‘You probably already know about the wedding carnival happening in October in Delhi. It’s a huge event.’
Yes, I do. It’s the biggest in Asia and its entry fee is fifty thousand bucks. And I have no money. And Tying a Knot is as good as closed. So I guess, a wedding carnival is not much use to me unless I am getting married myself, which, in fact, my mom was trying to arrange with you, yesterday. Why is my life in such a mess?
‘I just learnt about an online reality show being done by some matrimonial websites prior to the carnival. It’s called Live-In: An Evil or Evolution.’
Why exactly is he telling me this? He can’t possibly be thinking of living-in with me for this reality show? I couldn’t. I mean, Ma will be OK, but Papa will never agree. Hello stupid, you can’t agree. You can’t allow him to hurt you again.
‘The winner of this reality show will get a cash prize of ten lakh rupees, besides a waiver of the entry fee.’
Ten lakhs! Now we are talking. How do I enrol?
‘Five couples will be living in. They will post on social media, tweet, instagram, etc. The show goes on for a month or so. The most popular couple will win ten lakhs. There are some other prizes too. Here is the link, you can find out more.’
I open the link in another window. It looks very interesting. But it seems like the entry to the reality show is by invitation only.
‘I have an invite for the show. I can recommend your name if you want to participate with your boyfriend Vir.’
Hmm… That’s an idea. This could be my light at the end of this dark, stinking, scary, tunnel. An online, social reality show sounds perfect for a virtual couple.
‘Btw, an advice for old-time sake, I find your BF rather artificial. Even when you post about your dad’s sickness, he likes it.’
That’s true. Facebook likes become awkward on sad posts. And I know my BF is not real, he is artificial. But imagine love advice coming from someone who has just stood up his girlfriend at Phi Phi island on a proposal worth one crore.
‘Anyway, hope to see you on Friday, 11am @Chaayos, Galleria. I have some projects, on which we can work together on. TC Sam.’
I type a mail thanking Samir and confirming the meeting. But I don’t want him to think I have nothing better to do than read and reread his mail. So I leave it in the drafts folder to send it later.
I poke Vir on FB to ask him about the reality show. He pokes me back instantly. It’s amazing how he is always there for me. I wonder how many real people are working behind his virtual face or is it just some lines of code?
Me: I would like to start living-in with you, ‘socially’.
Vir: What does that mean?
Me: It means we live-in together in the online, social world through our FB posts, tweets, instagram, etc.
Vir: Totally possible.
Me: Awesome! Can you…er…physically meet me?
Vir: I’m sorry. That option is unavailable.
Me: Ok, bye. TTYL.
What? It was worth a try. Maybe there is a real, nice guy behind the virtual face. Anyway, the reality show seems all sorted. Hopefully, if I can win this ten-lakh-cash prize, borrow five lakhs from Samir, another five from friends and family, I will be looking only at a five-lakh-outstanding payment. That seems manageable. I check my phone for any news from Mom. There is none, which is perhaps a good sign. Not much has changed from last month. I am still shutting shop. I still haven’t got a boyfriend or source of Vitamin S. But, somehow, bigger problems have a way of putting life in perspective. As long as I can pay off my debt and Papa gets better, I think I will survive.
It’s six in the evening. I just got back from the hospital. The neighbouring Sharma uncle hands me some bills. He looks even frailer than last time. I don’t have the energy to ask him why. The house looks empty without Mansi. I try calling her but her phone is unreachable. She should be home in a week’s time now. I can tell from her pictures on FB (yes, there is connectivity even on the Everest Base Camp route), that they reached the base camp yesterday and are now descending. It sure looks beautiful. And she is trekking with nine other men, all CXOs dealing with mid-life crisis. She looks happy. Poor men!
