The Secret wish List (13 page)

‘Ha ha. Is there any rule on places that salsa instructors are not permitted to go to?’ his eyes twinkle.

‘No, No, I did not mean it that way, I meant…’

‘Just kidding. Come, let’s sit down and chat and let me get you a drink. Iced mint tea?’ he interrupts me before I can blabber further.

I nod and he wastes no time in getting the drink. I follow him and, pulling up a wrought-iron chair, sit facing him. This is indeed a nice place with a lot of plants and a casual ‘let’s-chat-over-coffee’ ambience. I had never noticed it before. But now I do. I can also see that he must have been just about to begin his lunch when he spotted me and came over. He offers his fries but I refuse and thank him.

‘Don’t tell me you are on a diet,’ he says

‘I am not, but as a rule I eat healthy,’ I reply.

‘Me too, but hey, sometimes you break rules too. It is fun.’

‘Of course, it is. It is forbidden which is why it’s fun,’ I smile.

‘So, have you broken any rules?’ he asks as he sips his iced tea, and gazes straight into my eyes.

His eyes are brown and he is so darn attractive that I find it hard to concentrate on what he is saying. I wonder if he knows the effect he is having on me. I force myself to snap out of the dreamlike state I seem to be entering.

Stop it Diksha and tell him you have a son who will be home soon, that in your other life you are a conventional housewife, that today is an aberration, for you normally don’t shop at malls and have lunches with men you have just met.

‘Hell yes. And I have got into a lot of trouble too,’ I reply and am stunned at my glib reply. Why in the world am I talking like this with Gaurav?

‘Oh wow! What kind of trouble? I love to hear stories,’ he says with a wink. He stares into my eyes and takes a sip of his tea.

I am unable to meet his gaze.

‘It’s not what you think,’ I mutter nervously. ‘It is nothing really, and it was a long time ago,’ I plod on, a bit horrified now that I have said more than I intended to. I shut up and look down into my drink.

‘I would love to know, nonetheless. Do tell. From the moment you walked into class that day, I knew there was something about you. And, hey, I must say, you look gorgeous in Indian clothes too,’ he says.

I blush furiously. This is truly one of the dowdiest salwars I possess. I feel stupid to blush in his presence. After all, I am a married woman and a mother at that. He must be chatting up girls far more attractive than me every other day.

‘Thank you. Someday I will. But I have to rush today. I have to be home by three thirty,’ I reply.

‘Why? What happens if you are late? Will your coach turn into a pumpkin?’ he asks in an amused tone.

‘No, my son will have to wait outside the house till I return. He comes from school at three thirty,’ I reply.

His jaw drops.

I smile at the effect of my words.

‘Oh! You are a mother?! You don’t even look married,’ he says.

I laugh heartily. ‘Thank you! I don’t hear that often, but it is good to know,’ I say.

Which is the truth. I have never even thought of whether or not I look like a mother till I joined the salsa class.

‘Really? I would have thought you hear it all the time. Meet me here for lunch tomorrow? I really want to get to know you. You are fascinating,’ he says.

I am stunned by his directness. He is a fast operator. I am unable to think of an excuse quick enough and, before I realise what is happening, I have agreed to meet him at the same place for lunch. He says he eats here often as it is just walking distance from the dance studio. Come to think of it, it actually is, when one takes the back road.

‘How have you come? Do you have a car?’ he asks

‘No, I took an auto. Don’t worry. I live close by. I will get plenty that will take me home.’

Gaurav insists on dropping me but I refuse. I tell him that I will manage just fine. Coming on a secret shopping spree is bad enough, if someone sees me with a drop-dead gorgeous guy like Gaurav, it will definitely cause a stir in my quiet neighbourhood. Of course, I do not explain all this to him. He insists on seeing me off till the auto-stand.

‘So, we’ll meet here tomorrow then? Same time?’ he asks as I get into the auto.

‘Yeah, see you,’ I say with a bravado that I am not feeling.

As I make my way home, I wonder why in the world did I agree to meet him tomorrow. Why in the world didn’t I just refuse? What was I thinking?

