A Perfect Mismatch (13 page)

By night, it was a different kind of exploration. It changed everything for Zara. They talked into the night about their dreams and aspirations, skirting the issue of permanence in their relationship. She realized that Armaan was deeper than her foolish presumptions and gracefully apologized to him about the accusations of being shallow. The feeling was mutual as they learned more about each other.

“All that bickering was stupid and immature. I simply lost control. I didn’t want to admit that I was fiercely attracted to you. I was cursing myself for feeling the way I did against my will. Every time you were in the same room I wanted to kiss you. And you were so unapproachable, that I didn’t think you would ever agree to marry me without clobbering me on the head. I thought Mom was delusional to think that you would be my perfect bride,” Armaan had said on one of those velvety nights as he buried his face into her scented skin.

Zara had laughed heartily, “How else could I protect myself from you? I would feel threatened every time we met! I had no choice but to harden myself against your charms!”

“Define ‘charms’” he had purred, as he brushed his mouth on her nape.

She had pretended to yawn. “Charms-such as grouchy, mulish, pompous and …”

“Let me see if I can change your opinion!” And he had proceeded to show her how persuasive he could be.

Later Zara had lain on his chest and said huskily that it was probably the only way they could protect themselves from each other. They were only airing the grouse they had for each other even as children. It was time to grow out of it and move on.

But there was never a word of commitment from either of them. They lived in the moment without any expectations.

By the last day, Zara knew that it was hopeless. She did not even bother to deny that she loved him. Tears blurred
her eyes as Armaan signed at the reception before joining her in the taxi. This time would never return, she thought with deep sadness and stashed away the memories in a dark hopeless corner of her heart.

Things went awry when Zara and Armaan stepped out of the car back home. Aparna was packing her bags for a trip to London where her husband Shiva had gone in connection with his work. He had fallen ill and had desperately called the only person he could contact. After much dithering and a sound dressing down from her mother, Aparna decided to bring him back. The kids did not have their passports ready. Since Vini would be at the boutique all day in her absence and the kids had already begun with their summer vacations, there was no one to look after them at such short notice.

“You can leave them with me,” Zara spoke up and everyone turned to her in surprise. “Armaan is here and I can take leave for a few more days. Mom would be back by evening, so where is the problem?” she shrugged.

Aparna was skeptical but she didn’t have a choice. That night she left for London, leaving her children behind with
a woman who was beginning to sound like a heaven-sent blessing to her.

“Natasha, eat your breakfast if you want to play on the swing before the sun gets too hot! Nishant stop pinching her under the table; I can see you!” There were vociferous protests from both the injured party and the perpetrator of the crime. Zara, with a serene air, poured herself a cup of coffee and spread another piece of toast with marmalade just as the kids liked it. Natasha had been particularly weepy since morning and she was trying her best to cheer up the child.

Three days ago, it was a gargantuan task to deal with them. Vini had hurried off in the morning to the boutique while Armaan had an urgent unscheduled meeting with an international curator, clearing up the backlog of work; Zara was left with the kids running helter-skelter with no idea how to tackle their needs.

Armaan had rushed back home to Zara in the afternoon and together they had restored some order. With dire warnings to the children of a reddened behind, he had set about sorting out their squabbling. The children adored him and it was easier for Zara to handle them after that. He left for a couple of hours to finalize some work in his studio. By the end of the day, she had tamed them into submitting to her will.

Armaan returned in the evening and took charge again, helping Zara with the kids and their holiday assignments. Natasha was already drooping on his shoulder by dinner time.

As Zara flopped into bed that night, after tucking the kids
in with an equally exhausted Vini, Armaan had cradled her head into his chest, “I am sorry. Why did you agree that you will take care of the kids?”

Zara smiled tiredly, “That’s what we do for each other as a family, right?”

Another woman would have baulked at the idea of babysitting two boisterous kids. Armaan saw things much more clearly now. Zara was not the kind of woman to back off from a challenge, always ready to extend a helping hand. He was amazed at the reassuring warmth in her that calmed those around her. He wondered why he had been blind to it earlier.

“And, I think I gained some ground today,” Zara had said, trailing a finger on his bare chest. “Tomorrow will be better. I also think it was an unconscious act of rebellion against being left behind. Besides, it’s great training! I hope to have children some day!”

“You want to have kids?” Armaan’s voice hardened.

She had looked at him quizzically. What was that sudden burst of irritation? “Yes I do. Why?”

“You will have to marry someone else after we get a divorce.”

