The Homing Pigeons... (15 page)

Radhika

I
left for work the next morning, tempted to take the bus to Delhi as I crossed the bus terminus in Sector 17. I knew that Abhinav’s parents wanted his bride to go with him, which meant that whatever was to happen would happen in a jiffy. For the hundredth time since last evening, I prayed to God. I wasn’t very religious but I did believe in a super being. In my helplessness, the super being was being given faces; he was being cast in stone idols. He was my last hope if ever my dream of being married to Aditya was to become a reality.

There was no God.

My swollen eyes invited a lot of stares. Roshni was seated next to me in the office and asked, “Is everything all right?”

I nodded, knowing that my voice would give me away. From my desk phone, I dialled his number. Finally, he answered.

I spoke in a low voice, “There’s a guy who came to see me yesterday…my parents found him…NRI…wants to marry me,” I said into the phone receiver, sobbing and incoherently stitching together a tale for him.

“I don’t know what to do…parents don’t understand…forcing me…I love you,” I continued.

There was a long silence at the other end, until he spoke in a hushed voice, “Don’t worry, I’ll find a solution. I’ll call back.” I waited for him to call back; each minute seemed like an eternity. I didn’t log on to the Y2K call; my problems were more immediate than something that could potentially happen at the end of the year. I weighed my options while desperately trying to hide behind the conspicuous desk that I sat on.

There was a truth in what my mother had stated yesterday. He was too young to be weighed down by my responsibility.
With our salaries, assuming that Citibank was willing to give me a transfer, we would barely pay the rent of a small apartment in Delhi. Yes, things would improve sometime later, but did he really deserve the stress? Eloping with him was an option, but was it really the best option, for him?

There were too many questions; the answers were few and even then, there wasn’t a perfect answer. I knew that eloping would be a one-way road. I would never be accepted back into the family. I wondered if I had the courage to burn my roots in the hope of reaching the
sun? I dwelled and cried and waited for that elusive phone call.

He finally called back, “Do you want to elope?” “I am not sure,” I replied honestly.

“I am ready, but you need to be sure,” he said.

“How will it happen? How will we manage?” the practicality that was so ingrained in me was coming to the fore.
The same practicality that had forced us to go home from Bukhara and drink out of the thick glasses instead of crystal.

“It’ll all work out; trust me,” he said reassuringly, but I could hear the quiver in his voice and the hesitation behind the brave façade that he displayed.

“Let me think about it. I’ll call you in the evening. Be home,” I said and replaced the receiver.

I took out another
tissue from the half-empty box. I needed to think about the most important decision of my life and this was definitely not the place to do it. I walked into my boss’ office and told him that I was sick and going home. My ragged appearance and swollen eyes didn’t make him think I was lying. I took a rickshaw to Shanti Kunj, a large park in the middle of the city, where I could be alone and think about my conundrum.

Sitting on a bench in the heat and humidity of that July afternoon for almost two hours, I had made my decision. The problem was that I still wasn’t sure if it was the right decision, for me or for him.

Two weeks later, in New York, seven thousand miles away from Aditya, lying lifelessly on the water bed under Abhinav, I was convinced that I had made the worst decision of my life. It had taken less than two weeks to confirm my worst fears, that my decision had been incorrect. The crux of my decision had been Aditya’s career and his life, without giving any thought to what he and I wanted. I had tried to play the sacrificial lamb; the one who gives its life to appease the Gods. It had to be a fool’s choice to give up love but then I wasn’t sure if a woman who had been given up by her parents twice should understand love.

Everything happened so quickly: my parents had already communicated to Abhinav’s parents that I was ready. That evening, they came and did a small ceremony to formalize the wedding and firm up the plans. The wedding would happen on Friday, less than three days later. It was to be a registered marriage given the paucity of time. Mercury and Venus had aligned and Pundit Pratigya Pal had made another correct prediction.

I had promised to call Aditya that evening, but there was no way that I could either step out or use the phone in the house. It wasn’t until after dinner, after Abhinav and his family had left that I got an opportunity to make the phone call. It wasn’t even complete before I heard commotion behind me and hung up. My mother looked at me suspiciously but didn’t say anything. Perhaps, she was afraid of my father’s wrath more than I was.

I wished I had got an opportunity to speak to him, in person, on why I had made the decision. I wished that there was a chance to explain my stance and an opportunity for him to convince me that I had made the wrong decision. Given the timelines, there was a slim chance of that meeting coming true. In the absence of anyone I could talk to, I continued to cry in the confines of my bedroom. Another sleepless night later, I resembled a zombie. The swollen eyes told my story out aloud and I dreaded walking into the office the next day, to hand over my resignation.

“Why are you leaving? I think you’ll be very successful, if you continue here,” my boss said.

“I am getting married,” I replied. “Congratulations!
When?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

He was visibly taken aback, but even then, he agreed. He was widely known to be prejudiced and biased against women in his team. And I had done nothing to change his perception. I didn’t even have time to do my exit formalities. I just handed in my laptop and my identity card, and said that I would try and hand in my clearance forms at the Delhi office. A career was the least that I was losing.

