Seven Shades of Grey

by Vivek Mehra

  A couple of days later Bindu, the name being her sole proprietary, gave me a new reason to be excited. Family names were not disclosed, at least not so soon, Marilyn’s rules for a New World rarely adhered to, generally broken, mostly with lies. The excitement did not lay in her name or the lack of a family name; it was triggered by an innocent question she asked about my neighborhood.

  Her sister-in-law and she were taking their kids to an entertainment center, the first of its kind in the city, to which people came from all over to visit, and one that was located a minute’s walk from my doorstep! She had never traveled to this part of Bombay and needed to know how to get there, what facilities were available and what was worth seeing and doing. I gave her general directions and told her that besides the entertainment center there was a lovely Japanese garden, a rarity in the concrete jungles of Bombay. With my pulse racing, temples sweat-wet and butterflies-flying-in-stomach I asked her if we could meet, quickly adding that Dolly would be there too. Her response was unpredictably neutral, not sure when she was getting there and would leave me a note on Messenger (the new avatar of Pager) once she was sure.

  She had not shot down the request; there was still hope!

  I could not suppress the excitement growing inside me, the one that I had never experienced before, the one that made my stomach churn some more, the one that was triggered by the thought of meeting a chat friend in the flesh.

  I went on to tell her that weekdays were better because fewer people visited the center, never letting my stimulated state creep into words that I typed to her.

  ‘Naturally,’ I added, ‘the kids would get more time on the rides, more time to see the garden, more time to eat’ - fewer people thronging the area making it easier for me to search for you! I sure was a devious one. I consciously left the chat hanging by a thin, fragile, thread of hope against hope.

  I suddenly had visions of seeing a sensuous woman, tall, slim, and sexy in a sari, one who was enamored with chat, excited at meeting a chat friend and who in heaven knows what else!

  Cut it out! - saner half yelled at my wandering, excited, inflamed mind.

  I had no clue to what she looked like and no clue about getting the information out of her. If she did show up on a weekday I would be at work.

  I could take the day or the afternoon off - insane half prompted.

  CUT IT OUT! – screamed saner half.

  The next day I received word in the form of an offliner left at Yahoo Messenger from Bindu. The date had been set for the coming Friday, around 4 p.m.; she, her sister-in-law and three children would be gracing the neighborhood. Excitement, the gut-wrenching kind, flirted briefly before eternal damnation took over.

  The day chosen by her was the day I had promised to take Dolly shopping, the day after which I would be taking her to the airport to catch the flight taking her to her parents.

  Oh cruel fate, I cried, why would you deny me this fantastic moment?

  Damn!

  Why can’t things just go right for once in my life?

  And what was so right in meeting a stranger?

  I laughed at my idiocy. It was just a woman as nameless and faceless as any found in the burgeoning sea of humanity inhabiting Bombay. And yet there was no denying the twitter. I had to do something to get to see her. That evening I sought the council of my wise confidant, my wife. Sure enough, she had a perfect solution to this not so perfect a situation.

  ‘No problem, we shall just leave early to go shop for the few things I need. We should be back home close to four and then go meet her.’

  Now why didn’t I think of that?

  Simple! I was too caught up in the commotion that numbed my thinking capacity, one that engulfed me - focusing singularly on meeting a chat friend in the flesh, too lost to find a simple solution to a simple problem. So simple!

  And so I logged into Messenger the next day to leave her a message. To my surprise she was online. Without wasting any more time, I sent her a message. I told her about the shopping spree Dolly and I were to take the coming Friday. I was tactful, my sole aim being clear, the meeting had to take place. If I projected my excitement there was a good chance that I might not be made privy to information that would help me find her. If my probing appeared to be even remotely fishy, there was a good chance that Bindu would merely go scurrying for cover a lot like women in chat had done before.

  She was apprehensive about meeting me - she did have a family member with her and three kids in tow - scared too of the prospect of being face to face with a stranger, one who had been in chat with her just a few times. I could understand all of this and more. I could be a murderer or a rapist, a psychopath or a child molester or just all of these rolled into one. Then again my honesty, and the fact that I insisted on Dolly’s presence should such a meeting take place, encouraged her to divulge her car make, color and license-plate number.

