There's Something About You

by Yashodhara Lal

  ‘I’ll leave you to it then,’ Akanksha said brightly. She waved at Lisa. ‘Now you be a good girl, missy. Pick you up later.’

  Missy continued to ignore her. She was good at ignoring her mother, Trish thought admiringly, she could learn a thing or two from Lisa. The kid took a huge mouthful of Maggi with so much delirious enthusiasm that Trish had to laugh, and Lisa spontaneously giggled through her mouthful too.

  ‘All righty then, I’m off,’ said Akanksha, waving at them, and then disappeared out the door.

  Trish and Lisa were still giggling as Lisa struggled to get all the Maggi strands into her mouth. There was a little lull after which Lisa remarked, ‘My mom is weird.’

  Trish nodded along in solemn agreement and then their eyes met and they giggled again. They proceeded to enjoy the rest of their snack in perfectly companionable silence.

  ‘Trish-masi?’

  ‘Yes, Lisa?’ Trish looked up from her computer at Lisa. She was actually glad for the interruption. For some reason she was unable to concentrate on the letters today. She had just been staring listlessly at a medical blog, reading about Alzheimer’s disease.

  ‘I’m taking guitar classes in the summer holidays,’ Lisa said. She was lounging on the sofa, her book dangling from her fingers. Apparently she couldn’t concentrate on her reading today either.

  ‘Oh? That sounds great.’

  ‘My nanu is going to buy me a new guitar when he comes to stay with us.’ Lisa spoke with warmth.

  ‘Cool.’ Trish smiled at the little girl. Lisa had seemed like a sullen little teenager the first few times she had come over, but had now transformed into a nice little seven-year-old. She couldn’t know for sure, but she suspected that Lisa just needed someone to give her attention. Akanksha didn’t seem to be giving her much time these days.

  ‘You have pretty dimples,’ Lisa remarked a little shyly.

  Trish didn’t quite know how to respond. She couldn’t recall the last time someone had complimented her. ‘Well, thank you,’ she finally said, feeling self-conscious.

  ‘Are you going to join the Zumba classes too?’

  ‘I don’t think so. It sounds like fun, but I don’t think I’ll be able to do it.’ She looked down at herself and sighed. ‘Maybe it’s a little too late for me.’

  ‘Why?’ demanded Lisa. ‘You’re not older than my mom, are you?’

  ‘Umm, about the same age.’ Trish frowned. ‘But your mom’s so much fitter than I am.’

  ‘So you need the Zumba classes more, that means,’ Lisa pronounced with an air of certainty that only a seven-year-old could carry off without being a know-it-all.

  Trish had to laugh at that. ‘Okay, okay,’ she said good-naturedly. ‘I supposed I could go for a trial class at least.’

  ‘Yes.’ This seemed to make Lisa happy. ‘You go for Zumba class, I will go for guitar class.’

  ‘Deal.’

  Trish went back to reading her letters and Lisa to her book. Trish couldn’t help but think that this kid made more sense to her than a lot of adults. Including those who had written some of the letters she had to read today. She tried to concentrate on formulating appropriate responses, but somehow the words just weren’t flowing. She had to admit it. The one letter that was still playing on her mind was the one she was still carrying all crumpled up in her pocket.

  Why hadn’t she destroyed it yet? What was possessing her to even consider calling the fellow back and agreeing to his strange request to meet with her? She still had no evidence that he wasn’t a psycho, although she had to admit she also had none that he was one. His language in the letter was quaintly formal and his manner had been polite and mild, even while she had been sitting on his chest and threatening to strangle him. Actually, the more she thought about him, the more she realized he had actually been kind of cute in a geeky sort of way. There was something about him, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. His brown eyes had exactly matched the colour of his hair. She shook herself. Not that it mattered, of course.

  Aha. That was it. She was just curious about how he had known that she was the one writing the column. Nivedita and Zee were the only ones at the office who knew, supposedly, and she was sure neither of them would have given it away to him. So how had he figured it out? And what was that about having a problem so unique that he could only demonstrate it in person? All kinds of strange thoughts started making their way into her mind, but she pushed them out.

