There's Something About You

by Yashodhara Lal

  ‘I’ve tried all those, they’re all crooks, Trish! I’ve even been to psychics and seen visions of how they were going to bluff about their visions!’ He shifted his chair a little closer to hers. ‘Look. It’s okay if you don’t think you can actually help me with this. I’m telling you, I just saw myself meeting you, so I knew I had to make this meeting happen. I’ve spent years trying to fight this thing. It’s almost killed me.’ She could sense the urgency and frustration in his tone. ‘So now I thought I’d just follow the damn lead and see where it takes me.’

  ‘How did you get Nivedita to tell you I write the column?’ Trish asked suddenly, remembering that this was something she had meant to find out.

  ‘Who’s Nivedita?’ he asked blankly.

  ‘The one who …’ Trish swallowed. ‘So how did you know I write as Amy?’

  ‘I told you before. I read the column and felt that I was supposed to try and track down the writer. So I kept trying through the paper.’ He sounded sullen now, as if sure he wouldn’t be believed. ‘And then when I saw you at the lift that day, I just knew. I saw it in my head that we’d be sitting together discussing this. Simple.’

  ‘Simple?’ Trish now found herself starting to get angry. What did this guy think he was trying to pull on her anyway? Why was she even wasting her time with him? But then, it wouldn’t do to get angry with a nutcase. Besides, she had yet to ensure that he would keep her column a secret. Her nostrils flared as she fought to keep her emotions under control.

  ‘You know what?’ He seemed to suddenly be inspired by an idea. ‘There is one other thing. Maybe it’s how I can even prove it to you. Maybe. It often happens when I make physical contact with someone.’ Trish unconsciously drew a little away from him, and he looked irritated. ‘As in, when we shake hands and normal stuff like that. I see something about them, sometimes their future, but often their past too. I’ve seen a lot of stuff about people that way.’ He shook his head ruefully. ‘It’s also why I usually try to avoid shaking hands with people.’ He held out his hand towards Trish. ‘Please?’

  She glared at him. ‘We already had physical contact that day.’

  ‘Didn’t count,’ he countered. ‘I wasn’t concentrating. I had other things on my mind.’ Without warning, his hand enveloped hers. To her surprise, her heartbeat quickened and she felt a warm buzzing sensation running up her arm. He went on, ‘You know, such as whether you were actually going to strangle me.’ He smiled at her and she squirmed a little. Sahil looked down at the floor and frowned. His eyes closed. Her heart was in her mouth. What was this feeling? Trish withdrew her hand more suddenly than she’d intended to. Sahil’s eyes snapped open and he looked straight at her. He was still frowning, but this time in confusion.

  ‘Well?’ Trish demanded, trying to break the awkward silence.

  He said slowly, ‘This hasn’t happened to me before.’

  ‘What?’ Trish said sharply.

  ‘Umm.’ He paused and then confessed, ‘I couldn’t actually see anything.’ He saw the skepticism return to her face and continued quickly, ‘But I definitely sensed something. Something strong. About … something missing. Or someone. Missing for a long time?’ He searched her face. ‘Maybe a breakup from many years ago?’

  Trish folded her arms across her chest. Clearly the fellow was reaching. Merely shooting in the dark. Good. This was good. She had almost lost it for a moment there. A part of her had actually almost believed his story. She spoke, more coldly than before. ‘Sahil. I have very few people in my life and those relationships are all intact, thank you very much. No breakups. I happen to be an extremely independent person. And I certainly haven’t ever experienced the kind of thing you’re talking about. So I guess your “powers” don’t work. At least not with me.’

  He winced a little at the way she had said the word ‘powers’. When he spoke, it was with a tone of defeat. ‘I usually get more than that from contact. I don’t know why it isn’t happening here. But I’m telling you, I do have a very strong sense about your …’

  Her jaw clenched and he stopped short. She tried to relax her face, she didn’t quite know why she was getting so angry. But this guy who didn’t know anything about her was making completely false statements about her life with such certainty, even though she had already told him they weren’t true. How could there be someone missing from her life when no one had been there in the first place?

