He was quiet. ‘I love our daughters. I just wish I had more time with you before they came.’
‘I didn’t think I was so fertile, you know!’ She didn’t mention it was his fault. His not using the condom the first time, and again the second time. ‘Can’t feel you,’ was his stupid excuse.
‘I know. It’s okay. We have money.’ He went to sleep. Was that the solution to everything? Money? She looked at the clock on her bed side table. It read 12:15.
She whispered to Kaushik, ‘Happy anniversary.’
He didn’t hear it. He was fast asleep. Naina stared at the ceiling and crossed her hands under her head. Eight years. Where did they go? Eight years ago they would have been making out in a bathroom of the restaurant where they would have celebrated their anniversary, their hands all over each other, not wanting to wait to get home to make love. And now they sleep on opposite corners of the bed.
She turned to him and held him while he lightly snored. She whispered light enough to wake him but not enough to disturb him, ‘Forty minutes. Liar.’
He mumbled back, ‘Go to sleep, Naina.’
Yes, things change. No matter how much Naina wanted to hold on to the past, the future had come at her with such force that it threw her present into disarray.
2
‘Bhaiya, yeh kya hai?’
‘Madam, this is chicken fricassee.’
‘Isme gravy shavy toh hai nahin?’
‘No madam, this is a French dish. It’s lightly steamed with herbs.’
‘Herbs ki aisi taisi. I don’t want to eat this. How bland yaar! Naina! Usko bol yaar, isko theek karne ke liye.’
Naina was out at her kitty party lunch in a new French restaurant that all the girls wanted to try out. Once a week she met a group of women who were fellow mothers in her daughter’s school and had become friends from the time their firstborns went to play school. Since then they were in a WhatsApp group together and they met once a week to go to new restaurants, eat and chat. Naina thought this was a good way to catch up with her friends and get to see what kind of cuisine was working in Delhi. Clearly French was not a favourite with Punjabi women who wanted ‘gravy shavy’.
‘Simran, this is going to be bland. You ordered it.’
‘Main nahin kha rahi hoon. You tell them to make your French chicken. I like it just the way you make it.’
Naina laughed. She had had her friends over a few weeks earlier at her place where she had cooked all the recipes from her new book. She wanted to test her recipes out to see if they would make the cut in the book. However, she had added an Indian touch to all the international recipes so that Indian families could enjoy them given their spicy palate.
‘Arrey that was my own recipe. Ab kya boloon usko?’
‘Usko bata na!’ Simran said with a grumpy face. ‘Bhaiyaji tabasco sauce le ao.’
‘Madam,’ the waiter, speaking in perfect English, replied, ‘We don’t stock tabasco in our pantry. The chefs would like you to try the authentic French cuisine here and not add anything extra to it. Otherwise you won’t get the flavour.’
‘Yeh leh! Tabasco bhi nahi rakhta. Kitni mehngi dish mein koi flavour hi nahin hai. How am I supposed to get the flavour, dear, if there is no flavour in it?’ Simran said to the waiter, trying to keep calm as her blood boiled.
Naina immediately came to the rescue. ‘Tu meri dish kha le. Take this. It’s better than that.’ Naina didn’t know when she had become a Delhi-ite. It was a state of being, she guessed. She had successfully moulded herself from being a Londoner to a total Dilliwala. It crept in, slowly but surely. In the way she spoke to the servants, the autowalas, the vegetable vendors. The culture of Delhi was completely different from any other part of the world. It was unique, interesting and completely entertaining. And only a woman knew how it was different from any other part of the world. Because when you were with other friends from Delhi, you became exactly like them!
They switched their plates. Simran took a bite out of Naina’s order and was happy with the food. ‘Chal theek hai. You’re so sweet yaar. Waiterji please keep some chilli flakes at least. What is this? Aapki restaurant nahin chalne wali hai!’
‘Madam, our waiting list is full until November,’ the waiter said in reply. ‘For every evening.’
Simran dismissed him. ‘Haan haan. Bada big shot ho gaya restaurant. We are not coming back here. Pandara Road food is better than this bland nonsense!’
