She asked me if she had my support. I knew she wanted more than that, she wanted a commitment.
Just then my boss called me from his cabin urgently and I had to hang up. I knew not giving her the answer she wanted to hear would cost me bad. I walked to my boss’s room.
“Pack your bags, you have to goto US this Monday. In four days. I hope all your visa etc work is done.”
“But sir, that was not for another 2 months. I had to go in February. Plus, who works in the US in December.”
“That is why we are sending you there now. Our American staff will be on leave and you will have to fill in. I hope everything is in order. Visa and all.”
“Yes sir.”
“Great, contact Saumya, she will get your tickets done.” “Yes sir.”
“And son, cheer up please. Whenever I have told anyone that they are going to US, it is usually accompanied by a big thank you, a hug, maybe even chocolates for my kids, a tie for me and a perfume for my wife. You always wanted to goto US. Live your dream.”
I smiled. He was a nice guy and he really liked me for the work I had put in for the company. “I will. Thank you, sir.”
I would be in the US for six months atleast and Pooja was getting married in around a month and a half now. Things had to be decided in the next 4 days. I went to Saumya to get my tickets done. She booked me on a Saturday instead of a Sunday. 3 days now.
USA had always been my dream destination. In the last couple of years I had resigned from my company a couple of times but both times I was told that I would be sent to the US soon and that very hope made me carry on. I think it is a very natural thing for a person who has come out of a small town in India. First to come to the big city, and then to goto the mightiest country of them all- USA. It was only a couple of months back that my boss had told me that it had finally happened. That finally I was going to goto the United States. In fact, it was the day before I met Pooja for coffee. The day everything had changed.
I had thought that when the day to finally goto US would come I would be thrilled to the bone. I would jump, I would laugh, I would not know how to emote. And the day was finally here. I was not jumping, I was not laughing, but one thing was the way I expected it to be- I did not know how to emote. I called Pooja after getting the tickets done.
“I have to go.”
“Where? To your hometown to get your parents so that things can be decided and finalised?” “No. I have to go far. Remember I told you my company was sending me to the States.”
“Yes. But that was like after 4 months, wasn’t it?”
“The plan has changed. I have to leave in another 3 days. I have a ticket booked on the Saturday flight.”
There was a long silence. Even though we were on other sides of the phone, the awkwardness and uneasiness was palpable. “We need to talk. Meet me at the cafe in an hour.”
“But I have a million things to take care of here at office. I am going away for 6 months for heaven’s sake. There are office formalities, visa formalities, ticket formalities ...”
“Meet me at the cafe in an hour.”
“Okay” After she hung up, I shouted on the phone “Bye!”
I told my boss that I had some US visa related issue and excused myself from the office. I reached the cafe ten minutes early again and ordered the sixty bucks coffee again. The coffee made me smile. I was going to the land where this concept of a cafe had originated with Starbucks. Very soon, I would be having coffee in the country where such cafes had a future, unlike India where they would shut shop soon. Very soon I would be having coffee at Starbucks.
It was the first time the feeling of going to US had sunk in. Just then, Pooja entered. She always looked beautiful in this cafe and always made me change my mind. I was willing to let go of US for her. It was decided. I would tell my boss that I cannot go due to personal reasons. No one questions you when you say ‘personal reasons’. Surprisingly, Pooja was not looking as angry as I had expected her to be. She ordered her usual 100 bucks coffee and sat down.
“I have decided what we have to do. And you going to US on Saturday only helps things.”
So it was decided, I was not using the ‘personal reasons’ excuse. I was actually going to US.
“I have known Rannvijay for a very long time. I cannot break his heart.”
She said this and looked at me. I did not know how to react. I took a sip of my coffee and tried to cover my face with the mug. Was she going to leave him, or was she going to leave me?
“So, what I will do is that I will break up with him, but will fake a reason.” I did not understand how that would not break his heart. “I will not say that I am breaking up with him because I have found you. I will make some ‘I am not ready for marriage’ type of excuse. So in this way, his ego will not get hurt that he was dumped because of some other guy. And plus, you will be in US, so even if he tries to find out, he will never know that you are the reason.”
She had a smile on her face after telling me about her little devious scheme. It seemed like a plan to me because I was not at all involved in the ugly part. I did not have to get married to her then and there. She wanted to wait for sometime so that Rannvijay’s ego was not hurt. It really did work well for me. I did not need to involve my parents, did not need to get involved with her or Rannvijay’s parents. I could just be a silent spectator.
“And yes, today is the day I am telling Rannvijay that I am breaking up with him. And then, I have a very special treat lined up for you.”
She said this, smiled, and left. I smiled. I had a ‘very special treat’ waiting for me, I was going to the US and I was headed away from all this mess. Life was good. Life was brilliant.
The treat did not happen by the way. After she told Rannvijay, things got pretty ugly between them and then the families. Pooja’s parents did not know who to support. It was her fault after all and they were completely unaware of the real reason. Some unpleasant things were said between both the families and all in all, it was not something pretty.
