No Strings Attached

by Sheila Kumar

  Nina gasped and that was all the opportunity Samar Singh needed. He immediately coaxed her mouth open and deepened the kiss. He brought his body to hers, and she could feel his arousal. She caught fire herself.

  Oh, Nina was still angry, very angry, but the row could wait. This could not. She brought up both her hands and clasped his head tightly.

  ‘Darling,’ Samar said thickly before he lowered his head and left a line of nibbling kisses down her jawline to her collarbone. Nina moaned, then felt a draught of air as he moved away from her. Her eyes flew open.

  ‘What?’ she managed, even as she reached for him.

  ‘Just this,’ Samar said. ‘I love you.’

  Transfixed, Nina looked at him. He was serious, despite the small smile playing on his well-cut lips.

  ‘I love you, Nina Sabharwal,’ he said again. ‘Now make love to me. Please.’

  And Nina didn’t need a second bidding. She reached out and pulled him to her by his silk tie. Samar grinned.

  He continued to smile as Nina stripped him of his tie and shirt; this time her hands were steady, even when they went to his belt buckle.

  But Samar lost his smile and drew a sharp breath as she unzipped him and slid one hand inside, caressing him softly.

  ‘My,’ she told him admiringly. ‘You are so ready, aren’t you?’

  He made a rough sound of pleasure. ‘I’ve been ready a long time now, my dearest,’ he told her unsteadily, and her heart turned over at that. Samar was never casual with his endearments and she treasured the moment as much as the spoken words.

  Looping both arms around his waist, Nina jerked him onto her, her mouth blindly seeking his even as she guided him into her.

  They made love standing there, with Samar putting a protective arm between Nina’s soft body and the wall. There was no noise to be heard except for Nina’s gasping breath as he drove into her hard, finding and keeping the perfect rhythm.

  They came together in one glorious moment, Samar’s face buried in her neck, Nina’s head thrown back in ecstasy. Long moments passed, then Samar gently picked Nina up and walked over to her couch.

  ‘That was spectacular,’ he said, kissing her throat softly as he laid her gently down. Once again, both of them were breathing audibly, raggedly.

  And then they lay together feeling their heartbeats slowly come back to normal.

  ‘Shall I fetch us some wine?’ he asked, a while later. Nina smiled her assent and Samar got up, entirely unselfconscious about his magnificent nudity, walking over to Nina’s makeshift bar.

  He told me he loved me, Nina thought suddenly. Was it just in the heat of the moment?

  •

  The next morning was a Sunday, and Nina woke to the happy decision that she would make a full English breakfast for Samar and herself. Only, Samar was no longer around. There was a note in his looping hand on her nightstand, which said he had had to go meet someone about a vintage Leica camera, and would call later.

  Back to square one, Nina thought with a real pang. Was this going to be the pattern as long as they were together? More to the point, could she really handle this? She wished for a modicum of insouciance so she could just go with this flow. But Nina Sabharwal just did not have that lightness of being this situation called for and there was no way she could continue to fool herself.

  •

  ‘Ma’s in town, staying with me. Come have dinner with us?’ Samar’s voice was relaxed, languid, in direct counterpoint to Nina’s heartbeat which picked up at a Formula One pace. She was at the fridge, door open, inspecting the contents with a view of making a nifty lunch. She threw a quick look across at Samar who was at the table reading the paper. The sun streamed in gloriously from behind him, lighting up his face and head, and she felt she could stare forever.

  ‘Well?’ he asked in an amused tone, and she realized she had been doing just that, staring at him in utter silence.

  ‘When?’ she asked, annoyed to find her voice had suddenly acquired a husky overtone. Meeting Mrs Singh was not high on her list of delightful things to do but Samar had asked; though his face was unreadable and his tone casual, he had asked!

  ‘Nina, close that fridge, the room is getting chilly!’ he told her with a grin and then continued, ‘Let me find out what Ma’s schedule is like. You won’t believe how packed it can be. She comes purportedly, as our news editor would say, to visit me but I’m lucky if I get a glimpse of her once a day.’

  And then, unbelievably, it was his voice which suddenly acquired a husky overtone. ‘Come here … please?’ he asked her, his eyes on her mouth.

