Eye On You

by Kanchana Banerjee

  Every time he stood outside her door with food delivery, he hoped and prayed she would open the door instead of the maid. He got lucky few times. When she stood inches away from him; often in an almost see-through tee, preoccupied with a call, their fingers accidentally brushing as she took the plastic bag from him…he almost stopped breathing. His heart jumped to his throat, he felt giddy. Sometimes she looked at him for less than a second, thanked him. Sometimes she didn’t. It wasn’t easy for him to keep his eyes from wandering, going down to look at the outline of her breasts or the toned legs. He used to wonder how she would look naked.

  He loved the vine tattoos the most.

  ‘Someday I’m going to kiss you along the neck, the collar bones. Someday you and I will be together all night long.’ That’s what he would tell himself every time he walked away from the door.

  That night when he lifted the barbed wire and entered the compound again, he knew the path to follow that wasn’t covered by the CCTV cameras.

  He wore a large brown overcoat with a woollen muffler wrapped around his neck and a beanie on his head. A bushy moustache and a beard covered most of the rest of his face. A laptop bag was slung on his shoulder. He had filled it with few books. In his hand, he held his mobile. He looked like a man who had just finished a long and hard day at work.

  He walked into the A-wing lobby. The guard on duty at this time liked to smoke and often strolled outside. He had noticed it earlier. He walked in without anyone stopping or questioning him. Once inside the elevator, he kept his head down so that the camera wouldn’t be able to capture his face. Even if it did, he was in disguise; looking nothing like his true self.

  He got off on the 13th floor, quickly walked to the door that led to the staircase. He walked up to the 16th floor and stood outside Myra’s flat. He took out his mobile and pressed a few buttons, smiling underneath his bushy moustache. He could access every app Myra had on her phone.

  He entered the flat and shut the door behind him silently. Quiet and dark. He knew it was empty. He wouldn’t have come if it weren’t. He had switched on the CCTV through his phone and checked every room thoroughly to ensure no one was in. It was so easy.

  It was his favourite past time; watching Myra on the CCTV through the phone.

  ‘You look delicious naked, my dear.’ He used to whisper to himself, his eyes glued to the screen, wishing he could zoom in. The vine tattoo with pink cherry blossoms on her white damp skin, spreading from the deep clavicle to her shoulders — he had wanted to touch them. When she had Arjun over and they made love and then slept, spooning into each other; he fumed, curled his fists tight in his palm till the nails cut into his skin. He swore to make him pay.

  ‘Myra is mine and mine alone.’ He said to himself often. ‘Soon we’ll be together.’

  As he stood in her dark bedroom, the mist and smoggy fog settling in almost entombing the surroundings, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath in and let his mind go back to the night when he was on the bed with her. It had been so easy to enter the complex, go through the lobby and take the elevator. Myra had informed the main gate about the party and she had shared the entry code with her friends. He got the code too, through her phone; though no one even asked for it. All evening well-dressed men and women in slinky shiny dresses were sashaying in. The guards were busy gawking.

  The main door was wide open, guests were walking in and out. The lights were dim, very dim and everyone was either drunk or high, or busy cuddling or making out. It hadn’t been difficult leading a very drunk Myra away to her bedroom, dropping two tiny pills in her glass. In less than 5 minutes, she slumped in his arms. Everything had been exactly as he had planned and hoped for. It was a night he would cherish and remember; he thought about it time and again, going over every tiny detail in his mind, reliving every moment. The feel of her smooth cool skin. Unblemished. Soft as satin. The taste of her mouth. Her lips parting to welcome him. Her soft breasts in his palm as he cupped them.

  He stood near her bed; the same bed in which he had lain entwined with her only a couple of nights ago, and whispered to himself.

  ‘I love you, Myra. No one can love you like me.’

  He knew he shouldn’t have returned; it was a mistake. But he hadn’t seen her since Saturday night. Her phone was switched off most of the time and she was staying with her friend. He hadn’t accessed the friend’s phone or home. Had no desire to either. She didn’t interest him, neither did she catch his fancy.

