‘Isn’t it always? And in this case the boyfriend is a hotshot type. Sometimes I feel thankful I’m middle-aged and married and beyond all this.’
Shweta would have given a lot to be beyond heartbreak, but unfortunately there wasn’t a switch she could turn off to stop the hurt. Mechanically, she took Faisal through the documents on the audit she was currently handling.
‘Is everything OK?’ he ventured once she was done. ‘You look upset.’
Shweta made an effort to pull herself together. ‘Everything’s fine,’ she said. ‘I just need a break. Now, are you sure you’ve got all that?’
‘I think so,’ Faisal said. ‘You’re still in town, right? Or are you going to Pune? I might need to call you if I get stuck.’
Until he mentioned it Shweta hadn’t thought of going to Pune, but now that the idea had presented itself it seemed the logical thing to do.
‘I’ll probably leave tomorrow,’ she said. ‘I haven’t seen my dad in a while.’
She booked her bus tickets online before she left the office. Nikhil had tried calling her once, and she half expected him to be waiting for her when she got back home. There was no sign of his gleaming black car, though. Not sure whether she was disappointed or relieved, she climbed the stairs to her second-floor flat. It didn’t take long to pack, and for the sake of something to do she clicked on the TV.
She was flipping channels when she came across a live telecast of a Bollywood awards show. Award shows were a dime a dozen now, and she vaguely remembered Nikhil talking about this particular one with her. Perhaps that was what made her stay tuned to the channel, blankly watching a lissom starlet gyrating around the stage with a troupe of bare-chested male dancers. The number came to an end and the starlet ran off the stage to thunderous applause. Anjalika Arora came onto the stage next, and Shweta sat up.
Anjalika looked stunning, in a gold sequinned sari with a halterneck blouse. She was heavily made-up, and even under the glaring lights she looked a good ten years younger than she actually was—the young debutant actor next to her was completely overshadowed. They were speaking into the microphones alternately—a carefully rehearsed but impromptu-sounding conversation, full of innuendo and Bollywood in-jokes. Anjalika announced the next set of awards and stepped off the stage. The camera followed her as she went back to her seat in the audience, and with a jolt Shweta realised who she was sitting next to. Nikhil. In a perfectly cut evening suit, with his hair gelled back, he looked remote and rather grim. The camera stayed focussed on him for a few seconds, and Shweta found herself hungrily taking in every detail of his appearance.
In spite of telling herself that she was being stupid, Shweta stayed glued to the TV until the programme came to an end. They didn’t show Nikhil or Anjalika again, and she found herself wondering if they’d left together. Then she shook herself in annoyance. Nikhil’s job entailed attending events of this sort—from what he’d said, he didn’t even like them much—but they helped him build contacts that would be useful for his business. And surely it was unfair expecting him to stay home and brood when Shweta herself had been the one to split up with him.
It was five in the morning when she got out of bed after a largely sleepless night. It took her less than half an hour to bathe and change. She’d planned to have breakfast before she left, but her appetite had almost completely deserted her.
The bus route to Pune was one she had taken so often that she hardly registered the spectacular view of the Western Ghats as the bus zipped down the expressway. She couldn’t stop thinking of Nikhil, of the expression on his face when she’d asked him to go. Slowly she was beginning to question her own behaviour. Shouldn’t she have paused a little? Tried to understand why he’d come up with the ridiculous idea that she was ashamed of him? Quite likely it was something she’d said or done that had given him the impression. And instead of waiting till they’d both had a chance to calm down she’d given him back his ring.
Her father was waiting for her at the bus stop in his battered old Fiat. It was the same car he’d used for the last fifteen years, and nothing would convince him that he should upgrade.
‘You needn’t have come to pick me up,’ Shweta said, the way she did every time.
So far it hadn’t deterred Dr Mathur from driving down to the bus station whenever she was expected. He took her bag from her and put it in the boot—with a pang, Shweta noticed that his movements were slower than last time. Though in excellent health, Dr Mathur was growing old.
