Let's Have Coffee

by Parul A Mittal

  ‘Why marry when you can tarry? Marriage is like having a house of your own. We all dream of it, but it’s permanent and it locks you down. What’s wrong with an open relationship like the two banks of a river? The two banks are always together, although they never really meet. Sometimes they come close and sometimes they move apart, but they stay side by side forever. Isn’t that true love?’

  Eyes closed, he is engrossed in analysing love from his protagonist’s perspective, when he hears a woman’s surprised squeal. He opens his eyes and finds himself staring at a beautiful, heart-shaped face, with gullible eyes, and full, but rather badly chapped lips. He sees that she has hastily wrapped a shawl over her seemingly naked body. Her shapely legs are left uncovered as the shawl ends much above her knees, leaving a lot to be seen.

  ‘I am sorry,’ he apologizes and looks away.

  She is startled, but not perturbed. She turns her back to him, slides her dirty track pants up her legs and unwillingly pulls on her smelly t-shirt. She also hastily applies lipgloss on her lips, before turning around to face him.

  He stands before her smiling confidently, his sinewy-arms resting comfortably by his sides. She wouldn’t classify him a total knockout, but he has a presence. A presence that is warm and genuine. But who is he and what is he doing in her bedroom wrapped in a towel? She tries to recall if Meha had mentioned ordering a masseur to welcome her. After three weeks of trekking, she could certainly do with a nice massage. Meha had called last night to tell her something, but the line was choppy so she could only hear ‘…in a big mess…someone is going to be… a show…’ and then the line got disconnected.

  ‘Are you the big mess Meha is in?’ She questions.

  Her accusatory glare speaks volumes about how protective she is of Meha.

  ‘I surely hope not,’ he says, with a comfortable poise.

  She gets a hint of a familiar smell. She moves closer to him and cautiously sniffs the air around him.

  ‘Well…you are not…er…forget it…No you can’t be…’ she mutters confused. How can he be Samir? Samir is supposed to be engaged to Sonia. Why will he be bathing in her bathroom? She is certain she is hallucinating. After two weeks of alcohol abstinence, the blood in her system is too pure for her body to handle.

  ‘And you must be Meha’s apartment mate, Mansi Luthra, the man-slaughterer!’ Samir says pleasantly.

  ‘I only slaughter assholes,’ she informs him categorically.

  ‘Cool, then I needn’t be worried!’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’ Mansi challenges.

  ‘Oh, because you are not Bengali,’ he offers a cryptic answer.

  ‘How does that change anything?’ She asks, intrigued.

  ‘Because I am Samir Singhal. And only my Bengali friends call me an S. S-(ing)-hol.’ He humours her.

  ‘No way!’ she shrieks. ‘You are the…You are the…You are the…’ Mansi babbles, unable to say ‘sex-as-coffee Samir’, ‘Senorita-Samir’, ‘wild-rose-fragrance Samir’ ‘What are you doing here showering in my bathroom?’

  ‘Ye andar ki baat hai,’ he says showing off his biceps like in the Lux innerwear promo. He would rather want Meha to tell Mansi the details about the reality show.

  ‘Did you have se…I mean…coffee with Meha yet?’ She fixes him with a laser-sharp stare.

  ‘Was I supposed to? I didn’t know. I am more of a tea person.’

  ‘Good! I like tea myself,’ Mansi says.

  ‘I am going to be sharing the apartment with Meha and you. If you are okay with it,’ explains Samir quickly before Mansi flares up again.

  ‘Does that mean we split the rent three ways?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s good. She is out of work and short of money right now. But where will you sleep? Certainly, not in my bedroom.’

  ‘Umm…in the living room, on a futon perhaps?’ Samir suggests.

  ‘We don’t have a futon.’

  ‘I can get one.’

  ‘Great.’

  ‘Great, now if you will just excuse me,’ he says and walks past her to the other side of the bed, picks up his clothes and walks back to the bathroom. He pauses before he goes in, ‘By the way, Meha also said you are drop-dead gorgeous!’

  His eyes are twinkling with mischief, but not grown-up mischief. More like innocent, childish mischief.

  ‘Am I?’ Mansi asks, almost challenging him.

  ‘I would be blind if I say otherwise.’

  She sees that he has shut his eyes. He is cute and charming. It is easy to see why Meha would fall for him.

