THE ONE YOU CANNOT HAVE (19 page)

Chapte
r
23

Anjali

I know what I have done is blatant violation of point number five of my last article. I know I am supposed to act cool and busy and tell Aman that I will get back to him in three-four days. But I just am not able to do that. I am elated that he has actually called in response to my text. (I just couldn’t resist texting him one last time. I was dying and I just had to know where we stood. I had expected no reply and had thought that if he didn’t bother to reply, I would most definitely consider it a closed chapter and move on. But now not only has he replied, he is even on his way to see me. Gosh. This guy should get a Nobel Prize for sending confusing signals. What does he want?)

There is hardly any time to think. He is on his way and I am in my sleeveless top, my oldest polka dotted purple pyjamas which even have a tiny hole that I have been too lazy to mend. I am not wearing a bra and I have no make-up on either. If he sees me like this, it would be a disaster and have the same impact as an earthquake of 7.5 on the Richter scale.

I rush to my wardrobe and quickly put on my bra and contemplate what to wear. I have to look ‘casual’ and not too dressed. I am not able to decide. Finally I settle for a pair of shorts and a smart fitted tee. Then I quickly slip on a pair of earrings and dab on some lip-gloss. There. That looks casual enough. Like I was lounging around in shorts when he called.

I don’t want my landlord to peep out and see me disappear with Aman in the car. He might give me a lecture on moral values and how it is unsafe for a woman my age to be out at this time of the night. So I call Aman and ask him where he has reached. He says he is taking the turn into the road that leads to my home and he will be here in two minutes. I tell him to park right there and that I will come out of the house and walk to where he is parked.

‘Oh! But why do you have to sneak out like that? Are your parents visiting or something?’ he asks.

‘Oh no. I have a landlord who acts like my father. In fact, my father probably won’t ask as many questions as he does. But this guy gives reports about my movements to my father. He is a distant relative and my self-appointed local guardian. I will explain when I see you,’ I say as I make my way outside as silently as possible, hoping that Mr Joshi is safely in bed. I hear the blast of television and am relieved as it means that he is totally engrossed and isn’t likely to keep a track on my movements.

When I spot Aman, I am so happy, I feel like doing a little cheerleader dance. My heart is already doing that and I am glad he can’t look inside my head. I am insanely happy. He is wearing a light blue checked shirt and looks so attractive behind the wheel of his red car. He leaps out and comes to my side and opens the door for me. He is chivalrous and such a gentleman, this guy. I laugh in delight and I kiss him on the cheek and say, ‘Hey! So good to see you.’ He has the grace to blush and I find that adorable. I have to stop myself from leaning into his neck and nuzzling him. That is exactly what I feel like doing. God. Maybe Latika is right. Maybe I
am
madly in love with this guy. Or maybe it is just attraction because he is the first decent guy I have dated in ages. Who knows.

‘So when did you get the car?’ I ask as I slip into the passenger’s seat.

‘A week back and you know what I didn’t even have time to collect it. I had them deliver it to my office, like it was a Chinese takeaway, can you believe?’ he says.

‘Oh my God, has it been that bad then?’

‘I wouldn’t say
bad
, as I am so darn engrossed. I guess that it is good when your work interests you so much. I don’t even feel I am working. There just isn’t time,’ he says.

‘Drowning oneself in work is the best remedy for getting over heartbreak, you know,’ I say immediately and then instantly realise that I probably shouldn’t have brought it up now. Maybe he doesn’t want to be reminded of his past relationships. I should stop being an ‘advice-dispensing-ms know-it-all’. At this rate, instead of my regular column, Jeena would probably ask me to do an agony aunt column.

But Aman is nodding in agreement.

‘Yes, that is so true. In fact, that is what took me to the UK where I drowned myself in work. My work is what keeps me going,’ he nods gravely and there is a sad and melancholy look in his eyes as he looks straight ahead and drives.

I put my right hand over his left hand which is resting on the gear.

‘Only work keeps you going?’ I ask softly.

He smiles in response.

