Losing My Virginity and Other Dumb Ideas (11 page)

Once I was back in Mumbai, the first person I wanted to call was Aditi. I really didn’t know how she would react to me seeing a married man, and to top that, sleeping with him. I decided to go over to her place since she text messaged that she was at home, cleaning her cupboards.

Aditi had taken the decision to live in Lokhandwala all her life. When I had first come to Mumbai, she had just moved into a two-bedroom apartment away from her parents’ in Pune. She wanted a roommate. And so I had become her first roommate. And we loved each other’s company, not to mention the apartment itself. It was on the fifth floor overlooking a mangrove, which was so rare for an area like Andheri. It had two small bedrooms with attached bathrooms, but the living room was large and extended out to a balcony. We had bought colourful throw cushions for one corner and a low divan as a sofa for the other wall. We used to sit most evenings contemplating life over cups of Irish coffee. Sure, we could barely afford it but, as she said, if it wasn’t a nice space, it wouldn’t have been so much fun.

Then her parents visited us and soon enough, started regularly occupying her room while she slept on the divan outside. Feeling it was much too crowded for me, I moved out and found a place in Bandra while her parents permanently settled into ‘our’ apartment. By now they had presumed it was their place, too, and Aditi occupied my old room.

I felt awkward about talking to her in front of her parents about this new development in my life, but since she had insisted that I come over, I had no option. I greeted her parents and sat with them in the living room and answered politely all their queries about work and laughed appreciatively about becoming grey before a man came into my life, as her mother fondly gave me tea and glucose biscuits.

Then Aditi said she had to finish cleaning her wardrobe and we were excused while her parents went back to watching TV, which was on mute even when they were conversing with me.

‘So how was your vacation?’ Aditi asked, as she opened her light brown cupboard door and threw out some clothes from the bottom shelf on to the bed.

‘Good,’ I said casually, going towards the window to look at the mangrove below. I missed seeing it every morning. Over a period of time, Bandra had become one concrete jungle and trees were a rare sight.

‘Don’t give me that. I know something is up. Tell, na,’ she said, as she sat down on the bed folding the clothes into piles.

‘Okay,’ I sat down on the chair next to the window, still holding my cup of tea that had become cold. It was much too sweet for my liking anyway. ‘Can I please have some coffee, with sugar separately?’ I asked.

‘Nandu!’ she bellowed, in the direction of the kitchen to their full-time servant, ‘Ek pheta hua coffee, cheeni alag se. Jaldi! (One brewed coffee with sugar served separately, and make it quick!)’ Then she turned towards me and raised her eyebrows in question again, all the while sorting out her clothes.

‘I met someone …’ I said quietly so that her parents wouldn’t hear.

She almost squealed till I raised my finger to my lips and pointed to the door reminding her of her parents. I couldn’t imagine how Aditi, being so outgoing, lived with her parents, especially since she had come to Mumbai to find her freedom.

‘They can’t hear, yaar! They’re too obsessed with watching the new Sony serials on full blast. So tell me, who is this gem you’ve managed to find …’

I was careful as I spoke, ‘He works in Mumbai. He’s from Goa, though. And I think I’m in love with him!’

‘What?’ she asked incredulously, ‘How long were you in Goa? A year? How can you be in love so fast?’

So I went on to describe the first date and Aditi listened in rapt attention with ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ at the same places where, a few days ago, I had been thinking the same thoughts. When I finished, I had omitted the part that was most important.

But she jumped up and came to me and gave me a big hug and said, ‘I’m so happy for you, Kavu! Tell me all about it? How was the first time?’

‘Well it hurt pretty badly but he went slowly over a long period of time and we did a whole lot of other things that made it really comfortable.’ She waited for me to continue, but I didn’t want to elucidate, all of a sudden. I felt that this was really private and it should be so. It should not be discussed in detail with even your best friend. I wanted it to be a memory I would cherish and not something that Aditi could take apart for her pleasure. So I shrugged my shoulders and said, ‘That’s it.’

