Charlie Next Door

by Debashish Irengbam

  ‘I don’t see the humour in this situation,’ snapped Mrs Govindikar, and that triggered another paroxysm of mirth.

  Charlie stepped out of the bedroom, phone glued to his ear, staring at them. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Anu, control yourself. What kind of behaviour is this?’

  ‘Why is she laughing?’

  ‘Anu! Are you listening to me?’

  Anupama nodded, her eyes swimming with tears now, but for the life of her, she couldn’t stop laughing.

  ‘Call the doctor,’ Mrs Govindikar ordered Charlie.

  He dithered in the doorway, uncertain.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Who’s the doctor?’ he asked.

  Anupama collapsed into the sofa and doubled up, barely able to breathe, wiping her eyes, still chuckling in merriment. She was convinced she was going to die. Oh well, at least, it was a jolly way to go.

  14

  She didn’t die.

  However, she did manage to introduce a funereal darkness to the surroundings within a matter of minutes, with neighbours thronging in droves to witness the debacle of the first ever nervous breakdown within their settlement. Word of death and illness spread like greased lightning in this neighbourhood, its pace being determined by the peculiarity of the causes and symptoms and/or the source of the news, and Anupama had scored highly on both counts, the second time since Rajeev’s stroke. Mrs Govindikar had been beside her the whole time, energetically massaging the invalid’s hand as the residential doctor performed a preliminary check-up on her and prescribed further tests to rule out a stroke or Alzheimer’s or worse. Thankfully, her merriment had been summarily routed by Charlie’s abrupt exit (Mrs Govindikar had practically shooed him out of the apartment before anyone else arrived), only to be replaced by an all-pervading mortification. At the same time, she felt a hint of relief too – at the fact that her hysterical outbreak had overshadowed the rather grim circumstances in which she was discovered by Mrs Govindikar. She didn’t know for how long the diversion would last, but was grateful for it all the same.

  The electricity was back on. Her children, after confirming that there was nothing fatally wrong with their mother, had retired to their respective rooms, affording her some privacy. Dr Gupta had concluded that while all her vital signs were fine, her heart rate was still quite high. Questions were posed to her regarding any possible triggers and recent causes of stress or excitement. If only they knew. Her breath caught in her throat yet again as she recalled the incident with Charlie. The mere recollection of that memory was enough to send the blood pounding to her temples. Try as she may, she still had trouble believing it had actually occurred. It seemed like a distant dream, a dream within a dream. A truth so surreal that one is certain that it would never really sink in.

  A barrage of frantic queries kept popping up in her mind with increasing frequency: Why? How? And most importantly – what now?

  She had crossed the point of no return, hadn’t she? No matter what she did, she couldn’t undo what had passed. And … should she? Why should she? It had been a matter of mutual consent, hadn’t it?

  Consent. He had wanted to kiss her. Charlie. Charlie had kissed her. Charlie wanted her.

  Her. Her and Charlie.

  Charlie.

  Charlie with those abs and those dimples and those eyes. That Charlie wanted her. She felt like her stomach was on zero gravity. Of all the people in all the world – Charlie…

  Funny, handsome, unpredictable, young Charlie. Young.

  Young.

  Young.

  The word stuck in her head, swirling and bouncing off the corners of her mind until it took on a grim implication that she hadn’t considered before. The fog lifted off her consciousness, and her nerves began to act up in a jangled fusion of dread and panic.

  What had she done? Oh God, what had she done? What the hell was she thinking? The poor boy.

  No, wait, what poor boy? He had started it. In fact, he should count his stars lucky she hadn’t thrown him out of her home. He had practically molested her, if one were to look at it that way. But then, what had she done? Molested him back?

  So sticky and ugly the word sounded … mo-lest-ed … mo-lest-ed.

  Mrs Govindikar entered, bearing a cup of tea and all of Anupama’s prior misgivings. She had forgotten that the woman was still here.

  ‘How are you feeling now?’ she asked, handing her the cup.

  ‘Much better, thank you,’ said Anupama. She took a sip. It was stronger than she would have liked.

  Mrs Govindikar sat by her side. ‘That was quite a scare you gave us, my dear.’

  ‘Yes, sorry. I don’t know what happened.’

  Mrs Govindikar nodded thoughtfully, her tiny fingers smoothing out the edges of the bedcover. ‘Good thing I was here, right? Otherwise who knows what could have happened?’

  Anupama gingerly raised her eyes to look at her placid, unaffected face – or was it? She had never been good at telling the difference between coldness and blankness. She took another sip of the scalding tea and set the cup aside, wondering how best to ask to be left alone now without committing yet another social solecism. Before she could think of a suitable method to evict the woman, Mrs Govindikar placed her hand over hers. Her eyes, which had now taken on a sagacious look, levelled themselves at Anupama’s, holding her in their penetrating glare.

  ‘Remember who you are, Anu,’ she said. ‘Remember what you have.’

  Anupama nodded silently.

  ‘We are all prone to make errors from time to time. That’s what makes us human. But that is exactly why it is imperative to keep things in perspective. Before things get out of hand and it’s too late.’

