Arranged Love

by Mittal, Parul A

  It was evident from Deep’s tone that he meant business, but I couldn’t take any chances. I bit my lips nervously. I knew I had to tell him now.

  ‘I am sorry Deep, but I don’t think there is a future for us together,’ I said regretfully.

  He looked me in the eyes, wondering if I meant what he thought I meant. For a brief second, I saw disappointment in his eyes as he tried to absorb the gravity of my statement. Then it was gone.

  ‘Ah well, I see that you couldn’t handle my sex quotient,’ he joked, going back to his charming, smiling self.

  I could feel the hot tears welling up inside my eyes and a lump beginning to form in my throat. I excused myself, went to the bathroom, and cried—for a relationship I thought was love but turned out not to be and for a relationship I thought was nothing but was hurting like love.

  Last night after the split-up with Jay, I had looked at my bare face, without any make-up, in the mirror. It had been my moment of truth. Devastated at having discovered that Jay was not the everlasting love I sought, my heart craved for a keeper. It was clear that I didn’t love Jay, but who knew if Deep was my soulmate either. Deep could have been only a distraction I was looking out for in my unsuccessful relation with Jay.

  After three rejections in the last thirty-six hours— Suitor #5, Jay and Deep—I badly needed to nourish my shattered soul. I went back to my seat, sent Deep a mail that I was going out for some personal work, picked up my purse and walked out. I headed straight to MG Road for some quick retail and tattoo therapy.

  After two hours, when I returned to the cubicle, having substituted the pain from multiple rejections by that from tattoo needles, I found MD’s face exuding the unmistakable pregnancy glow. Was she already? Had Sanjeev fast-tracked the plan and skipped some minor formalities? I gave her a quizzical look as she crooned the song, ‘Tujh mein rab dikta hai, yaara main kya karoon’ to the customer acquisition bar graph on her monitor. Moments later, I heard Sanjeev’s fingers snapping to the same tune. I watched him keenly as he sauntered leisurely to his seat and there was a halo of happiness above his head too. I was aware that tattoos cause the release of endorphins in our system, which can induce feelings of euphoria, but I had no idea it could have delusionary effects like this. Sanjeev caught me staring blankly at him and smiled. He said he had something to tell me and asked me to sit down. I hadn’t even realized that I had been standing all this while. Feeling dizzy with vague doubts clouding my already overworked brain, I did as I was directed. ‘Here’s the recap of what happened this weekend in ghar ghar ki kahani,’ said Sanjeev.

  He then brought his seat closer to MD’s, took her hand gently in his, and said, ‘Suniye.’

  Madhuri turned around, brimming with a beatific, I-am-in-love smile, and replied, ‘Kahiye, kahiya na?’

  For a few minutes they kept looking into each other’s eyes like they were playing the who-will-blink-the-eyelids-first game.

  Sanjeev then started saying the famous dialogue from Silsila, ‘Main aur meri tanhai, … tum ye kahti, tum is baat pe naraaz hoteen…’

  MD looked coyly at him and said, ‘Haath chodo mera, ab itni bhi khoobsorat nahin hoon main.’

  Sanjeev then responded with, ‘Aapko kisme rab dikhta hain Madhuri ji?’

  MD promptly replied with her rehearsed dialogue, ‘Main apnee favourite hoon, Sharmaji.’

  Sanjeev then bent down on his knees and asked, ‘Mujhse shaadi karogi?’

  MD looked lovingly at the guy kneeling before her in a white t-shirt, cream pants and white shoes, his hair soaked in shuddh coconut oil, a heavy gold chain hanging around his neck, and a tilak prominent on his forehead. Sanjeev started singing,

  ‘Cutlet-ketchup, bread-butter jaisa apna pyaar

  Lena hoga janam hame kai kai baar.’

  MD laughed and mumbled indistinctly but I lip-read her and guessed that she was singing, ‘Hum dil de chuke sanam … teri kasam.’

  Despite the severe pain in my heart, and the tattoo carved in the soft skin above my heart, I couldn’t help but feel overjoyed for Sanjeev and MD. I congratulated them, went to the loo and cried a bit more. Sitting in the loo, I sent a message to Di.

  Me: ‘Said no to both Jay and Deep.’

