Black Suits You

by Novoneel Chakraborty

  ‘This is for you, mister bestselling author.’

  Kiyan took it as he heard her say, ‘Every one of us has faced a certain storm in our lives, after which nothing remains the way it was. It changes equations, dynamics and old perceptions, and turns known people into strangers.’

  ‘So?’ Kiyan asked, unwrapping the gift completely.

  ‘I’m that storm in your life, Kiyan.’

  The gift was in his hand now. Kiyan frowned looking at it. He realized something. And he didn’t know how to react if what he could see was true. His throat immediately went dry. He felt Kashti’s hands on his face. She had cupped it.

  ‘Look at me, mister bestselling author. And look deep,’ she said. Her eyes were hypnotic as Kiyan looked into them.

  ‘I shall be straight with you. You’ll do as I say, right?’

  Kiyan swallowed a lump and found himself nodding.

  ‘You won’t upset me ever, right?’

  Kiyan nodded again.

  ‘Who do you belong to from now on?’

  Kiyan’s lips parted with disbelief. If he had had the slightest idea it would lead to this he would have put a stop to it long ago.

  ‘Tell me, who do you belong to from now on?’

  ‘You,’ he said, feeling the dryness in his mouth.

  ‘Only me,’ she said and planted a kiss on his lips. Kiyan swallowed a lump in his throat and desperately hoped it was all unreal.

  ‘You know, mister bestselling author, your darkness feels like my dawn, my own personal dawn,’ Kashti said and smiled at him. And all Kiyan could wonder was how well she had hidden the monster within her with that smile.

  * * *

  A Girl’s Diary

  21 March 2016

  Monday, 11.15 p.m.

  I told Papa all about Kiyan over the phone. I told him I had studied with him during engineering, and that he was working in an MNC like me but was determined to become an author. Papa asked me about the last part twice to make sure he had heard it right. ‘Yes, Kiyan wants to become an author,’ I repeated. It was his decision. If I had wanted to do something other than be a software engineer, he would have stood by me. I chose to stand by him. I knew Papa would have a problem with it but I had to tell him clearly lest he kept looking for grooms for me. In fact, since his elder brother (my Bade Papa) had arranged white-collar husbands for his two daughters, my Papa too wanted a white-collar guy for me. Being his only daughter, all the focus was on me. And thus my choice, I knew, would invariably be taken as defiance. The result was what I had expected. Papa stopped talking to me. That year was my first Diwali that I did not celebrate with family. It’s so strange that the same set of people who have helped you grow into a fine adult are ready to break off all ties over the biggest decision of your life. But it was my decision to be with Kiyan. Day in and day out I saw him work on his stories, and I kept telling myself I had made the right decision. I believed that one day my family would understand their short-sightedness. However, it wasn’t like a vendetta against them.

  Thinking back, I feel happy about my decision. But trust me, it wasn’t easy. On his path to becoming a bestselling author, the responsibility somehow fell on me to ‘mother’ him. Taking care of all types of shit is the foremost priority of such a responsibility. To his readers, Kiyan seems like a guy who would be a dream boyfriend, but that’s not true.

  Dating an author is not the best thing in the world. Trust me on this. For that matter, nor is dating any creative person. For starters, they get bored easily. They get restless easily. And the ones they are closest to are the easiest target for all their emotional tantrums. And worst of all, they mentally inhabit a different world half the time. I took time to understand this after I noticed distinct behavioural changes in Kiyan while he was working on his manuscript. He started having mood swings. Mainly because sitting at home all day was so new for him. The same liberal-minded Kiyan whom I had adored and who used to give me space (of course, after the college break-up) suddenly reverted to his former possessive self. He never used to comment on my dressing style earlier, but one day when I was supposed to go to a college reunion of sorts with a few batchmates, Kiyan asked me not to wear torn jeans. If there had been any sensible reason for it, and he hadn’t said it in a dominating manner, I would have considered his request. I can take everything, but I can’t take someone bossing over me. Whoever it may be. The fact that he said I shouldn’t wear them made me adamant about wearing the jeans. And I did. We had a bad fight. A violent one rather. This was also the beginning of a new trait I noticed in Kiyan that day. Whenever he was angry at me, he would break something or the other. As if he needed an outlet to vent the violent energy. It was scary. I went to the reunion wearing what I wanted to, but when I came back he refused to open the door. There are times when you apologize, and there are times when you take a stand. A smart girl knows when to do what. I called my colleague and went to stay with her. I was there for a week until Kiyan came and apologized to me. I realized it is important to make your partner realize your worth. Too much of ego massaging and submissiveness gets you taken for granted on an everyday basis, and that’s the worst disease that can take over a relationship. Your partner should always have the fear of losing you. That fear keeps love young forever. If he doesn’t feel it, it is your duty to implant it in him.