  ‘So,’ she said, as evenly as she could manage. ‘Now I’ve heard you out. Will you please do me a favour in return?’ He nodded mutely and she continued. ‘I still don’t know exactly how you found out that I’m Amy.’ He opened his mouth, but she ignored him and went on. ‘But it is vitally important to me that you do not tell anyone else about it. It’s a part of my contract with the paper and I don’t want anyone to think I told you. Even my mother doesn’t know about it.’ Not that Ma would have been the first person she’d have told, but he didn’t have to know that. ‘So please. It is my request to you that you keep this a secret.’

  ‘Oh.’ He looked surprised. ‘Absolutely. I never meant to tell anyone anyway. You have my word.’ He said it solemnly and looked completely sincere. Trish sighed. This was the best she could have done. She fidgeted a little and made as if to get up. ‘You haven’t finished your doughnut,’ he remarked quietly. His voice was so despondent that she hesitated. ‘I’m going to ask him to reheat my coffee,’ he said. ‘You sure you don’t want one after all?’ He smiled at her. It was a wan, slightly lopsided smile now. ‘I promise we’ll just talk about normal stuff like normal people. Okay?’

  She paused, then shook her head. Somehow she’d lost her appetite. ‘I’ve got to go. Maybe another time.’

  His face fell again, but he nodded slowly. She opened her purse to fumble for her wallet, but he reached out and touched her hand, saying softly, ‘Please, let me.’ The strange electric sensation again. She averted her eyes as she said her thanks, pushed back her chair and rose to her feet.

  She made her way towards the door without a backward glance, trying to ignore a strange and entirely unexpected twinge of regret as she stepped out into the light.

  13

  Getting a Move On

  ‘Tish-tish, darling.’

  ‘Hello … um … Niv-niv?’ Trish made a face at her phone. Tish-tish, it seemed.

  ‘Darling, why do you do these things to me?’ Nivedita sounded peevish. ‘The big E has her knickers all in a twist now. Why are you refusing to answer that question from the threesome-woman?’

  Trish sighed. She had known this would come up again. ‘I told you earlier, Nivedita. There are some questions I just think it’s better to avoid. It was sex-related.’

  ‘And you have no experience in that department,’ Nivedita finished for her knowingly. ‘Well, you don’t even when it comes to marriage, kids, in-laws and all that other stuff, but you do just fine with that. So make something up! Go with the flow! Just …’

  ‘Hang on.’ Trish felt her face getting hot. ‘Just what do you mean I have no experience in that department?’

  ‘Do you?’ Now Nivedita sounded curious as well as a little disbelieving.

  Trish swallowed her anger. Not for the first time, she reminded herself that it wasn’t Nivedita’s fault that she was a clueless dimwitted moron. She took a deep breath and said, ‘Look. As per our contract, just as the paper chooses to reserve its right to pick and choose from my responses, I also have the right not to respond to certain questions.’

  ‘It says that in the contract?’ Nivedita demanded. ‘Where?’

  Trish felt like banging her phone against her head. ‘That was the only change that I asked you to put in, remember? The final signed version has it. Go and look it up. Clause 16B or something. And show it to Zee, too.’

  ‘Look, babes, Tish-tish,’ Nivedita was pleading now. ‘You don’t have to deal with her on a daily basis, okay? She’s a terror! And she just cannot take it when she doesn’t get her way. So please, just answer that que
stion today and we can all live happily ever after.’

  ‘No.’ Trish was adamant. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t. It will only invite all sorts of other questions of the same nature. I want the column to remain family-friendly.’

  ‘That’s where the readers are, Trish!’ Nivedita urged. ‘We’ll open up a whole new market. So what if that’s the direction the column ends up taking? Be more of a visionary, like Zee. She can see that we’ll build circulation if we include more of this! Sex sells, and you know it.’ She lowered her voice and said, ‘And come on now, the more popular the column becomes, the more valuable you become to the paper. Think about that.’