‘How’s Anita Bua doing?’ Shweta’s aunt never came to pick her up—instead she stayed at home, cooking up a storm to greet her niece.
‘Looking forward to seeing you,’ her father said. ‘It’s been a while since you last visited us.’
He was right—ever since Nikhil had arrived on the scene Shweta had reduced her visits to Pune. She’d told herself that it was because her father and aunt had their own fairly busy lives to lead, because she needed to get out of the habit of running to Pune every time she felt lonely. For the first time it occurred to her that they might have missed her.
‘I’ve been busy,’ she said, trying not to sound defensive. ‘But I’m here for a week now.’
Her father gave her a quick look—which she missed, being lost in her own thoughts. He didn’t say anything. Shweta’s aunt, on the other hand, was a lot more vocal.
‘Are you ill, child?’ she asked, the second she set eyes on Shweta. ‘You’ve got dark circles under your eyes and you don’t look half as bouncy as you normally do.’
Shweta winced at ‘bouncy’. She didn’t feel as if she would even want to smile any time in the foreseeable future—being asked to bounce was almost an unforgivable insult.
‘She has a demanding job,’ her father said, wheeling her suitcase into the house. ‘Let her relax for a while. She probably doesn’t want to be bombarded with questions.’ But when Shweta had left the room he raised his eyebrows enquiringly at his sister.
‘Something’s happened,’ Anita said, unconsciously echoing Deepa’s reaction when she’d seen Shweta the day before. ‘I’ve never seen her like this before.’
Dr Mathur just grunted in response, but Anita knew him too well to be miffed. Even Shweta herself probably didn’t realise how much he cared for her.
After a day or so Shweta began to look a little less distraught. Her heart still ached when she thought of Nikhil, and a couple of times she almost broke down and called him. But being around her father and aunt helped. Neither of them were demonstrative people, but they cared for her deeply, and having them around was helping to centre her and make her think more calmly.
Nikhil not having called her was proof in her mind that he’d decided a break-up was the best option. Pride stopped her from making the first move, and as the days went by she was feeling more and more resigned to the possibility that she might never get back with Nikhil.
‘Dad, do you remember Mr Nair?’ she asked one day, in what she hoped was a casual manner. Dr Mathur was puttering around in the garden, and he carefully finished watering his roses before he answered.
‘The building contractor?’
‘Yes, he...um...had a son who was in my class in school.’
‘Nikhil? I remember him. Felt rather sorry for the boy—he had a lot to deal with. Got expelled from school finally, didn’t he?’
Shweta gaped at him. ‘Weren’t you on the board then? I thought you decided to expel him.’
‘It was a board decision,’ Shweta’s father said, frowning. ‘He’d been caught smoking on the school premises, and there had been other disciplinary issues earlier. We didn’t have much of a choice. But we did call the father down to the school and advise him to take the boy in hand. And we issued a transfer certificate instead of an expulsion letter when he told us that they were moving out of Pune. Why the sudden interest?’
He w
as looking right at her, and despite herself, Shweta began to blush. ‘I ran into him recently,’ she said. ‘He’s doing quite well—runs a large event management company.’
‘I’m not surprised. He had a lot of potential even when he was in school.’
Dr Mathur seemed to lose interest in the subject as he examined a fat caterpillar basking on one of his roses. When Shweta went indoors, however, he looked up. There was a thoughtful look in his eyes that his sister would have recognised.
Once inside, Shweta switched on the TV and began flipping channels. It was an indication of the depths of her desperation that she actually tuned in to the channel that had been screening the awards show, in the hope that they would do a re-run. Seeing Nikhil on TV would be better than not seeing him at all. The channel, however, was running a soap of the warring in-laws variety, and she switched the TV off in disgust.
* * *
It would probably have made her feel a lot better if she’d known that Nikhil was in as bad, if not worse shape. He’d spent the days immediately after their quarrel trying to whip up his anger against Shweta. Then slowly dull resignation had begun to settle in. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was that Shweta’s hesitation in getting engaged, and her later insistence on his contacting his parents, had to do with the fact that she was ashamed of his background. Except he could no longer summon up the will to be indignant about it—at times he even found himself thinking that she was right.