We were grossly under prepared and if Chandigarh had been as large as Delhi, there wasn’t a chance that we’d have been able to complete as much as we did over the course of the next two days. It was to be a registered wedding – to facilitate
the visa processing that would need to happen after the wedding. It was a godsend for the
lehnga
that I had dreamt of wearing on my wedding would never be ready at such a short notice.

It had been over forty-eight hours that I had even slept a wink. Involuntarily, my eyes closed and I was dreaming that I was getting married. Aditya straddled a white horse, dressed up traditionally in a
Sherwani
. Just as he was getting off, the horse buckled and ran away. Hours later, as the many onlookers waited, the horse returned. The rider was different – Abhinav. It was a rude joke. It wasn’t meant to be, but it was happening right here in my life. It would have been so much better if it had just been a dream that I could snap out of.

The registrar of marriages looked at me suspiciously; the swollen, red eyes told a story that he could fathom.

“Are you doing this of your own free will?” he asked.

My parents looked at each other and exchanged guilty glances. I just signed on the dotted line, as an acceptance of my fate. In less than two weeks, I would realize my folly.

It was the July of 1999 when I had committed the mistake of my life. I can never forget it, no matter how much I try. Even nine years later, as I lie in my bed, I can’t help wondering how foolish I had been to be coerced into making a decision that I still regret. Sometimes, our actions and our decisions are so dangerous that you can’t undo them, no matter how hard you try.

I look at the watch that lies on my bedside. It is past two o’clock. It is time that I sleep, hoping that another night will take away my pain and ease my guilt.

Aditya

T
here is something about today that I keep remembering the past. While I have enrolled Bhatoliya earlier this morning, I find myself using the afternoon to reminisce. I don’t know why but my thoughts veer towards Radhika.

I remembered the time when she had gone away from Delhi after our escapade. I had a pasted smile in the Monday meeting at work, unable to erase the memories of the weekend. It wasn’t just the sex; it was the lightness of having been able to tell her. It was an inexplicable feeling, when dreams were to be turned into reality. I knew that I had to marry her and to make it a reality, I needed a promotion. The management trainee program ended on the last day of March in 2000, almost a year from the date of my joining the bank. If my performance was worthy, I would be promoted as an Assistant Manager. The starting salary in that grade was 4 lacs a year; add another 4 lacs of her income and it would provide a comfortable living for us. The math had been done after I dropped her at the train station. There were eight months for us to be us.

I felt a sudden rush of adrenaline and I forgot where I was sitting. “Eight months,” I said out aloud. Ten pairs of eyes turned their attention towards me, questioning me on my irrelevant, nebulous outburst in the middle of the meeting.

As red as a beetroot, I excused myself from the meeting room. I would have to be more careful; the next eight months were critical. In my mind, I was drawing out plans for us – She would need to get a transfer or I could go to Chandigarh. But then, my forte was sales and if I were to believe her experience with the clients she had dealt with, there wasn’t too much scope to grow.

There was still time to go; the finer modalities could be worked out later. I would also have to talk to my parents. Their approval was important, but they were fairly broad- minded. I didn’t expect any hassles on that front. After all, I was their only child. Why would they object? I hoped that her parents wouldn’t create a fuss. She had always been a little cautious whenever their subject came up. She would try and change the topic if it ever deviated in their direction as if there was something painful about that relationship that was best kept under wraps.

Bhatoliya was turning twenty-three and all of us were going on a drinking binge at a new pub that had opened in Vasant Vihar. The clouds threatened to burst again and I didn’t want to be caught in the downpour. I called Bhatoliya, he was about to leave office, and would probably take the same amount of time to make it to the pub. I left the office and reached the pub. Only the four of us were there – the band of friends who shared the apartment. The other two had finally found jobs, albeit having compromised on the salary.

“Did she go back?” Bhatoliya asked curiously

They had all been introduced to Radhika while she had been in Delhi. Surprisingly, they had all disappeared for the most part of the day-and-a-half that she had been around, giving us our privacy.

“Yes, yesterday,” I said.

“So?” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“So, what?” I asked.

“So, now you won’t even tell us?” he was as inquisitive as a dog, whose playing ball disappears down a rabbit hole.

“Tell you what?” I asked.

“For example - Who is she? What’s going on between the two of you? What’re your plans?”

“And why might I tell you?” I asked him.

“I must know because I love you. I’m pregnant with your child and I don’t want you to jilt me for her,” he said. The others burst out laughing.

“She’s Radhika, knew her from school. She works with Citi now and I am going to ditch you for her, you bitch.”

We cheered for the beers that arrived just in time. Bhatoliya paid the bill but cried for the rest of the month. Little did I know that life would change
tomorrow. The happiness and the cheer would get drowned for a very long time to come.