My parents, by the way, had come to see me off. My bags were packed, my mother helped me a lot in doing that, my documents were in order in a pouch clinging to my waistline, I put a jacket around my shoulders, and I was ready to go. My parents dropped me off at the airport and when I was leaving, I could see tears in their eyes. I remembered the day I had left for hostel the first time. There were lots of tears then but as time went by, they gradually understood. Even though I had lived away for a good eight years now, they felt that I was atleast still in the country. Now, I was going far away, into a land they had only heard of. The whole thing got to me and a tear trickled down my cheek as well. Hari was also there to see me off. This had certainly been made into a big deal. I gave him a big hug and asked him to be there in case my parents needed anything. He asked me not to worry. I knew I could trust him on that. We gave our hugs and said our goodbyes and I entered the International airport in Delhi ready for my first international flight, to the United States of America.
It had now really sunk in.
I took a trolley for my luggage and I was adjusting the laptop when I saw Pooja running frantically around the airport. I called out for her. “Pooja, here.”
Seeing her did make me feel nice. I did not want to leave without seeing her. She saw me and ran towards me. We hugged. “How did they let you in this far? This is a high security area.”
“How on earth is that important? Don’t ask stupid questions. I know people at the airport. Do you know what all is happening at home?”
“I can only imagine it is not pretty.”
“Not pretty, it is like a war between the two families.”
Then she started crying a little. Then the cry changed to a smile and then laughter.
“What happened?”
“It’s just that I have cried so much over the last three days, that now when I am with you, I just want to laugh.”
I took her in my arms. “Don’t you worry. I will be there for
you.” She hugged me even tighter. Very soon it was time for her, and more importantly me, to go. I had a flight to catch. We said our goodbyes and again there were some tears. This time, only from her side.
As I was passing through the security check, I realised what I had just done. I had just committed to her.
I was based in New Jersey in USA, across the Hudson river from New York, just like infinite other Indians. It had now been 2 months and I was kind of over the initial hoopla of the huge buildings, and the doughnut and coffee breakfast in the subway, and the fast moving multicoloured people on the street who always seemed to be in a hurry to get somewhere, and the tourists at Times Square, and the strip clubs, and the Broadway, and the big fancy cars and the short dresses even in winters.
I had kind of gotten used to it all by now, plus I lived in a place where there were more Indians than in India. While earlier, I would look back at a pretty girl in tight clothes, I would now not even pass a second glance. It had become as common as a woman wearing a salwaar kameez in India.
Office in US was also the usual. The usual American style and not Indian. More than half the staff was Indian and more than 75% of the work got done in India. There was the usual bickering about bosses, promotions, salary increments etc which we had in India but the duration of the breaks used to be much smaller. People always lived in the fear of being fired and that meant that when they were at work, they would be working, or atleast pretending to. But they were sticklers of time. 9 to 5 meant 9 to 5. They did not enter a minute early and did not leave a minute late. No matter if there was a deadline which was not being met, they all left sharp at 5 unlike us in India who were always willing to do that little extra. But this on time thing made me real bored and lonely.
I had grown up on the small streets of a little town in India and had spent my youth in Delhi and had spent my office time there too. We would go for an hour cigarette break at 7, come back at 8, look at the computer and leave. There was a schedule to it. Here, people were too busy in their own lives to care. People in Delhi knew me and I knew them. It was somehow a little difficult to make friends in the US. I managed some acquaintances with who I could go out for a drink, but not friends with who I could talk nonsense afterwards. People were too busy with their own lives. And the weekends were the worst. I knew nobody in the city and almost every weekend ended up spending a fortune calling my parents, Hari or Pooja back home. I think I wanted to go back. I was not sure. The money here was great, the standard of living was better and I was being offered a one year extension by my company. Maybe I would get used to it. I hoped I would get used to it. This was after all USA, every young man’s dream destination.
Things with Pooja were getting steady. The initial hulla regarding Rannvijay had settled and when I told her that my company was open to give me an extension, and that if I wanted, I could very easily find another job and settle here, she kind of got excited. She also harboured the dream of living in the US and it seemed to be coming true through me.
It was during one of the weekends that a ghazal maestro from India was going to perform at one of the auditoriums. I loved his songs and bought the tickets to the concert the day they started selling. Plus, such things really helped kill time when you are feeling all sad and lonely.
The concert was on a Saturday night. I got ready, put on my jacket and reached the place and occupied a seat in the fourth row from the front ten minutes before the show. The hall was completely full. Apparently, I was not the only lonely person in the city. Five minutes later the curtains were raised and the choir was already seated. And then, the maestro himself made an entry. He was dressed in a simple kurta and had a very simple and satisfied happy look on his face, something which was missing in all the people who had come to watch him. In the center of the stage were cushions where he sat down in front of a harmonium and spoke into the mic.
“Namaskar.”
The whole place erupted with applause. It was as if he was a rockstar had broken his guitar. He smiled some more. His smile somehow made me feel at home.