  I had enough to try to track her down and nothing to fire my imagination of her looks. My diplomacy had never given me an opportunity to extract information on a physical description - nothing to suggest her height, her hair-length, her weight, the color of her eyes.

  Color of her eyes?

  What in heaven’s name was I going to do with that? Would I go peering into every female face that crossed my path, or would I stand slap-able distant away from strange women, desperately trying to gauge the color of their eyes? There were surely easier ways to commit suicide.

  Friday morning seemed to take forever to arrive although it had been just a couple of days from the day Bindu messaged me - giving me a rough map supposedly leading to hidden treasure, a chat-friend-in-the-flesh. I know I tried to keep my mind very calm and outwardly, I did appear that way. Inside me a thousand butterflies took flight, a thousand drummers pounding their way to glory appeared where my heart supposedly was, and yet my face gave away nothing.

  My pet emotion Confusion flirted with me, what with Dolly getting more excited than I was at the impending meeting. In a scheming, diplomatic way, I had tried to dissuade her from allowing me to meet a strange woman. I must have been testing the waters, a lot like a swimmer tests the water-temperature before an early morning swim. She brushed it away almost with disdain, stating that there was nothing wrong in meeting a friend, even if she was first introduced on the Internet. And I was back to being excited.

  For some strange reason, Dolly was more accepting of this issue than I was. I knew Bindu had a husband, I was not very sure if he was coming with her or if she had discussed such a meeting with her husband or not. And yet, she had given me her car number and the time when she was going to be in my neighborhood. The butterflies flying, drummers pounding feeling returned with relentless enthusiasm whenever I tried to rationalize the situation or think about the ominous meeting.

  We finished the shopping early by every stretch of the imagination. A woman let loose in a shopping mall was prone to gorging quite like the lioness who gorged on her first kill after a few days of abject hunger. But Dolly had been swift, like a Thomson’s gazelle prancing away, aware that any slack in speed would mean the jaws of a cheetah swiftly sucking out the last breath of life. And the drummers were relentless that day. The heat and humidity of a Bombay afternoon did not help either. Along with the butterflies and the drummers my body drenched itself in rain, one that seeped from every pore of my body, clinging to my shirt and dripping from my brow.

  Before long the shopping jungle was left behind and we were headed back home. The drive took about an hour and around 4pm we entered our housing complex. I headed home trying hard to suppress my anxiety, trying hard to keep the butterflies down although there was nothing I could do about the drummers. Dolly piped in at just the right moment.

  ‘Look for Bindu’s car,’ she said. Did I detect a faint touch of anxiety in her voice? Or was it just my own projecting on to her?

  ‘Where do I look for it?’ I replied, trying hard to suppress the relentless drummers inside me. I was anxious and alternatively surprised tha
t Dolly did not hear them.

  ‘Near the entertainment center, where else?’ such a matter-of-fact statement for an impending blossoming event, quite plain, like plain Jane now blossomed into beautiful-head- turner.

  ‘OK. We are looking for a green Suzuki 1000 with license plate ending in 2000.’

  ‘Got it,’ said plain Jane beautiful-head-turner.

  I drove to the center and the car was not in the parking lot. In fact there was no green-colored car at all. I tried to calm the feelings of disappointment, and the drummers continued relentlessly, refusing to change their tune or tempo.

  ‘Check the park, she might have gone there first,’ beautiful-head-turner with all her wits about her, an intoxicating mixture of anxiety and sanity. I wished I were like her.

  I drove towards the park, and there was a sight for sore eyes, mine anyway, a green Suzuki 1000! An anxious glance at the license plate and the drummers took the cue; it ended in 2000. Bindu was here!

  ‘There’s the car!’ Dolly exclaimed.

  ‘I see it. Now what?’ Now run you stupid idiot! - saner half prompting me.