‘Tell me!’ I persist.

And he smiles even wider. I squeeze his hand and he makes no effort to move it away. He is wearing a watch with a steel strap and I caress his forearm and make small circles up and down. It is a shiatsu massage technique which one of the girls in the hostel had taught me.

‘Mmmm, that feels good. Keep doing that,’ he says and I smile in contentment.

‘So where are we going?’ I ask him.

‘I don’t know. I never had a plan. Shall we just drive around? A bit away from the city?’

I nod. I don’t care where we go, as long as I am with him. This is lovely and I am enjoying every bit of it. Suddenly I have an idea.

‘How about we go to Nandi Hills?’ I say.

‘I don’t mind. Let’s go,’ he says and I look up the route on my phone’s GPRS and in no time we are zooming on to the highway towards Nandi Hills. Aman is playing some contemporary music and Rihanna’s ‘Diamonds in the Sky’ floods the car. It is the perfect song, the perfect ambience, the perfect mood and all so romantic.

Suddenly we see a police car parked on the side and they are stopping all the cars and checking for drunk driving. I don’t know what it is about a police vehicle that sends a kind of fear inside me. Maybe it is because I have heard stories about couples being harassed by cops. Maybe it is because the Indian police aren’t the friendliest of people. Or maybe it is because in my previous birth I was a fugitive hiding from the cops. Whatever it is my hands go ice-cold as I grip Aman’s hand tightly.

He realises it and asks, ‘Hey, are you okay? Relax. They are checking for drunk driving I guess and I haven’t had anything to drink, except maybe a beer, much within permissible limits.’

Aman pulls over and rolls down his windows. The police officer is now bending down and he asks Aman, ‘Where to?’

Aman says that we are driving to Mysore.

‘Girlfriend? Staying where in Mysore? In hotel, eh?’ The cop leers at me, staring at my breasts.

I have never felt this vulnerable or exposed or frightened.

‘She is my wife and my father-in-law is Jagadish Chettiar. I can call him right now and you can clear all your doubts,’ says Aman confidently as he whips out his mobile and opens the contact directory in his phone.

The cop’s demeanour, attitude and entire body-language changes instantly.

‘Oooh, no need,
saar
. Simply checking. Lot of people doing drunk driving. Lot of boys and girls doing immoral activity. We are just doing our duty. You can proceed,
saar
,’ he says and steps back and waves us away.

We pull away and I am speechless, half with relief, half with surprise and totally flabbergasted at how Aman had handled it.

‘Hey relax. It is okay. Don’t be so frightened, ’ says Aman and it is only then I realise that I have dug into his hand with my fingernails in fright and there are red marks on his skin now.

I exhale deeply and let go of his arm.

Then I laugh in relief.

‘Aman, I am so sorry about clutching you like that. I don’t know why but I have this deep paranoia about cops. You know how it is in these parts of India, the moral policing. For a few minutes, I had visions of us being yanked out of the car and God knows what would have happened then,’ I shudder.

‘I know,’ says Aman quietly and this time he puts his hand on mine.

‘And who is Jagadish Chettiar?’ I ask.

‘To be honest, even I don’t know! The Jagadish Chettiar I have in my phone is the society plumber whose number I had saved two days ago,’ says Aman and both of us burst out laughing.

‘You know, I don’t want to go to Nandi Hills now. God knows there might be more check posts on the way and I don’t want to keep getting stopped,’ I say. Somehow this episode with the cops has spoilt my mood.

‘You are right. There might be more checks on the way. The only option is to turn back,’ says Aman.

On the one hand I don’t want this impromptu date to end, but the prospect of being stopped again terrifies me. My heart is still thudding from the previous encounter.

‘Yes. Let us. I am sorry about my irrational fear. I can’t help it.’ I feel apologetic about spoiling what could have probably been a great outing.

‘Oh no, please don’t say sorry. In fact I owe you an apology,’ says Aman.

‘For what?’ I ask.

He is silent and he doesn’t know what to say.