  ‘I agree,’ replied Anupama, with another nod. Her heart was like a piston gone out of control, but this was the worst time to show any signs of weakness. Damn the clammy forehead.

  Mrs Govindikar’s gaze never faltered, her pitch-black irises burrowing into Anupama’s very soul. ‘So, I trust this will never happen again then?’

  ‘What will?’ asked Anupama, her voice a bare croak.

  ‘You make a rather terrible liar. The least you could have done was to wipe your lip gloss off his mouth.’

  Icy fingers crept up from her toes to her scalp. Perhaps it would have been merciful providence to have died right there on the spot. She wanted to say something, but her voice had deserted her.

  ‘You really thought I had no idea?’ asked Mrs Govindikar coldly. ‘By now, you ought to know that nothing escapes my eyes, dear. I’ve had my sights on you two for a long time now, right from the moment when you first sat on his bike. I knew it was Charlie who had broken the terrace lock, but I didn’t pursue it because I knew that you were there as well that night.’

  How could she? What was she, a ghost? Or were there hidden CCTV cameras in the building she didn’t know about? Either way, did it really matter anymore? Anupama found herself pinching her arm discreetly in the dim hope that she would wake up, for the moment had all the makings of a classic nightmare where one’s worst fears manifest without warning. However, there was no reprieve to be had. This situation was the worst nightmare of all – it was real.

  ‘Won’t you say anything?’ asked Mrs Govindikar relentlessly.

  Anupama lowered her eyes, her temperature rising again, along with her blood pressure. Her nerves felt like they were on fire. What could she say? She waited or rather hoped, in vain, for another bout of hysteria to come to her rescue. She stayed frozen. Mrs Govindikar patted her hand gently.

  ‘I know it’s been tough, my dear. But you need to understand, you’re not just a woman. You have a family, a reputation, responsibilities. Do you really think it’s worth throwing all that away on … on an urge? How long do you think these things can stay hidden? No matter how emancipated we consider ourselves, you know the kind of society we live in. Have you even considered the repercussions of your actions on you? Your family?’

  And just like that, the few, tiny res
idual sparks of desire that still flickered inside were extinguished into nothingness. The shame in her heart was not the shame of discovery anymore, but rather the shame of guilt. Dimly, she wondered if she would ever be able to look Mrs Govindikar in the eye again.

  ‘Please don’t tell anyone,’ she murmured weakly.

  ‘Of course, I won’t, Anu. I care for you, which is why I have been silent so far. But this needs to stop. You understand that, right?’

  Anupama nodded, feeling the last few trickles of sweat making their way down the back of her itchy neck.

  Several minutes after Mrs Govindikar had left, Anupama sat paralysed not daring to move. She reached for her mobile. Six missed calls from Charlie. She took a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, steeled her resolve, and pressed the dial button. He picked it up before the first ring was over.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi, Charlie.’

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thank God. What happened to you back there?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Listen, Charlie, what happened between us—’

  ‘Was amazing! I mean, I can’t even tell you, Anu, how much—’

  ‘Charlie,’ she said, a little more firmly, ‘what happened between us, I trust you will keep it to yourself?’

  ‘Sure, of course … if you want me to.’

  ‘I do. And just to make things clear, it will never happen again.’

  There was a short pause. ‘O-kay, bu—’

  ‘I wish it hadn’t happened, but now that it has, there is nothing I can do about it.’

  ‘You make it sound like a mistake.’

  ‘It was.’

  Another short pause. ‘Oh, okay.’

  ‘Let’s just forget it ever happened, all right?’

  She could hear him breathing at the other end, as she waited for a response.

  ‘If that’s what you want,’ he said, finally.

  ‘It is. And, Charlie?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Maybe it’s better if we keep our distance from now on. It’s just getting too complicated, if you know what I mean.’

  ‘Did Mrs Govindikar say something to you?’

  ‘It’s not about her. It’s about me.’

  ‘So … this is what you want? You’re a hundred per cent sure?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Fine, then. It was nice knowing you, Mrs Arora.’ His voice was even, measured.

  ‘You too, Charlie. Take care.’

  She hung up, and it was only then that she dared to acknowledge the tightening in her chest – like a coil being wound up way beyond its capacity, threatening to rip apart any second. She told herself that it was only her guilt at unintentionally hurting the poor boy. She told herself that this was ultimately for the best, the only thing that she could do, and this feeling of her head and her heart being at odds would eventually subside. After all, this conflict wasn’t supposed to exist within her in the first place, was it? For she wasn’t merely a woman anymore, was she? She was so much more…

  It was only when Misha knocked on her door that she realized just how long she had been sitting still on the bed like that. Almost two hours. How the time had flown by.

  ‘Mamma, you okay?’ she asked, from outside.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s five forty.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So … I don’t know, don’t you usually have chai at five thirty?’

  She wasn’t aware that her daughter had noticed her routine enough to know this. ‘Yes, I’ll be right out.’

  ‘I could make it if you’re feeling tired or something.’

  ‘No, it’s fine. Thank you, beta.’