“Thank you for all the love that you people have showered on me.....” Just then, I saw someone in the choir.
She was in a white dress. She was fair, had a dimpled chin which gave a something special to her smile, long eyelashes, curly at the end, like a princess would want them, kajal around her eyes, kajal to keep away the bad omen from her beautiful face, a small parrot nose, which twitched when she frowned, and black flowing hair, which I would later know, she thought were brown.
It was Shalini.
Just then the maestro started singing “Chandi jaisa rang hai tera, sone jaise baal.....” and all of a sudden, nothing else mattered. It all made sense.
The rest of the evening passed in a haze. I could not take my eyes away from her and was completely lost in the mesmerizing beauty of her face coupled with the soulful music running through my ears. Not once did she look at me, I don’t think she even noticed me sitting there. After all, there were more than 500 people in the auditorium and plus the last time we had met had been 7 years ago. I had put on 13 kgs since then.
The maestro kept on singing song after song and somehow I could relate all the beautiful lyrics to my life. And then the show ended and before I had a chance to do anything, the curtains went down on the choir and only the lead singer was on the stage to say the thank yous and bid goodbye. He got up from his cushioned seat and folded his hands in an Indian namaskar. Everyone in the crowd got up on their feet to recognise the amazing talent he was and just then, Shalini walked onto the stage with a cordless mic in her hand for the singer.
Before she handed the mic to the singer, she spoke: “Somebody has misplaced their car keys with a flute as a key ring. Please collect it from the reception before you leave.”
She had remembered the flute after all these years- my first gift for her. She had remembered me after all these years.
The last words were said by the singer and the entire audience left. I just kept sitting there, thinking about how much had changed since the last time I had met Shalini, about how awkward things would be when I saw her, talked to her, about what would I say to her which would make us feel that we were never apart.
Five minutes later, after everyone had left, I got up and went to the reception. She was already there, sitting on the table, in a changed dress. She was wearing a sleeve less top, blue jeans, minimal makeup and boots. You could think she was any other Indian girl living in New York.
But for me, she was different. She was Shalini.
I had rehearsed a million times in the last five minutes on how I would say the ‘hi’ but before I could say anything she spoke. “Fashionably late, aren’t we? Let’s go.”
And there went the awkwardness. She grabbed her overcoat on the way and I followed her out of the building into the snowy New York night.
“You never called.”
“What? You had explicitly asked me not to call you. In fact you had told me that you did not even have a phone at your place.” “Well, somebody had to try harder. Getting a girl’s phone number is never easy mister engineer. Or is it mister MBA now?” “No, still mister engineer. And did you actually want me to call? I mean, why did you not give me your phone number?” “Wait, when did I say that I wanted you to call? I just said that you never called.” She smiled. I smiled. We continued the walking around the square grids of Manhattan. She spoke.
“So how are you?”
“I was good sometime back. Now I am perfect.”
“Oh my God! You and your cheesy lines. I still remember ‘the only regret I have that it was not a full moon night when we first met’”
“See, you still remember it, it worked.”
“I remembered it because it was cheesy, not because it worked.” “By the way, today is a full moon night.”
“Where? I don’t see the moon.”
I pointed towards a glass window and she saw herself. She kicked me, pretty hard for a girl and we both laughed.
“Some people cannot get over being cheesy, but are too laid back to ask for a phone number.”
“You can’t blame me for that. I was 17. At 17 you don’t know girls have so many layers to them. You just believe what they say. You assume, that they will not seek attention.”
She gave me another smile.
“So you think I was seeking attention. And do you know any better now?”
“Moaning on a bus as if you were pregnant. Yes, you were seeking attention.”
“I actually was, wasn’t I?” And she skipped a few paces in front of me.
“I love this city. It has such a feel to it.”
“Yeah, not bad. I like snow.”
She bent down, made a couple of snowballs and threw them at me.
“One for saying you like New York just for the snow and the other for not following me to the station when I was leaving.” “But I did follow you till the station!”
“Oh yes, I forgot. But I clearly remember how you got down on your knees after the train past.”
She got down on her knees on the road in case I had forgotten what I had done.
“So you saw me? Why didn’t you wave back?”
“What was the point, you did not even have my phone number!” She said this and threw another snowball at me.
“You are very difficult to understand.”
“Stop trying.”
“Who said I was?”
She came closer to me, looked me in the eyes. Then she came closer and whispered in my ear.
“Your eyes.”
And then she skipped away onto the road. We were walking along the Hudson river and she saw a bench and sat there. I followed her. Her tone changed from the playful to a little more serious but I was not sure. We both sat on the bench, around two feet apart. The New York skyline covered in white snow behind us, the Hudson river in front and some 50 storey high buildings of New Jersey beyond, which somehow did not feel that big in front of the behemoth at Manhattan. There were some boats on the river and it was as picturesque a scene as it could have been in New York.
It Wasn't Love at First Shalini and I Page 8
