Keeping the Promises

by Gajjar, Dhruv

  SRISHTI PUBLISHERS & DISTRIBUTORS

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  First published by

  Srishti Publishers & Distributors in 2015

  Copyright © Dhruv Gajjar, 2015

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, places, organisations and events described in this book are either a work of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to people, living or dead, places, events or organisations is purely coincidental.

  The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the Publishers.

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Keeping the Promises

  Epilogue

  Preview: Everything We Had

  Prologue

  What comes to your mind first and foremost when you think of the greatest thing you’ve done for someone you love? There are so many books written on love, numerous romantic movies made on it. But can love stories ever be squishy and tragic at the same time? Well, yes. At least for us it was. Dhruv – once a naive schoolboy, who grew up with me – has lived every shade of love, pain, sorrow and everything in between at the age when boys almost puke at the idea of committing to someone for the rest of their lives. I wasn’t around when he was fighting his life’s worst phase, but I’m happy to be around now, helping him get at his best again.

  When he met me for the first time after years, he was not merely a boy who was my best friend or someone whom I could call my first love. He was a man who had lost his meaning and reason to live. He was not a person who’d spend hours in the gym pumping his muscles – though back in our school, he was impeccably handsome… having the physique of an athlete, with facial curves capable of charming and intimidating anyone of the opposite sex. I have no hesitation in admitting that I was one of them. I loved him then as much as I do now. Few – let’s say thirty odd extra pounds of his weight can’t alter my feelings for him. He still beguiles me the way he used to back then. He hasn’t changed from his heart and for that I will always be grateful to him. When I first met him after all these years, his mind was empty – without any motivation, hope or goal. To sum it all, he was messed up. There was nothing in this world capable of keeping his interest, except a task – a task of writing and publishing his book. I wouldn’t be wrong if I’d say it was the only thing that was keeping him alive. It wasn’t easy for him to write about the person he loved, and will love for the rest of his life, whose name he could not mention. Writing about her meant envisaging the entire screenplay, to relive the moments which were blissful and afflictive at the same time. But he had me beside him – holding his hand whenever needed, wiping his tears whenever required, and living the moments with him while hearing his narration.

  This is the story of Dhruv and M. This is the story of Ansh and Angie, and at the same time, this is my story as well.

  Ahmedabad

  I am sitting at the Cafe Piano, TGB, the same restaurant where they used to meet. His MacBook pro and diary are placed on the table. We are not dating, not yet. I don’t think we can head towards a relationship just like that and pretend that nothing happened – especially after all that he went through. We can sense the growing affection towards each other, but we can’t go further with that, at least not now – not until he comes out of his despondent state of mind.

  “So, finally you are starting it!” I say with a gentle smile in order to boost his confidence.

  “Yes, but I don’t know where I should start from,” he answers, glancing at me with his confused, distressed face, whereas I’m sitting firm, smiling at him, and trying my best to help him fulfil his yearnings.

  “Start it from the day you got to know about it Dhruv!” I suggest.

  “Okay, let’s start,” he says and open his Mac; tears start rolling down from his eyes the moment he envisages the scene.

  1 February

  I crumbled on the floor as I saw her, an instant fling with the floor apparently pained me, but it was nothing compared to the pain looking at her caused inside. This was even worse than I imagined. She was lying on her bed, her body except her face was covered inside the white blanket. Her face was almost dry and pale, her glowing and well-nourished cheeks had wrinkled and dried too. Chemo sessions, that must be chemo sessions that had taken away most of her silky brown hair. She was still asleep.

  So that’s what she was hiding from the past seven months.

  That’s why she had asked for a break-up. She did not cheat on me. She was ill, and she didn’t want me to know. But why? Was I not worthy enough to know about it? Why did she keep it away from me? I could’ve helped her. We could have given her the best treatment in the world. After all, I belong to a family of doctors. I heard the sound of someone opening the door; glancing up, I saw her father standing. He gave his hand to me because I needed some support to stand up.

  “What is it, sir?” I asked with teary eyes.

  “Neurofibrosarcoma.”

  “What? But she is too young for that! No one gets it at the age of twenty!” I was digging my brain to pull out the little information I had about the disease.

  “That’s where she was mistaken – by herself and by the local physicians,” said Ansh who came from behind along with M’s mother.

  “You knew about this?” I snapped at him, with anger, of course.

  “From the very beginning… In fact, everyone knew about it except you. Sorry bro, but I gave her my word like everyone else,” he said and hugged me.

  “Tell me that she is going to be fine, Ansh!” I didn’t want his consolations; I wanted some answers, some assurance.

  “I wish I could Gajju, but the fact is that she doesn’t have much time left. She reached the final stage four months ago,” he said, staring at his toes.

  “What? That’s impossible! No one can die in just seven months in any cancer! I’m calling my brother. We’ll give her the best treatment in this world. She cannot die. She is going to live, she will have to!” I squeaked in pain. No one reacted; my outrage was righteous and expected.

