THE ONE YOU CANNOT HAVE (13 page)

We talk for a long time after that. I tell her about Mark and his visit to India. She says she has never interacted with people from a different country and she finds it fascinating that I have English friends. I tell her they aren’t that different, and that no matter what the colour of your skin, human emotions are the same everywhere. Then I tell her about how I have to find a fully-furnished home soon. She offers to go with me and I gladly accept.

I realise that I am slowly but surely getting emotionally entangled with Anjali even though I have no intention to move her to the ‘relationship zone’ from ‘the good friend’ zone. My logical mind tells me to stay away from relationships and to focus on my career instead. It reminds me of what a wonderful thing I had with Shruti and how it all ended, and how two years later it still hurts, although I have learnt to cope with it better. The logical part of me remembers the pain and hurt and disappointments that relationships come with. How even the best ones die out and all that remains is the embers that still burn.

And yet, despite all of that, Anjali seems to be a balm to my wounds, and despite not wanting to get involved with her, I am unable to stop myself.

Chapte
r
17

Shruti

My illness turns out to be nothing at all. Just a day of rest and I feel fine. I was probably right—it must have been indigestion. I am glad that I didn’t go rushing to the doctor who would have in all likeliness ordered a battery of tests. Even though I am very tempted by Asha’s suggestion—to contact Aman once more, and try and meet him, if only to get some sort of a closure—I don’t do anything about it.

Asha, of course, confronts me the next day in the bus on the way to work.

‘So, are you okay now?’ she asks as she sits down beside me.

When I reply that I am indeed okay, she straightaway asks me, ‘Did you write to him? Find out how he is? Where he is?’

‘No Asha, I didn’t.’

‘But why? You want to know, na,’ she persists.

‘I do, but what good will it do me? I am married now. It’s been almost two years.’

‘Come on. Just because you are married, it doesn’t mean you don’t have a right to know!’

‘It isn’t about rights, Asha, it is about duties and responsibilities.’

‘Stop talking like a sixty-year-old! What duties and responsibilities? Has Rishabh even spoken to you for the last one month? Is he even bothered about what you might be feeling?’

‘He is hurt, Asha. He feels he has been wronged. I guess he will come around, eventually.’

‘
Haan
, so let him. There is nothing wrong in contacting Aman. I am telling this to you, as a friend. You know, I had this relationship with a senior from my college. But we broke up, much like you and your Aman. I wondered how he was and what he is doing. I contacted him after about six years. He too is married like me and he has a daughter. He has settled down in New Zealand and is happy. We still keep in touch through mails and phone-calls. We’re good friends now and we are happy with our respective families. Had I not made that effort in contacting him, I would have probably always wondered and maybe even felt guilty. But now I gained a good friend and so did he. That is why I am urging you to contact him. You have nothing to lose.’

I think about what Asha has just said. Perhaps she has a point there. But we don’t get a chance to speak further as another colleague joins us and this is something which is just between Asha and me. So we change the topic and talk about inane stuff.

Once we reach office, we get busy in our work, but we catch up again during lunch hour, at the cafeteria. We always have lunch together and today we take a table which can seat just two people. Asha senses I want to talk. We continue exactly where we left off. I am very curious now about this double-life that Asha seems to be leading. Okay—not exactly a double life but a secret that she has so carefully tucked away.

‘But what about your spouses? Do they know you are both still in touch? Do they know about your relationship and are they okay with that?’ I ask.

‘He hasn’t told his wife. But I have told Gaurav and have kept him in the picture. I downplayed the relationship part of course. I told him it was just a crush, which it probably was. All these college romances are just that. They don’t last,’ says Asha as she twirls her fork around the noodles that she is having.

How do I make Asha understand that it was never that casual between Aman and me? We were
serious
about each other. I don’t think Asha will get the intensity and depth of what I shared with Aman. Aman and I were
meant
to be together. Forever. Or so we had thought. Neither he nor I, ever had envisaged a life without the other. It was simply unthinkable in both our books.

‘I don’t know, it just doesn’t seem right, being in touch with your ex without your spouse knowing,’ I say.

‘
Arey!
I am telling you Gaurav knows. It is just that he doesn’t know how close a friend he is. About his wife, I can’t do anything but I can understand where he is coming from. Come on, Shruti. You have been married what— nearly two years? I have been married eleven. And trust me, it is hard to stay “confined” to only your spouse. Marriages are strange things. They are all shiny and glossy when they start out, but become jaded with time. I know how it is. Maybe it’s just early days for you and that’s why you talk about “right” and “wrong” in marriage. There aren’t any absolute rights or wrongs,’ says Asha.

I know there is some truth in what Asha has just said. I have been married nearly two years and I have already begun to feel stifled. The newness of the relationship has indeed worn out. I cannot imagine how Rishabh and I will be in eleven years’ time. I can’t even think of the next five years to be honest. I know I cannot put off having a child forever. But will I ever feel ready? Right now, I certainly don’t and talking to Asha who is in a particularly pontificating mood today, is making me consider my options.

‘I guess so,’ I say lamely to her little speech, not knowing what to add.

‘Yeah, babe. Being married—it’s a bitch. At least we can make it comfortable by having good friends who are supportive and, as far as I am concerned, I am glad I have Navin. That is his name by the way,’ she says. And when she says it, her eyes light up. She looks happy. Light. Different. As though she has no more worries in the world.

It takes me a moment to figure out that she is talking about the guy she broke up with, but who is a ‘good friend’ now. It is amazing how she transforms before my very eyes, when she mentions his name.

‘So Navin is the one you cannot have, eh?’ I tease her.