  Filled with a sense of mischief, she shook her head mutely, suddenly becoming aware of how her thin floral shirtdress clung almost lovingly to her contours. Samar studied her for a sizzling minute, then got up from the table in one swift and fluid movement, moving on light feet towards her. The next minute, he had backed her up against the wall, boxing her in with his arms on both sides of her head.

  They stared at each other, both breathing hard, audibly. Her gaze moved to his collarbone where she could see a telltale pulse beating hard. Desire washed over her with force, taking her by surprise with its intensity. Bringing both her hands up to his body, she pulled him to her by his shirtfront and reached up and started to softly kiss that pulse. Which, of course, led to other things and left both Nina and Samar out of breath, but thoroughly satisfied.

  In the event though, Nina was unable to go over to Samar Singh’s place for a meal. She went down with what was obviously an occupational hazard in Bangalore, a flu virus, and was laid up in bed for the better part of a week. Mini and Leena brought over tiffin boxes full of food, Sita came home and made a week’s worth of her famous spiced lentil soup (‘Nothing like dal to get you over the sniffles,’ she pronounced) and Alan called to give her a rather belated lecture on how the fast-changing climate of the city was positively dangerous. Her household help Shanti was most concerned, hanging around and asking what she could make for Nina to eat. Samar dropped by the first two days. ‘Nothing like a quick cuddle to get you over this,’ he announced, but she pushed him away, turning her face into the pillow. Her head was pounding, her nose was all red, she felt hot one moment, cold the next, and the congestion sat heavily in her chest. Nina was definitely not in the mood for a spot of cuddling or anything else.

  The third day, he called to say he was heading back to Kanchanaburi. Nina was a bit relieved initially because Samar was not the most restful person to have around when you were under the weather. He prowled restlessly around the small apartment behaving like a caged tiger, he picked up things to examine closely, then put them back wherever he wanted to, and he took endless calls on his cell phone. The conversations were always muted but didn’t help ease the buzzing in Nina’s head.

  Soon enough though, she was missing Samar like mad. He called occasionally but sounded distracted; she had realized that whenever he was still in the conceptualizing stages of some project, he was extremely preoccupied. That didn’t help her feel less melancholic though, as well as a bit worried. Was she getting addicted to Samar Pratap Singh’s presence in her life? How would she cope without that presence?

  One evening, when chatting with her mother, she let something slip and Anne was quick to pick up on it.

  ‘Getting quite fond of this Samar, aren’t you, love?’ she asked cheerfully.

  Nina struggled with her feelings for a minute then capitulated. She would never be able to fool either her mother or sister, however hard she tried.

  ‘I think so, Ma. I have never felt so vulnerable in my whole life. It’s scary.’

  Anne took a moment to digest that. When her voice came through, it was light and clear.

  ‘Darling, that’s because you have led such a nun-like life all this while. You know how hard I tried to get you to behave your age, go cut up a rug or two…’

  Nina laughed despite herself. ‘Cut up a rug? Ma, I love when you turn quaint on me!’

  ‘Well, you know
what I mean. Give this a chance, give Samar a chance. Nothing chanced, nothing gained, right?’

  ‘Right,’ said Nina in an unconvinced manner, then deftly changed the subject by asking after Anne’s cheese-making endeavour and her mother let herself be led off the subject, happily talking about rennet, starters and how the home cheese-making kits in the market were all bogus stuff. Anne had moved into her cozy stone cottage when she relocated from London, after her beloved husband died. Now she was very happy back in her village, forever embarking on some new endeavour. It was growing hydrangeas one time, needlepoint another time, and now it was all about cheese-making. Typical of Anne, though, everything she tried turned out to be a roaring success.

  By the end of the week, Nina was up and about and celebrated the fact with a quick trip to the department store down the road. She was happily tootling about in the Food Hall, wondering whether she should buy the bottle of paanch phorun she had picked up and if she would really end up experimenting with the pungent Bengali masala – a mix of mustard, cumin, fennel and fenugreek – that gave vegetables, meat, and even soups a distinct flavour. Nina was familiar with it, she had eaten some fish cooked in the seed and spice mix, and had become an immediate convert to all food cooked Bengali style, and to paanch phorun, too.

