Borderline

by Shabri Prasad Singh

  Chapter 11

  A HOME FULL OF SURPRISES

  Love can happen anytime, anywhere and with anyone,

  But can love sustain horror and still remain true?

  The answer is ‘yes’,

  love can win all battles and come shining through.

  It all depends on the lovers,

  it has to be embedded deeply within the two.

  Iwas exhausted, dirty and in physical and mental agony. But my mind was still full of Hafez. I was wondering if he would be thinking about me. Was I nobody to him now? Was he feeling guilty for how he had treated me?

  Rana Uncle was waiting for me outside immigration at the Mumbai airport. I was surprised to see him. Why had he come to pick me up, and where was my mother?

  When I asked him, he said, ‘She’s right here, waiting for you in the car.’

  ‘Why didn’t she come in to receive me?’ I asked, but he didn’t reply.

  I was going to see my mother after months, after my Papa’s untimely demise. I had lost everything in losing my father. I read once that loss cannot be described or explained; it can only be felt. It remains forever. One has to feel loss in order to know it. And I was feeling the loss of my father who loved and cared for me with his entire being. My thoughts automatically turned to my unborn, now aborted, child. Perhaps I had saved my child from being born into a cruel and harsh world where it would undoubtedly have experienced loss, like I did. But then I wondered who was I to decide the child’s fate.

  Uncle and I walked towards the waiting car. I could see my mother through the window. She was smiling and looking at me, but she did not step out. When I sat down beside her, I noticed that she had put on a lot of weight. She looked heavy, but happy.

  ‘Why didn’t you come inside to receive me?’ I asked.

  ‘I was tired,’ she said, but something did not seem right. Something was being hidden from me.

  We were on our way to my grandparents’ house when my mother gave me the shocking news. She told me that she and Rana Uncle had been married since 2002, and that she was now pregnant with his child.

  I told them to stop the car. I wanted to get out and scream. My own mother, who had given birth to me, had kept a secret like that from me for two long years! They asked me to calm down, but I couldn’t. I didn’t talk to them for the rest of the journey, and as soon as we got home, I locked myself in a room. I was all alone. My mother had become someone else’s; she was no longer mine.

  Finally, I came out and confronted them. ‘Does Sati know?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, Sati knows and she is happy for us. Can you please see this as a good thing? I am finally married to the man I love and he will take care of us. He has loved you both since you were kids,’ Mamma replied.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me earlier?’

  ‘We didn’t want to disturb your studies.’

  I kept quiet and gulped down this news like bitter medicine. I had a new father, but I was not ready to accept him. I was not ready for this development in my mother’s life. Was I being selfish? Everything had happened in such quick succession that I felt that there was no relief . . . first my parents’ divorce, then Papa’s death, the abortion followed by my own break-up with Haff, and now my mother’s remarriage and pregnancy!

  I was feeling dizzy. They took me to the bedroom and I collapsed. I was experiencing a sense of betrayal by the people I loved the most: My mother and Hafez. I needed my Papa and his warmth and comforting presence; but he wasn’t around.

  A sane and stable person would have accepted this news, even if it took them some time, and would have understood that my mother and Uncle were in love. After all, my mother had been abandoned by my father a long time ago. It was good for her to settle down, especially with a person like Rana Uncle who genuinely adored her. But given my fragile emotional state, it took me many years to accept this. My mind was so entangled with issues of my own that I didn’t know where and what to start accepting—from death to doom to remarriage.

  For the next few days, I tried to put up a brave front. I went to a gynecologist for a check-up, since the bleeding hadn’t stopped. I was told that I had developed a fungal infection. The gynecologist prescribed some medication and I regained my health after a while. It took twenty-four days after the abortion for the bleeding to stop.