‘That’s it?’ she shrieked. ‘Shut up! Tell me what he did and how you felt. I still can’t believe
you
did it with a total stranger!’ I knew she would think that. That’s why I didn’t want to tell her that I did it with someone who was my ‘soul mate’.

Explaining that to Aditi would have taken longer than describing the experience so I just threw my hands in the air and said, ‘See, you’re off the hook now! Mission De-virginization accomplished!’

She shrieked again and gave me another hug while her mother shouted out from the living room if everything was okay. Aditi assured her that all was in place, shouting back.

Honestly I didn’t know how Aditi could have had so many men given her strict upbringing, the constant watch of her parents from a few feet away and a full time servant in the same house to boot!

I smiled.

Just then Nandu came in with my coffee and I started sipping it not knowing how to explain the part that I was deliberately leaving out. Aditi sensed something was up and asked then, ‘So what’s wrong? Why are you not telling me everything?’

I knew I would have to tell it all, so I took my time, ‘I think he’s great and all and I’m completely in love and he’s also smitten, but …’ I paused.

‘But?’ she prodded. I didn’t want to ruin the moment but it would have haunted me if I didn’t tell her right away. But the moment I said it, I knew that I would regret it for the rest of my life.

‘He’s married.’

‘He’s MARRIED?’ she hollered, throwing her hands up in the air characteristically, the drama queen.

‘Shhhhh. Please!’ I said, hoping her mother wouldn’t come rushing in now. I so wished we weren’t having this conversation with her parents in the other room. Especially since I felt that I had sinned deeply in front of people who thought I was a ‘great influence’ on their daughter’s life and let them down.

She looked at me and gave me a very disapproving look. She shook her head and said, ‘Leave him now. Before you get hurt.’

I couldn’t believe this! Here was my best friend who had slept with men indiscriminately, being completely unsupportive when it came to me. The least she could do was to have asked if he was getting a divorce—which he had promised me. Somewhat. So I told her about his situation and that he had promised to get a divorce and be with me, but since our relationship was very new, he was taking it slow with me but that he did see a future. Maybe he hadn’t said divorce and future so explicitly but I could
feel
it from him and added it to Aditi to make a more solid argument for me being ‘in love with a married man’.

‘Kaveri,’ she spoke, with authority and contempt, ‘married men do not get a divorce. It’s an urban myth.’ She enunciated every word as if I needed to be taught this valuable lesson about life.

‘That’s not true! Some people do. But anyways, I know what I’m doing and I want you to be happy for me.’

She stuffed the rest of her clothes back in her wardrobe and shrugged her shoulders. I knew she was angry with me for going against her laws of finding men.

It was my turn to get annoyed. ‘Okay, why do you say it’s an urban myth?’ I asked rather hurtfully.

‘Because I’ve been there. I’ve been with a married man. Don’t you remember Sanjay? That was precious time of my life that went to waste, Kaveri,’ she shot back.

I had always been a little defensive around Aditi. Our relationship was one of mentor and student and there had been times when she had had her heart broken and I had made her rum cake with Irish coffee, but I had never doled out advice about men to her. I had always listened. Then again, what could you really tell someone who was inconsistent and erratic in relationships in any case?

But this was the first time that I didn’t want to listen. I wanted her to be happy for me. Just because her love hadn’t worked out didn’t mean mine would not as well.

Besides, our ‘mission’ had been accomplished. She should have wanted to celebrate. But here she was, acting like an aggrieved parent whose star child had decided not to pursue the chosen path.

So I kept quiet. And looked away from her. I could not argue with her. I didn’t have too many explanations myself, but I wanted her to be happy for me. I was crestfallen.

So all I could say was, ‘Not all married men are the same.’ And I prayed that she would believe me.

It was five minutes of awkward silence before Aditi softened up, ‘I’m sorry. It’s your life. I was just being protective. Of course, I’m happy for you. Just keep one thing in mind, treat an affair as it is—an affair. Have minimum expectations and do things according to your convenience, not his. Okay?’ She asked, assuming the mentor’s role again.

I nodded.

