THE ONE YOU CANNOT HAVE (7 page)

Aman was history and a part of my past. But now he is a part of my present too. By telling Rishabh about Aman, I have now actually added him to
our
lives. Mine and Rishabh’s.

Rishabh is silent for a very long time. He reflects on all that I have said.

And then he says, ‘Tell me the truth, Shruti. Did you marry me as a consolation prize? Do you even love me?’

And I stand dumbfounded, unable to meet his eyes or answer the question he has so simply asked.

Chapte
r
10

Aman

When I emerge from the plane at Mumbai, the first thing that hits me is the noise. It is funny how quickly one adapts to a new country and integrates so well with it, that the once familiar feels strange again. I have grown up and spent all my life in India and yet, after two years out of the country, I find it extremely noisy in comparison to the UK, where the decibel levels are probably one tenth of the decibel levels in India, by default.

I have about an hour and a half before my flight to Bangalore and the first thing I do upon landing is call my mother. She is elated to hear my voice.

‘
Achha, beta
. You just landed? How are you? When are you coming to Gwalior?’ asks my mother even before I have a chance to answer her first question.

‘
Haanji, Ma
. Just landed. I will come the first chance I get. It hasn’t even been five minutes since I landed,’ I smile at her eagerness and typical ‘mummy-enthusiasm’. You cannot beat Indian mothers when it comes to asking questions about your life. They want to know every single detail.

‘How was the flight? You slept well? And what time is your flight to Bangalore?’ she asks.

‘In an hour and a half. Yes, the flight wasn’t too bad. When will you visit me?’ I ask her, giving her a taste of her own medicine.

‘Look,
beta
,’ she sighs. And I know immediately what is coming next. Sure enough, she says, ‘Get married soon. Then I will consider moving base. More proposals have come. Shall I send you the photos?’

‘Ma, we have been through this so many times. When I am ready, I will tell you. What can you make out from a photo anyway?’

‘As though you can make out anything without a photo. I am only telling you to meet these girls, not marry them. In fact, one of them is Bangalore-based. She is an MBA and she is working in some software company. Very good family.’ My mother does not give up so easily. Ever since that fiasco with Shruti’s parents happened, her one-point objective in life is to see me married. It is almost as though it will be redemption for the insults she suffered at their hands, and her ghosts will finally be laid to rest when I am married. While I was in the UK, she couldn’t do much except mention it every time I called her and email me pictures of the girls, which I never opened. The thing is, I just am not interested in marriage. How many times do I have to explain that to my mother? I am doing well in my career and marriage is the last thing on my mind. I can see her point of view, but it is my life, and I do not want to mess it up by adding marriage to it, till I am ready. When I marry, it has to be for the right reasons.

‘Look, Ma, we have had this conversation many times. I will tell you when I want to get married and you can start the bride-hunt then okay?’

‘All boys your age are getting married. Everyone in the community asks about you. I don’t know what to say at social gatherings anymore.’

I smile at her choice of words. At twenty-seven, I am still a ‘boy’ in India. I imagine explaining this to Mark and the others. They would never get it.

‘Ma, we cannot live our lives to please society. You, yourself have told me that so many times. And now what happened?’

‘Maybe I am getting old, son. I so miss your father,’ she says.

I do not know what to say to comfort her. She has started feeling insecure about her age. She was never like this earlier. She was always a strong-willed woman and after my father’s death, she has been very brave. Never once has she talked about how unfair my father’s sudden death was, about missing my father or any such thing. I have never seen my mother’s vulnerable side and today her voice sounds forlorn and defeated. I wish I could just say yes and meet the girls that she keeps lining up, just so that she is pleased. But, honestly, I know I have no inclination to. I do not want to simply cheat my mother and give her false hope. So I change the topic.

I ask about her garden. That is a topic she loves talking about. My mother started gardening ever since she retired and even won some prizes at the local horticultural fair for her produce of bitter gourds and bottle gourds. She tends to the garden almost every waking hour, and our terrace has been turned into a small little farm by her. She grows several vegetables in crates and her hibiscus collection is enviable. People come to visit her garden and she has been featured on local television channels for her gardening skills. She even conducts workshops for a local gardening chapter. My mother now describes all her latest projects and I am happy that I have deftly managed to change the topic.

Finally, I tell her to take care and that I will see her soon, and I hang up.

When I browse through a bookshop at the airport, just before boarding my flight, my eyes fall on
Tiara
and I remember Anjali. I buy the copy on a whim and go through the contents. I am happy to see a relationship column with her picture in it and the article that I gave inputs for. ‘Five Things to Keep a Guy Hooked to You’ reads the title. Anjali looks fantastic in the picture. It is perhaps professionally clicked or she has got an image makeover since the last time I saw her, which was at Vikram and Dipika’s place, when I visited India last year.

I briefly consider calling her up. If I do, she will probably read too much into it. Women always presume that if a guy calls them, he is ‘interested’. I definitely am not into her in
that
way, even though I have agreed to go on a ‘date’ with her. Finally I decide not to call her and instead I drop her a mail.

From: Aman Mathur

To: Anjali Prabhu

Sub: Just read your piece

Hey Anjali,

Am mailing you from Mumbai airport. I just landed and am on my way to Bangalore. Picked up a copy of
Tiara
—and I must say ‘Congratulations’! It feels good to think that a columnist is my friend.

Will see you Monday evening.

Aman

I get her reply within seconds. She says she is delighted to hear from me and thrilled that I saw her column in print and that she is looking forward to meeting me on Monday.