  ‘Let’s get back home and get you all washed up and changed. I don’t want you looking like a sweaty rag doll when you meet her.’

  More insanity?

  Who was more insane, Dolly or I?

  Here she was asking her husband to get dressed for a date with a strange woman! New Rules for the New World and a wife that defied every form of logic and rationality.

  My protests were in vain as I turned my car around and headed home. I was made to be a Thomson’s gazelle with my cheetah of a wife pushing me towards the washroom instead of biting my head off. Strict orders to wash up were issued and warned of acerb punishment should I not do a good job. The cheetah left, turning into domestic help, ironing a fresh T-shirt for me.

  When my freshly washed carcass emerged from the short wash the T-shirt was thrust at me, my favorite cologne in the other hand of Ms. Domestic helper. Anxiety gave way to astonishment! Was I dreaming or was I being dressed up for a date by my own wife? Well, she was joining me as my wife, or did she think she was a mere chaperone, one who disappeared into the shadows at a prom night?

  Astonishment left, anxiety returned!

  My anxiety at this new thought made me inquire about the chaperone’s clothes. A statement that she was OK the way she was drew raised voices of protest, or was it just me trying to erase the picture of a chaperone – one whose appearance did not matter? The loud voice accompanied by furrowed brow had the desired effect, and chaperone soon changed into a fresh T-shirt and a pair of jeans, looking more like the sexy wife that she was. We were ready in 15 minutes flat.

  It was time to go, lambs to a slaughter or pioneers searching for the promised land, someone up there knew, I sure did not!

  As we headed out of our apartment building, I noticed the familiar green Suzuki 1000 now parked near the entertainment center. We walked past it, clambered up the stairs to the main area, trepidation now appearing on our faces, drummers relentless inside me. I reminded Dolly that we were looking for two women who had three kids between them. She gave me a quizzical look, one that I could not understand, the drummers relentless.

  Dolly and I were soon inside the air-conditioned main area. A carnival was on - well actually just the din from the virtual reality games, screaming kids, yelling parents, sober spectators, amused attendants and anxious visitors, drummers in tow. The cold draft from the air-conditioning hit me and hit me hard. The new T-shirt was already showing signs of following its predecessor, soaking up rain seeping through my pores. The rain, the cold air, the drummers and searching eyes made me tremble, a pestilent chill running to the bones. My eyes got accustomed to the dim lights and the journey began in uncharted waters, the quest to see a chat friend in the flesh.

  I moved towards the area frequented by small children and there were two women there. The drummers pounded could it be them, could it be them… I started walking towards them when I saw two of the un-fairer sex join them. Naah! Two men were impossible accompaniments; the sister-in-law was divorced.

  The kids! Where were the kids?

  None seemed to hover around these four. These were not the one, not Bindu nor her entourage. The drummers still drummed on as my sane partner deserted me, off on her own, charting her own course without any further assistance from me.

  And then it happened.

  The room started to blur, images of virtual machines merged with people playing them, yelling parents merged with amused attendants, gawking visitors with the walls, the drummers reached for their grand finale leaving me breathless.

  I was comfortable – in fact, bold – when it came to chatting with strangers on my computer, secure in the cool confines of my familiar office. But in real life I was scared, more than any rat had been at the prospect of being eaten by a hungry cat, more than staring eyeball to eyeball at a Cobra, hood up and ready to strike. In short, I was just plain chicken or chicken shit if you may.

  I hunted for a familiar face—no, not the one of the attendant who knew me and smiled at me: Dolly’s face, the one I find comfort in. She was at the far corner of the hall and I caught her eye. She gestured that she had not located Bindu. I returned the gesture saying I was going out, mind whirling, breath coming in short gasps and headed towards the little cafeteria located outside the main air- conditioned hall.

  My sweat-soaked T-shirt clung heavily to my bulky frame propped up by trembling knees and weakened legs, the balmy Bombay air not helping. I ordered a cup of coffee, my elixir of life after beer, and reached for my pack of cigarettes. While my coffee brewed behind the service counter I saw Dolly exit the door and walk over to me.