Actually I wasn’t thinking at all, and that is how I, a much married mother of a child, is going on a date with a great-looking salsa instructor who says he finds me fascinating and wants to know all about me. I can’t stop smiling all the way home and I can’t wait to tell Vibha.

I do not get a chance till late at night as Abhay reaches just seconds after I enter the house. I rush to hide my new purchases at the bottom shelf of my cupboard and greet him as usual.

Abhay gives a whoop of delight and a bear hug when he sees the burger I’ve got for him. It is so easy to please a nine-year-old. My evening flies as I supervise Abhay’s studies. He has a geography test the next day and also has to make a collage of famous English authors for his English class.

Abhay has already read Charles Dickens, Oscar Wilde, R L Stevenson and Mark Twain. I search for their photos on the Internet and print them out. He looks up information about them and condenses it. Then, very neatly, he writes out their life histories next to their pictures. He is such a clever boy, my son. He winds up making a very professional-looking chart full of fascinating details. Abhay loves doing this kind of work and thoroughly enjoys this particular assignment. Most children his age would groan at such a task but he revels in it.

Sandeep does not even notice me as I take his briefcase and give him his customary cup of tea. But, for the first time in ages, I am actually glad about his indifference. Abhay brings his chart proudly and shows it to Sandeep and even Sandeep cannot help but admire Abhay’s handiwork.

‘Well done, son. But see these lines here, they should have been written a bit straight. They are a little crooked,’ he says.

I squirm as I see Abhay’s face fall. I clench my fists under the garden table. I really feel like slapping Sandeep. Can’t he be a bit more forthcoming with praise and go easy on the criticism?

‘Come on, Sandeep, He is only nine. I think it is a wonderful effort for his age,’ I defend Abhay.

‘Age is no excuse, Diksha. What’s true is true,’ Sandeep pronounces sanctimoniously.

I feel like emptying my tea on his head. But instead grit my teeth in silence.

Then I ask Abhay to pack up the chart carefully and to prepare his school bag for the next day.

‘I might have to travel to Korea,’ announces Sandeep after Abhay leaves.‘The project I am handling seems to be gathering momentum,’ he says.

‘Oh. When are you going and for how long?’ I ask.

‘Nothing is fixed yet. It is all very fluid right now.’

‘And for how many days will you be gone?’

‘Don’t know yet. It will be for a week initially. But I might have to go back there often. I am spearheading this whole thing. The senior management doesn’t want to take any chance, you see,’ he says and I can almost see his chest puffing up with pride.

I am not really interested in his work. I have tried to understand it in the past but, truth is, Sandeep discloses very little. Once he gets back from work, all he wants to do is have his tea, his meal and plonk himself in front of the television till he is ready to drop off. I know better than to interrupt his TV time.

I can’t wait for Sandeep to go to bed, so that I can tell Vibha all about my shopping expedition and this ‘date’ with Gaurav. I do not want to say anything in front of him.

I wait till Sandeep’s breathing is even and I wait till he begins to snore. Then I take out my phone and text Vibha:

‘Can’t talk. Can you come online?’

‘Twenty minutes, babe. Monu very restless today. Just not sleeping,’
she texts back.

‘Okay. I’m online. Ping me when you come online,’
I reply as I slowly sneak into the guest bedroom where the computer is kept.

When I log in, I automatically check my emails first. I usually get nothing interesting apart from newsletters from an art forum I had joined a long back. Mostly I get mails from our residents’ welfare association regarding various issues. I also get forwards sent by the mothers I meet at the bus stop. I read them all and chuckle at a few. But today, one mail takes me by utter and total surprise.

Diksha!!

Is it really you? Where have you been, girl? I couldn’t believe it when I found your name in Blast from the Past. Have you changed your surname after marriage?

It’s been eighteen years since we last spoke. Eighteen whole years! What the fuck happened to time?!

I live in Gurgaon now, but am moving to Bangalore soon. Yeah! To your city ☺

Give me your contact details the moment you read this mail.

