‘No questions at all. In fact, if possible, no words.’
She buried her face in my chest. I lifted her chin.
‘Riya Somani, I love you. Always have. Always will. Please, never, ever leave me.’
She shook her head and said, ‘I won’t. . .I can’t. . .’
I continued, ‘Shh. . . Because next time I will find you again and kill you.’
She smiled and cried at the same time. Some of the crowd cheered, even though they were confused about what was going on. The pianist ended the song. The restaurant staff switched on the concert room lights. People began to make their way out.
I continued to hold her.
‘Sorry, I left because I got scared. . .’ she said.
‘I know.’
‘But how did you. . .?’ she said.
‘I said, no questions.’
‘Just one last one.’
‘What?’
‘Why is your shirt so wet and cold?’ she said.
I laughed.
‘What?’ she said.
‘Nothing.’
46
‘Upper West, 70th and 6th,’ she said.
We were in a black Lincoln car, which the organizers had arranged for the singers. The car took us to her apartment on the Upper West Side near the western side of Central Park. I can’t remember much of the journey except her face and the way it looked in the changing lights. And that the city seemed more beautiful than any other night in the past three months. I clasped her hand tightly and leaned back on the seat, just looking at her face.
She turned the key and we were in her apartment. There were music posters all over the walls. The window faced the park, now dark, apart from the streetlights. She went to the bedroom to remove her make-up.
In the bathroom I undressed and noticed the bruises and blisters on my feet. My nose and ears looked raw and red. I took a hot shower. I felt like a pack of frozen peas being thawed.
I finished my shower and realized I did not have fresh clothes. A pink oversized T-shirt with a Dora cartoon hung in the bathroom. Perhaps Riya used it as nightwear. I put on the T-shirt, wrapped a towel around my waist and stepped out.
Riya laughed as she saw me in the girlie T-shirt.
‘Sorry, I didn’t. . .’ I said.
She silenced me with a kiss. Her lips felt like warm honey. She kissed me for a long time, holding my face in her hands. Our tongues gently touched. I placed my left hand on her cheek. My right hand kept my towel in place.
She guided my right hand to her back. Her gown was backless, and I felt smooth skin.
She removed my pink T-shirt. I tried to remove her gown but it was too complex a garment for me to understand. I tugged at it, and then gave up.
She unzipped a side zipper and stepped out of it.
We embraced. We kissed. We touched. We caressed. We reached the bedroom, the bed. Our lips never stopped kissing. Our hands never stopped touching.
Every moment felt special as we made love. I entered her, and our eyes met. Both of us felt strong and vulnerable at the same time. I saw tears in her eyes.
‘You okay?’ I said.
She nodded. She brought her face close to my ear to whisper.
‘More than okay. I’m great,’ she said. ‘And you?’
‘More than great,’ I said.
We cuddled afterwards. She slept. I didn’t. I looked at her all night. I realized this only when daylight seeped in through the windows. I turned towards her. Her skin glowed in the morning light. Her eyebrows were still perfect. Her eyes were shut.
‘You sleeping?’ I asked her.
She nodded.
Epilogue
Three and a half years later
‘It’s easily one of the best schools I have seen,’ I said.
‘It was not like this seven years ago,’ Madhav said.
I finished the tour of the Dumraon Royal School. Madhav had invited me as the chief guest for their annual day function.
I passed a music class, from where high-pitched notes could be heard. Madhav knocked on the door.
‘Riya, Chetan sir,’ Madhav whispered.
‘Please don’t call me sir,’ I said.
‘Sorry,’ Madhav said.
Riya stepped out. Madhav had not lied about her looks. She had classic features and an elegant demeanour.
‘Chetan sir, finally. Madhav has talked so much about you,’ Riya said.
‘No sir. And, trust me, Madhav has told me a lot about you too.’
She laughed. Madhav told her to finish the class and meet us outside.
‘It’s lovely here,’ I said. We walked out of the main building into the school garden. Students had decorated the new basketball court with flowers. A function to inaugurate the court was scheduled for later in the evening.
‘We wanted to call you earlier, but thought it better to invite you here when we had a basketball court,’ Madhav said.
‘The court is beautiful.’
‘All the equipment is from the US,’ Madhav said. ‘Riya and I spend three months there every year. She does a few music gigs. I help out at the UN and also do some marketing of my rural tours.’
Madhav explained how they had started rural school tours, which included a stay in the haveli. People came from all over the world, allowing the school to earn revenue in dollars.
‘Tourists spend a day with our kids. They teach them a class, share pictures or talk about their country. They say it is one of the most meaningful things they have ever done in their life.’
‘That’s innovative.’
‘Students love it. They get an exposure to the world. Many tourists send regular grants or gifts to the school later on.’
‘Where’s your mother?’
‘She’ll come soon. She spends less time at the school now. Riya and I run it. Shyam keeps Rani Sahiba busy.’ Madhav laughed.
‘She is okay about Riya?’ I said.
‘You forget that she saw how I had become without her. She says she is happy to have her son back. Not to mention grandson. Her new darling.’
‘How old is your son now?’
‘Will turn two soon,’ Madhav said. ‘Here they come.’
I saw an elderly lady walk towards us holding a little boy’s hand in one hand and a large tiffin box in another.
The school bell rang. Hordes of kids ran out. Riya joined us.
‘Everyone’s here,’ she said.
Shyam extracted his hand from his grandmother’s and came running up to his parents. He looked like a chubby baby version of Riya.
‘Shyam is too tall and too naughty for his age,’ Rani Sahiba said when Madhav had introduced us.
We sat in the amphitheatre seats of the basketball court. Riya served everyone a lunch of chapatis, daal and carrot-and-peas subzi from the tiffin box.
Shyam saw a basketball on court. He ran down the amphitheatre steps for the ball.
‘Careful,’ Rani Sahiba said.
‘He’s your daredevil grandson,’ Riya said.
Shyam took the ball in his hand.
‘Shoot,’ Riya said.
Shyam took a shot. His little hands couldn’t throw the ball high enough to reach anywhere near the basket. He tried two more times and failed.
He looked at his father.
‘It’s not happening,’ he said.
‘So what? Don’t quit. It will happen one day,’ Madhav said.
Half Girlfriend Page 25