  He just needed to be in Myra’s house, feel her things, touch her towel, the bed she slept in, the walls that surrounded her. He just needed to be next to her things, even if she was out of his reach.

  ‘Soon, Myra. Soon. You’ll be in my arms again. You loved my touch that night. You didn’t resist at all. Of course, why would you? You had invited me. You wanted me to come in.’

  He opened the drawer she kept her lingerie in, touched them, smelled them, bit into the soft satiny fabric, closing his eyes, imagining her in them.

  ‘You look so gorgeous in them, Myra. So good in them… and naked.’ He held the side of the wooden dresser. He felt light-headed as thoughts flooded his mind, blood rushing to his brain, his heart pounding inside his chest. He put the panty back and pushed the drawer shut. He stood with his head bent and eyes closed.

  ‘I need to leave. It’s risky. I shouldn’t be here.’ The voice of reason broke through the cloud of passion that was surging high. He knew he didn’t need to worry about fingerprints. He had worn woollen gloves before touching the main door. On his feet, he wore shoes that weren’t his. He had picked them from the steps outside a Gurudwara. He would burn them later, stand till they were completely burned, not taking any chances at all.

  One could Google and learn anything and everything.

  He stayed for few more minutes and then left.

  Chapter 6. Myra

  “There’s something very off about this Deep guy, My.” Hridi had been flicking through the Instagram feed of my friends who were at the party. She knows most of them and follows them on Instagram too.

  “Do you know that he posed with almost everyone at the party and posted the pics? Such a weirdo he is.” Hridi walks over to me and hands the phone. “I wish you had turned him away from the door. I mean, who just turns up at a party given all that had happened!”

  “Totally. I was taken aback when he showed up that evening. Who does something like that? I was so stumped on seeing him. I just didn’t know how to react. What to say?”

  “My, you’d sacked him from work. Right? That was… how long back was that?” Hridi sits near me on the sofa as we both stare at Deep’s smiling picture. The smile was stretched long and hard. A fake smile. He was trying hard; a tad too hard.

  “A year and few months, I think.” I’d caught him shifting funds at work. He’d said he needed money to pay a lending guy who was after his blood. He’d begged and pleaded but I couldn’t turn a blind eye to what he’d done. I reported it and he was asked to go. It was very ugly. Deep had to be physically carried out by security guards. He'd screamed obscenities and threats at me.

  I continue scrolling through his posts. He had started posting about the party from early evening on Saturday.

  He stood grinning with a big bunch of gigantic Oriental lilies. The picture was timestamped 4 pm with a text below that said: ‘I know she loves lilies. Who doesn’t! I need to make nice.’

  The next was of the wine bottle he’d purchased. Placed next to the lilies. ‘Flowers and wine!! I can’t possibly go wrong. Can I?’

  ‘Why did he want to patch it up with me after the humiliation I caused? The wine itself must have cost him 6k, maybe more. Why spend so much money just to patch up? Why was he so eager to patch up?’

  “I just don’t like the guy. He is a creep.” Hridi makes a face. I know what she is thinking. Why did I let him in? Together we scroll through few more pictures. Of him getting dressed. Outside my flat, and then a stream of pictures inside the house. It was clea
r from the pictures that he had forced himself on others; with a delirious I’m-high-and-happy look while the others forced polite smiles while posing, not knowing how to refuse.

  I didn’t know how to turn him away from my doorstep. I hadn’t been able to shut the door on his face and say, “Please leave.”

  “Why did he come to the party, My? Land up uninvited to the party of the person who sacked him!”

  “Hri, he has been trying to mend the bridge for the past month or so. He had sent flowers and then a basket of oatmeal cookies with an apology note.” I’d left both in the office.

  “Do you think…he is the one? Do you think Deep would be so nasty? To get back at me?”

  Hridi falls silent and bends her head, her chin almost touching her chest, her eyes still and staring at the mobile phone screen. “I don’t like him, My. He is just weird. Do you remember anything about the night?”

