As my husband. To meet my family.”

“But I thought you said you were…” He waited for her to stub her own toe.

She did so gallantly. “Yes. I
am
an orphan and…you’ll know the rest soon. Are you coming? Yes or no?”

He scowled, bristling with indignation.
What does she take me for?

She looked unruffled, prompting him to simmer down and nod without enthusiasm. After all one good turn did deserve another. And he was intrigued enough.

***

‘You’ll know the rest soon.’
But how soon is that going to be? Rihaan thought passing a wary glance around the bus. Fortune had finally switched sides, or so it appeared for the time being. His arch nemesis, the swarthy owner of the gargantuan moustache, appeared dead to the world, snoring with his cave of a mouth wide open.

“Hungry?” Naina asked, attempting to deduce his sullen countenance. “Here, try these.” Producing a plastic box from a large cloth bag she’d hauled from home, she snapped the lid open and waved it in front of his nose. It was full of what looked like fresh coconut cookies. “A few bad calories, doctor sahib?”

He shook his head, looking straight ahead, trying to ignore his hunger.

“I have plenty for both of us
and
they are homemade.”

He hesitated for just a bare moment before digging in. They were scrumptious. “You knew I’d come?”

A smile danced across her lips. “I chanced a wild guess.”

Wild guess? Like hell! Who was she kidding?
She knew from the very moment she sent the message that I’d come. There wasn’t any way I could refuse. Though I’m still at a loss as how she persuaded me to board this ramshackle cross-country bus.

***

Soon after he’d reluctantly agreed to her proposal, Naina had hurried him out of her apartment to a waiting taxi. The man took off before Rihaan could slam the door shut.

“Sorry you had to wait. My husband is a very hardworking doctor, sometimes he has trouble getting up in the mornings,” Naina said to the cabbie while passing a contrite smile to Rihaan, but her eyes said otherwise.

He fumed, but kept his silence until they were deposited on the outskirts of what looked like a bustling
fish market. It turned out to be a bus station. “Why are we here? What happened to the trains?”

She smiled, enunciating slowly as if talking to a small child, “I inquired. They are all overbooked.”

Rihaan surveyed the surroundings. All his life, he’d harbored an extreme distaste for crowds, and the land he stood on now bragged a populace of greater than a million. He regarded with trepidation a vehicle, whose rooftop appeared entirely taken by some of his more agile cousins; the upcoming trek promised to supply the climax to his ongoing nightmare.

“How about hiring a cab?” he said, reaching into the back pocket of his denims. “I’m sure it’ll get us to your place in half the time. Money isn’t a problem. I think I should have enough.”

“Are you out of your mind?” Naina had snatched his wallet and dumped it into her satchel before he could flip it open.

“Hey that’s mine!”

“I know, and I’m trying to keep it safe.” She regarded him as if he was some kind of halfwit. “Haven’t you noticed something? Your
phirangi
accent and looks make you stand out like a sore thumb and now you wish to kiss all your worldly possessions goodbye? Besides, there’s no way in hell I’ll submit to being cooped up in a stuffy cab for any number of hours. I’d rather die instead. Now stop acting grumpy and be an obedient husband and get on the bus! I assure you it’s going to be a lot of fun!”

***

That’s how he’d landed on this hell on wheels, bulldozed and bullied by a wife with a fondness for hyperbole, so he could get his organs rearranged every few minutes. The heat and dust didn’t even figure in the equation.

At least there’s a constant supply of good nourishment, he thought, munching on savory fenugreek
rotis
that set his taste buds on fire—a source of considerable amusement to his wife. He glowered at her. She smiled serenely, and then to his surprise, doled out some tempering cucumber and mint yogurt dip. He was tempted to believe it was her way of showing concern for his delicate constitution, even though she pretended to act otherwise.

Mom is sure going to miss out on a lot, he thought.
And how about you, Rihaan,
sneaked in a faint but clear voice. He chose to ignore it because he was having the time of his life!

As she’d promised, the journey smoothed out. He began to unwind and relax, enjoy the moment, play a tourist in his own country. These were his people—a peculiar and fascinating collection of mankind he’d only heard mentioned in anecdotal references but never experienced firsthand until now (most of prior visits to the homeland having been expended in sterilized air conditioned environs). The thick rainbow turbans, the luxurious facial hair, the
beedis
, even a
fakir
with dreadlocks that his wannabe hippie buddies would kill for. All in all, a sight like no other.

His face must have shown it, because his companion asked with a perplexed frown, “You like it?”

“I love it! Its enthralling just like you.”

She looked away, but not before he saw heat rise to her cheeks. He grinned. This jaunt was turning out way better than expected.

And then, just as the warm afternoon breeze mingled with the effects of a gratified stomach lulled Rihaan into a pleasant siesta, the bus came to a screeching halt causing him to lurch to the left, in the process pin his ‘in-name-only-wife’ under his weight.

It was a strikingly delightful experience; one which left him pleasantly benumbed.
Do all witches come loaded with such sultriness?
How was he to know, this being his first encounter. And she was positively steaming!

Sun-kissed cheeks stained a deep pink and those magnificent eyes widened some more, sucking him in, so he couldn’t breathe… Dead, dead sea. “What’s up?”

For chrissakes!
“Ah… I’m sorry.” He straightened himself while his eyes flitted around the small space. “Where the hell are we?”

The bus was leaning alarmingly on its side, on the unpaved shoulder of an abandoned stretch of highway. And he was treated to a sight that his untrained eye could only equate with a biblical exodus. “Are we under siege?” (
Bandit Queen
being his favorite childhood flick.) “Get down!” he warned, meanwhile attempting to manhandle his unwilling spouse under the seat.

“Stop fantasizing! It’s a piss halt. To take a leak. Pee.” She gesticulated with her little finger.

Gosh!
He despised it when someone reminded him of his bladder.

She made it worse. “You may want to make use of the opportunity. And no, we don’t have rest areas here.”

“What if I get bitten by a cobra?” Rihaan asked.

“There are certain times in life when you have to take chances.”

Was she laughing at him? He didn’t pause to reflect, instead jumped out and after considerable exploration found relief within a grove of acacia trees.

As his fellow passengers were none too keen in resuming the journey, he chose the moment to stretch his legs and lungs and listen to the quiet—the crunch of dry leaves underfoot along with the plaintive song of the Koel and let his mind relax.

But it wouldn’t. Bitter memories were ever on standby.

Memories like of his mother monitoring his bladder habits, to establish a routine. She had not only controlled his bladder, she had controlled everything—his clothes, what he ate, where he went, whom he played with—everything! His whole life had been planned out, developed and designed as per the dictates of Mrs. Shashank Mehta. And he would have continued in the role of a clueless campaigner, hadn’t it been for that one fateful day, when as a freshman, he’d found her snooping in the school grounds—she being worried that her innocent son would fall for the wiles of some
chaloo
white girls. It was a miracle he hadn’t made a break from home. It was then he’d pledged never to bow to the will of a woman ever again.