  ‘Well, what would you say about me now that you have chosen to be blind?’ Mansi provokes. She wants to gauge the depth of his character.

  ‘You are smelly, you badly need a shower and a fresh change of clothes,’ he chuckles softly.

  She allows a smile to form on her lips.

  ‘You care for Meha and will attack anyone threatening her so I better be careful,’ he continues.

  She giggles at this.

  ‘And you are looking for someone who can look beyond your external appearance and see your inner self.’

  ‘Are you hitting on me?’ Mansi asks, her eyes narrowing with scepticism.

  ‘No way! I hate to pass on the opportunity, but I think someone with a long-term vision will suit you better. I am rather short-sighted,’ he expresses regret.

  She can’t help but laugh.

  ‘Oh! And I think you are a little over-trusting. You have taken whatever I have said at face value,’ he laughs and disappears inside the bathroom to get dressed.

  Mansi is left wondering, all by herself in her bedroom. This guy is really a class apart. Meha was right. Samir is not a guy you can meet and get closure. Poor Meha! Mansi has no idea what went wrong at Sonia’s proposal, and why Meha has invited Samir to stay, but she does know that Meha needs to watch out or else she will get hurt again. As far as Mansi is concerned, at thirty-two, she is still looking for her Mr Right. She has never had problems attracting guys, but all have used and discarded her. And while everyone else thinks she is anti-men, she realizes that actually she has been over-trusting of the men in her life, just like Samir said. It is always easier to observe flaws in other people’s boyfriends. It’s your own that you don’t want to see fault with for fear of getting hurt. Caught up in her job, she thought she could find instant ready-to-love boyfriends just like she bought instant ready-to-eat meals. And while she found the boyfriends easily, they were only ready to eat, not ready to love. Well, she is without a job now and has all the time at hand. Hopefully she will now find her Mr Right-and-forever who will love her for herself and not for her sexy body.

  Kiss Him, Kiss Him Not

  Samir moved in with us last weekend. I really haven’t understood why he agreed to do the reality show with me. It can’t be just because of my gorgeous saree or my superb convincing skills. Perhaps, he is looking at this as another extra-curricular class or, as Mansi said, he is just interested in online promotion of his company through the reality show. I am also expecting to get some good leads from the show and the follow-up carnival. Although for now, just collaborating with Samir has saved my company from drowning. With two NRI couples’ weddings signed up, I am now only chest-deep in troubled waters. How does it matter if my saviour has HEARTBREAK written all over him?

  I give myself one final glance and anxiously walk out of my room into the living area. Sitting on his futon, Samir is typing something on his laptop. He looks up as he hears the hollow sound of my heels on the marble floor. He cursorily scans my black dress, my hair done loosely in a top knot. His gaze settles on the vintage-butterfly earrings caressing my soft skin.

  There is fluttering sensation in my stomach at the memory of the evening when I had first worn these earrings. I remember I had left the earrings with the little goodbye note. I still can’t get over the fact that he actually kept the earrings, after all these years. I was left speechless when I found them lying on my bed last weekend, wrapped up in
the same note. They belong to you. Hope you won’t keep them waiting for long this time, he had scribbled on the other side of the note.

  ‘They look good on you,’ he remarks lovingly.

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, nervously tapping my fingers on the coffee table.

  I see him close his laptop and grab his car keys from the side table. ‘You don’t have to do this. I can call a cab if you are…umm…busy,’ I know it’s important that our friends start seeing us as a couple, before the reality show gets started, but I am not sure I can trust myself around him.

  ‘Hmm. Experiencing date fright, are we?’ Samir smiles teasingly.

  Hello? First, you smile at me like you want to kiss me and then you ask me why my heart is in over-drive? Not fair!

  ‘Pff, don’t flatter yourself,’ I smirk and lift a shoulder in a dismissive half shrug. ‘I was just trying to be nice to you. Jiju has dropped out so it’s going to be only girls. And girls talk, you know, like non-stop.’

  Okay. So I don’t want him around, but really, it’s for his own benefit.

  ‘Believe me, I know all about girls,’ he assures me with a meaningful smile and puts his arm around my waist lightly to guide me out of the house to the lift.