I put on some soft music and slump down on the beanbag. I don’t even feel like switching on the lights. I am in big trouble. Not the money one. The boyfriend one. I wish I had made up an excuse when Mummy called to say Papa wants to meet Samir, who, by the way, is Vir for them. Hell, I had no idea why Papa wanted to meet Samir. All Mom told was that we can’t stress Papa, so I promptly called Samsung Do Not Call and asked if he could come meet my Dad. No, Samir didn’t refuse. Although now I wish he had. He showed up alright at 4 p.m., as promised. He came. He spoke sweetly. He conquered. All of them—Ma, Papa, Didi and even the little Diyu. And now Papa wants me to marry him. Listen, I want to marry him too. But he doesn’t want to marry me or anyone for that matter. How do I tell my Dad that Samir is a free spirit like the wind? He doesn’t like containment. And he is not Vir.
I can’t tell Dad anything because the doctor says we can’t let him get stressed. So if Dad wants it, I have to do it. I need to get Samir to walk a few steps together with me, under a shared umbrella, even if it is on a road with a dead end.
I just don’t know how. Yet.
I sigh and hum along the lovely song from PK playing on my phone.
‘Bin puchhe mera naam aur pataa
Rasmon ko rakh ke pare…
Chaar kadam bas chaar kadam
Chal do naa saath mere’
(Without asking my name or address, keeping the rituals aside, just walk four steps with me.)
Fake Marriage
‘T for Togetherness’ says the poster at the quaint chai boutique that has opened in the Galleria market. It reminds me of the ‘together’ moments I had spent with Samir—moments of ‘love’ as he calls them. They are much like a box of chocolates. Delicious while they last, but gone before you know it and leaving behind weight that is hard to get rid of. Yet, here I am today, to ask him for another box of chocolates. To flirt, seduce and make him feel guilty enough so he that he will agree to be my fake fiancé.
It’s 11.20 a.m. He is twenty-minutes late. I am wondering if I should text him. Just then, I see him at the door talking to a very pretty girl in a simple, knee length, floral print dress. I see her smile and flick her hair back. OMG! She is so flirting with him. I can see his hand on her shoulder. He is flirting back.
Its okay. I assure myself. You will do fine. Deep breathe. Be confident. And smile.
Several girls look up as he walks past their table in his slim-fit, grey chinos, a thin, stripe shirt, and designer glares. I smile as he comes and sits down with me. The familiar wild-rose fragrance drains away all my stress. Maybe I should just ask him for a bottle of his perfume.
‘Sorry, I got delayed. Was finishing up some work,’ he says sweetly.
I don’t know whether the pretty, floral-print girl was working with him or she was the work herself. I shower him with a no-problem smile.
‘You look nice…er…,’ he fumbles as he gives me a once-over. ‘It’s been a while since I…er…saw you in a saree.’
Ah, so he remembers that I wore a saree that night. I was hoping he would. I have very carefully selected a purple, chiffon saree, with turquoise-blue border and matched it with a sweetheart neck, sleeveless blouse—especially for today.
‘I had a business meeting in the morning, with a traditional family.’ I give him my practiced excuse for wearing a gorgeous saree. So far it’s all going as per my plan.
He orders two cutting chai and bun maska for both of us without looking at the menu and begins to tell me about a few upcoming weddings, where he thinks we can work together. One is in Paris and the other is in Maldives, both in September.
Maldives has me hooked. I eagerly nod to convey my interest in everything, but I am having a tough time maintaining eye contact or keeping the flutter of my heart at bay.
‘Great. I will email you the details for
both,’ he concludes and then inquires about my dad.
‘Papa is…um…better.’
‘You seem worried. Is everything al right?’ He asks, with a genuine concern in his voice.
‘Actually, Dad wants me married,’ my voice falls and I look at the tumbler of chai on the table.
‘Ahh, and you are not ready yet!’ He chuckles understandably. He takes a sip of his chai and reclines on his chair.
‘I am ready,’ I say with poise, looking him straight in the eye.
‘With whom? Vir?’
‘Yes. I think Vir is perfect for me,’ I say to make him jealous. ‘Anyway, I believe marriage is the only way to make love last. If you are afraid to commit, you are afraid to love.’ This, accompanied by a dare-you-to-marry-if-you-can look.
‘Ah. The same old, overrated love,’ he shakes his head dismissively. ‘I thought you were different. Don’t you want to have some fun?’