  After I returned to the flat, Kiyan was on his best behaviour for a long time until another weird tendency of his started bothering me. Earlier, whenever we had sex, he would wear protection, but suddenly he started demanding unprotected sex. I didn’t know the reason for it. Kiyan only told me he didn’t enjoy it with protection. This, after we had been doing it for almost a year? And the more he immersed himself into the manuscript, into his story, the more he lost sight of the fact that I wasn’t a sex toy that he could simply use any which way he wanted. If I demanded protection, he didn’t touch me for a month. I gave in to his demands when I thought it was safe, but I couldn’t risk it otherwise because he never pulled out on time. It frustrated me, and I’m sure it frustrated him as well, but I couldn’t understand this dumping of desire on one’s partner. Why does this happen in a relationship? So many times, we do things because we are with someone and not because our heart is in it. Of course, we convince ourselves we do so out of love towards the person, but is it really that? Can anything that happens due to some kind of pressure be love? Pressure means force and force seems to me the antithesis of love. Love is natural, it just happens, then blossoms and then proliferates, but can never be forced, never be generated out of pressure. Then what was it that Kiyan was trying to do by thrusting his demands on me? So often I wanted to get inside his head and see what was going on in there. Till then, I had never asked him about his story or characters. I too used to write—bits and pieces of poems, short stories, nothing major. Nothing serious. But I did understand a creative mind. It is unpredictable. Untameable. And certainly incorrigible. People shall forever worship the hero they see, but I feel the real heroes behind a creative mind are always the people who put up with the person’s crazy idiosyncrasies. Probably it was this realization that stopped me every time I thought of giving up on Kiyan. It’s not him; it’s the way he is. There’s a difference. And only people in love can spot the difference.

  Today, finally, all your book travels have ended, Kiyan. I was so waiting for this day. And I know so have you. I’ll end my rant here. I don’t know how much of this diary will make sense to you, Kiyan, but I wanted you to know all the hurt and pain I have been on the receiving end of in the years we have been together. Don’t think all these were complaints. It was just my way of sharing them with you. I believe if two people decide to spend a life together, they should at least be open about their hurt to the other, otherwise there is no point claiming they are in love. Next week onwards, a new chapter will begin for us, and I just wanted to be as ready as you are. I shall gift this diary to you soon. But whenever you read it, don’t tell me you have. Just come up to me and hug me tight
ly. Pick me up and make rough love to me the way you always do. Yeah, for once, I may just enjoy it. Haha.

  In every which way, yours,

  Anaysha

  * * *

  8

  Lucknow

  30 March 2016

  Anaysha was both happy and anxious. Happy because it was the day when a near-impossible dream of hers was about to come true. She was supposed to get engaged to the man she loved, the one she had fought for, the one she had stood by through thick and thin and the one who meant the world to her—Kiyan Roy. Not many people are lucky enough to get a chance to live with the one they want to live with and have the other person feel the same way. Anaysha was ecstatic to know she was one of those people. The other, of course, was Kiyan. His book tour had ended the other day in Goa. Anaysha had been counting the days since the book tour had begun. She had gift-wrapped the diary in which she was penning their love story with absolute honesty. Anaysha wanted to gift it to Kiyan right after they exchanged rings later in the evening. It wasn’t just a diary. It was a love story with glimpses of thoughts that she had never shared with Kiyan. And she wanted him to know it all when they got married. She wanted him to marry someone who was transparent about whatever she had ever thought of him at each point in their love story. The realization would help further solidify their relationship post-marriage.