  Trish said carefully, ‘Give me some time to think about it.’

  ‘Okay, sure, I’ll call you later this evening.’

  ‘I’m done thinking. The answer is no. I’m not going to turn this column into Fifty Shades of Shady!’

  ‘Trish.’ Nivedita’s tone was still desperate but it contained a note of warning too.

  ‘The big E won’t like this.’

  ‘Oh, she can go and shove it up her big A!’ Trish was fed up now. ‘Good luck, okay, Nivs? Now, if you want your responses on time for tomorrow’s column, please give me the time to write them.’

  She cut the call, and then just because it felt good, she pressed the red button on her phone a few more times. She missed the nineties when there were landlines and you could actually slam the phone down on people you hated.

  Come, come now, she told herself. She didn’t really hate Nivedita or even Zee. Or did she? Trish believed in restraint, she rarely allowed herself to feel strong emotions for anyone or anything. But she had to admit that these people really got her goat.

  How dare Nivedita say that she hadn’t had any experience with sex? Okay. So she hadn’t, but that wasn’t the point. Sex was something you had in a relationship – or so she liked to believe. And she had never been in a relationship, nor did she intend to be. But she got a glimpse of how the outside world saw her – big, fat almost-thirty-year-old virgin. Well, how dare anyone think about her sex life when it was so irrelevant to even her? And why the hell was it bothering her so much if she didn’t care about it?

  Oh, it wasn’t that she couldn’t write an answer to that threesome question. She just didn’t want to take the column into that domain; she knew it would lead to the crowding out of other kinds of problems. The people who read it now might not find the column readable any more. And she just didn’t feel like doing it, damn it.

  Still feeling grumpy, she went back to answering the day’s letters on her computer.

  Dear Amy,

  I’ve been borderline obese since childhood. It’s always made me feel low, but I learnt to adjust to the problem. However, last week when I went for my health checkup, my doctor gave me a warning about how it’s reached dangerous levels after my two pregnancies. He said that I’m at high risk for a heart attack if I don’t lose twenty-five kilos really quickly. But the issue is that I don’t have the time for exercise. I’ve recently gone back to work and, when I get home, my kids need to be looked after. I just don’t have the motivation to begin an exercise program either because I’ve never been able to stick to one before. Can you suggest a quick way to lose weight that doesn’t take time?

  Desperately,

  Overweight

  Great. Trish groaned, her head in her hands. First it was sex, now the column was becoming one about fitness. What was next, skin care and beauty queries? This was supposed to be a relationship column, at least in her head. Now she’d have to ignore one more letter and it would cause another issue with Nivedita and Zee. It almost wasn’t worth the money.

  Doing a quick mental calculation, she shook her head. Yeah. Almost wasn’t worth the money. She began to type. As it often happened, the response composed itself as her fingers flew over the keyboard.

  Dear Idiot,

  Your letter pissed me off on several levels. First of all, you sign off as Overweight. Is that your only identity? Sure, popping out two kids and holding on a fulltime job is given only a passing mention because it’s so easy, right? Let’s define ourselves by our body weight. It’s just so damn measurable.

  I wasn’t going to reply to your letter because this column addresses relationship issues. But I see a major issue here in the relationship that you have with yourself. You say you’ve been obese since childhood, and yet you haven’t felt the need to do anything about it? Even though it made you feel low emotionally? For years? With regard to your health, it’s only upon a warning from your doctor now that you feel the danger of being in such a state? Do you read at all? And now, you want a quick fix that doesn’t involve any investment of time on your part?

  For the love of god, don’t be so ridiculous, will you? You may not have been able to stick with an exercise programme before, but your doctor is trying to tell you something and I think it would be wise to listen. So here’s my advice (and the usual caveats about this column not being intended as a substitute for medical yada-yada apply): Get a personal trainer. Get on a diet and exercise plan that’s suitable for you, and expect results according to the time and energy that you put into this. Get professional help with regard to your self-esteem issues. In short, get off your butt and do something about your problem. Even shorter, get yourself a damn life.