Yes, I am different and stupid. That’s why I allowed you to trample my heart under your feet. I feel like pulling his out and stamping on it right now. Instead I giggle, pretending to be amused by his question.
‘I do want to have fun,’ I say, with playfulness dancing in my eyes. ‘But I won’t pick up a guy, let’s say you,’ I lean closer to him and pause for the effect, ‘to have sex with and then just leave.’ And I pulled away from him, back straight, arms folded. This is where he is supposed to feel guilty and then agree to whatever I ask of him.
‘For the record, you left me in Goa. With a note to never call you back. Even then I tried, but you had changed your number,’ he replies curtly.
He had called. I didn’t know this. I might have been in the flight at the time and then I changed my number after returning from Goa. But his number is still the same. And I never tried to call him back. Uh-oh, this is not how it’s supposed to go. My agenda is not to establish who ditched. I am here to seize the nut, just like the squirrel in my office backyard.
‘Let’s forget the past, shall we?’ I say endearingly, placing my hand over his on the table.
His eyes soften at the touch, but his body is rigid. I see him eyeing for a waiter to ask for the bill. I need to act fast.
‘Samir, you know how unwell Papa is. And he wants me married ASAP, but Vir is caught up with work abroad and can’t come right now.’ The words rush out.
‘Well, Vir needs to be here for the reality show anyway in two weeks. I thought you said you were participating,’ he says, his voice devoid of any emotion.
‘Huh? Why does Vir need to be here for the reality show?’ I ask, completely baffled.
‘How do you suppose you live-in together?’
‘Online?’
He bursts out laughing. It dispels the tension hanging in the air. He explains why Vir needs to be present for the show. There will be weekly photo and video shoots of the participating couples. And friends and family will be polled too for their views.
Oops! I knew the online reality show was too good to be true. What am I supposed to do now? I was here to convince him to be my fake fiancé for Papa’s sake but now I also need a partner for the reality show to win ten lakhs. Suddenly, I have an idea—an idea that can kill two birds with one stone. I order another round of chai to make him stay for a little longer.
‘Samir, can you do something for me?’ I ask with a degree of helplessness.
‘What can I do for you, Senorita?’ He teases, the sparkle back in his eyes and his mood livened up by laughing at my expense.
I need him to stay in this mood.
‘First, I really want to thank you for being so nice to my Mom, even when she mistook you for Vir,’ I say, smiling affectionately.
‘I am always nice to women,’ he banters.
‘Actually, it’s not Mom’s fault. She hasn’t met Vir.’
‘I guessed as much.’
‘Smart huh?’
‘Was born that way,’
‘I did try to tell my Mom that you weren’t Vir, but you didn’t let me.’
‘What’s in a name? I will continue to be handsome whatever you call me,’ he says, an arrogant grin plastered across his face.
‘Oh! And Ma really liked all the flattering things you told her. “Aunty ji, Meha looks like your sister. Aunty ji, you are like wine, improving with age.”’
‘I shall tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth,’ he proclaims.
I laugh, amused by his drama and continue, ‘And what did you tell Tanu Di? She is over the moon since she met you.’
‘I just mentioned that my friend Radhika needs a website designed for her business and she could do it,’ he explains.
Oh no! I hate that condescending Radhika. I don’t think Tanu Di will be able to stand her either, I think to myself, but I don’t say it aloud.
‘How sweet of you to help Didi.’
‘What is it that you want me to do, Senorita?’ He asks, giving me a suspicious, naughty smile.
I ignore his question, because I am not done yet.
‘And Vaishno Devi ka prasad! How did you think of that?’ I ask genuinely astonished. This part had really clinched the deal for my Dad.
‘Someone in the office gave it to me in the afternoon and I thought it might help your Dad in recovery. You know how sometimes they say that faith heals.’
Okay, his thought on my Dad’s wellbeing is really touching. I take a gulp of water to swallow the emotions rising in my throat and then continue. ‘Well, you shared so many positive moments with my family, that now they totally love you. And they want me to marry you. Who they think is Vir. But Vir is abroad. So I need your help.’ I finally conclude my praise-o-logue.