  “No. nothing. It’s like a black hole.” My blood report revealed the presence of Rohypnol. I’ve travelled all over the world, stayed in cities alone, gone pubbing and never got roofied. I have a party at home, call my friends, and someone slips in the club drug, knocks me out, and rapes me! It fills me with anger; more than anger, it’s fear. I’m not safe in my own home.

  “I just can’t remember anything. I wish I hadn’t let this guy in. It was a mistake.” I hug the cup of masala chai, it is almost lukewarm now. “I wish I could remember something about the man. The one who…” I couldn’t even say it out loud. The one who raped me. We both fall silent. Suddenly, the intercom rings and the pressure cooker whistle goes off. Malti has been doing all the cooking. Hridi and I jump up, startled by the sudden noise.

  “Must be some courier guy,” Hridi says as she strides over to answer the call. She returns in less than a minute wearing a strange look on her face.

  “It’s Arjun, Myra. I let him through without asking you.” I nod. It is time we spoke.

  “Do you want to change?” Hridi begins to tidy the room, picking up the cushions, the empty cups and plates from the centre table. I look at the crumpled cotton pyjamas I am in, a soft worn-out tee with a woollen shrug. I run my fingers through my curly entangled hair, they must be a mess; all tousled. I didn’t want to tidy up.

  “No, I’m good.”

  Arjun walks in smelling of sunshine, happy life, and expensive cologne. He has quite a collection. He walks in straight towards me and just engulfs me, his strong-muscled arms holding me tight.

  “Myra!” he says my name, rolling the r in my name, the way only he can. To my surprise I like being held by him, feel almost reassuring and safe. I’m surprised by the way I’m feeling because I’m still angry. Angry for him not being at the party and more than that not telling me why he couldn’t be there. And then we’d had that ugly spat at Whiskey Samba two nights before Saturday.

  I can’t see Hridi. She has gone into the bedroom, giving us space and privacy. Arjun fills the room with his presence, his broad shoulders, his height. Everything in the small room seems smaller around him. He settles down, pulls me close; I’m almost sitting in his lap. I don’t protest. I rest my head on his shoulder as his arms go around me and he just holds me.

  “It’s all over the news, Arjun. TV channels, newspapers, social media. Everyone is talking about it. Everyone in my building looks at me and stops their conversation.” I can feel a sob rising. I don’t cry easily; never have.

  “And the cops are being so nasty about it.”

  “I know Myra. The cops are fucking nasty. I was there with that lump of lard jiggling around.” He continues stroking my hair as he speaks, his voice soft and hushed.

  “You went to see Inspector Dipti Beniwal?”

  “I was summoned, more like it. She hates us for who we are. The fact that we have money, live in good houses, and have a better life…that just makes her hate us more. Don’t let her get to you, babe.” His palm touched my face and I almost flinch at the feel of the hard callus against my skin. I turn his palm around and feel the callus.

  “I wear proper gloves, apply cream well but still there’s one tiny spot that hardens.” He sounds embarrassed that he has a solitary callus on his palm. He takes his palm away from mine and holds me. I let him. I rest my head on his broad chest.

  “He was there, in my living room. All evening. I must have spoken with him, posed for a pic, clinked my glass with, not knowing what he had planned.” I gulp the lump that’s risen in my throat. My voice trembles. “If I’m not safe in my home, what’s to say about outdoor? He can get to me somewhere else too.”

  “Shush Myra. Nothing will happen anymore. I’m here with you now.” I raise my face to look into his hazel brown eyes, his bushy brows that I know he gets trimmed, the clean-shaven strong jaw and those light pink lips that lurch on one side when he smiles.

  “Why weren’t you there with me on Saturday night, Arjun? If you had been there…may be…may be…”

  “Yes, Arjun. Where were you on Saturday night?” Hridi has decided that we have had enough privacy and walks back in and sits down on the sofa across us. Arjun raises one eyebrow as though saying, could we be left alone for a while more? But Hridi isn’t going anywhere. She returns his look with a determined fixed glare.

  “Why can’t you tell us where you were?” Hridi asks again and I slide out of his lap and turn towards him.

