Forbidden Desires

by Banerjee, Madhuri

  ‘Ace!’ someone shouted as Varun put down his first card, slowly revealing his hand one card at a time. There was joy all around. Obviously many people were hoping Varun would win. It was his house. And he was also the underdog.

  Ayesha looked around and saw the entire party gather around the table. It was her annual Diwali party and she had thrown a grand affair inviting all the IAS officers Varun and she knew, and some friends from the corporate circle. She had arranged seating in small circles all around her expansive living room so many people could move around and sit wherever they chose. Some groups wanted high stakes and sat around on a white gadda while some wanted lower stakes and sat on red round tables or on the floor seating arrangements strewn all around. There were diya stands with small burning lights in every corner. Large bunches of sweet-smelling flowers sat in bright coloured vases at different places across the room. The low lamps and the bright rugs gave the place a warm and cozy atmosphere. A bartender had set up a drinks counter at the far end of the patio that overlooked their large lawn which was covered with hanging twinkling lights and large lamps from FabIndia that swayed in the cool November breeze. Women were at their blingiest best. Rich hand woven, designer saris, Amrapalli jewellery, gold sandals, nail art on their hands, dark lipstick, perfectly blow dried hair and smoky eyes completed their looks. Diwali was a grand time in Delhi. It was a time for people to show off their houses, their marriages and their achievements and come together in a great camaraderie of friendship and fun.

  The alcohol flowed and the snacks were warm and delicious. Ayesha had made sure the party was a huge success and everyone spoke about it for months as they always looked forward to being invited next year. It wasn’t only for the great hospitality. It was also a way for corporate clients to speak to IAS officers about their new businesses since each knew one needed the other for starting something new and finding out the inside gossip of the workings of the government or corporate sector. So the guests ranged from government servants to lawyers, businessmen to industrialists and bankers to entrepreneurs. People always made new friends at Ayesha’s parties and she was happy to contribute to her husband being at the centre of this growing network of people.

  It would be the last party she was to throw in Delhi for a while. Varun’s posting in the capital was over and he needed to move back to his cadre, Lucknow. Every IAS officer had to spend a few years in the home cadre that was allotted to him after he came out of the Academy and then he would be posted to Delhi to be in the thick of things before his time was up. Then he would return to his state and that was mandatory. They were going to be shifting in January or February. Ayesha wasn’t looking forward to it at all.

  Despite the dipping temperatures at eleven in the night, the table was hot with the two men slowly revealing their cards while everyone stopped playing, drinking or wondering if the kids had gone to sleep with the maids in the rooms inside. Ayesha had made every arrangement for everyone so they would think she was the perfect hostess and Varun and her marriage was perfect.

  The truth was far from it.

  The Truth was, as an IAS officer’s wife, one had to keep up with the pretences. The marriage, the job, the life, the kids, were supposed to be picture-perfect for the husband to succeed at work.

  ‘On the count of three,’ Varun said as he and Sanjay put their final card on the table. This was it. Ayesha was nervous.

  ‘Colour. Both have colour but Sanjay has King high. Varun loses!’

  ‘Awwwww!’ a chorus of voices let out a sigh at Varun’s loss. A wave of emotions swept over Ayesha. She let go of Tarini’s hand and said, ‘It’s alright. It’s just a game. Let me get dinner started.’ Then she smiled and tossed her long, warm chestnut hair back, gathered her lovely red silk sari and walked to the kitchen where she started giving orders for dinner arrangements.

  While the entire party contemplated how unfair teen patti really was, Varun said loudly, ‘Let me get some more alcohol, guys. We’ll have one more game.’

  Ayesha took a moment and went into her bedroom. It was large with high ceilings and a king-size bed in the centre. On the opposite wall was a television with a rack at the bottom. On one side of the room was a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf where Ayesha kept all her books. On the other side was her dressing table and a door attached to the master bathroom. She noticed there was some paint chipping off from the walls and wondered if they would ever have money to buy anything new in their house. The dressing table, the bookshelf and the bed they had had for the last eleven years of their married life. They moved with them whenever Varun got transferred and she was now sick. Sick of the furniture, of the moving, and sick of her husband playing high stakes with their finances.