Zara was silent. “It would have to be permanent for me to have a family. I hope there is a man out there who would consider me worthy enough to marry me for myself.” Her voice had dipped sadly. She could not imagine marrying anyone just for having children. How could she love any other man the way she loved Armaan?

This morning, Armaan watched the play of emotions on her face, a spoon in her hand, admonishing the children
gently to eat up quickly. She was good with them, he thought, with a curious mixture of elation and dread. This was the third morning with Zara and the children and he was beginning to like it too much, he realized, with a feeling of foreboding.

Armaan could not forget the conversation about Zara wanting a real husband and a family of her own. Those words had punched him in the stomach. He had refrained from giving a reply, fuming in silence at that time. That reaction was uncalled for, he thought sourly. Of course she had a right to have a family. It reminded him that Zara would be gone within a few months. The feeling that began to bite into him did not feel like relief at all. It did not seem very healthy for his peace of mind. Not wanting to face up to it, he had rolled on top of her that night and kissed her thoroughly as if to stamp his seal on her forever.

“Is mummy never going to return?” Natasha cried out in between a mouthful of almonds.

Both Armaan and Zara shared a glance. “Why do you say that, baby?” Zara seated her gently on her lap while the child began to weep.

“Because Daddy won’t come back either.” Nishant said with a solemn air. “I don’t think people stay with each other forever.”

The cynical words hit Armaan like a bolt of lightning. He stared at some spot on top of the crockery shelf in the corner.

“Mummy will come back soon.” Zara hugged the little one as she swallowed a lump with difficulty.

“Let’s have a beetle-wrestling match!” Nishant was
already running towards the playroom. Natasha slithered off Zara’s lap, racing after her brother, her worries forgotten.

“I guess we have the wrestling match scheduled today.” Sipping at her coffee thoughtfully Zara was still feeling low at the child’s words.

“And, I suppose, there is compulsory participation required by all.” Armaan captured her hands in his with a smile.

Armaan knew that somewhere she too had slipped into the past. Zara’s mood lifted immediately as he looked at her with the softest look in his eyes.

The beetle-wrestling match was serious business. Nishant had brought in his collection that he had gathered the previous day in the garden. They put the assortment of scrambling insects in a small glass bottle in pairs and watched them tumble and fall over each other. They named the pairs with glorious names of valour. Zara shook the jar too vigorously to get the chaps going but squashed one of them in the process.

“Yeeowlish!” screeched Natasha at the sight of yellow sticky liquid that splattered the wrestling site.

“What is ‘Yeeowlish’? Armaan was puzzled.

“It is equivalent for ‘yuck’!” said Zara with a wise air. “The kids invented it! You better expand your vocabulary.”

“Bortaaaarrrr!” A shout from Nishant ripped the air and he hopped around with the jar in his hands in which a large black specimen was strutting around proudly. “We won, Tasha!” His sister joined in the celebrations.

“I believe that is the cry of victory,” said Armaan, fingering his chin.

“You are learning fast,” said Zara impishly.

“I am beginning to feel like an ignoramus here. Guess I have a lot to learn before I can graduate in this language!” he smiled, as the children ran off towards the swing.

“You lost your beetle!” said Zara peering into the jar.

“No, I did not!” He pointed to the green shiny one that was limping towards the exit with a resigned air.

“It has lost two of its legs. That means you lost!” she teased.

“It is alive! Yours is a yellow …” he thought hard, “Ah yes, ‘Yeeowlish’ splat on the glass!”

“Let’s have another match to see who wins,” Zara said, with a challenge in her eyes. For some reason Armaan had the feeling they were not talking about beetles anymore. He tapped her nose with his finger.

“Maybe some other time.” he said and walked towards the studio.

Aparna returned from London next week, looking pink and happy. After the barrage of incessant questions and storytelling and squabbling, the children settled down for the long overdue family meal. They had their usual games in the garden with Zara who was a pal and fellow conspirator. While having tea on the terrace Aparna and Armaan watched the kids play a boisterous game of tug-of-war in the lawn.

“I am going home,” said Aparna quietly to her brother.

Armaan was startled. “You made the right decision.”

Aparna had made her peace with her demons. She
looked down at the game that was growing louder by the minute. “We were wrong about Zara.” She looked at her brooding brother. “We owe her an apology.”

“You do! And so does Bani!” he said emphatically, crossing his arms across his broad chest. “I already did my penance.”

His sister’s piercing gaze made him distinctly uncomfortable. “Marriage suits you, bro! Do I see a glow on your face?” she chuckled, deeply amused.

Armaan gave a flinty look. “You say that once more, you will be wearing my tea!” He lifted his cup a fraction to indicate his intention.