The other women giggled when the waiter left.
‘Simran, tu bhi na. Kaisey flirt kar rahi thi waiter ke saath!’ Ishita said.
Simran blushed, ‘No yaar! What are you saying! Please, that’s not flirting. You come to my son’s birthday party next week na. I’ll show you what flirting is. There is this handsome father jo aata hai apni patni ke bina. I like him a lot! Main toh uske saath chipak jaati hoon.’
‘Hai rabba! Simran!’ Ishita said, ‘Naina, please explain to her not to do these things. I love my husband. I can’t imagine having an affair.’
‘Yeah me neither,’ Simran clarified. ‘But flirt karne mein kya jaata hai. Keeps the spark alive. My husband sees me flirting and he gets so jealous. Main bata nahin sakti hoon. He goes home and…,’ Simran dissolved into giggles and said, ‘Chal chodh!’ All the girls had a unison of ‘Ai hai!’ And then they dissolved into their own stories of what aroused their husbands. All except Naina. She hadn’t been able to arouse Kaushik for quite some time now. For a man who couldn’t keep his hands off her not too many years back, he now refused to touch her even once a week.
But Naina smiled and asked for details from her friends who were only too happy to give her some. She felt important with her friends. As much as she felt she wasn’t needed by Kaushik, she felt that much more relevant in her friends’ lives. Even though she had been busy with her career for some time, they had always called to check on her. These friends had been her support system when the crazy days of Masterchef had given her no time with family.
They had picked up her children and taken them on play dates and dropped them back. They had taken them to birthday parties when her parents weren’t around or when Kaushik was busy. They had called her to ask if she was doing well on the days she was tired and posted on her WhatsApp group that her body was hurting from too much work. They supported her decision to work and supported it even more when she decided to take a little break and not start her own restaurant or do too much. They were happy when she conducted cooking classes because then they got to come over and eat the leftovers in the evening. They were loving and supportive and Naina knew they were her best friends. They didn’t pry into her life too much. They knew she did her own thing.
But they weren’t like her. Naina was different. She was wild and ambitious and motivated. She wanted to be more than a mother and wife. She wanted to be perfect. And she wanted to find the balance between both. And because she wanted to be perfect, she faltered. She only had that much time in the day to either be with her children or be a world-class chef. She was an extremist. She could not find the balance in her life. She couldn’t have it all. She needed to choose and every day the choices she took killed her. Because she felt she should have made the other choice instead.
These women were simpler. They loved being housewives. They loved their husbands to death. Yes, they complained about them bitterly but they were proud of their husbands. They didn’t need them to do more than what they were doing. And they were happy spending their husbands’ money. Naina wanted to earn and support her children and herself. She felt proud if she could buy things for herself with her own money. There was a sense of accomplishment in that.
Once Naina had asked, ‘Don’t you want some emotional support from your husband? Some loving? Some conversation?’
And they had answered to the effect, ‘Why? We get sex once a week at least. And they give us money for our vacations and house renovations and whatever we need to buy. For conversations, we have all of you!’
Simran had clarified it
to her, ‘Dekh simple si baat hai. I don’t want to slog. My parents wanted me to get married and have kids and I’ve done that. Aur Gurmeet aur main bohat khush hain. We do talk. He tells me about his business and I listen to him. And when he wants me to be home, I’m at home. When he wants food, I make sure it’s there. And when he wants sex, I spread my legs. Haan haan. You will say it’s gross. But that’s the role of a wife. And that’s what makes a happy marriage. This is what is bonding. Iss sey zyada aur kya chahiye?’
And that’s the way it was. Girls were meant to have conversations with. Husbands were meant to be an anchor. So they wouldn’t have to work. They could live a good life and look after the children. Their roles were set.
Naina was confused. A part of her wanted what she and Kaushik had in the old days. And a part wanted him to take a step back from work so she could take a step forward in her career. She had thought that she was at peace with her decision to take a step back in her own career, but lately she had been feeling that she still wanted to pursue her career. This not finding a balance in her life was eating her up inside. She took out her phone and made a call to Kaushik and stepped away from the table when he picked up.