  ‘I wouldn’t buy that if I were you,’ announced an imperious voice from behind her. Nina turned sharply to face Yashodara Singh, dressed immaculately in a sky-blue chiffon sari with two rows of top quality pearls glistening at her fair throat. The sari pallu covered her hair, the way most Rajput women wore it.

  ‘Hello, Mrs Singh,’ Nina said, smiling sweetly at the older woman. Mrs Singh looked a bit taken aback, then asked briskly, ‘How are you? I was told you were unwell.’

  Did the words carry the faintest hint of accusation in them, Nina wondered, then pulled herself up.

  ‘Yes, I was down but I’m feeling much better now, thank you,’ she replied calmly.

  ‘Do you have time for a coffee?’ Mrs Singh asked, already moving towards the white wrought iron tables and chairs in the café section of the Food Hall.

  Nina sighed, then hid a smile. Obviously, she was to make time for that coffee.

  Once they had ordered coffee, a blueberry tart for Mrs Singh and a brownie for Nina, the older woman stashed away her designer sunglasses in her Louis Vuitton bag and looked directly across at Nina. The girl looked a vision, her hair a soft frame for her Madonna-shaped face, her eyes bright, without a cloud in them.

  ‘You aren’t a fan of paanch phorun, I think,’ Nina said, her smile successfully concealing a sudden bout of nerves.

  The other woman succinctly said, ‘Don’t have it so soon after a chest infection. It will taste bitter on your tongue.’

  She went on to ask Nina about her recent bout of illness, and Nina dutifully supplied the details. Mrs Singh made no mention of Nina’s aborted dinner date, maybe Samar hadn’t got around to telling her that he had invited Nina home.

  Then Mrs Singh surprised her by asking about Susan and Adam’s impending wedding. She really seemed to be in the know about all things concerning Nina.

  ‘It’s going to be a November wedding,’ Nina told her. ‘Mom and Sue will be here a month before that, Adam a week before D-Day.’

  ‘Have you booked St Patrick’s Church for the ceremony? It’s a charming church,’ Mrs Singh asked, and Nina told her that Alan and Sita had done so.

  Mrs Singh leaned forward. ‘I’m leaving tomorrow,’ she told Nina. The coffee and pastry came to the table. Both of them sipped at the steaming hot liquid, Nina’s eyes fixed on the frosted pink polish in the other woman’s fingernails. She herself was in a sweatshirt and track pants but both were in deep mauve.

  ‘Are you going back to Jaisalmer?’ Nina asked politely.

  ‘Jaisalmer? No, Hemant and I live on the outskirts of Delhi. We have our farm there, and I also run the family business. I took over the reins when Samar’s father died. Actually, Hemant – you have met her, haven’t you – is my sister-in-law.’

  There was a silence. Nina was clearly meant to ask more about the business. And Nina, of course, had no intention of doing anything of the sort.

  Mrs Singh sat back. ‘Are you serious about Samar, Nina?’ she asked, straight off the bat.

  Nina had been expecting a certain amount of beating around the bush, nothing so direct. She took a deep breath, recoiling at this personal intrusion.

  ‘Is Samar serious about me, Mrs Singh?’ she riposted, smiling sweetly, like she didn’t have a care in the world.

  A gleam of admiration shone in Mrs Singh’s eyes. ‘Touché,’ she said softly.

  Then she continued, ‘Well, it’s just that Samar is my only son. I don’t know how much he has told you about his childhood, his heritage. I know he’s a talented photojournalist. And he knows that, sooner or later, he will have to give the job up, move back up north and take over the running of his father’s estates and business. Hemant and I can’t go on running the show indefinitely; we’re getting old, and our pace is slowing.’

  Nina didn’t say anything, she just kept watching Mrs Singh. If this formidable woman was operating at a slowed pace, Nina could well imagine what a dynamo she must have been in her prime.

  The other woman searched Nina’s eyes, then gave a soft sigh. ‘It is time Samar settled down. We are not your conventional Rajput family who pick out young girls just past their infancy for our sons and heirs … despite what Karishma Jhala, that silly deluded girl, thinks,’ she concluded, smiling meaningfully at Nina.