“Wow! How did I miss the signs?” Armaan pulled her by her arm towards the door. “We will be well rid of you soon!” said Armaan sternly.

Aparna, who was now more willing to talk with Zara, cornered her after dinner that night. To Zara’s surprise, she was apologetic about several things.

“You do love him, don’t you?”

Zara was embarrassed. Aparna continued walking in the dark garden hand in hand with her. “Bhai was deeply affected when Dad left. His teenage years were rebellious, hurling down the path of self-destruction. It was the toughest phase for Mom. He was intelligent and creative and it was a humongous task to divert his energy positively. He can be very unemotional on the outside. But I haven’t seen him laugh like the way he has been doing since you came along.”

Zara listened with rapt attention. It made her heart ache more. She loved him. But she also knew that she
was probably not the one who could change his heart. In all these days, he had never mentioned a need to extend their contract. She remained silent through the rest of the evening. The pain in her heart cut deeper as she watched Armaan with his family.

Armaan was already deep in conversation with Shiva when Aparna came down with her luggage early next morning. Zara watched the men shake hands and thump each others’ back in camaraderie. Vini was teary eyed. Aparna hugged Zara tightly with unexpected warmth. “Thank you for everything. Take care of him. He needs you. And we need to get to know each other better, right?”

Zara nodded, warming up to the genuine smile. Zara kept thinking about her parting words. Aparna was mistaken. Armaan did not need anyone. He was strong and independent of maudlin irrational emotions like love. She looked at him having a quiet chat with Shiva who considered Armaan like his elder brother. Aparna seemed to have changed overnight. Love did that to people. The kids basked in the reflected feelings. With a heavy heart, everyone bid them a much-awaited goodbye.

Everyone missed the children and the house seemed empty without them. Zara resumed her work, which she brought home like a beast of burden. Often, Armaan would find her slumped with the laptop still on and would gently tuck her in bed. Life was peaceful. His home had become a comfort zone for Zara. She had never felt this happy, she decided, as everyday she learned something new about Armaan. Beneath that unyielding surface she instinctively sensed an impatient restlessness that led to the creation of
his finest works. Yet he was infinitely patient, executing his work with a mind-boggling precision. His impulsive actions sometimes astonished her on many occasions. And so did his wit and immense charm that surfaced in the most unexpected moments.

Zara experienced that side of Armaan, at a glitzy party at aunt Sudha’s house one night. Everyone was having a lovely time except Zara who felt stifled in her old home. The piercing feeling of being an outsider dug at her every time she visited the Seth house. Armaan had been swept away by Bani and their set of old friends from her side as soon as they had entered. Vini was sitting in a circle of acquaintances with Sudha.

Zara’s eyes were hooked on Armaan who was laughing and signing autographs surrounded by a cluster of art lovers. Zara drifted about aimlessly for some time chatting with a few other guests, desperately wanting to return home, when the DJ turned up the music for a dance.

She sidled into the corner where the doors of the great hall opened into the garden and suddenly Armaan was by her side.

Her somber mood lifted when she saw the gleam of mischief in his eyes. He held out a hand for the dance. Zara smiled and shook her head.

“I don’t know how to dance. Will you teach me?” said Armaan with a dramatic sigh. He had watched her blend herself with the background for the past hour and couldn’t bear that forlorn look on her face. Not when he understood the reason behind it.

Armaan clasped her hand tight and led Zara into the
centre of the stage where many had already gathered. She protested hopelessly that she had two left feet. Blushing furiously at being the centre of attention, she tried to look composed but couldn’t help gurgling with laughter when he squiggled his brows comically. Before she could say anything, Armaan slid an arm around her. His hand on her bare back slipped in between the gold zari strings of her midnight-blue blouse. Her eyes flew up to his in consternation when she felt a tiny tug at the string.

“Put your arms around me, Zara.” His hooded gaze slid over her midnight-blue-silk-draped body as they swayed to the music.

“Armaan!” she whispered hoarsely.

“Quick! Or I will kiss you right here!” Grinning wolfishly, his hand tugged at the delicate string again, his fingers caressing the smooth skin of her back.

“Armaan, stop it!” Zara was mortified. Her arms went around him, glad that her back was now to the wall. The other dancers were absorbed in each other.

“Promise me that you will never hide again.” Armaan said his mouth brushing her ear.

Zara’s eyes misted. He was apologizing in his own way, for all those times when he had been cruel to her. He was giving her the respect she deserved in front of her own family where she had often been rejected and berated as a child. She smiled gratefully and nodded.

“Say, ‘yes my lord’!” said Armaan imperiously; reminiscent of the bully he had been once.