  “Not just seven months Gajju! She had it for one year before she was diagnosed. Besides, she has given up. She could have undergone surgical treatment or the radiation therapy, but refused to every alternative,” he said with teary eyes.

  “What? But why?” Tears had no destination and kept falling down, from not just mine but everyone’s eyes…aimlessly, like a monsoon shower or dew drops of a frosty December morning.

  “Neurofibrosarcoma has been a curse to our family. My father died with the same disease, even after having two limb surgeries. Before him, his two brothers and my grandfather too faced the same fate. At that time, we didn’t even know that it was something called neurofibrosarcoma. And they died in their fifties. I thought that the affliction of the disease was over when I didn’t have it, but…” M’s father choked with his words. Though I knew little about Neurofibrosarcoma, I knew it could either be due to an unidentified cause or genetic. He took a gulp before finding his voice back. “She said she wanted to end the death streak here. We tried to force her a lot, but she was firm in her decision. She did not want to take this disease further. She is the youngest victim of this disease in our family. She saw it as an opportunity to end that torment here. She believes that
she has sacrificed her life in this, but has saved many.” I looked at Ansh with an overwhelming realm of pain in my eyes.

  “Why Ansh? For god’s sake, why M?” He embraced me as he heard this.

  “I wish I had an answer to this, my friend.”

  There was a dark silence. I did not have anything more to question, they did not have anything to answer. Just then, she moved her head a little. Everyone else, knowing that it was my time to be with her, left the room. I quietly sat beside her, ran my hand on her almost bare forehead. She was true to her words about recognizing my touch even in her deepest sleep. She did, slowly. When she opened her eyes, I saw that the twinkles were still there; nothing, no cancer or chemo sessions could take that away.

  “Hey beautiful!” I smiled with wet eyes. She broke into tears as she saw me. Maybe she’d noticed that her handsome hunk had turned into a fat pig.

  “What have I made you, Mithu!” Hearing that word always made me smile and that day was no exception.

  “Nothing baby, just gained some weight. As you lost some hair,” I said and caressed her greyish hair.

  “I was wrong. I thought you would move on. Dad told me I was wrong…I should’ve listened.”

  “Hey M, shhh!” I put my right index finger on her still pink panoptic lips. “Let’s not talk about that! See, I’m with you now. That’s the only thing which matters,” I rubbed my hands on her forehead, wiped her tears which were back in no time. I wiped them again and they came back, again. Finally, I was the one to give up the effort and lost the battle with her tears.

  “M? Is there any hope where we can start your therapy again and try to save you?” Her face frowned as she heard my words; she took a deep audible gasp and I felt every bit of her inhalation and exhalation.

  “I’ve my reasons for doing this, Mithu! Maybe someday you’ll understand, maybe not, but from here, it’s irrevocable. I’m dying and no one can change it.”

  “I can! We can start your therapies again, and from now, I’ll be here with you all the time, and I’ll not let you die, understand?” I groaned, while she kept weeping.

  “Understand, my love?” I raised my voice, as if I was challenging her death, which was nearby and could be arriving anytime soon. I realized I had been a little loud. Even her father had heard it, and swung the door open to come inside. I stood up.

  “Sir, I would like to seek your permission,” I softly demanded. Before I could even explain what it was, he answered me, as if he knew it was coming.

  “You can stay here as long as you want son. You deserve the remaining time that is left with her and I would do every possible thing I can to help you in that.”

  I was dumbfounded by his guess. After gathering the courage to speak something, I uttered, “Thank you, sir. M, I’m going to bring my clothes and some other stuff. Wait for me, okay?” She nodded and I left the room.

  Back in my house, I was packing my clothes and other necessary stuff when my father and brother came into my room.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Dad scoffed.

  I rushed towards them and hugged them both.

  “Dad, Bhai! I know I’ve always been a troubled child for you two. I screwed up my life, jeopardized my career, but believe me, I need to go now. I can’t tell you where I’m going, but I need you two to trust me on this. I know you have so many reasons not to trust me, but still, if you ever thought that I was good, please let me go. I promise I’ll come back being better and stronger than ever,” I said. I wasn’t usually a crybaby. They had hardly seen me crying after puberty. They didn’t say anything, nor did they oppose. I considered it an affirmation and took my bag and started to walk.

  “Dhruv!” I heard my brother’s voice from behind.

  “Yes, Bhai?”

  “Remember, if you need anything, and I mean anything, we are just one call away and I dare you to come back with my brother who used to be a better person.” I nodded, smiled and walked out.

  I reached her apartment. Her father was waiting for me – to lead me to his parking lot where I could park my car. I followed as he said and parked the car, took my bag from the side-seat and stepped out.

  “Thank you, sir. I really appreciate what you are doing. I know allowing her daughter’s boyfriend…”

  I was still speaking when he interrupted me, “Son, she is my only daughter. Right now, we cannot afford the luxury of those negative thoughts; we all have limited time with her, so together, let’s try to make it cheerful,” he said and put his hand on my shoulder.

  “We will, sir!” I firmly said.