Radhika

I barely slept for three hours last night. Even in the morning, I can’t help feeling a little melancholic. Thinking about Aditya always makes me sad. I look at the watch; it is past ten and I get up from the bed that hasn’t given me the refuge from his memories. I skip breakfast and have barely had lunch when Laxman brings four more children from the neighbourhood. All of them are children of maids and servants whose parents can’t afford to spend money or time on something as frivolous as education.

I am not doing so badly. Within two days, I have been able to garner seven children for my make-shift school. The children fill my time and I feel happiness in giving of me. That happiness leads me to believe that I can live a life again. I wonder what people like me do; people who are young and without a partner. I don’t know anybody in my age group who is single.

After the children have left for the day, I tell Laxman that I don’t want to eat at home. I log onto the Internet and am looking for a restaurant when a pop-up comes up. It is an advertisement for a single’s dating site. I wonder if I should enrol myself. It might help me find people who are my age and single. It is just that they will be from a different gender.

I stop my thoughts from getting ahead of me. I am pretty sure that I am not ready for anything which mildly resembles a relationship. I need company but I’ll be happier spending time with the same sex. Sometimes, I wish Shipra isn’t always so busy. I wish that I had friends besides her. I don’t know where to start.

Even as a child I had few friends, but now, I find myself in an absolute dearth. I wish I had some hobbies that I could pursue. I wish my mother wasn’t such a disaster that she didn’t let a hobby develop. It was much later in life that Ms Kapoor introduced me to reading. I used to read but Vimal thought it was a waste of time. It isn’t for nothing that I wanted my freedom. I had lost much more than I had gained from that marriage. I didn’t expect to hear from Meera and I haven’t since I moved to Delhi. It’s left me with no family and no friends. It is so easy for me to break into my piteous avatar.

Since I am planning to eat out today, I wonder if I can just go to the Gulmohar Park club that
is walking distance from my house. Maybe I can find some neighbours there who are willing to entertain me. It’s still only January and the weather remains cold. My outings out on the porch have decreased recently because the fog doesn’t let the sun through. So, I prefer to sit beside a heater. I am brave to dress up in a dark blue sari that will not keep me very warm. I want to look worth entertaining. I look at my reflection in the mirror and I pass the test. That’s when I decide to walk the hundred metres to the club.

I go there but find it almost empty. The few people who are here are snobbish. I guess it’s almost fashionable to be a
snob. You know, you aren’t considered high society enough if you talk to someone. I think this problem is everywhere, but south Delhi takes the cake.

I  am  getting accustomed  to  see  my  best-laid  plans  to socialize, fail. I don’t know why but no one wants to speak to each other. Either the neighbours are caught behind the very high walls of their house or in their snobbery at the club. I am very hesitant in walking up to someone and introducing myself. I think I am foolish to expect that someone will come and ask me if I’m lonely and want company. Sometimes, I wish I hadn’t given up drinking. Alcohol makes you lose your inhibitions. I just have a cup of soup before I am back to the drear.

I am dejected and wondering if listing myself on the singles dating site is a bad idea. Even then, I am determined that I will end my loneliness. I pick up the newspapers to see what is running. I make a note of the events on in the city. Maybe, a visit to the theatre will help.

The next morning, as I am hoping to get a reservation for the show at Siri Fort, the phone rings. It is Shipra, “What’s going on?” she asks me.

“Still looking for something to do and someone to do it with,” I say.

“Why don’t you come over this evening? We’re going to the DSOI tonight,” she says.

After the children have left in the evening, I dress up in another one of those saris that I possess but rarely wear. It is a maroon and black south silk. I call out to Laxman, who brings out the car and we make our way to Dhaula Kuan where the Defence Officers Service Institute is located. I meet Shipra at the gate and we go inside to the bar where the Colonel sits with one of his cronies.

He introduces himself as Colonel Raghav Khanna. In a lot of ways, he reminds me of Aditya. He is tall, fair and athletic. I have to stop myself from doing this. Why do I always draw comparisons with him whenever I meet anyone? I tell myself that it is about time that I get over my past. There is enough hurt that my heart has already seen.

Raghav is a decorated officer who has earned his stripes in the Kargil war of 1999. What was it about that year that so much had happened?

He is a bachelor and it is probably intentional that Shipra has made my acquaintance with him. He is funny too, when he speaks of the tribulations of being in the armed forces. I enjoy his company but still can’t stop myself from comparing him to Aditya.

We exchange numbers and promise to stay in touch. As we drive back to Gulmohar Park, I can’t help wondering if finally my life is going to change for the better. Already, the strength in my makeshift school has gone up to seven. I have to tell Laxman to stop because we are running out of space on the porch and yet, the large house has so much space that can be utilized for a noble cause.

I look at the watch, it’s past eleven. I wish I had picked up a book on the way in to DSOI. I hate the soap operas that play on television but I guess I’ll go home and see a rerun. By now, I am convinced that freedom isn’t the great thing that I had made it out to be.