‘Hello. Kaushik. Hi. What time will you be coming home?’
‘Late. Why?’ he answered tersely.
‘It’s our anniversary.’
There was silence at the other end. ‘Okay. I’ll come home by seven.’
Naina wanted to scream back at the receiver, ‘Don’t do me any favours!’ Instead she replied, ‘Mummy Papa have organized a celebration at Def Col. There’s a new place that’s opened there. Punjab Grill.’
‘Ooff Naina. I hate those Punjabi places!’
Naina bit her lip before responding in a softer tone, ‘They’ve already called a lot of people, Kaushik. Your parents are also coming. I’ll send you the details.’
She could hear the exasperation in his voice, ‘Okay fine.’ And he hung up. Naina blinked back the tears. He hadn’t asked who would take the girls, how she would go, if he wanted him to pick her up, what present she wanted for their anniversary. He hadn’t even wished her that morning. She was glad this lunch had been there to ease her mind from the stress of this marriage and their anniversary. But she could no longer keep up the pretence. While all her friends spoke about their perfect marriages, Naina didn’t feel like sharing or participating in the conversation anymore.
‘Suno main ja rahi hoon,’ Naina said as she came back to the table.
‘Kyon,’ a chorus rose up from all the ten women who were sitting and chatting.
‘Because it’s been three hours since we got here and mujhe bohat kaam hai.’ Naina said as she took out money from her wallet.
‘Kya kaam hai!’ the chorus started again.
Simran said to everyone, ‘Arrey uski anniversary hai. She probably wants to go back home before the children come. Her husband must be waiting in bed for her. Hai na?’ She winked at Naina as if she had shared a secret with her.
Naina just smiled and didn’t confirm anything while she came around the table to give each of them an air kiss on the cheek before she left. ‘I’ll see you guys next week. Love you, babes!’
She knew she couldn’t give too many explanations otherwise they would all come up with more excuses for her to stay. She needed to get away. She needed a different perspective.
As soon as she went outside she called her driver, ‘Guptaji aap kahan ho? What? Oh no. Achcha theek hai. Wahin pe rahiye.’ The driver had forgotten to come back after dropping her and was still at Kaushik’s office. Naina decided to take an auto.
‘Bhaiyaji aap Vasant Vihar jayenge? Kitna?! Rehene dijiye!’
The fight with the auto walas in Delhi would continue perpetually. They asked for an exorbitant amount and women never wanted to pay that much. Never mind that she was carrying a Prada purse. She refused to pay an extra hundred rupees for an auto. It was a matter of principle. If one woman gave in to the demands of the auto guy, he would do the same with other women. The auto walas charged extra because the women of Delhi were always dressed so well. She needed to haggle for women all over Delhi. And finally she sat in an auto to head back home.
‘Bhaiyaji left lijeye yahaan se. Left!’ She didn’t want to take the lonely gullies that led up to her house. She was always on guard. It was something she had learnt from her single days in London.
Why couldn’t any politician do anything about the safety of women? Almost 84 per cent of Delhi women felt unsafe in public transport. This should be the main concern of every politician, she thought. And yet they were arguing about the economy. If they couldn’t make women feel safe, half their work force would go into a revolution. Hadn’t anyone learned from all the rape cases in court that what Delhi needed was safety for women! Naina felt disgruntled every time she needed to travel in an auto.
‘Thoda jaldi chaliye,’ she told the auto wala. She couldn’t get home fast enough. She was already in a foul mood.
3
Why do romantic relationships fade away? Does the magic slowly die? Or do lovers simply wake up one morning realizing they are done? Is it a trick that time plays on happy couples or is it something more profound, an evolution perhaps of our feelings and our needs?
The anniversary party went off extremely well according to everyone else and horribly wrong according to Naina. Kaushik arrived late, at 8:30, and left in an hour. He said he was in the middle of a big deal and he couldn’t get away for too long. In that one hour he spoke to his in-laws, met all of Naina’s family, carried Shiuli around in his arms and played with Shonali as well. He gave Naina a kiss on the cheek before he left (making sure everyone saw that he did). Later her mother told her, ‘You’re very lucky to have him, Naina.’