  Di: ‘I said no to VC too, but he wants me to reconsider.’

  Me: ‘I am so sad.’

  Di: ‘Me too. Michael Jackson is dead.’

  Me: ‘I just got my heart tattooed to deal with post-rejection stress.’

  Di: ‘I prefer watching Jaane Bhi do Yaaron, though I have to admit that the last guy I rejected was a decade ago.’

  Me: ‘See you on the ASM. You have to come.’

  Di: ‘Won’t miss it for the world. Am dying to hear Deep.’

  Me: ‘Why?’

  Di: ‘You only said he was too good.’

  Me: ‘Why the hell did I reject him then?’

  Di: ‘I am trying to find an answer to that question for the last fifteen years.’

  Later in the day, Deep and I were sitting together in a meeting room having a video conference with Rohan sir. Once again I found myself bewildered at how a sparkling gem like Rohan sir could stay undiscovered. Maybe he was also unsuccessful in love, like me? Only a broken heart can understand the pain of another broken heart. Pity that he was rather old for my taste. Perhaps, I should connect him to Tanu di when he comes down to India? After all he was from IIT-D. Oh! And his surname was Khanna too. My thought process was however interrupted when I heard Deep speak out my name. It was high time I got over his husky, sexy voice. He told me to put forth my ideas on increasing the width of the purchase funnel. It was very satisfying to see my suggestions being appreciated by others, especially Rohan sir, yet I could only manage a weak smile. I was trying hard to behave normally, but something was wrong with my eyes for they kept refilling their tank of tears every few hours. I stole a glance at Deep who was laughing and cracking jokes with the others. He seemed to be managing with such ease that it broke my heart to see my rejection didn’t matter to him. I really wanted some time alone with my back office. At last the meeting came to an end, everyone left, and we were left alone in the room.

  ‘You are not your normal self today. Did you have a fight with your BF?’ Deep asked affectionately.

  Flummoxed that he should know about Jay, I gave him a perplexed look and asked, ‘Boyfriend?’

  ‘I figured that if you are so much in favour of love marriage, you must be in love with someone,’ Deep reasoned.

  ‘Love is a big mirage,’ I replied sceptically. ‘A score of zero in tennis. A figment of authors’ imagination.’

  He looked dubiously at me. I saw tenderness in his eyes and it filled me with pain. I wanted to reach out to him, hug him and kiss him. Instead, I got up to leave. On my way out, I noticed the frame hung on the wall. It had a quote from Robert McCloskey on confusion. ‘I know that you believe you understand what you think I said, but I’m not sure you realize that what you heard is not what I meant.’

  For the last couple of weeks, many of us had been staying back in office almost every evening for ASM preparations. I didn’t really need to stay back that evening as I was only part of the ballroom dance, which was rehearsed on Tuesdays and Thursdays. But while I was busy applying ointment on my tattoo, the office cab had left without me. So, I aimlessly walked down to the basement where the practice sessions were held. Deep was singing my favourite Kishore song, ‘Khwab ho tum ya koi haqueeqat, kaun ho tum batlao.’ I sat spellbound on the stairs outside, not wanting to face Deep, but wanting to believe that he was singing the song for me. I was so lost in my thoughts that I was startled when Deep came out and tapped me on my shoulders. He offered to drop me back home. No way! I didn’t want to go kissing him again. This time I wouldn’t even have the beer excuse. But I didn’t want him to think anything had changed between us either, so I agreed. Well, if anything happened, I could always blame it on the post-tattoo endorphin high.

  Sitting in his car, I saw a rose lying on his dashboard, w
aiting to be caressed by a loving hand and kissed by soft lips. I expected him to stop the car any time on the roadside, offer me the red rose, pledge his love for me and ask me to become his for a lifetime. I know I had only rejected him some time back but girls can be really weird at times. A while later, he stopped the car, and I waited for him to make a move, but nothing happened.

  ‘Your home has come,’ he reminded me gently.

  I cast one final longing look at the flower, reluctantly opened the car door and got out. He drove away without so much as a backward glance. Maybe the rose was for someone else? Maybe he was off to meet his school-time love Meeta?