‘Hmmm… For… you know…’ he trails off.

‘Hey, it’s okay. I understand,’ I say.

But actually I don’t. Aman has sent me totally confusing signals in the last few days. I wish I could get into his head and figure out what is going on. But the one thing I have learnt is never to push a guy. I have seen enough of my friends getting pushy, whiny and clingy if the guy doesn’t get back to them and sure as hell, nine times out of ten he has disappeared. I don’t want the same happening with Aman and me. I want to hold on to him. I have to be patient and it is bloody hard.

‘You know I had planned a surprise,’ says Aman.

‘Is it? What?’ I ask.

‘I will have to show you. I thought we would find a nice spot and park for a while? Then I will,’ he says.

‘Hmm… let’s not stop on the highway again, Aman. I have had enough adventures for today,’ I say. Even though I want to know what the ‘surprise’ is, I don’t have the stomach to be stopped by cops again.

‘I agree. See this is what I hate about India. All this moral policing. It isn’t like it was any of his business what our relationship was. Somehow in India the mindset of the society is still stuck in some archaic times,’ he looks angry now.

‘Yes, you’re right. You know what cops do? They frighten young couples hanging out in Cubbon Park, by pointing a camera at them and pretending to take their pictures. The couples bolt like frightened rabbits. One of my friends who works in
Bangalore Mirror
, did a story on it.’

Aman frowns. ‘Okay. That I must say doesn’t sound too encouraging for the surprise I planned. I shall save it for another day then.’

What is this surprise he is talking about? I am dying of curiosity. I debate on forcing him to tell me. But before I can ask, we have again come to the same place where the cops had stopped us and the same guy is still there. But as Aman slows down, he gives a big grin and gestures that we can pass through.

‘The small advantages of having Jagadish Chettiar on your contact list,’ laughs Aman and I chuckle with him.

The moment is lost and we listen to music. I stare at Aman and he looks so handsome, his chiselled features, his short hair framing his face, his sharp nose. He looks lost in thought and he seems a million miles away.

‘A penny for your thoughts,’ I say.

He smiles and replies that pennies are no longer in circulation.

I tell him that I will substitute it for a hundred bucks then.

He laughs and says he always thought his thoughts were worthless but now that I have put a price-tag on them how can he refuse. He then tells me that his mother is visiting as is Mark who is coming over to stay. Mark has finished a week of white water rafting in Rishikesh and he finds India ‘simply incredible’.

‘Oh. So you will have a full house then,’ I say.

‘Oh no, my mom is not staying with me. She is staying at the Agricultural College where she is doing a course,’ clarifies Aman. He then proceeds to tell me about his mother’s course and how she has been chosen. There is a gleam of pride as he says it. I can sense the strong bond between his mother and him, and how much he loves her.

‘You’re so lucky to have this connection with her, she sounds like a wonderful lady,’ I say.

‘Yeah, she is incredible. After my dad’s death, she has stood like a pillar of strength and has always been there for me,’ says Aman.

I wonder what it is like to be that close to a parent. I have been out of my home for a while now and I haven’t bonded much with either my father or mother. In fact, during the annual trips that I make to Muscat, I start getting restless on the second day itself. I get bored out of my skull, especially with the forced visit I have to make to the homes of some folks from the Indian community, with whom I have absolutely nothing in common to converse about. By the end of a week, I think my parents are happy to see me leave.

Aman drops me back home and I make him park a little away from the house. I remind him about my prying landlord. It amuses Aman no end. To be honest, I want to invite him in. Instead I assure him that I am better off walking up to the house alone.

‘I guess I will say bye bye and goodnight here then,’ he says. I lean forward and kiss him on the lips. He is taken by surprise. But he quickly recovers and grabs my head towards his. I kiss him harder, hungrily, my tongue exploring his mouth. This is electric. I am unable to stop myself and feel giddy. I am completely lost. It seems like we are interlocked for hours. Aman’s hand has slipped beneath my T-shirt and he is fiddling with the straps of my bra, breathing harder.