When I land in Bangalore, I call up Vikram. He informs me that Dipika has cooked biryani
and jokes that because of me, he too will get some nice food. Dipika comes on line almost at once and asks me not to believe him and that she makes it often.

‘Yeah, yeah, the last time you made it was when your brother came and that was more than eight months ago,’ says Vikram.

‘What is this? Am I on speaker phone?’ I ask

‘Yeeeeeees’ yell a unison of voices—Dipika, Vikram and both the girls.

I smile. I know I am home.

Their apartment, a penthouse on the fifteenth floor, is in one of the premium residential properties on Sarjapur Road in Bangalore. It has a lovely terrace garden with a well-landscaped lawn and all their parties are hosted here. The security guards at the gate check with Vikram on the intercom and then make me sign a register and wave me in. I dismiss my cab driver and my rather heavy suitcase glides smoothly across the Italian marble in their spacious lobby. I wonder at what point in my career I would be able to afford a place like this.

As soon as I ring the bell, Ria and Reema tumble out and then, suddenly, stand there, shyly smiling at me. They look adorable, dressed prettily in white sleeveless frilly frocks and polka-dotted large hair bows. I have bought tons of chocolate for them from Heathrow airport and a pair of Moxie dolls which the store assistant at Hamleys assured me the girls will love. I can’t help thinking that Ria and Reema look exactly like the dolls I have. I give them a big warm smile. Then I say a hello to them and ask if I may hug them. Reema shakes her head from side to side which I guess indicates a no and Ria nods a yes. I laugh and hug Ria and extend my hand to Reema who then decides that a handshake is a good idea.

It is then that Vikram emerges.

‘Oh hello. I can see the welcome party has already greeted you warmly,’ he says as he shakes my hand and thumps me on the back and then proceeds to give me a ‘man-hug’ as well.

Then I see Dipika. Her hair is still damp from the shower and the shoulders of her white
kurti
are slightly wet where her hair touches it. Her
kurti
is semi-transparent and I can make out the outline of her bra clearly. She looks so stunning I draw in a sharp breath. I had forgotten how very sexy she is. She smiles at me and hugs me lightly.

‘Welcome back,’ she says softly and I get a whiff of her perfume. Her breasts brush against my arm as she steps back from her hug and I feel a flush of embarrassment at the sudden erection in my trousers.

Fuck. It has been a long time since that has happened.

‘Thank you,’ I say and turn away quickly towards my suitcase and call out to Reema and Ria, ‘hey girls, I’ve got something for you,’ and I sit down and unlock it.

‘What is it?’ asks Reema half curious and her sister follows suit and chimes, ‘What is it?’, in her baby voice.

‘Oh, that is sweet of you, Aman, but at least have something to drink first. Give it to them later,’ says Dipika.

‘No no, let me give it to them. It is right on top. I hope they like it.’

Besides, let me calm myself down. You look too darn hot.

Ria is unable to hide her curiosity. ‘What is it? What is it?’ she asks, dancing around. Her sister copies her and they chant, ‘What is it’ like a war-cry.

‘
Chup
! Wait and see and if you don’t stop that right now, I will tell Aman to take it right back,’ says Vikram.

That makes them silent for a second. Then Ria says, ‘No you won’t. You cannot do that. Gifts cannot be taken back.’

Dipika and I burst out laughing and a second later Vikram joins in too.

‘Ha ha, yes, they cannot be. Here you go,’ I say handing them their Moxie dolls.

The girls squeal in delight.

Dipika looks at them and is stunned too. ‘Wow, they look so gorgeous. Aman, you shouldn’t have. But thanks,’ she smiles.

I smile and I try hard to not look at her breasts but I steal a glance anyway. It is hard not to, the way she looks right then.

‘Girls, say a thank you. Remember your manners,’ says Dipika.

‘Thank you, thank you,’ they chime and then vanish into their rooms, delighted with their new toy.

Vikram asks if I will have a beer and I gladly accept. After the cold in the UK, India feels warm, although by Indian standards, Bangalore has one of the most pleasant climatic conditions in the country.

Vikram talks about how the new Chairman Steve Bagshaw is taking over and how sharp he is. He talks about a leadership forum that he recently attended and how forthright Steve was. He says he is a total go-getter unlike some of the older ones he has had in the past. He talks about the changes he has made in the reporting structure and Dipika joins in.

‘So you guys are having beer, eh? And nothing for me?’ she looks questioningly at her husband as she flops down next to him.

‘Sorry, darling. I forgot to ask you what you will have. What can I get you, my lady?’ asks Vikram with exaggerated politeness.

‘Some red wine will be nice, my lord,’ replies Dipika without missing a beat and she winks at me.

I am not sure what to make of that wink. Is she flirting with me?! I am a little taken aback and I shift uncomfortably in the plush leather sofa.

Vikram goes to get the wine and Dipika suddenly bends down and fiddles with the strap of the sandals that she is wearing.

Good Lord. Is she doing this on purpose? I can get a full view of her lacy bra which is some sort of purplish-pink and her breasts spill out invitingly. The erection in my pants is now like a tent-pole. I am so turned on and I cannot tear my eyes away from her.

She slips off the sandals and straightens up and, for a milli-second, catches me staring. She narrows her eyes and smiles and then tucks her leg in underneath her and undoes the first button of her
kurti
, looking at me all the while.

God! I cannot believe it. She is definitely flirting now. And I am finding it increasingly hard to not stare.