  Slowly, I started warming up to Uncle, and I finally asked him how to get Hafez back. He told me that it was not worth it. ‘Any guy who could leave you two days after an abortion and behave in such a crude manner is worthless in my eyes. You are my daughter, whether you accept me as a father or not, and I want you to be with a man who deserves your love, and who loves and respects you.’ Uncle and my mother even talked about not sending me back, but I told them I would rather die. They told me to stay away from Hafez, but I refused to listen. I was keen to have him back. My strategy was to stand outside his house, and beg and plead with him to take me back. I was prepared to do this for as long as it took.

  Since I had no place to stay, my mother called a friend of my Papa’s and arranged for me to live with a woman named Maria. She had a furnished spare bedroom to rent out, and her house was very close to my college, so I accepted the arrangement. However, I was deeply upset about not living with Hafez anymore. The security of sleeping next to him and having his family around in a city far away from home had been a matter of great comfort for me. However, this security and comfort was no longer available, and this thought was a very painful one to deal with.

  My time in Mumbai was spent mostly at home. I did not have the energy to go out or meet up with some of my friends who lived there. Soon, it was time to go back to New York. I was still coming to terms with all the things that had happened. And there was one thought that kept recurring in my mind: Since my Papa couldn’t reincarnate through my womb, he had found a way to come back to us by becoming the seed in my mother’s womb. I was happy that a baby was about to come into our lives, and would bring along laughter and innocence. I learned that day that God gives and God takes away, and then He gives again.

  It took me years to accept Uncle as my father, and even now, when I’m angry, I tell him that he is not my father. He has done much for me and my family, as any father would do. He is an honorable man, and I am grateful for his presence in my life.

  Chapter 12

  GOING BACK

  When love is a one way street, it leads to misery and defeat.

  If one has to plead to be loved, then one will never have enough.

  The only truth is this: That love is made whole when

  two people become one soul.

  It took me a long time to understand that if one has to plead to be loved, then one is simply trying to rekindle a lost cause. I should have let go of this relationship, but I was stubborn and stupid. I did not know that the right thing to do was to spare myself the agony of begging.

  I wondered whether Haff was going to pick me up from the New York airport. To my surprise, he was there. I tried not to let my longing for him show. Instead, I told him about my mother, that she was married and pregnant, and very happy. He asked me how I felt about it and I said I was slowly adjusting to it.

  He dropped me off at Maria’s house, and I got settled in. Though I kept busy, I felt quite empty inside. Maria had a very dirty house, and an even dirtier bathroom, which was made dirtier still by her dog. I cleaned up as much as possible, but this was not a happy beginning after my comeback.

  Though I registered for my classes for the current semester, I had already missed a lot of them. I was unhappy and restless, and was always calling Haff, wanting to meet him and be around him. I was so overwhelmed by my emotions that I desperately sought an outlet. Someone suggested a free clinic and recommended that I meet a therapist named Hubert McCabe, who was supposedly quite good. I called the clinic and made an appointment with Hubert.

  This was the first time I was going to meet a therapist. I didn’t know what to expect, but I was pleasantly surprised to meet a v
ery warm person with a reassuring voice. I spoke to him about everything, from my father’s sudden death and my mother’s remarriage to the abortion and, of course, Haff. I started having sessions with him once a week, and the more I met him, the more comfortable I became. I felt happy, and at ease, for the duration of the session. Though he never actively dissuaded me from pursuing Haff, he always pointed out to me the absurdity of being in love with a man who could not return my feelings. He told me that my emotions were out of balance. He always encouraged me to spread my focus, telling me that if I could spend even ten per cent of my day focusing on my studies, it would be good for me.

  During the session, I would agree to his suggestions, but as soon as the session was over, my obsession with Hafez would rear its ugly head again. I would go back to doing crazy things like follow Haff to class and wait outside the hall, trying to make it seem as though I had bumped into him by accident. I would scout the parking lot to see if his car was there, and leave loving notes on his windshield.