She came over and gave me another hug and we made up. But deep down I could make out that she really hadn’t forgiven me. I knew that maybe I should not tell her too much. I wanted to prove her wrong. Love did change people. Married men did divorce if the right person came along. It was no longer an ugly word, no longer a stigma in our society. I thought I would show her what a ‘perfect relationship’ could be by breaking her myth, or what she had termed as ‘urban legend’.

Over the next few weeks, I met Arjun almost everyday. He would pick me up from home or a conference and we would go out for drinks and dinner. Then we would go back to my place and make love a few times before crashing out on either side of the bed, both of us needing our space in between. It was heavenly. We got to know each other so well that it felt like we were married. Maybe the reason for that was because he stayed over so often that he had become a part of my daily existence.

I knew what Aditi had been talking about now, when she’d said, ‘You know when you really feel “love”, all the clichés come true, the happiness and the pain, the longing and the celebration. Until you have that, you’re not really in love.’ I could now understand the people around me who spoke about love and relationships. Until now, it had remained an elusive figure from a distant land.

As I got to know Arjun better, I realized we had many differences. Sure, he liked art and was a klutz like me, but that’s where the similarities ended. When he wanted Italian, I would have a craving for Mughlai. He loved the mountains, I loved the beach. He liked jazz, I liked Madonna. He wanted to watch TV, I wanted to read. He wanted to go out, I wanted to stay in and order food. It seemed at every stage we were finding new subjects to differ on. But it was a new experience to know someone so different from me, who I was so hypnotized by. We listened to each other explaining what we liked and why we liked them. It gave us a new perspective to things. Here was a man I could finally look up to. I admired his sure way of taking charge and giving me the peace of not arranging things that I had done all my life.

For so many years I was the one who had decided everything, my move to Mumbai, my translating projects, my apartment, my maid, my daily groceries, paying bills, taking broken things to repair shops. To make so many decisions on a regular basis at every minute of your life for someone as laid back as me had been taxing. I could finally surrender to someone who wanted the best for me. And Arjun did it so well. He made my home, his home. He would call the grocery man and have things delivered. He would order food when we had a hard day at work. He would tell the maid what to cook and Bharat Gas when to come. He took control. And he controlled my life.

The maid was a little flabbergasted at first seeing a man who had almost taken over the apartment with his clothes in the washing machine and his razor on the bathroom sink. But soon she warmed up to him and they would chat up. I did not mind this in the least, as I felt that the two most important people in my life right now were connecting somehow. It was a weird thought since Arjun and I had never met each other’s families and they should have been the most important people judging us. But for now this felt right. He even bought her kids new uniforms for their schools and became a big hit in her circle of friends who came by with some home-made pickle or banana chips from time to time.

Then like all couples do, at times we would fight over small things. I would tell him to leave and go back to his own place. And it would be my maid who would say things like ‘good men are hard to find’. And I would invariably call him back into my apartment and she would be happy since he would bring her gifts. It was a weird equation.

But there were days when he was not around that she would also mention things that I didn’t want to hear. ‘Baby,’ that was what she called me, ‘I hope you know that the people in this colony are talking about you.’

I was a little taken aback, ‘What are they saying?’ I asked. She shrugged her shoulders as she changed the faded blue sheets on my bed with bright paisley ones, ‘Oh you know, the usual, like, “Has she got married?”, “Who is he?”, “Living in is illegal”…’ she trailed off. I presumed she wanted to know more about the relationship than the nosy neighbours, but I wouldn’t feed her with gossip.

‘Who is asking?’ I demanded to know.

‘The lady in apartment 201. You know they all sit downstairs every evening discussing people in every apartment, na?’ she said, while walking into the kitchen, knowing fully well that she had me deep into this conversation. ‘I don’t really care since I think Arjun baba is wonderful. But I thought you should know,’ she said, while taking things out of the cupboards to make lunch.

‘Well, I don’t care!’ I said indignantly, and she looked at me strangely. I did care. I always cared about what people said and thought about me. That’s why I dressed conservatively when I walked out of the apartment, that’s why I studied so much, so that people would not think I was a bimbette, and that’s why I preferred art to movies, just so that ‘society’ would see me with respect. So that my parents would be proud of me. So that maybe I could be as accomplished as them. Maybe.