The switch from anger to depression made his spirits sink completely. He was sure he still wanted Shweta—whatever else he was confused about, that fact stood out clear and incontrovertible. He’d tried visiting Shweta’s apartment, to talk her around, but Priya had told him that Shweta was in Pune for a week. She didn’t volunteer any further information, and Nikhil didn’t ask. He wanted to approach the whole thing in a more calm and rational manner than he had hitherto—chasing after her to another city would make things worse, if anything.
Then Veena phoned. ‘Nikhil, I’ve been trying to call Shweta but she hasn’t picked up her phone. Is she all right?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ Nikhil said, his voice bleak. ‘We’re not engaged any more.’ He waited till Veena’s agitated outpourings lessened, then said, ‘I don’t really want to talk about it, Amma.’
‘Did you fight?’
‘No, we were having a wonderful time together. She just decided she didn’t like the shape of my nose,’ Nikhil said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. ‘Of course we fought.’
His stepmother stayed silent long enough for Nikhil to regret his rudeness.
‘I’m sorry—’ he began, but Veena interrupted him.
‘The fight you had with Shweta—was it something to do with your parents? Because I asked her to speak to you again. It wasn’t something she would have brought up otherwise.’
‘Yes, she told me that,’ Nikhil said slowly. ‘Why?’
‘I thought she would be able to change your mind,’ Veena said, sounding utterly devastated. ‘I know I should have spoken to you myself, but I had tried, and it only made you angry.’
‘It’s not your fault,’ Nikhil said gently. Veena in self-castigating mood could go completely out of control.
‘It is. So many things are my fault—I’ve ruined all your lives!’
‘Hang on,’ Nikhil said, sounding bewildered. ‘Whose lives are we talking about, here?’
There was the sound of sobbing, and then Nikhil could hear his father’s voice in the background. He seemed to be trying to calm Veena down—unsuccessfully—and after a few minutes he came to the phone and said gruffly, ‘Amma’s too upset to talk to you now. I’ll ask her to call you back when she’s feeling a little better.’
Nikhil didn’t reply immediately. It was a long time since he’d last spoken to his father and it felt odd to hear his voice.
‘What’s wrong, though? Why’s she saying she’s ruined my life?’
‘All our lives,’ his father said dryly. ‘We don’t agree with her, but she’s going through a bad patch right now.’
Veena’s voice could be heard in the background, raised in tearful and self-recriminatory protest. Nikhil could hear his own mother’s soothing tones as well, and in a while Veena quietened down.
‘I’m glad I’ve got to talk to you,’ his father was saying. ‘It’s been a long while—the last time we spoke we both said a lot of things we didn’t mean.’
‘Right,’ Nikhil said awkwardly.
Veena’s saying that she’d ruined all their lives was making him think—Shweta had put doubts into his head already, and his father no longer seemed the villain of the piece.
‘Your mother’s wanted to speak to you for a long while too,’ his father said. ‘But she’s with your Amma right now, trying to calm her down.’
‘I’ll call her later,’ Nikhil said. He couldn’t yet bring himself to apologise for all he’d said during his last quarrel with his parents, and he knew his responses to his father sounded stilted and perhaps a little cold.
‘That’s all right,’ his father said, and to Nikhil’s surprise he added, ‘Right now your priority should be making up with your young lady—from what your Amma says, she seems pretty special. And, Nikhil...?’
‘Yes?’ Nikhil said in neutral tones.
‘Veena told Shweta a lot of things before she left Mumbai—things she’s not spoken to anyone about for a long, long while. She made her swear not repeat any of it to you, but she’s going to release Shweta from that promise.’
‘Is this something to do with why she waited for fifteen years after I was born before she divorced you?’