  Even though a housewife didn’t earn any money, her husband’s money was hers as well, wasn’t it? She kept house for him. Looked after his interests and raised a child whom he could be proud of. Should she have sacrificed all that for her own career and maybe had her own savings? She shook her head. It was too late to think about that. She had devoted the last eleven years of her life to this man. And now that she was in her mid-30s, she couldn’t think of what had gone by.

  She looked at the mirror adjacent to her bed and saw a reflection of a very beautiful woman. A woman with luscious cream-coloured skin perfect blow-dried hair that was pinned back with a clip with a few strands around her face, large almond eyes and a tiny waist that didn’t show she had a ten-year old son. She had small breasts that were just perfect for her petite and flower-like build. She wore a gorgeous dark red sari with a golden border that her mother had given her last year. She wore silver jewelry that she had bought from their trip to Jaipur a few years ago. The last of their trips. Ayesha was the epitome of a gentle yet strong housewife anyone would be proud to have.

  Just then, Varun walked into the room and went to his cabinet where he stashed the extra whiskey that he used on special occasions to impress people. He saw Ayesha standing in front of the mirror calmly reapplying her lipstick without as much as a hint of annoyance.

  ‘You know I had no option Ayesha, don’t you?’

  Ayesha stayed quiet. They had this argument every Diwali. Every time Varun said he wanted a party to show all his friends how accomplished he was with his big house and his beautiful wife and every time he promised he wouldn’t gamble with his friends but simply play the bartender and conversationalist. And almost every year he lost some money. He was terrible at keeping his promises and even more pathetic at playing high-stake cards. But Ayesha had indulged him. Somehow, she felt guilty that she would be letting her father down if she ever spoke back to her husband. And so she stayed silent. Year after year. Sacrificing her needs for his. That’s what a loving wife does.

  ‘Don’t be upset. I gamble only during Diwali. You know that,’ Varun said. And that’s when Ayesha stiffened as though he had struck her.

  ‘Yes but it’s enough to set us back for an entire year. What happens to our vacation now? We were planning to take Adi to Switzerland to ski.’

  ‘We can still go, I suppose. We’ll figure something out, right? You always do.’

  Ayesha cleared her throat and spoke, ‘It’ll be too tight.’

  Varun held the two bottles of whiskey in his hand and said, ‘Why do you make a big deal out of everything? It’s just one vacation. We can go somewhere cheaper in India. Like Manali, for a few days. There’s skiing there, right? Can I not have one fun evening?’

  He stormed off and left Ayesha almost in tears. She wasn’t making a big deal. She never did. But she had been looking forward to this vacation for a long time. Varun hadn’t taken her anywhere. And with her birthday coming up as well, he had said it would be a combined birthday and Christmas present since he hadn’t given her any gifts for the last few years. He hadn’t even bought her flowers. She was so used to him forgetting every year that it had been pleasantly surprising when he had mentioned he was getting a good deal to go skiing in the Swiss Alps and maybe they could go before the family
headed back to Lucknow for five years.

  Adi had turned ten a few months back and had told everyone in school about this vacation. Suddenly his confidence had also gone up and his social circle had expanded. Like it or not, these days the travel and power a family had mattered to children as well. Not that it bothered Ayesha because she was raising him to be a fine child. Except with everything he did right, there was never any reward until now. And even that would be taken away from him. What would his peers think of Adi?

  Last year when Varun had lost fifty grand at the Diwali party he had told her, ‘I need to play these stakes, Ayesha. It’s more about the way people perceive me. You know a man’s prestige and dignity lie in how his peers look at him. If they see me as poor they won’t respect me.’

  ‘Being in the IAS is respectful enough,’ Ayesha had muttered under her breath. Varun heard only what he needed to and he continued to do exactly as he pleased every year.