  Maybe she would meet the guy, she thought. Just as some form of closure. It would be in a public place, a café like he had suggested. He couldn’t do much harm. She would carry pepper spray. As per the terms of her contract, no one was supposed to know that she was actually Amy. She would have to find a way to ensure that he kept it a secret and it would have to start with hearing him out. She would call him in a day or two, she decided, and take it from there.

  How odd her life had become. An anonymous column that was a strange hit with the general public; a strange man asking for a rendezvous with her; and a kid hanging around her home, urging her to try some strange new thing called Zumba.

  Oh, well. She turned her attention to the day’s letters again. She felt more sorted in her head now that she knew what she was going to do about that polite stalker. Time to dive into the mundane same-old-same-old.

  Dear Amy,

  I would like to try a threesome, but my husband is old-fashioned and refuses even though I have told him I wouldn’t mind if we take on another woman …

  Trish sighed.

  12

  The Rendezvous

  Trish tapped her foot continuously as she waited at her table at Costa Coffee. She looked out of the large glass window at the people passing by the café. She had chosen this place carefully. It was close enough to her home for her to get back quickly, but not so close that she might run into Akanksha.

  Her choice of table was a considered one too. Table for two in a discreet corner towards the back. Right next to the window so that she could observe the folks on the sidewalk, but in the shadows so that she herself remained practically invisible. Exactly how she was most comfortable.

  She noticed her own nervous foot-tapping and stopped herself. This was going to be fine. Only one other table in the café was occupied: three people having a languid discussion in between checking their phones, two guys and a girl, in their twenties, well dressed. What got to Trish was how comfortable they seemed to be about themselves. How confident and easy their movements were. She shifted around uncomfortably in her chair. What was she doing here anyway? She always tried not to compare herself with other people, but found herself feeling even more out of shape and out of place than usual.

  She was here for a purpose, she reminded herself. She would meet Sahil and figure out what the deal was with him once and for all. And she was going to make sure that he understood he was supposed to keep her secret. She would just have to give him a patient hearing first. She could do that. Right? Right. It was fine. It was all going to be absolutely one hundred per cent fine. She reached out to her purse and felt around again for the pepper spray. Ah, good. Just in case.

  She jumped as she realized that a figure was suddenly looming over her. ‘Shall I take your order now, ma’am?’

  Oh. It was just that overenthusiastic waiter with his wide, gap-toothed smile. He had already approached her to take her order three times so far. Once more, and he could forget about his tip, she resolved. She repeated slowly, this time through gritted teeth, ‘I’m waiting for someone. I’ll order when he comes.’

  ‘Okay, ma’am.’ The fellow inclined his head politely and withdrew again. Just like all three previous times, she got the impression that he didn’t believe her. Why would a man show up to meet someone like her, eh? He had probably seen enough women being stood up like this. It made her want to wrench the menu from his hands and beat him over the head with it.

  She glanced at her watch. She had arrived a little before their appointed time. Sahil shoul
d be here any minute now. She had decided to leave the house early. Ma was doing her evening puja, the ritual she had kept up for so many years even though Trish suspected her heart was not actually in it. Still, today the ritual had served as a window for her to slip out of the house without being questioned. No matter how grownup you were, as long as you lived with your parents, you could expect to be interrogated regarding your whereabouts all the time. So much for that ‘deal’ she had struck with Ma. It annoyed her, but she didn’t want to have yet another argument. For now.

  The door of the cafe swung open. It was him. She found she wasn’t prepared for his entry after all. She had been staring out the window, looking out for him, but had been lost in her own thoughts and had somehow missed seeing him walk up to the entrance. He was dressed in a white shirt and brown chinos, a simple yet rather tasteful combination. She felt herself stiffening, suddenly even more self-conscious. He paused and looked around the café, his spectacles glinting briefly in the light from the low chandelier, and then his eyes settled on where she was trying to hide. His face broke into a smile that looked both relieved and nervous. He made his way to her and hovered in front of her table, running his hand through his thick brown hair. She got the impression that he was keeping his hands in clear view as if to demonstrate that he did not intend to whip out a weapon.

  ‘Hello … Sahil,’ she managed to get out.

  ‘Hi.’ He continued to hover. Trish gestured towards the seat across the table, inviting him to sit. After another moment of hesitation, he sat down. ‘Thank you so much for agreeing to meet me. I really do appreciate it, Miss … er …’

  ‘Trish.’