‘That’s part of it,’ Mr Nair said. ‘I think it will come better from someone outside the family. All three of us have made our fair share of mistakes, and unfortunately you’ve been the victim of most of them.’
‘Shweta and I aren’t on speaking terms,’ Nikhil said abruptly. ‘So maybe you should tell me yourself.’
‘And maybe you should try and get back on speaking terms with her,’ his father said. ‘If she refuses to talk to you that’s different, but somehow I’m very sure she won’t.’
TEN
The sound of a powerful car engine made Dr Mathur look up from his beloved roses. The car pulling up outside their house was black and lethal-looking, and the magnificent specimen of manhood emerging from the driver’s seat looked as out of place in the little suburban street as a hawk in a chicken coop. He strode up to the little metal gate that separated the garden from the road and Dr Mathur peered up at him, suddenly feeling very old.
‘Shweta’s not at home,’ he said. ‘But you can come in.’
Nikhil hesitated. The change in Dr Mathur was disconcerting—he still remembered him as a toweringly imposing figure, and the contrast between that image and the frail, elderly man in front of him took some getting used to.
‘I don’t know if you remember me,’ he said, hesitating a little.
Dr Mathur shot him a piercing look from under his bushy grey eyebrows. ‘Nikhil Nair,’ he said. ‘Even if I didn’t remember you I’d have guessed. Shweta’s mentioned you a couple of times since she’s got here. Have you had lunch?’
Nikhil shook his head. He’d left Mumbai at eleven in the morning and driven non-stop for five hours, but he was too keyed-up to think of food.
‘Will Shweta be back soon?’ he asked.
Dr Mathur grunted. ‘I have absolutely no idea. She’s gone to one of those shopping malls to get her aunt a Diwali gift.’
The disgust in his voice when he said ‘shopping mall’ was the kind usually reserved for words like ‘cockroach farm’ or ‘horse manure’. Nikhil smiled involuntarily. ‘Which one?’
Dr Mathur evidently thought Nikhil was clean out of his mind, going to a shopping mall to find Shweta, when he could wait in
the garden for her and admire the roses instead. Still, he gave him directions to the mall, and added, ‘She was planning to get some curtains as well, for the living room—though why we need new curtains I don’t understand. These are perfectly OK.’
Glancing at the hideous flowery curtains at the windows, Nikhil grimaced—he could see why Shweta wanted to change them.
Shweta was wandering despondently through the mall, wishing that the Diwali decorations weren’t quite so in-your-face. Not to mention the dozens of happy families milling around—it was enough to turn one’s stomach. But she had managed to get her father some books he wanted, and she’d picked up a pretty cardigan for her aunt. The last ‘to-do’ on her list was getting a set of curtains for the living room of the Pune house. Traditionally people spring-cleaned and painted their houses before Diwali—Dr Mathur would protest vigorously if she tried to get painters into the house, but there was little he could do about new curtains other than grumble.
She was comparing swatches of curtain fabric with a set of cushion covers when a shadow fell across the bales of cloth. ‘Refusing to match, are they?’ a deep voice said, and she looked up.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked Nikhil ungraciously, though her legs felt so wobbly that she was glad she was already sitting down.
Nikhil surveyed her silently. She looked a little thinner, he thought, but perhaps that was his imagination. Her eyes were challenging as she looked at him, but her lips trembled slightly and he took heart from that. ‘Leave these for a bit,’ he said, taking her hands and pulling her to her feet. ‘Let’s take a walk.’
Like a marionette, Shweta found herself obediently trailing out of the store behind him. He took her hand and drew her into an almost deserted coffee shop.
‘I’ve missed you,’ he said softly. ‘I can’t tell you how much. Will you forgive me and come back to me?’
She was still looking at him, her eyes troubled. ‘Do you still think that I...?’ she began.
He was already shaking his head vigorously. ‘No, I don’t,’ he said. ‘I was being unreasonable and unfair, and... God, Shweta, I love you so much. I can’t imagine what I was doing, letting you go like that.’
The One She Was Warned About Page 14