  ‘What happened?’ she inquired.

  ‘Let’s have a cup of coffee and leave, Dolly. I just don’t know how to find her.’

  ‘Calm down. Sip your coffee and let’s think this one through.’

  ‘You want a cup?’

  ‘Not now because I have to think first.’

  ‘Think about what?’ the sound escaped my lips, the drummers silently and relentlessly drumming Run Vikram... run Vikram… run for your life…

  There was no answer as she picked up my coffee and headed for a seat.

  ‘You sit here and tell me something,’ she said.

  ‘Tell you what?’ Tell her to run with you Vikram, run with you…the drummers said.

  ‘Out of the various women that you saw, were there any that you felt might be Bindu?’

  ‘How am I supposed to “feel” somebody that I have never met?’ RUN VIKRAM RUN…

  ‘Just close your eyes and tell me which woman in there you think might be her? I trust your judgment and I know you will be right or at least very close.’ Run Vikram run… turned to huh? What was that?

  I stared at her, drummers inside me, chaos around me, insanity taking the shape of my wife, too flabbergasted to speak. My frantic state had been acute and I had merely glanced at the women in there. How in heaven’s name was I to visualize any one of them? Insanity, now staring at me with longing eyes firmly entrenched in the familiar form of my wife, was adamant. And I gave into her persistence closing my eyes for a bit.

  Nothing happened!

  The drummers hit the bass run Vikram run…

  Before I could listen to them, as if on cue to give me strength I felt the warmth of a hand, the one that belonged to insanity-in-the-shape-of-Dolly, on top of my own. It squeezed gently, reassuring me that I could do it, whatever it was. The touch was electric.

  The drummers stopped, the knees gained a new lease of life, and I felt lighter, almost like a feather. Images started forming in my mind, the cafeteria disappeared as I found myself inside the main hall, scores of faces became blurred and one seemed to glow, almost like it was ablaze. I saw a face clearly.

  ‘There is a woman in there. She is wearing a white blouse and jeans, about 5’ 5” tall. She called out to her son. That is all I can see.’

  My eyes ope
ned, the drummers had stopped. Insanity-in-the-shape-of-Dolly was up and running in a flash. Before I could stop her, the doors leading to the main hall were opened by her sprinting frame and she disappeared inside. Insanity swallowed by the entertainment center, and the drummers started warming up again.

  I puffed on my cigarette. Why had Dolly asked me to do this? Why did this woman stand out among all the others that were there? Run Vikram run… the beat started again, softly at first. In sixty seconds, before I had time to sip some more coffee and calm the butterflies and stop the drummers, the previously closed doors opened and threw Dolly out, a short woman with her. It was not the woman I had envisioned. I got up to greet them both. The butterflies decided to take one more flight, the drummers firmly into their umpteenth encore.

  ‘Vikram meet Bindu,’ said Insanity, back from the entertainment center that had swallowed her a little while ago.

  The drumbeats reached the length of my right arm, the one I extended to Insanity’s companion and one that kept pace with the frantic beat inside and watched as ‘Hi Bindu’ escaped my lips.

  ‘Hi Vikram,’ she replied. Bindu was about five feet tall with shoulder-length hair and a pleasant face. It was done! I had actually met a chat friend in the flesh. The words typed on a computer now came with a face, the ID revealed its owner and the thrill reached its crescendo, ready to make its descent to tranquility. The drummers were slowing down.

  I did not know what to say. Once again Dolly came to my rescue.

  ‘Your husband is not here, Bindu?’ she inquired.

  ‘No, he is out of town on some work,’ was the prompt reply.

  I had to say something here. I turned to Dolly.

  ‘How did you find her?’ I asked.

  ‘The woman you mentioned turned out to be Bindu’s sister-in-law. When I asked her if she was Bindu she merely pointed Bindu out to me. So I walked up to her and asked her if she was Bindu and here she is.’

  ‘Why didn’t you come to hunt for me, Vikram?’ asked Bindu.

  ‘I was scared,’ was all I could blurt out, drummers starting another roll.