  We reach Sutra Gastropub in Cyber Hub. The dance floor is packed with adrenalin and alcohol. The DJ is playing my favourite number, ‘Saari night besharmi ki height’. The lyrics of the song are echoing my thoughts exactly. I want to go to besharmi ki height with Samir in dim light. I sneak a longing look at him. God! He looks so kissable. Maybe I can kiss him in front of everyone, as part of the pretence, to show that we really are a couple. Excited at the prospect, I follow him to our table, which is set outside by a huge cooler. No one else has reached yet. No audience, no coupling. The kiss will have to wait.

  Samir likes the energy of the place but has to go out and make a few phone calls. I sit down and seek company in my FB world. It’s rather quiet without Vir’s quirky comments. No he is not sulking. He is only behaving as I have told him to. Being inaccessible and keeping a low profile on social media. It’s like he loves me unconditionally no matter what. For the first time, I understand why people love their pets—except mine is virtual.

  I have been sitting alone for twenty minutes now. This is the trouble with being punctual. Waiting for others to show up. I am so glad when Mansi calls.

  ‘Hon, I am really sorry, but I can’t join you tonight. I am caught up with a long-term visionary who can see beyond my make-up and love me for who I am.’

  Love her for who she is! Does she mean naked? I have no idea what she is talking about but it sure sounds like someone is getting a dose of Vitamin S. I tell her to try and join us later and she says she’ll see how it goes. We all know how that goes. Hmmph! This is such a bummer. I really wanted her around to keep from making a fool of myself.

  As soon as I keep the phone down, I see my childhood BFF Anusha walk up to me. In a green spaghetti and an ethnic-print palazzo and colourful jhumkis from Sarojini market, Anusha looks much the same as she did all those years ago in college—bindaas. Only her eyes look a little tired and she has a sense of calm that comes with maturity. I give her a huge welcoming smile and real tight squeeze. I wanted to catch up with her ever since she returned from California but I had been neck-deep busy with you-know-who’s proposal.

  I complain to her about absconding from the face of the earth for six years without any news. I had gone on a wedding project for ten days and returned to find her gone without a trace. Like an ice cube on a June day. Even her parents had shifted to another locality.

  Anusha apologizes for not keeping in touch. She tells me briefly how she got pregnant but her boyfriend refused to own the responsibility. So they all shifted to their hometown overnight. Her aunt got a proposal for a friend’s son in the US and she was married to a complete stranger within two weeks. Her husband turned out to be gay who had agreed to marry her, despite knowing about her pregnancy, for his parents’ sake. He was nice to her and her son, but they had nothing. They were like two completely different books sharing the same rack space. Now she is getting a divorce because he has come out of the closet and wants to live life his way. It works for her as she also gets to start her life from where she left it. Her parents are happy to have a grandson to play with and she is pursuing her masters in psychology and behavioural science. She shows me a picture of her son. He is a splitting image of her boyfriend Varun. The same Varun who bribed me with expensive earrings, whose house I spent many a lazy afternoons reading romantic novels and whose elder brother Deepak I had a fleeting affair with.

  I can’t bring myself to say anything. Pregnant, married to a gay man, divorced and now a single mom! I look at her dumbfounded like she has just revealed that she is a witch and she was away at Hogwarts School for all these years. I mean our lives couldn’t be more different. But it only takes us one drink to get back to being silly girls, laughing on PJs and cribbing about lack of love in our lives. A best friend is like a favourite book. You can pick it up anytime and start reading from any page and you feel like you had never stopped. I tell Anusha all about my business venture, my no-sex diet and my virtual boyfriend Vir. We chat and gossip about other common friends. We are giggling away, when Samir comes back and takes the seat next to mine.

  ‘Sorry to be gone for so long hon, but I was just testing how long I can stay without seeing your smile,’ Samir looks into my eyes and says this in a voice so smoky that my heart does a complete somersault. I make hasty introductions. Anusha gives me a liar-liar-pants-on-fire look for falsely complaining, when I have such a doting boyfriend. I shoot her a there-is-more-to-it than-meets-the-eye sideway’s glance. I hadn’t gotten around to telling her about Samir. Actually I didn’t know what to say. Our arrangement is excessively knotty—like Grandma’s yarn. I don’t want to lie to Anusha but I really need all my friends to believe that we are a couple.