  As soon as Ayesha went out again to the kitchen she saw that her staff of maids, cooks and cleaners had heated up the dinner and were ready to serve it. She was thankful that even if they didn’t have money, they always had a battalion of people who helped in the house. That was the greatest benefit of being in the IAS.

  Tarini came into the kitchen, took Ayesha aside and spoke with a soft whisper, ‘Ayesha, Sanjay is not going to take the money from Varun.’

  Ayesha shook her head proudly, ‘No, a game is a game. He won fair and square.’

  Tarini leaned against the large fridge as Ayesha told the kitchen staff, ‘Bring everything out please.’ She walked outside to the dining area where she had arranged a large flat platter with floating candles and small white jasmine flowers with food all around. Tarini followed her and spoke softly, ‘Listen to me, Ayesha. These guys are mad. They play this game but we don’t need to comply with all the rules.’

  Ayesha suddenly felt like she didn’t need the sympathy. She was a proud, independent woman who had managed her family and her life perfectly without any support for the last ten years. Her parents lived in Allahabad and only came for a few days at a stretch to meet their grandchild. They offered to give money to Varun once but he felt slighted and they left the same day. She had never taken anything from them for the house. Her mother occasionally gave her only daughter saris and jewellery to keep her happy.

  She held Tarini by her hand and said, ‘I’m sure Varun will win it back next year. Now don’t worry about it. You know what would really piss me off? If all this food doesn’t finish. I have no place in the fridge to put it!’ She laughed and Tarini smiled as well as she took a plate.

  ‘It all looks delicious. But Ayu, please don’t let this game affect our friendship,’ Tarini suggested hesitantly.

  ‘Does it ever? You buy me lunch next week okay? At Habitat? That will be your way of making it up to me,’ Ayesha said. She would never let her husband’s stupidity get in the way of her childhood friendship. It wasn’t Tarini’s fault that she was rich even though it pinched Ayesha sometimes to see her friend shop for whatever she wanted whenever she felt like and go on vacations twice a year.

  Ayesha called everyone for dinner and laughed and joked with all her guests till they had finished dinner. With food ranging from Mughlai cuisine to Italian pasta, Ayesha had put out a lavish spread. She remembered once when she had just served a few items and Varun had scolded her for not managing the house correctly. She never made the same mistake again. If they had to spend their money on one party a year, it would be a fabulous one. She served everyone a choice of hot gulab jamuns, warm chocolate brownies and a crème brulee for dessert. All made at home by her. She had slaved in the kitchen for the past few days and stored everything for tonight. And after a few guests had left, she served the remaining people hot chamomile tea and freshly brewed coffee at two in the morning with coconut macaroons she had had flown down from Hyderabad.

  Throughout the party, not once did she show an iota of her true feelings. Ayesha was tired of this facade. Somewhere she had lost her willingness, her dignity and her ego to a marriage she hardly cared about anymore. She was forever devoted to a man who had a gambling problem and who had stopped loving her a long time ago.

  After all the guests had left and she cleared up everything since the servants had also turned in for the night, she took a long bath and applied lotion on her arms and legs. She curled up into the bed next to her husband, who as far as she could tell from his snoring was already in a deep slumber. She looked up at the ceiling and said a little prayer to give herself more strength to be a better housewife. Sometimes it’s hard to love your husband in spite of all his vices. Sometimes it’s hard to be happy with the life you’ve chosen. Sometimes it’s impossible to think of an alternative. And that’s when you need a little prayer to help you understand that things are going to be okay. She could suddenly feel a ripple go through her body telling her that maybe this was the last time she would ever do anything for someone else. Soon she would be doing things just for herself.

  8

  Delhi is always a mess the day after Diwali. A thick fog envelops the city, smog that lays low as people sleep in till mid-morning. The smell of burnt firecrackers lingers heavily in the air. The streets are littered with debris from crackers and unexploded Diwali bombs. Scared dogs that had hid the previous night start to crawl out from under the cars to find food. And the regular rumble of vegetable vendors with their thelas and broomstick sellers on their bicycles, snake their way through the small lanes as they call out for customers.