  Anaysha had introduced Kiyan to her family for the first time in person when he had made it to the headlines in Lucknow Times of Times of India. She knew it would end all the apprehension in her family. And it did. Her father was suddenly proud of her choice, and her cousins were all ga-ga about the fact that the Gupta family of Chowk, Lucknow, would have a celebrity bridegroom. The Gupta family met the Roy family for dinner in BBQ and decided on the engagement and marriage dates. The marriage was fixed for six months after the engagement.

  Anaysha’s parents and a couple of cousins came to Delhi to shop for her engagement. She bought an emerald-studded green lehenga choli for herself, booked the best make-up person in Lucknow and asked one of her college friends who had become a professional photographer to capture the engagement in all its vibrancy.

  Kiyan had called in the morning. Anaysha found it odd that he was still in Goa. He told her everything was going according to plan as his publisher had arranged some seminars and college visits in Goa, and that he would land in Lucknow in the afternoon and be at the banquet hall on time.

  The evening began with her cousins mischievously taking away Anaysha’s phone and refusing to give it back. They said they would not let her be in touch with Kiyan till the rings were exchanged. They joked that if he called, they would talk to him instead of her, and made plans to say all sorts of silly things to him. The engagement was to happen at 8 p.m., but till 7 p.m. there was no sign of the Roy family. Anaysha’s father called Mr Roy, who told him to talk to Kiyan. Anaysha’s father called Kiyan, but he didn’t pick up.

  ‘If there is any problem then we should sit and talk it out,’ Anaysha’s father told her. The atmosphere at the banquet hall was one of tension and frenzy.

  Anaysha, all dressed up for the occasion, herself called up Kiyan thrice, but none of her calls were taken. It was 9 p.m. Everyone was in the banquet hall with no clue about what was going on. Mr Gupta, who had personally gone to Kiyan’s place in Lucknow, came back looking harassed and said, ‘Kiyan has asked his family not to attend the engagement. I tried my best, but they refused to tell me anything further.’ Anaysha had seen her father tensed before, mainly about his garment business, but this was different. This was a matter of pride.

  Suddenly, Anaysha’s phone rang. One of the cousins saw Kiyan’s name on the screen and shouted out, ‘Jiju ka phone hai.’ The cousin gave the phone to Anaysha. The entire Gupta family was looking at her and hoping whatever the issue was, it got sorted soon.

  ‘Hello?’ Anaysha said with a dry mouth. She had an inkling it wasn’t anything good she would hear. ‘Where are you, Kiyan? We are all waiting for you. Even your parents are acting weird,’ she said.

  ‘Anaysha, I’m sorry, we have to call off the engagement.’

  ‘What do you mean? What happened? Where are you?’

  ‘I’m in Goa. I didn’t know how to tell you this. I didn’t want to tell you this today especially, but . . .’

  ‘What is it Kiyan?’

  ‘I stopped loving you long ago. I don’t think we should be together.’

  Anaysha’s phone fell from her hand. People rushed to catch her before she collapsed to the ground.

  Part 2: Snatch

  9

  ‘I don’t believe this,’ Kashti hugged Kiyan tightly and gave him a hard peck after he broke up with Anaysha over the phone. Kiyan kept still. A few seconds later, he too put his hands around her back and pressed her close. He had to. From now on, he would have to do a lot more than what he had just been forced to say to Anaysha on the phone. Kiyan was intelligent enough to realize that.

  When Kiyan arrived in Goa a day before the book event, he had been booked at The Lalit for the night, but of course he had checked out and come to the shack where Kashti was putting up, and on her insistence, shifted there with her after she had given him the gift. Though he had told Kashti about his impending engagement to Anaysha, he knew Kashti was in no mood to listen to anything.

  ‘You never told me about Anaysha before,’ she’d said.

  ‘There was no need to.’ Kiyan tried hard but couldn’t suppress his haplessness.