  Apart from refusing to acknowledge me as his girlfriend, Hafez behaved the same with me as before. We still went to the movies, hung out together in college, had sex . . . I was happy that he was with me, and couldn’t bring myself to take my therapist’s advice to move on. Hubert told me I shouldn’t be having sex with Haff or stalking and obsessing over him; the relationship was over and I simply had to move on. But I couldn’t get myself to do this. Hubert had also made it clear that he was disgusted by Hafez’s attitude and often told me that his hypocrisy was appalling, as was my willingness to let myself be used.

  ‘What choice do I have, Hubert? I am madly in love, or, according to you, I am obsessed with Haff. I cannot stay away; I am happy with the little breadcrumbs he throws at me.’

  ‘You don’t realise your own value. If you were to severe ties with him for a month, he would go crazy. At least try . . . see if you really love him, clear your head for a month, see if he comes back . . .’

  Hubert told me all these things and we discussed my obsession with Haff in each session, coming to only one conclusion: I had to change and be willing to let Haff go.

  Hubert also pointed out that Hafez received all the benefits of being a boyfriend, but refused to respect me enough to give our relationship the value it deserved. But as always, I refused to listen. I gave Haff all the help and support he needed, regardless of the fact that I received nothing in return.

  One day, Haff was dropping me off at the clinic where I had a session with Hubert. I didn’t want him to wait for me, so I asked Hubert if we could have a joint session. That day, Hubert put Haff in his place. He asked him: ‘How often do you two hang out together?’ and ‘How often do you have sex with her?’ Hafez was uncomfortable and replied in a cautious tone, ‘We hang out a lot, and yes, we have sex quite frequently.’ Then, Hubert asked Haff the inevitable question: ‘Hafez, what, according to you, is your relationship with Amrita?’ Haff egotistically replied, ‘We are friends, nothing more.’

  Hubert then showed Haff his dishonest reflection by saying: ‘If you both spend so much time together, go out together, have lunch and dinner with each other, and have sex when you spend nights together, wouldn’t one normally describe that as a serious relationship as opposed to being “just friends”?’

  Hafez fell silent, and I figured his conscience must have woken up. But it had not.

  Haff would sometimes go through a phase during which he would torture me by saying that we should not remain this close since we were no longer in a relationship. He would try to hang out with other people but in the end, he would eventually come back to me. Things would go back to being the same in a day or so. Months passed in this manner, with us being in a relationship that was undefined. I was willing to accept any sort of treatment from him so long as we could be together.

  Things got increasingly ugly, and the sessions with Hubert didn’t help. For instance, during the winter holidays, I went to Toronto to spend Christmas with my aunts. I would call Haff every day and he would say, ‘Don’t call me! We are over.’ I was upset, but told myself that the moment I went back, things would be fine, and everything would go back to normal. As long as Haff met me, I was all right, and whether he called me his girlfriend or not, I was willing to accept this relationship in the most downtrodden form. I had no concern for my own ego and personal wishes any longer.

  I was right. The moment I returned to New York, things went back to normal. Soon, it was Valentine’s Day. I recall that we watched The Vagina Monologues, and it turned Haff on so much that we made ardent love for a long time that night.

  Who knew that was the last time I would be kissing Hafez? After all, the lie had to end someday.

  ***

  A moment’s decision can alter life’s path.

  If I had done something different I could have completed a task.

  What lies in store for us we do not know.

  If there is a destiny it becomes our mask,

  For destiny is actually the result of our own actions, our choices

  good or bad. We call it fate and live with it and bask.

  When I returned from Toronto, I didn’t have a place to stay. I had to move out of Maria’s filthy house, and even though arrangements had been made for me to stay at Rana Uncle’s friend’s place, they never answered the phone when I called. Since I was homeless, I ran around all day, looking for a house, and my last option was to check into a hotel for the night, even though I had very little money. Around midnight, I recalled that there was an Indian couple who worked the night shift at Dunkin Donuts, and that they were looking for a flatmate. Their apartment was just 100 yards from my college.