‘No, I already have him. Only his wife doesn’t know,’ she says and smiles.

I do not know what to say to her ‘relationship’ with Navin. But I am nobody to pass judgement on the way she has chosen to lead her life.

‘Don’t look at me like that, Shruti, it is okay. After all, I do everything for my husband as well as my son. I also look after his mother, to boot. I deserve some happiness, something exclusively for myself. Navin and I are very discreet about it. We will never have a physical relationship. But emotionally we feel the connect with each other. In fact, I often tell him that he is the glue in my marriage. But for him, my marriage would have fallen apart long back. He gives me a man’s perspective and because of Navin, I am able to understand Gaurav better. I wouldn’t have normally shared all this, but I do feel kind of bad to see you stuck in a rut like this and so I told you my views,’ she says.

‘I appreciate it, Asha. Thanks and you can be sure whatever we spoke now will never go out from me,’ I say.

‘It better not!’ she warns.

That evening Rishabh drops a bombshell on me.

‘My parents are coming to stay over,’ he says.

‘Oh! How suddenly?’ I ask.

During the time that we have been married, Rishabh has invited his parents many times, but they have never visited us. His dad always protests saying it will be difficult to leave Hubli as there is no one to manage the business on a day-to-day basis.

‘I have been asking dad to take a break. He has finally agreed. His younger brother will go daily and do the stock-taking and tally accounts. It will be a nice change for them,’ says Rishabh.

I am glad that he is excited about it. More than that I am glad he is talking to me. Saying more than his curt and to-the-point, one-liners. His indifference of the last one month has been unbearable.

‘Let’s prepare the guest room. We need to buy a new bed and mattresses. I want my parents to be comfortable,’ he says.

‘You mean a kingsize bed? But that will leave us with no space at all. The second bedroom is tiny,’ I point out. I don’t see any point in buying furniture when we have guests only for ten-fifteen days in a year. The rest of the time the bed would just lie there, occupying space. And our apartment isn’t exactly spacious. Besides, when my parents had come, they had managed perfectly well on the futon which doubles up as a bed. I am tempted to add all this as well, but I wisely don’t.

Rishabh thinks over what I have said. Then he finds the perfect solution.

‘Hmm, okay—in that case we can give them our bedroom. We can sleep on the futon in the spare bedroom,’ he declares.

God. That was not what I had in mind.

‘How can you give our bedroom to them, Rishabh? What about our privacy? All my clothes are in that room. All our stuff is there,’ I protest. I find the whole concept of surrendering
our
bedroom to anyone else, even if it is his parents, very invasive.

‘It’s just for a few days. We can adjust. Come on, Shruti. This is the first time my parents are visiting. I want their stay to be comfortable,’ he says.

I don’t see how giving our bedroom to them will make their stay ‘comfortable’. It will, in fact, cause more awkwardness as I will have to keep intruding on them to take out any stuff that I may need. I detest this idea of ‘giving our bedroom’ to them. But I keep quiet as I don’t want to start another fight.

I can see the change in Rishabh because of his parents’ visit and he runs around like he has got a bee in his bonnet. He stocks the house with fruits. ‘My dad always has a fruit after each meal,’ he says. He tells the house-help to clean all the fans and the window grills. He goes into the kitchen and checks the shelves and tells me that it is very untidy and it needs to be fixed.

‘You know what, I shall take an off from work, and stay home and tidy everything for you,’ I say sarcastically.

But he doesn’t get the sarcasm at all.

‘Will you? That will be good,’ he says and I am so irked, I want to slap him.

‘I was just kidding. You know my workload is too much these days,’ I say.

He doesn’t ask me why my workload is so heavy. He doesn’t even want to know how my day was and what I did. In fact, most of what he communicates is something that has to do with his parents’ visit.

All that Rishabh does these days is to potter around the house once he comes back from work. He has even gone shopping (without me) and got new bedsheets and bedcovers. I have never seen him take this much interest in the house in the time that we have been married.

Finally I can’t stand it anymore. When I come back from work and when I see that he has shopped for a cutting board and some kitchen knives (of all things!) I decide I have to speak up.

‘Rishabh, do you realise you are acting like someone possessed. Why in the world did you go and buy a cutting board and knives? We already have all that,’ I say.

‘They were old. So I threw them out. How does it matter? Is that such a crime? Can’t I buy stuff for my own home?’ he retorts.

‘Look Rishabh, the issue is not about the cutting board and knives and we both know that. This lack of communication, ever since that day, is killing me.’

I cannot bring myself to say Aman’s name. I don’t know why.

He is silent for a while.

‘I am trying to get over it, Shruti. I truly am. But it is not so easy to forget. How could you hide such a huge thing from me?’

I have nothing to say then. So I just say a ‘sorry’ and I ask him if he has made dinner, which he has, since he got back earlier than me.

How could I hide it from him? I don’t know. I wasn’t in any mental state to think clearly then. Besides, my parents were so darn keen on this match with Rishabh. Had I mentioned Aman to him at that point, who knows perhaps the marriage might have never happened. His parents
are
very conservative. In fact, we have visited them just once, when we stayed with them at their huge home in Hubli. I had to wear only saris the entire duration as his relatives would keep dropping in, to ‘see the bride’. I had hated it but had ‘adjusted’ as it was only for a few days.

And now a new thought strikes me. His parents are going to get a shock when they see me in skirts and trousers as I wear only western formals to work. I wear saris only for formal occasions like weddings. Well, too bad. I am not going to change the way I dress, just because they are visiting. They can get used to a ‘modern’ daughter in-law. Also, Rishabh hasn’t mentioned anything about it to me and I am glad about that.