  ‘You were committed and yet you were pursuing me. You were committed and yet you didn’t stop me at the gym or by the beach? What does that say about your relationship, Kiyan?’

  Kiyan was quiet.

  ‘That you wanted to be snatched by me. I did what you desired,’ Kashti said and kissed his lips. A few seconds later, she added, ‘I don’t believe this. THE Kiyan Roy is my boyfriend now. Wow!’ Kashti broke the embrace and looked deep into his eyes. She commanded, ‘Tell me it’s true.’ Kiyan took a few seconds before saying, ‘It’s true.’

  ‘Tell me it’s true.’

  ‘It’s true.’

  ‘Tell me it’s true, Kiyan.’

  ‘It’s true, Kashti.’

  She planted a hard kiss on his lips, sucking at his lower lip and releasing it with a naughty smirk.

  ‘You don’t know how long I have waited for this. This is like an impossible dream come true.’ Kashti let go of Kiyan and climbed onto her bed.

  ‘Should I shout like Tarzan?’

  A tight smile escaped Kiyan.

  ‘What about Anaysha?’

  Kashti’s smile dried up.

  ‘I’ll let you know. There’s time for it.’

  ‘There’s no time. I’ll have to inform Anaysha.’

  Kashti got off the bed and came dangerously close to Kiyan, whispering almost threateningly, ‘Do you think it will make a difference if she knows it today or on the day of the engagement?’

  Kiyan didn’t know what to say while Kashti smirked and said, ‘Let’s not bring her between us any more. She is history, right?’

  Kiyan only stared at her.

  ‘Right?’ Kashti repeated. Kiyan nodded. The gift she had given him was her way of binding him to her. The way an owner puts a collar on a pet.

  A sudden smile appeared on Kashti’s face as she said, ‘Then let’s enjoy our stay in Goa.’ She took a couple of steps backwards, still on the bed, and raised her hand to take off her bikini top. Walking with the gait of a cat, she climbed off the bed and turned around before entering the bathroom. ‘I know you don’t know much about me, mister bestselling author, but how about we start with this—I don’t like to shower alone,’ she said and entered the bathroom. Kiyan glanced helplessly at the unwrapped gift lying on the table beside him and with his jaw set tight, entered the bathroom. He knew he had been trapped.

  In the 10 days that followed, Kiyan realized Kashti had planned each moment of their stay beforehand. Where to breakfast, where to eat lunch, where to dine, where to club, w
here to make love, all of it as if she knew he was going to say yes to her, as if her following him across book events was part of a hunting process. And the hunt had been successful. He was indeed that easy a prey. Once, she made him park their rented bike in the open for a quickie. They stopped under the sultry sun of Goa when everyone else was taking a siesta. Their tanned bodies shone as they made out on the bike parked by the beach. In the evening, they watched the sunset together, sipping freshly brewed local beer. Though Kiyan was physically with her, every second he was dreading the moment when he would have to tell Anaysha. Every time she called in those 10 days, he lied to her, saying he had had to stay back in Goa due to some college visits and seminars that his publisher had organised. The problem was he couldn’t even come clean if he wanted to. He would have to lie to her. But it wasn’t a complete lie either. How do you tell your girlfriend when she is about to become your fiancée that you are done with her, especially when you don’t totally believe it yourself?

  On what was supposed to have been D-day, Kiyan and Kashti were cuddling in bed after two hours of marathon sex. Kiyan’s phone rang for the umpteenth time since the afternoon. He had kept it on silent after messaging his parents that he wouldn’t be in Lucknow and wasn’t interested in getting engaged any more. No more explanations. Though he had been in touch with Anaysha till this morning, with her still believing they were going to get engaged tonight, he hadn’t messaged her since then. It was Anaysha who called him as he lay in bed cuddling. He stared at his phone till it became a missed call. Anaysha called again, but he didn’t pick up. When it happened the third time, Kiyan heard Kashti say, ‘Why don’t you take the call?’ Kiyan was quiet.

  ‘You asked me what to do about her a few days ago. Well, this is the right time. Tell her the new truth about your life.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘Just pick up the damn phone and call her. Tell her you don’t love her any more.’