  ‘Trish,’ he repeated. ‘So, um, what are you having?’

  The overly friendly waiter arrived, as if on cue, beaming at the two of them. He looked genuinely pleased that Trish hadn’t been stood up after all. That approving smile made her want to thwack him all the more. ‘Double-chocolate doughnut,’ she announced. She felt the need to fortify herself. A sugar rush always helped.

  ‘Coffee to go with that?’ Sahil asked. She shook her head, and he turned to the waiter. ‘Doughnut for the lady, a cappuccino for me. Thank you.’

  The waiter bowed and took off with the menus. Sahil turned back to Trish and smiled at her warmly. ‘So. You do live around here, after all?’

  Trish fidgeted a little and then nodded. She wasn’t good with small talk in the best of circumstances. ‘Sea View Apartments,’ she said a little curtly and then mentally kicked herself for revealing that to him. ‘Anyway,’ she went on, the next words coming in a rush. ‘Would you like to go ahead and tell me what you wanted to?’

  ‘Oh. Sure. I guess … you’re in a bit of a hurry.’

  ‘It’s not that,’ Trish mumbled. ‘I’m just not … you know …’ She gave up trying to explain. As a matter of principle, she never explained herself and she wasn’t going to change that for a random stranger, even one with a rather appealing warm smile and clear brown eyes. Besides, she’d read before that most psychopaths possessed a certain innate charm. ‘Could we just get to the point, please?’

  ‘Sure. Sure.’ Sahil opened his mouth and shut it again. He looked blank. ‘I don’t quite know where to start.’

  ‘Well, start with why you wanted to meet me so desperately. Start there.’

  ‘Ah. That,’ Sahil said. Trish had to keep herself from rolling her eyes. Maybe she was dealing with a real loon after all. Sahil pursed his lips thoughtfully and appeared to come to a decision. ‘All right. The thing is …’ He spoke in a low, urgent voice. ‘I’m running out of options, Trish. I’ve tried the best psychologists and psychiatrists and counsellors in Mumbai and, in fact, all of India. You name a therapy, I’ve tried it. But it’s no use. They can’t help with my particular problem.’ He hesitated again, looking anxiously at her face as if to gauge her reaction.

  ‘Okayyy,’ Trish said slowly. ‘So then you decided you’d reach out to a random unqualified anonymous columnist for a lifestyle publication that’s practically a tabloid?’

  Sahil smiled. ‘I always like the sarcasm in your column. I know you don’t mean it. You’re a good person.’

  ‘How do you know I don’t mean it?’ Trish countered. ‘Or that I’m a good person, for that matter? You don’t know a thing about me.’ She knew he was trying to be nice, but she didn’t like any form of presumption. He didn’t know her from Adam. Eve. Whatever. No one really knew her and she didn’t want them to either. She went on, trying to sound less snappy. ‘So what’s the problem?’

  He swallowed and then went on, his voice even softer now. ‘For a long time now, I have had this little issue … of being somewhat …’ He took a deep breath and then finished, almost whispering the next word. ‘Psychic.’

  There was a long pause and finally Trish whispered back, in unconscious imitation, ‘I see.’

  ‘So actually, that’s why I had to meet you.’ He spoke quickly now. ‘Because … I … saw myself meeting you. So I knew I would meet you. And that’s why … I had to meet you. That’s all.’

  He seemed to think that this bizarre statement passed for some sort of an explanation and sat back, gazing at her face appraisingly. His brown eyes flickered and she noticed that his expression now contained the slightest hint of a challenge. Trish’s head was beginning to spin. On the one hand, this seemed like a good time to say nice-to-have-met-you-bye-bye-now. But strangely, she found that curiosity was getting the better of her. What on earth was this fellow on about anyway? She became vaguely aware of a familiar scent tickling her nostrils. Double-chocolate doughnut. She looked up to see the waiter approaching them with a tray and his constant ingratiating smile. They suspended their conversation as the waiter placed their order on the table.

  Sahil looked fidgety and agitated. As soon as the waiter retreated, he said, ‘Look. I have no control over it, okay? It just happens, and I … I … see.’