  Some days you just feel so sad and worthless, like your life has no meaning. Like you can do nothing, and you want to cry, but the tears don’t come. Partly because you have already spent your month’s supply of tears crying in the bathroom. Your heart is full of emotions and pain and you don’t know why. You just wish you could go back to being a child and someone would tell you what to do next, and you cry some more. You hate your laziness for doing nothing but sitting idle, and you wish … but you don’t even know what to wish for. Finally, sleep takes over and you can dream what you want because dreams follow no logic.

  My FB status read, ‘The best way to deal with a break-up is a good night’s sleep.’

  Lost and Found

  I peeped out from behind the curtain and saw scores of people sitting in the auditorium, chatting, and eagerly waiting for the performance to begin. The front row, reserved for the founders and the various COs, was nearly full. The initial speeches were over. The overall mood of the crowd was jubiliant. iTrot had gained a significant market share in the online travel industry in the last one year and drinks were on the house. I spotted Rohan sir lounging on the front row corner seat. Dressed in a casual half-sleeved red shirt with the top two buttons unbuttoned and dark blue jeans, he looked unexpectedly handsome and young. I eagerly scanned the audience looking for my parents and found them smugly seated at the centre of the hall. While Dad was adjusting his SLR hoping to catch a perfectly timed shot, Mom, armed with her latest Nokia N95, was feverishly looking forward to upload my dance on FB. Under immense pressure from her elder sisters in Pune and Ambala to find a suitable boy for me, I think she wanted to show off Deep to them. I noticed that Dad had kept the programme card to reserve a seat for Tanu di next to him. She had promised to reach by 7 p.m., in time to see my dance. I unlocked my mobile and checked the time. She was expected to come any minute.

  I glanced at the slide projected on the screen. Kavita was on her last slide, talking about the aggressive hiring plans and about making iTrot a women-friendly company. Our ballroom dance was the next item on the agenda. I knew Deep would be standing across the stage, behind the curtain on the other side, as we were the lead pair. A tiny shiver of excitement trailed down my spine at the thought of him holding me in public. I had thoroughly enjoyed every moment of our practice sessions, enjoying the touch of his strong hands and savouring the spicy scent of his aftershave. My favourite part in the sequence was when he swung me around and let me loose so I swayed away from him, and then he grabbed my arm the next instant, pulling me close in a tight embrace. It made me feel wanted and desired. However, off the dance floor, Deep had been behaving very strangely, very official—boss-like. No morning round of coffee, no KS talk, and no casual flirting. Sometimes, a whole day would go by and he wouldn’t even say my name. I was beginning to wonder if the mischievous smile in his eyes, his husky laugh and our repartee sessions had all been a fabrication of my back office.

  Kavita finished her speech, left the stage and went back to her seat next to Rohan sir. The MC announced our programme and the stage lights went dim. We all quickly moved in and took our positions. I was glad when I saw Tanu di walk in from the rear entrance. It was too late for her to wend her way through the audience and take the seat next to Pa. She walked straight down the aisle and sat down below on the carpeted step, right next to Rohan sir. She waved wildly at me and I gave her a childish grin in return. Seconds later, I saw Vikram walk down and join her on the step. He was still pursuing her.

  Before I could feel the butterflies in my stomach, Deep grabbed my right hand with his left hand and held my waist with his right. I gently placed my left hand on his shoulder and the show began. While Deep effortlessly twirled me around the floor, another drama was unfolding in the front row corner.

  ‘Nice presentation!’ complimented Rohan as Kavita came down from the dais. ‘I agree with your views on increasing the company oestrogen levels.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Kavita smiled. ‘I hope your airport pick-up and hotel arrangements were in order.’

  ‘Yes, they were perfect,’ he thanked and added, ‘I am sorry to hear about you and Vikas. Is he going to continue working at iTrot?’

  ‘I don’t think so. He was never very comfortable with me earning more than him,’ she said, disparagingly.

  I was not the only one going through ‘love is for losers’ phase. Along with mine, another love story had ended. Vikas and Kavita’s divorce decision had rocked the small world that iTrot was and everyone was speculating who would leave the company.

  ‘I personally feel that women are far more superior to men,’ whispered Rohan secretively.

  Flattered, Kavita asked in a soft, teasing voice, ‘Is that why you never married?’