  After much persuasion, and parting with a lot of dollars, the couple finally offered me an empty room with no furniture. Sine I had no choice, I spread a blanket on the bare floor and slept. These were hard times, but I was doing all I could to be near Hafez. This urge was debilitating to me, and worrisome for my family. I had fought with everyone back home to enroll in the current semester, in the year 2005. And now, my family pointed out that since I had nowhere to stay, I should come home. Even though they themselves had made all attempts they could to find me accommodation, nothing was working out. However, I was determined to be in New York on my own terms.

  It was that ill-fated day: 24 February 2005. In one moment of weakness, I had changed the course of my entire life. Time is linear; is destiny the same? Can fate be altered, manipulated, changed by others or by one’s own self, or is it all already pre-ordained? Anyway, I had bent mine with just a simple decision. Did it happen for the greater good, I often wonder.

  Hafez and I had had a fight the day before, and he was not talking to me. I was having an anxiety attack, and couldn’t breathe. It felt like an impending doom had fallen upon me and I could not escape it; it seemed my end had come. An arresting pain was going through my chest, and my body seemed to be resonating it. I kept telling myself that it was all in my head; that it would all be fine. Even though I knew it was an anxiety attack—I even recognised the symptoms—I was still not prepared for it. It felt like my world was about to end.

  Over time, and over many such attacks previously, I had come to the realisation that anxiety is directly related to something that is about to happen in the future; it is never related to something that has already happened. In order to get rid of the anxiety, I tried to give it a reason and assumed it was, as usual, on account of Haff.

  During one of our phone conversations while I was in Toronto, Hafez had been inconsiderate enough to tell me that he really liked one of my friends, Roxanne. While I was pleading with him to be with me, he was telling me that he wanted to date Roxanne. Not just was I deeply hurt, but the mental image of Hafez and Roxanne together tortured me no end.

  As I kept imagining them together, the fear of abandonment gripped me. I tried calling him, and after about twenty calls, when he did not answer his phone, I decided it was time to see him in person. Without caring to dress up, I simply
threw on my sweater and coat as it was quite cold outdoors. The last of the winter snow was scattered on the roads.

  The walk was chilly; my reception at his house was worse. No one opened the door for me and I ended up waiting for almost an hour. My panic increased as I paced up and down, ringing the doorbell and creating a scene. I called my mom and cried to her, saying, ‘Please help me. Make Hafez meet me; make him open the door.’ She told me the best thing to do was to go home. She was helpless; even though she wanted to comfort me, she was a thousand miles away and could not do anything. She called up at Hafez’s house and Uncle spoke to his mother. Their conversation was brief; his mother told Uncle that Hafez wanted nothing to do with me, to which Uncle said, ‘If he wants nothing to do with her, how dare he sleep with her just a few days ago?’

  Hafez’s mother called Hafez and asked him if this was true, but he didn’t say anything. She finally opened the door and let me in. Hafez’s parents were sitting with him at the dining table. His father told me what I was doing was ridiculous, and that I should stop. With tears flowing down my cheeks, I told him I could not live without Hafez; that I would rather die. His mother told me that Hafez did not want to be with me. I then ran to Hafez, lay at his feet, and begged him to give me another chance, for the hundredth time. His answer was the same as always: ‘No.’ I wasn’t going to take that answer from him. I asked him if we could at least be friends. To which also he said, ‘No.’

  I threatened to commit suicide as this family—under whose roof I had lived with Hafez, and cared, cooked and cleaned for all of them—turned their backs on me. This was a family I had considered to be my own; in turn, they called the police on me. They said they did not want to be responsible for anything that might happen to me, or for anything that I might attempt to do to myself.

  When the cops came, I was still begging Hafez to take me back, blind to the fact that I could be arrested for stalking, trespassing, and threatening to commit suicide. They asked if I wanted to be taken to a hospital to consult a counsellor. They said that since I was being cooperative, they would not register an official complaint. Politely but firmly, they asked me to leave and to ‘not trouble Hafez anymore’. With a broken heart, I said goodbye to Hafez.