  Honestly, Ayesha hated Diwali. Adi insisted on buying firecrackers every year and starting three days before Diwali would start bursting them as soon as he came home. His father indulged him, of course, buying thousands of rupees worth of crackers. On Diwali night Adi and his father would be bursting bombs, anars and chakras outside their house while Ayesha would sit and hope the agony of the day and the festival would end soon. Her headaches on these nights were always bad. ‘Wasn’t Diwali about celebrating lights, being with friends and family and eating good food?’ Ayesha thought. It’s not supposed to be about gambling, and bursting crackers or getting stuck in traffic when you go to the market. Why was Delhi all about the show? Two weeks before Diwali, all the markets would be packed. Women would be buying decorations from Dilli Haat till Karol Bagh, spending all their time and money on gifts for people who hardly cared about them and buying clothes and jewellery for their families so they could look and feel good. Diwali was a big farce, Ayesha thought. It was nothing more than a huge marketing scheme for people to spend their hard-earned money on things they would never use again.

  She herself, only because of the pressures of everyone around her, had gone to G. K. M Block market a week before Diwali. She was incredulous at the amount of money people were spending: table runners were selling at five thousand rupees and people were actually buying them! ‘Madam, yeh exclusive piece hai. Kisi ko dikhaya nahin hai abhi tak. Jaldi le lijeye varna chala jayega!’ She was sure these shops made lakhs of rupees in one day, experts as they were in the art of marketing that no MBA institute could possibly match. And now after two weeks of the dust and smoke settling, Ayesha was still cleaning up and putting away the Diwali presents an IAS officer received.

  ‘I’m going for golf,’ Varun said, disturbing her thoughts. He was wearing his shoes as he spoke. It was Sunday and Ayesha was exhausted from all the parties they had attended the days before leading up to her very own Diwali bash. She could tell she was suffering from a kaju katri hangover. From farmhouses to outdoor gardens, Delhi had really outdone itself this Diwali.

  ‘Are you going all the way to Noida?’ Ayesha asked as she walked to Varun. The best part about being an IAS officer was the houses and apartments they were allotted. As you moved higher in rank, the number of rooms in your house rose as well. From DII to CI, Ayesha had shifted from colony to colony and trudged her old furniture to new houses and had changed the upholestery to give it a new look without wasting too much money.


  ‘Yes. Why?’

  ‘I need to send the driver to give this gift to Mrs Verma in Sector 36.’

  Varun shook his head. ‘I don’t know why you keep giving these gifts.’

  ‘Arrey, she gave me a lovely tray and tea set for Diwali. If I don’t give something back, I’ll look so greedy.’

  ‘You need to stop this lena dena stuff. It never ends. You women spend more money in giving to each other than actually making any money.’

  Ayesha bit her lip and wanted to say it was all much cheaper than what he had spent gambling but quietly handed over a gift-wrapped package. ‘The address is on this. Please send Gokulji as soon as you reach Noida Golf Course.’ Varun’s weekly ritual was to go to the golf course to meet his colleagues and friends to tee off and after a round of walking and playing to have a few beers and a heavy lunch and head back home in the evening. A few times Ayesha had gone and chatted with the wives who accompanied their husbands but soon she got bored of the conversations with the women who only spoke about who was transferred where and who travelled where during their holidays or as usual, their children. The food was the same in all the clubs, whether it was the Gymkhana or golf course—chicken tikkas, some cold snacks, an oily buffet and two varieties of desserts. She hated it. Varun loved it.

  Once Varun left, Ayesha went back to her room to survey the mess. She had put off the inevitable for too long. She needed to pack up the house. All their summer clothes were lying in the cupboards. Adi’s books and toys were scattered in his room. The carpets needed to be cleaned and put away.