  He gave her a wide, friendly smile and quickly changed the topic. ‘That’s a very intricate lace on your dress,’ he said.

  (This was the instant when Tanu di came and sat down on the step next to Rohan sir.)

  Startled by Rohan’s observation and interest in lace, Kavita raised an eyebrow at him.

  ‘I can’t make something half as beautiful,’ he admitted humbly.

  (Tanu di turned abruptly at hearing the familiar voice and intently listened in on the conversation, her heart beating as loud as thunder when she finally realized who she was sitting next to.)

  This time Kavita shook her head in total incredulity, like he had revealed he was homosexual. ‘You can crochet?’ she asked, fascinated.

  ‘Now that women are running companies, men better learn to …’

  ‘… bake and embroider,’ said Tanu di, completing Rohan’s line. It had been over fifteen years when he had said those very same words to her, while sipping coconut water on a beach. She hadn’t forgotten a single minute of her time spent with him.

  Recognizing the voice, he turned around to face her. He still remembered the first time he had seen her during a ragging session. She had been so beautiful, so naive, and yet so confident that he had immediately fallen in love with her. But then he had lost her somewhere in the battle of heart and mind. How he had pined for her and waited for her to come back to him, all in vain. And now, when he had least expected it, she had appeared from nowhere.

  His eyes were beaming with the happiness of a child who had finally found his rainbow, after years of standing and waiting in the rain.

  ‘You still remember what I said?’ he asked, rather surprised.

  ‘You are still using the same old pick-up lines?’ Tanu di countered half-teasingly, her face shining with the radiance of love that had only strengthened by their time apart.

  ‘Actually, I have ten more lines stored in my BlackBerry for easy reference. I just use the one that best suits the situation,’ he wisecracked.

  ‘You haven’t changed at all. Ready to flirt with anyone, as long as it is a girl,’ she said lightly.

  ‘Not all girls. Only the ones with long, lustrous hair,’ he quipped, his endearing smile making her stomach flip and giving her the goosebumps.

  ‘Still wearing a red t-shirt?’ she teased further, knowing well that he believed that the red colour enhanced sexual desire in the opposite sex.

  ‘It’s not the same one that I wore to the 1994 Rendezvous, I promise,’ he joked.

  ‘Gosh! You are already on the wrong side of thirty-five. You must feel old,’ she pulled his leg, like she was still nin
eteen.

  ‘But you are a very young-looking thirty-four,’ he said charmingly.

  She had done some research on men and she knew that if there was something that became three times its size when a man was excited, it was his pupils. She gazed deeply into his eyes and she knew that he was as thrilled to meet her as she was to meet him. They both floated back in time to the evenings they had spent together, sitting on a broken rickshaw outside the IIT girls’ hostel, sharing jokes, discussing their present and planning their future. The moonlit Rajpath where he had confessed his love and the low, brick wall, in the baski courts, behind which they had first kissed.

  ‘I missed you, Champ,’ she muttered, having momentarily forgotten that he was a dad to a ten-year-old boy and that VC was sitting beside her, watching her make romantic overtures towards a stranger.

  ‘I missed you too, Tanu,’ he said in a soft, intimate voice.

  ‘So, how have you been?’ he asked tenderly.

  ‘Just like you left me,’ she replied, her voice cracking with emotions.

  ‘Oh! But I never left you,’ he said, suddenly getting all defensive. ‘It was you who didn’t think the time was right, remember?’

  ‘Well, you could have waited for the right time,’ she said accusingly, her eyes searching his for the spark she thought she had seen moments ago. ‘You never came back.’

  ‘You were busy chasing your dreams. There was no one to come back to,’ he argued.

  What did he mean there was no one to come back to? What had she been doing if not waiting for him for the last 5000 days of her life? Besides, he had not even waited for her to finish her engineering. He had gotten engaged to Piya at the drop of a hat.

  Perhaps she never really understood that he was looking for an unambitious, educated girl with beautiful, long hair to carry his progeny. Long hair so he would be enticed to make love and have kids with her, educated so she could manage the kids’ homework and unambitious so she wouldn’t leave the kids at home and go career trotting. She, the women entrepreneur of India, could never really be the girl of his dreams.