  “I told you then and I’m telling you again. I had something personal. Something very personal to deal with him.”

  The earlier sense of irritation I had felt which led to our very public and nasty spat on Thursday night was returning. What was so personal that he can’t tell me?

  “I don’t know about you My, but if my boyfriend behaved like this…I don’t know what I would have done. What kind of nonsense is this! Both of you practically live together. In each other’s house. You have keys to each other’s homes. I mean…you are practically a married couple and yet, Arjun refuses to tell you where he was on the night you got raped in your bedroom.” Hridi gets up in a huff, places her hands on her waist and stares at him. Arjun isn’t one to take it easy either and jumps up too. His knees knocking over the centre table.

  “I wish you’d ask your friend to stay out of this, Myra. She’s just being a bitch. Like she always is.”

  “Yeah! I’m a bitch. Better than being a fucked up BF who doesn’t want to come clean. What are you hiding, you fucker?” Hridi begins to scream, as does Arjun. Archie starts barking and my head feels like it’s going to explode.

  “STOP IT! JUST STOP IT, both of you.” I scream out and both of them fall silent. “Arjun, you have to tell me where you were that night. If you cant….then…I think it’s best that you leave. I have nothing more to say to you.” I get up and walk into the bedroom shutting the door behind me.

  “I don’t believe you, Myra. After all these years, you don’t trust me and you let…you let this friend of yours get to you. This is fucking unbelievable.”

  Archie continues barking. I know Hridi is holding him back; though he wouldn’t bite Arjun. I hear Arjun’s fist land a thump on the closed door and then the sound of his heavy footstep walking away. He’s gone.

  Why doesn’t he want to tell me where he was? Why? He has a callus on his palm. I shake my head as though to dispel the idea. Many men have a callus; specially those who lift weights regularly. I don’t want to think about the niggling thought that’s worming its way inside my head.

  No, it can’t be.

  Chapter 7. Dipti

  ‘This one is a tough nut. Very calm. Too calm.’ Inspector Dipti looked at Hridi sitting in the reception area, reading on her Kindle. She’d let her wait in the reception, stepped out to stretch her legs and looked towards the reception enclosure where Hridi was sitting. She had been waiting for 15 minutes and showed no sign of agitation. She sat in one corner on the cane sofa with her eyes fixed on the Kindle, her index finger flicking the screen from time to time. She could well be sitting in a cafe. She looked at ease. Unusually at ease. It wa
s the waiting area in a police station and she had been summoned by Inspector Dipti who was speaking with Myra’s friends and all the guests. Hridi’s serene composure looked out of place and Dipti knew this was going to be a difficult conversation.

  “Call her in.” Dipti walked back to her room, picked up her phone and instructed the constable who sat behind a glass partition in the reception. A minute later, Hridi walked in. The heels of her ankle-length boots making a clackety-clack sound on the tiles. In fitted dark blue trousers, a short leather jacket that was zipped till her neck, her dense curls dancing and kissing her shoulders, she wore the N95 anti-pollution mask as did most people in the city. The air outside was more toxic than smoking cigarettes regularly. WA messages were proclaiming that a walk without a mask for 5 minutes could cause more damage than a year of smoking. Hridi sat down, her eyes fixed on Dipti, her elbows balanced on the chair handles and her fingertips just about touching.

  “Please take off the mask,” Dipti said without looking up.

  “I’d rather not,” Hridi replied. “The door is open and there’s no air purifier in the room. It’s not safe.”

  “We can have the conversation in one of the cells. There’s no door or window there. Would you feel safer there?” Dipti shut her file with a decided snap and glared back. She was sick of dealing with the hoity-toity rich upper class, their fancy clothes, cars, houses, masks, etc. Hridi decided to be pliant and took it off.

  “Happy?” she pasted a fake smile on her face.

  Dipti let out a sigh. In the past few days every time she spoke with Myra, Hridi was present and they had quite a few heated exchanges between them. Hridi had threatened to take to Twitter and complain about her. Dipti knew it would amount to nothing but she didn’t want to be summoned to the office of the SP again.