  There. It was out in the open. And Nina Sabharwal acknowledged it with a small smile, which the older woman saw and registered.

  ‘Karishma has been chasing Samar in the most juvenile fashion for years now. At first we were amused by it, now we are irritated. It is time someone sat that silly girl down and told her what was what.’

  ‘Samar?’ Nina asked softly. The usage of that collective ‘we’ was not lost on her. It was Mrs Singh’s way of letting Nina know just how involved she was in every personal facet of her son’s life.

  The other woman shook her head decisively. ‘Samar has not encouraged her. All he offered was friendship. He doesn’t have to explain himself to her.’ She continued, ‘However, Samar cannot afford to tie himself up with someone unsuitable. There is more than just his married life at stake here, I’m sure you appreciate that. He will be better off married to someone who is preferably from our background, knows the ropes and, more importantly, knows just what is expected from a Rajput wife.’

  Now she was in full steam. Leaning forward, Mrs Singh said, ‘I have nothing against you, Nina. You are a lovely girl. But you are half-English and for all I know a practising Christian...?’

  Nina looked back impassively, refusing to either deny or confirm what Mrs Singh so clearly wished to ascertain. In actual fact, both Nina and Susan had been brought up on the most liberal of religious lines; both girls had been baptized but had grown up with more than a passing knowledge of Hinduism. Their father’s mother, Dadima, would often tell them stories from the Mahabharata and the Ramayana whenever the girls visited their paternal grandparents in Kent. Today, Nina knew as much about Hinduism as most of her Indian friends, though she did not feel the need to broadcast that fact.

  To her disbelief and dismay, Mrs Singh was still on the subject. ‘Samar’s wife will have certain duties. Back in Jaisalmer, we are still regarded as de facto rulers. It’s different in Delhi but no less onerous. It’s hard for any Indian girl to make herself fit into that mould, leave alone…’ and here she petered out, throwing the younger woman a speculative glance.

  By now, Nina Sabharwal had worked herself up into a quiet fury. She wasn’t going to explain herself to Mrs Yashodara Singh. Even though she understood the compulsions that were driving the other woman, she was livid about being put so clearly under some kind of microscope like this.

  ‘You tell me, do you think you will make an obedient, dutiful wife for Samar?’ Mrs S
ingh renewed the attack.

  Nina had had enough. Putting the cup back on its saucer with a steady hand, she looked over at Mrs Singh and smiled graciously, her eyes cold. ‘Mrs Singh,’ she said in the softest of tones which barely hid the glacial note in them, ‘I really don’t know if I will make anyone an obedient or dutiful wife. I do hope that when I get married, my obedience or dutiful nature will not be on test. What I do know is that I will make a loving and caring wife to the man I will marry. Now if you will excuse me, I must return home. I will settle the bill on my way out. Bye…’

  Mrs Singh sat back. She nodded as if something had been confirmed, then smiled cordially at Nina. Unsettled, Nina stared at Mrs Singh.

  ‘You won’t settle the bill. I will,’ the older woman said and Nina conceded that point. As she walked out of the café, she could feel Mrs Singh’s eyes on her. Strangely, it didn’t bother her.

  Que sera sera, Nina Sabharwal told herself. Increasingly, that was her prevailing frame of mind these days.

  TWELVE

  NINA HAD TO TRY several times before she could get the car to start. Her hands were shaking so much, they kept slipping off the ignition keyhole. Once she got the engine running though, she took a deep breath and switched the ignition off. Then she put her head down on the wheel, trying to calm herself.

  Curiously enough, she didn’t cry. There didn’t seem to be tears in her. She could hear her heartbeat, the dull thumps falling like so many blows against her aching chest. This then was heartbreak; but in actual fact, her whole body ached, not just her chest, in a pulsing kind of pain.

  Face it, Nina, she told herself bleakly. You saw it as it is.

  Samar was two-timing her, and she really couldn’t blame anyone but herself for this sorry state of affairs. With all this carpe diem nonsense she had told herself, theirs had been pretty much an affair that coasted along day by day. Nina had not once tried to deepen the relationship; of course, that was partly due to the very real fear that she would chase Samar Pratap Singh away if she got clingy.