You will never believe who I managed to track down!

Call now!

Tanu

I cannot believe that it is actually Tanu. Tanu whom I last saw when my parents unceremoniously pulled me out of school and sent me to Kerala to stay with my grandmother and aunt.

I can see from the mail that she now works with an investment bank and is Group Vice President. I have no idea what that means, but the logo of the bank, her designation, the address with her phone and fax numbers, as well as the website, intimidate as well as impress me.

I cannot believe this is ‘my Tanu’.

This is too much excitement to handle in one day. First, being asked on a lunch date by Gaurav and then, getting a mail from my closest friend with whom I have had no contact for eighteen long years! These events have suddenly dropped into my life like bitten hand-grenades waiting to explode.

If Tanu has managed to track down someone and is saying that I will never believe it, it has to be one person. Ankit.

The very mention of his name makes my heart beats go crazy. Oh my God. This truly cannot be happening. I glance at the clock and it is nearly eleven fifteen. It is definitely too late to call Tanu.

I want to text her immediately. I want to know who it is she has managed to track down. I want to know all about her—is she married, single. Divorced? Nah, she cannot be divorced, I think to myself. I wonder how she looks now. I am dying of curiosity and decide that I will risk calling her anyway.

Just as I pick up the phone, it buzzes and it is a text from Vibha.

‘
Online, babes. Log in,
’ it reads.

I log in immediately to the instant messenger and ping Vibha:

I walk softly into the garden like a thief. It is the first time I have been outside my home this late in the night. I call Vibha and talk in whispers to her, afraid of waking up Sandeep. It terrifies me to think of what he will say if he finds me outside the house, sneaking calls to Vibha in the middle of the night.

I tell Vibha about Gaurav asking me out for lunch.

‘Oh my God. What fun. Lucky girl. Go meet him!’ she says.

‘This is definitely cheating, Vibha. How can I meet him without telling Sandeep?’

‘What cheating Diksha? Are you planning to sleep with him?’

‘Shut up! Though I must admit the prospect is attractive,’ I giggle in the darkness.

‘Hey. Why do you even have this tiny little iota of guilt? Doesn’t Sandeep go out on lunches with his female colleagues ever?’

‘Yeah, he does. But that is work-related, right?’

‘As though they talk about work
all
the time. Surely, they talk of something other than work? Stop feeling so guilty. You are finally doing what you want to do.’

‘Yeah, but I am a married woman, Vibha.’

‘So? Why are you behaving like you live in the Taliban era. Can’t married women meet men other than their husbands for lunch? Anyway you are hiding the fact that you are learning salsa. How then is hiding this any different?’

Vibha does have a point.

Then I tell her about Tanu’s mail. Of course, Vibha remembers Tanu and every single detail of our friendship. Vibha had been my confidante and my main support system during the time I stayed with my grandmother in Kerala. It was Vibha’s support alone that had seen me though those dark days.

And even when my parents had pressurised me into getting married, it was Vibha who had comforted and consoled me saying things weren’t that bad, and anyway everyone gets married sooner or later. In my case, it just happened to be sooner, so how did it really matter? Vibha was my rock, my pillar of strength. She still is.

‘Oh my god, Diksha. Do you think it is Ankit she could be talking about?’ Vibha asks.

‘I don’t know,’ I say.

But I am dying to find out.

Fourteen

T
HE NEXT MORNING
, I
AM SO DARN CHEERFUL
that the women in the bus stop once again comment on it.

‘Come on. Spill the beans. You really are up to something. What is your secret?’ Jyoti bursts out as though she cannot hold back any longer. I noticed that she had been studying me from the moment she saw me approach.

‘
Kuchch toh chakkar hai,’
adds Rachna. In my head I name her the
‘chakkar
woman’.

‘
Arre
, no
chaakar-vakkar
. Really, it’s nothing. An old classmate of mine got in touch with me and I am happy. That’s all,’ I say.

‘Ah-ha! Guy or girl?’ asks the inquisitive
chakkar
woman.

‘Girl. Best friend,’ I reply.