  Soon enough the focus shifts as the hotness quotient at our table shoots up meteorically. Radhika, draped in a designer gown caressing her curves and showing her cleavage, honours us with her company. I secretly watch Samir as he gets up and they touch cheeks in a kiss. Radhika catches me gawking at them and I get a snobbish oh-you-ugly-duckling stare. She whispers something in Samir’s ear. They both laugh as they share an old joke. She’s out to prove her intimacy with Samir; it’s like she is trying to get back at me for having shared a chocolate with her husband Deepak, almost ten years ago. Whatever it is, I can’t have her treat me like non-vegetarians treat aloo gobhi—unpalatable and avoidable.

  As Samir sits down, I tilt sideways and practically fall on him under the pretence of adjusting his T-shirt collar. I then casually brush my fingers against his neck, look him lovingly in the eyes before turning back to face a flushed Radhika. Samir, surprised by my sudden affectionate gesture, rewards me with a cheesy smile. It is only when Radhika does the introductions that I notice her brother-in-law, Varun, has accompanied her. He is standing inconspicuously in a dimly lit spot, to the far left, sort of purposely hidden behind Anusha. I notice a flicker of faint joy light up Anusha’s face at his presence and then fade away in her saddened eyes. No one at the table, other than me, knows Varun and Anusha’s history. He introduces himself to Anusha like they are strangers and she plays along coolly. If I was in Anusha’s place, I would eat Varun alive. But she seems to have no grudges against the father of her son, whom she is raising alone. I am gearing up to give Varun a tirade on abandoning Anusha when he says, ‘Nice to meet you again Meha. You look damn sexy in that black dress’.

  I can see that while he is praising me, his eyes are focussed on Anusha. It’s obvious that he is being nice to me to get Anusha’s attention, but who doesn’t like a compliment? Especially when it throws Radhika off-balance. Of course, she has no idea how I know her brother-in-law or why he is praising an ugly duckling like me. My resentment towards Varun subsides a little. He tells us that he was just planning to be Radhika bhabhi’s chauffeur, but looking
at the lovely company, and at this he sneaks a quick glance in our direction, he has decided to stay. With this, he claims the vacant seat between Anusha and Radhika, right across the table from me.

  ‘Hey, this one is mine. You go find your dil ki deal,’ Samir looks at me and says possessively, and then he lightly entwines his finger in mine. His unexpected PDA unfolds a layer of sensation inside my body that I have never experienced before. My MJ starts playing the romantic chartbuster, ‘Yeh moh moh ke dhaage, teri unglion se ja uljhe’. I find my threads of love getting entangled in Samir’s fingers. The genuineness of his affectations is making this faking game harder than playing darts with spaghetti!

  ‘Sab time ka khel hai boss, otherwise Meha has spent many a weekend, reading romantic novels on my porch during college,’ Varun boasts back.

  I cough up my drink at this and subtly signal Anusha to stop Varun from blabbering. Not that I have anything to hide! Anusha totally ignores me. I can see that there is some silent communication going on between the two of them.

  ‘What, Senorita? You had both the brothers eating out of your palms?’ Samir teases me.

  Radhika turns pale at this comment. She is obviously concluding that not only did I flirt with her husband Deepak, and her ex-boyfriend Samir, I also had her brother-in-law Varun in my grip. Lovely! I feel vindicated.

  I look at Samir, ‘I hope you can now appreciate that after everyone, I finally chose you.’

  ‘I do. I am feeling as pompous as the dress finally chosen for the prom, after all the trials,’ he exaggerates. ‘Just hope I don’t come off like one.’

  Everyone starts laughing at Samir’s joke. I smile and look at him longingly. If only it was possible, I would never let him go.

  Finally Didi arrives, possibly after doing many rounds of bye-bye-kiss-I-love-you ritual with her darling daughters. She waves a generic hi to everyone at the table and whisks me off to the loo. Really she couldn’t have taken more than twenty minutes from her home to get here. Why does she need to use the loo? Well, all she wants is updates on Samir and me! Ever since I told her and Mom that Vir was just a temporary fling and it’s Samir whom I really love, they have both been behaving weirdly. I mean, at the mere mention of Samir’s name, they both exclaimed, ‘Samir means wind and Meha is like water!’ C’mon, like I didn’t learn meanings of Hindi words in school. And then they kept smiling secretly at each other. I obviously have no clue about the poetic wind-and-water-must-mate prophecy.