  Love,

  Amy

  p.s. And I hope you make that life a long one.

  p.p.s. I hear there’s a little new something called Zumba that’s all the rage.

  Trish glowered at the laptop screen. She had started by feeling irritated at the letter writer, but her ire was now almost wholly directed at herself. What a fake she was. She had a weight problem, she’d had one all her life. Okay, so while she wasn’t exactly obese, she knew that she had always been carrying around at least eight to ten kilos of excess fat, as if it were some sort of protective layer. As if she were making some sort of damned point about not caring for her health and appearance. As if it helped her somehow be more thick-skinned. She’d been defiant about it, almost proud. When had she ever made any form of concerted effort to watch her own diet? And as far as exercise was concerned … Hah. She had just been plain lazy. So where did she get off advising anyone else to go out there and get fit when she hadn’t lifted a finger in that direction

  herself ever?

  Well, why not? She shut her laptop down and got up. She’d go over to the nearby gym that Akanksha had mentioned. Maybe she’d even find her there right now.

  She had to do something. She had to get off her butt. Time to practise what she was preaching.

  She was the fattest person in the room.

  This was painfully clear to her as she faced the mirror, feeling exposed and uncomfortable. Twelve ladies, all of whom seemed to know each other, were standing about laughing and chatting easily, from what were clearly their regular spots. They were all waiting for the instructor Raj to start the music.

  She had wanted to back out as soon as she had entered this large room with its wooden flooring and bright lights and unflattering large mirrors; but the nice man at the reception in charge of new members had insisted that she try a free class when she had enquired about Zumba. Akanksha wasn’t here. In fact, when she mentioned her name, he had frowned and said he was unable to place her. But then, he’d added, they had so many people coming and going, it was tough for him to keep track of everyone by name. Trish doubted that with Akanksha’s striking looks, a member of the male species would have forgotten her. Maybe she just had the wrong gym. Trish had been about to refuse the offer of a free class when the well built Zumba trainer had landed up in his neon shorts and coloured mohawk, greeting her loudly: ‘Hello! I’m Raj! New student? What’s your name? Trish, eh? Nice!’ Then, overriding her weak protests, he had shepherded her into the class before she knew what was happening.

  So there she was, in dark blue track pants and an oversized grey t-shirt, which she had assumed would pass for workout clothing. The other women wore slick
shorts or workout capris and figure-hugging sleeveless tops. They were mostly young, in their twenties and thirties, and had straightened, silky hair held back stylishly in colourful headbands. Trish stood out like a sore thumb and felt about as attractive as one. Raj didn’t seem to care, though. He just pulled her to the front of the class and stationed her right beside himself so that she could follow his moves easily. Great. She was now standing where every single person in the class could watch her make a fool of herself.

  Trish couldn’t remember the last time she had danced and felt nervous. This was all one big mistake. Some thumping fast-paced Latino-sounding music started up and Raj yelled at her, ‘Just go with the flow and have fun.’

  Yeah, right. Fun. What the hell was she even doing here? Trish stood frozen as everyone began to follow Raj’s steps. Could she make a bolt for the door now? Raj caught her eye, giving her a huge, friendly grin and an encouraging nod. Trish stared into the mirror, thought, ‘What the hell,’ and started to follow his moves.

  Hmmm. This wasn’t so bad. The moves weren’t tough. Okay, it took a lot of energy and she found herself getting breathless almost immediately. But she tried to keep it up. The music was loud and peppy, and Raj had some incredibly infectious energy. Trish, who had never paid much attention to music, discovered that her body had a certain natural rhythm and, to her surprise, she was actually able to keep up with the class.

  She was expecting a break after the song, but even as it faded out, the second one started up. She swallowed and kept going. Again, without a break, the third song. She was actually enjoying herself now. This was fun. Only after the first five songs were up did Raj allow the class to take a break. Trish was panting as she headed over to get a glass of water from the cooler. Raj came up to her and smacked her on the back saying, ‘So! You’ve done Zumba before?’