  ‘Dead people?’ Trish suggested lightly, scanning the table for a fork. The doughnut looked good.

  ‘You don’t believe me,’ he said flatly. Suddenly the light in his brown eyes went out. Trish had just taken a big bite of doughnut and, for some reason, his disappointed expression caused her favourite warm gooey chocolatey delicacy to turn to cardboard in her mouth.

  She chewed and swallowed it with some difficulty and looked straight at him. ‘Well …’ She bit her lip. ‘It’s just … look, come on, you have to admit that something like that is a little hard to believe. You know what I mean?’

  ‘Of course I know what you mean,’ he said in the same flat tone. ‘That’s what I’ve been hearing for years. No one believes it. I don’t know why I thought you might.’

  ‘Okay, listen.’ Trish put her fork down. ‘Let me just suspend all judgement for the next few minutes. Go ahead. What’s the deal?’

  He shrugged. ‘There’s no deal. I mean, it just comes and goes. In flashes, really. I sometimes get these visions in my head. It started when I was a kid. Initially, I thought I was just daydreaming. Until I began to see that what I saw in my head actually happened a while later, sometimes a day later, sometimes a week or so. It was …’ His eyes clouded over. ‘Disturbing.’

  She found that she was holding her breath and exhaled. ‘As in?’

  ‘Okay, don’t get me wrong. It’s not as if I’ve ever seen gruesome things like murders taking place. I’m not that sort of psychic. That kind of stuff might actually be useful to someone.’ He laughed nervously. ‘It could be anything. Small things. Like knowing I’m going to run into someone a little before it happens or seeing my dad drop something to the floor and then watching him actually do it, mundane stuff. It’s just …’ He seemed to be grasping for words. ‘Very frustrating and makes me feel totally abnormal. I don’t want it.’

  She didn’t know what to say. Sahil had his head in his hands now and was speaking so softly that she had to lean in slightly to hear him.

  ‘It had stopped in between. For several years, I thought it was g
one. I went to college, got a job. And then, two years ago, my parents insisted that I take over the family business. I really didn’t want to do it, but they insisted I give it a shot. About that time, the stupid visions started again and I remembered how it used to be for me as a kid, not knowing when I might suddenly get a vision, wondering when I might actually see something really disturbing, you know, like maybe my own death.’ He let out a short bark of a laugh which had no trace of humour in it.

  There was a long silence. Trish still had no idea what to make of all this. She was a fundamentally practical person who had always scoffed at any form of mumbo-jumbo. Akanksha was a regular with this sort of whacked-out thing and had often tried to get her to go for things like past life regression sessions, tarot card readings and so on, and Trish had always laughed at her and flatly refused. And now, here she was, sitting across from a guy who claimed he had visions of the future in a chagrined but rather matter-of-fact way, as if he were confessing to disliking his mother-in-law or something. ‘So what does your wife have to say about this?’ Trish asked, feeling it was safer to ask more questions than pronounce her own opinion on this subject.

  ‘My what? Oh. I’m not married.’ Sahil smiled ruefully. ‘Confirmed bachelor. Who would marry a loon like me?’ Trish started a little at his choice of word because it had been running through her own mind a few seconds earlier. Could he actually be a psychic? She shook herself. Now she was beginning to act like a loon. He went on. ‘Just haven’t met the right person yet, I guess.’ He looked thoughtfully into space. ‘I know for sure right now I need to focus on getting this thing sorted out.’

  ‘Hmm.’ She nodded sympathetically. She decided to go ahead and just say it. ‘Look. Sahil. I wish I could help you, but I really don’t see how.’ He opened his mouth to respond, but she held up her hand and said, ‘I said I’d hear you out. I’ve heard you out. And let me tell you something. I’m not a trained psychiatrist or counsellor or anything. I just write a random anonymous column, trying to provide commonsensical advice to nonsensical problems.’ He stiffened, and she quickly went on. ‘I’m not talking about yours specifically. But you’re really better off getting professional advice from someone who knows about this stuff. I have no clue whatsoever. Always lived a very straightforward, practical life. Don’t believe in anything remotely other-worldly.’ She searched in her head for what Akanksha might suggest in a situation like this. ‘Maybe you should go to some sort of … healer or reader or …’