  She took a deep breath, forced her limbs to mobilize, and then carried herself into the bathroom. Once inside, she wondered why she had entered the bathroom in the first place. She didn’t need to pee, being dehydrated significantly over the past few hours. It was a glass of water she needed actually, more than anything. She caught sight of her haggard face in the mirror and realized she couldn’t step out of her room looking like that. She splashed her face with water from the faucet in the washbasin. She repeated the procedure several times over, but it felt like it wasn’t enough. Something was missing. Something essential.

  She opened her eyes and noticed that the large, floral-patterned, plastic bucket by the shower was filled to the brim. Yes, of course. She knelt by it, shut her eyes, and slowly immersed her face in the water until it clogged up her ears. In the dead silence that followed, she imagined herself sinking deep into the heart of the ocean, her body weightless like a feather, her limbs askew, hair adrift, her blank, wide-eyed gaze staring at nothing as the blackness surrounded her. The thought brought with it an unexpected sense of peace and calm, and after what seemed like an eternity, she felt truly relaxed. So relaxed, in fact, that she didn’t notice that she was still immersed until the water entered her nostrils. Sputtering and coughing, she emerged from the bucket, gasping for air and feeling embarrassed at what was probably one of the stupidest near-death experiences ever.

  She felt mortified. Imagine what the neighbours would have said if they had found her body like this. Slapping herself back to her senses, Anupama got to her feet, ignoring the protests of her knees and the rest of her numbed, tired body.

  She decided to go with cinnamon instead of ginger this time. Its bittersweet aroma rose in fumes as Anupama added the powdered spice to the bubbling tea and waited, head bowed low in thought, leaning against the cold kitchen platform.

  In the five minutes that it took for the tea to brew, she had made a couple of firm resolutions to herself, because the moment seemed ripe to make a crucial life change. She resolved to live a life of dignity henceforth. She would be the woman her mother wanted her to be. She would be the lady Mrs Govindikar expected her to be. She would be a pattern-card of what she ought to be. She would never indulge in any childish nonsense ever again, no JD’s, no inebriated encounters, no … anything. The only thing that would matter would be her responsibilities, the tasks at hand. She wouldn’t think about the past or the future; she would stay focussed on the present. And as of now, her only present was the pot of tea, after which she would soak the rice and dal for dinner and shred the cabbage. Just like in the good old days, when life was simpler.

  A faint rustle reached her ears. The papers she had plastered across her kitchen window had come loose from their moorings; the frayed edges hanging off the pane. With a speck of trepidation in her heart, she decided to fix them, promising herself that she would not sneak a peek outside. And miserably failed the moment she reached there. She moved in behind the cover of the paper and glanced out through the opening.

  She paused.

  For the first time since he had moved in, Charlie’s kitchen windows were covered – plastered all over with newspaper, just like hers were.

  15

  By the time she finished getting ready, she had forgotten what she was supposed to go downstairs for. The initial idea had been to hop down to the departmental store and be back in two minutes flat (rather than calling them and waiting for ten to fifteen minutes for their delivery boy); but then she remembered she hadn’t applied any lip balm. It was almost six in the evening. Mrs Govindikar and her troupe would be returning from their evening walk. There was no point in looking like a hobo if she happened across them. No sooner had she moisturized her lips than she became aware of the state her hair was in. After much deliberation, she decided to pin it up in a chignon. But now that her hair was up, her eyes were clearly visible and the dark circles and puffiness beneath were all too apparent – an issue she rectified with the judicious use of a concealer and an eyeliner. The problem now was that she was too made up for her casual top and leggings, therefore off they came and she changed into more appropriate attire. She was just about to leave when her eyes caught sight of a stubborn crease in the lower left corner of her kurta, which obviously had to be ironed out. The ironing done and
all colour-coordination completed, she checked the clock. 6.20 pm. Where had the time gone?

  In her haste, she forgot to follow her customary practice of ensuring that the coast was clear through the peephole before stepping out into the corridor – an oversight she regretted immediately. For standing in front of the elevator was Charlie with a tall, skinny female in five-inch stilettos, who resembled an aggressive giraffe, and chattered away in an excited, high-pitched voice (an unfortunate characteristic of most girls in her age group these days). So engrossed was she in her narration that she barely registered Anupama’s entry as she walked up and stood beside them. Charlie gave her a polite nod. She nodded back. As they waited, the young lady yakked on.

  ‘And then I was like, whatever yaar, if you can’t handle your shit then like, don’t pass your shit to me. Seriously…’

  The elevator arrived. Charlie slid the doors open. Anupama entered, followed by, like, her and Charlie.

  ‘…and then she was like, why are you being such a bitch, and I was like, excuse me? You can’t talk to me like that…’

  Anupama silently calculated the speed at which the elevator would crash down if the metal cables holding it were to snap at that very instant. It didn’t help that ever since their split a week ago, she had been keeping a frosty distance from Charlie. He had tried calling and texting her a couple of times, but she had been steadfastly unresponsive. Neena was right. It was better to establish and maintain firm boundaries from the very outset. They continued to courteously exchange formal pleasantries whenever they bumped into each other, but that was about it.

  ‘This is Madhu, by the way,’ said Charlie to her. ‘Madhu, Mrs Arora.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ squeaked Madhu. ‘Hello, aunty.’