Naina’s cousin, Nidhi, chimed in, ‘You’re so lucky, Didi. You must tell me how you keep your marriage so alive.’
Naina’s marriage wasn’t alive; if only they knew. It was all a show so they could live out their lives like actors for an audience. Only the actors themselves knew they had given their best performance for the evening.
Still, Naina was determined to be a good wife. The next day after the girls had left and the house had been cleaned, she walked around her large, flawless drawing room, admiring how she had put every piece together over the years. Italian marble flooring. Large French windows with mahogany coloured monotone drapes. Satish Gujral paintings on the white brick walls. Large off-white and dark rust sofas with a centre table in ebony wood and glass in one corner and a large dining table at the other end. A mantelpiece with the family photographs on one side and a bar arrangement in the remaining corner of the large drawing area. Carpets from Turkey were rolled up to one side because the kids had been playing with their mini cars on the floor the last few days.
Naina walked around slowly with a cup of coffee in her hand. She picked up a photo of Kaushik and her in London before they got married. She remembered a conversation they had had.
‘You’re Bengali, right?’ she had asked him on their second date. They had gone to a club. A place where you could get lost in the music, and each other. She was in a tight black dress with a neckline that plunged a little too much for a regular Indian girl. She wanted to give him the signal that she was different.
He nodded. ‘Yeah full-blooded.’ He got it. He got her. He wanted her.
‘So you think about sex a lot?’
He had thrown his head back and laughed. ‘Yes. But it’s probably the same thing with every man. We think of sex a lot.’
‘How much?’
He had put his face close to her ear so she could hear him over the din, ‘All the time.’
‘Really?’ Lightly she fingered a loose strand of hair across her face, her eyes wide with feigned innocence.
He wrapped his arms around her waist and moved her closer to him. She could feel him getting hard underneath his clothes. He whispered in her ear, ‘Really.’ He slowly moved away but held her close. She swivelled around and started to da
nce. Slowly. Exotically. Swaying her hips slowly against his groin. Moving to the beat. Her eyes closed. Her hands moving slowly down her body. Her straight, dark hair caressing his face. The smell of her strong Lancome perfume soaking into his skin. The music pumping in the club. Warm sweat trickled down her back. His pulse raced. She wriggled her breasts inches away from him. Teasing. Her eyes open. Smiling. Bright, beautiful. Touching her trembling lips with one finger.
‘God, Naina,’ he whispered. She looked ethereal, unreal in the dim light. A lustful goddess.
She said nothing. Languorously placing her arms across his shoulders. Leaning in her breath was warm and moist against his face. She arched away. Taunting him. He couldn’t take it anymore. Heat emanated from his body. He swallowed hard, his body screaming to give in. He was burning inside. He never liked any public displays of affection. No, he was a Bengali and Bengalis didn’t do these things. And yet this woman! This woman made him feel these things. Things he couldn’t wait to do. He leaned over and held her face before he claimed her lips, crushing her into his body, feeling every pore satiated with her in his arms, giving himself freely to passion. Right there in the middle of a club, with people watching, without caring about what anyone thought. For the first time. His first public display of affection. The kiss seared his mind. It was in that moment he knew he couldn’t live without her. She had felt it long before that.
Naina woke herself up from her daydream. She had changed. She wasn’t that person anymore. He couldn’t expect her to be that same woman. She was a mother now. She had responsibilities. She was working hard to be stable, normal, strong. She was no longer that reckless young woman he met almost a decade ago. He couldn’t begrudge her that, could he? People grow up. They change. They need to!
‘You can’t move away from me because I’ve changed,’ she whispered to the man in the photograph. ‘You’ve changed too.’
She needed to stop worrying about her husband. Naina always knew that he had dreamt of becoming a partner with Mukherjee. It would take many hours and a long struggle.
Forbidden Desires Page 2