  “And I have a request! Call me dad from now on if you don’t mind. We do not have the time to get you married with her but at least we can enjoy a father-son equation till you are here.” He said with a smirk. I realized we shared the same pain, the same unbearable grief, the same heart-wrenching anguish. She didn’t choose death over me; she chose death over us.

  “We will dad!” I gently said and we both went inside.

  As soon as I reached her room, I placed my stuff in her wardrobe, which her mom cleaned and emptied for me. I took out some orchids – her favourite flower – which I had bought specially for her.

  “You are not moving in here permanently, are you?” She chuckled as she watched me from her bed.

  “May be, who knows?” I replied with a wink.

  “But what would I get in return to let you stay here?” She moved her eyes, as provocatively as she used to while teasing me.

  “I can be your full time caretaker ma’am!” I meekly answered.

  “Good! But, not enough! I want you to wake me up with these flowers.”

  “Checked!”

  “Every morning, I need these orchids. Don’t you dare wake me if you do not have them.”

  “As you wish, my blue eyed girl!”

  “After that, your special omelettes! You’ll be badly punished if I don’t find it tasty, even once.”

  “Checked!”

  “You will have to write a story for me, every afternoon when I go to sleep; do not waste your time by just looking at me. Make the best use of yourself, write a story for me and wait till we finish our dinner, which obviously will be cooked by you and only after that, you are allowed to narrate your story to me. If I find it boring, you shall be punished.”

  “That was unpredictable, but checked!”

  “I’ll take a promise from you, every night before we go to sleep, and you will keep it till your last breath, clear?”

  “As crystal ma’am, checked!” I bowed on my knees.

  “It’s almost afternoon now, I’m going to sleep. There is a diary inside and an ink pen. You’ll be pleasured to write with it. Now come here and do something useful.”

  She fell asleep. I didn’t realize how the afternoon turned itself into an evening. I kept writing, not just any other story, but the story of our life. Words kept coming till I was sure that I had enough for the day. By the time it was already five, and she was still sleeping – quietly, in the world of her dreams. I put down the diary and held her hand. A girl, who meant my life, was on the verge of dying. She could have stayed, at least for a few more years, if she had her therapies or a surgical amputation of the infected limb, which I was yet to see. I was just observing her face, her only visible part. I was lost in her memories when her mom came inside.

  “What will you have for dinner, son?”

  “Auntie, you’re going to make it now? Wait, I have been ordered to help you.”

  “It’s fine son! Just tell me, what will you.”

  “You are not getting my point auntie. Your daughter will not see my face until I cook for her.” I chortled; she guffawed, as she understood whose order I was obeying.

  “As you wish son, let’s go.”

  And I followed her to the kitchen. Dad was already waiting for us there.

  “Three cooks for one person? My princess is apparently having a royal treatment,” Dad chuckled.

  “Yes, Dad! But let me take
the charge now, what does she eat for dinner?” Seeing me call him dad dumbfounded her mother, but in a minute, she was delighted.

  “Okay then, I’m sitting outside as it’s the news time.” He said and walked out. I asked her mother what usually she had for her dinner. She said that usually at nights, doctors had suggested only soup for her. They said it mattered a little now, but light food like soup could prevent her chocking due to foreign bodies. Her mother broke into tears. I found that not only dad and I, M had chosen death over her mother too.

  I decided to make roasted garlic and tomato soup. As I always had a soft corner for cooking, it was going to be an honour as well as pleasure to cook for my girl. We checked the ingredients – tomatoes, garlic, onion which had to be chopped, bay leaf, salt, basil leaves, fresh thyme, tomato puree, crushed black peppercorns, white bread slices and basil oil. Everything was set. I then cut the tomatoes into big pieces while her mother chopped the onions in the chopper, then I cut a thin slice from the bottom of the garlic bulb, and placed it in a bowl to roast it in an oven until it turned brown.

  “It smells good, now what?” Her mother asked as she pulled out the bowl.

  “We need to heat two spoons of olive oil auntie!” I softly answered.

  “Dhruv, it’s quite unfair that you call my husband dad and me auntie?” She quipped with a smile. I realized we all had turned into eccedentesiasts – people who hide their pain behind their smiles.

  “We need to heat olive oil, Mom!” I grinned, and she responded with a smile too. I thanked my God for blessing me with new parents.

  She then heated the two-teaspoon olive oil in a non-stick pan. After it was heated enough, I added chopped onion, tomatoes and bay leaf in it. Then I sprinkled salt in it and mixed it until the mixture was ready for some garlic cloves in it. Then I added thyme and one cup of water to cook. It was now the time to add tomato puree and mix it, but not before adding basil leaves and crushed peppercorns in it. It was now tomato’s turn to become soft and it took around ten minutes of covered cooking to do it. I then gently removed the strain and reserved the stock, not before removing the thyme and the garlic cloves from the solids. I let it cool and then ground it to a puree with a little water. I also added the bread pieces and ground once more. I poured the strained stock and the puree into the pan and brought it to a boil but not before adjusting salt, and the soup was ready. I poured it into a soup bowl and made it ready to be served.