‘Whoa! Are you proposing to me?’
‘No, humbly requesting that you own up your mistakes and help a poor girl.’
‘Mistakes?’
‘Ya. Pretending to be Vir and stealing my entire family’s heart. That amounts to impersonation and theft.’
‘Hmm. So, what’s my punishment?’ He asks, staring intently into my eyes.
‘Well…um…we can enroll in the reality show, for now,’ I say measuring each word carefully, as I try to accomplish both my tasks.
‘I thought this was about your Dad?’
‘It’s also about your mistakes,’ I reason.
‘Senorita, I am sorry for my mistakes, but…’
‘Well who dumped Sonia?’ I say, getting aggressive.
‘I wouldn’t put it that way,’ he says defensively.
‘Who lost the ring?’
‘If I had known it was charged on your card, believe me I would have been careful,’ he sniggers lightly.
‘But you were careless. And it has caused me a huge loss. So now you need to enroll in the reality show with me so I can get back my money and we can tell my Dad that we are living in and will marry later.’ I lay out all my cards.
‘Why?’
‘Why what?’
‘Why will we marry later?’
‘Oh! Because your sister can’t come for the wedding right now,’ I suggest casually. I had actually researched on FB that his elder sister, living in the States, is pregnant right now.
He nods, eyeing me suspiciously. I avoid direct eye contact, but from the corner of my eye, I see a soft, warm glow of happiness in his eyes. It is soon shrouded by a cloud of uncertainty and confusion. And then his face becomes opaque.
‘What happens after the show?’ He asks after a few seconds of silence.
‘We break-up. Dad will be fine by then. So it’s okay.’
‘What about Vir? Won’t he object?’
‘It’s all right. I can handle him,’ I say nonchalantly.
‘Sorry, but I can’t do this,’ he shakes his head, with a grim expression on his face.
Puhleez! So much effort for nothing. I am exhausted now. I have tried all the weapons in my armoury—seduction, flirting, daring, flattery, guilt-trap and pleading. Crestfallen, I slump into my chair, morosely studying the leftover maska bun.
‘I can’t pretend to be Vir anymore,’ he says thoughtfully. ‘If I do this, I’ve got to be me.’
What does he mean? I look up at him bewildered.
‘I can fake love, but I can’t fake myself,’ he says with a cute smile.
Relieved that I have a partner for the reality show and a fake fiancé for my Dad, I jump up and give him a tight hug across the table.
As soon as I hug him, I realize that it was a bad idea. The wild-rose scent throws me off balance and the chai tumbler topples off the table, spilling the left over tea onto his trousers.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say sheepishly.
‘Ahh…If the stains come with a hug, then I guess daag acche hain right?’ He banters playfully.
Oh my gosh! What have I walked into? Living with a hot, witty, head-turner whose fragrance alone makes my legs turn to jelly.
‘Scared?’ He asks, reading my anxiety.
I nod truthfully and ask, ‘Are you?’
‘A little actually,’ he admits honestly. ‘I have loved often, but I have never faked love.’
Yes, it’s hard to fake love. However, for me, it will be harder to fake that I am faking.
‘Looks like it’s our destiny to be hum-suffers,’ he chortles, pleased with his own pun, his eyes locked with mine.
My heart skips many beats. I don’t care if he is faking the fondness in his eyes. I know I love him. I always have. And while, he can never be mine, I want to enjoy my box of chocolates for now. We will worry about heartaches later. After all, what are girlfriends for, if not to fix a broken heart?
I smile back at him and get ready to dance to the tune of ‘Shudh desi, desi desi romance…kamine haye re…haye re crazy crazy vazy romance.’
Naked Encounter
‘To or not to is the big question facing the youth today. The question is not about sex, it’s about whether to marry.’
Samir is busy capturing his stream of thoughts on his phone, as he steps out of the bathroom with only a towel wrapped around his waist. Suddenly, after all these years, he feels the desire to write again. He feels alive. That was part of the reason he agreed to take part in the reality show with Meha. Like all his decisions, this too was an impulsive one.
Let's Have Coffee Page 12
