The Secret wish List (20 page)

And as I step out and get into the auto, there is a text from Ankit.

‘Hurry. I am waiting at the coffee shop’
it reads.

‘Coming. See you soon.’
I text back.

When I finally see him, he is bent over his smart phone, both legs stretched out, a half-finished iced tea on the table, fully absorbed in his task. He looks as handsome as he did when he was seventeen and I can see that he has really looked after his body too. He is toned and fit, his short-sleeved electric-blue T-shirt showing off muscular arms which must have pumped iron for hours in a gym. His hair is stylishly cut with slight traces of grey at the sides, which makes him even more appealing in my eyes. I note that he wears glasses now, the rimless kinds. He looks every inch the rich (everything about him seems to scream money), well-dressed, well-travelled business tycoon that he now is. He has transformed, amazingly well, into a gorgeous man from the lean lanky lad he used to be.

I stand and stare at him for a few minutes, taking in every detail about him.

Then I walk up to his table and say, ‘Hey.’

He looks up and his gaze meets my eye. The look of startled surprise changes into slow recognition and then his eyes light up in pure joy as a million-watt smile flashes across his face.

‘God, you’re beautiful,’ he says.

The next moment I am enveloped in a bear hug. The feeling is electric. I feel as though someone has jolted me with a live wire. He is so tall and he has hugged me so tight that my face is crushed against his chest. His arms around me feel wonderful and I savour the moment, enjoying every bit of it.

I love his perfume, I love this feeling, I love the warmth. Heck, I realise just how much I love all of him. Nothing has changed.

When he finally breaks away and smiles at me, I know that my life from now on is going to be different. This connect that I feel with him is exhilarating, giddy and nothing has prepared me for this. Every nerve, every fibre, every cell in my body seems to be resonating with joy. Even though this is so wrong, it feels
so right.
I struggle at first to understand it. But I soon give up—the force is too powerful, too overwhelming.

He asks me what I will have and I am unable to speak.

And without warning, tears start rolling down.

He reaches out and grips my hand and says, ‘Shall we go upstairs to my room?’

I can only nod.

We go to his room in silence, his arm protectively around me. The entire thing feels like a dream. I cannot believe this is happening to me. I am taken aback at how comfortable I feel with him, how completely I trust him.

He guides me inside the hotel room, and it reminds me of my other reunion—with Tanu—and the time I went upstairs to her room.

I do not trust myself to speak and so I say nothing. I just enjoy every bit of this moment and lean on his arm around me.

Once we are inside, he shuts the door and I do not know what to expect. He cups my chin in his hands and plants a kiss on my forehead.

‘Oh, Diksha. You are so darn gorgeous. And the way you look now, you are killing me,’ he says, looking into my eyes.

I smile and look away.

‘Thanks,’ I say and blush.

I am sixteen again.

‘Did you know I was teasing you when I said I had put on tons of weight and have a double chin?’ I ask as I kick off my heels and sink down comfortably on the double bed, propping up the soft pillows.

Ankit sits on the chair opposite the bed.

‘I wasn’t sure if you were teasing or not. All I knew is that I had to see you,’ he says.

‘Why are you sitting there? Come and sit on the bed,’ I say, surprising myself with my boldness. I feel like a new person in his presence. The caution and timidity which I usually cover myself with seems to have fallen off like a cloak, and underneath is this bold new woman who knows what she wants.

Ankit comes and sits next to me. I take his hand in mine. His hands are so much bigger than mine and I suddenly realise that holding hands is something I have never done with Sandeep in all the years that we have been married. With him, there has never been tenderness, never been this feeling which am I now experiencing with Ankit. Ankit lifts my hand and kisses it and begins stroking it.

I move closer to him and he lies down next to me, facing me, and draws me into his arms. We lie in silence for a long time. I place my ear on his chest and listen to his heartbeat.

‘Isn’t this surreal, Diksha?’ he says

‘So totally. You have flown so many miles just to see me. We haven’t even talked and here we are—lying in each other’s arms. We are really acting like the teenagers we were.’

‘I know. I just want to hold you, Diksha, and never let you go. I have lost you once. I don’t want to lose you again.’

‘You already have me, Ankit. I am all yours,’ I smile as I kiss him on the lips.

He kisses me back and a blaze of fire rushes from my belly to my throat. I melt in his arms and surrender completely.

He unbuttons my top and I can feel myself holding my breath. I am glad I have worn lacy lingerie. He kisses the top of my breasts and I sigh. He goes back to kissing me on my lips, as he buttons my top right back.

‘What happened?’ I whisper. I so want this guy now. I want him to make love to me, slowly, languorously. It is a hunger I have never felt before. With Sandeep, the lovemaking has been functional, hurried, quick and I have never enjoyed it. With Ankit, I am, for the first time, beginning to realise why all those women in romance novels, swoon when their lover kisses them. All the clichés described there are so darn true, I think.

‘Nothing,’ he smiles as he props himself on one arm and looks at me. ‘You are beautiful.’

‘Yes, you have told me that three times already.’

‘Are you tired of hearing it?’

‘How can I ever be?’ I smile.

He is truly driving me crazy now. I am mad with desire for him. He looks irresistible propped up like that, so close to me, with his head resting on his arm.

I feel like unbuttoning his shirt, tearing off his clothes and insisting that he make love to me, right there and right then.

I draw him towards me and hug him as tight as I can and kiss him with ferocity and urgency. He slips his hand under my shirt and strokes my back.

I slowly unbutton his shirt and then unzip his trouser. He smiles in pleasure.

‘You can’t wait, can you?’ he teases.

‘No! I want you. Now, ’ I say.

‘How badly?’ he asks and smiles.

‘Let me show you,’ I say as I yank down his trousers and nip him on the ear.

It feels as though I have been starved of sex all these years. With Ankit, it is as if a new version of me has emerged. I so badly
want
to make love to this man. I want to please him. I want to make him happy. And I so badly want him inside me. This is very different from the functional married sex which I am used to. This is wild passion with all caution thrown to the winds. This is madness. This is frenzy.

And this is scarily the new me.

Ankit, I discover, is gentle, caring and he really wants to please me too. He makes love like an expert, knowing exactly when to take me to a pinnacle, when to ease and when to linger.

And when I finally come, all I can do is moan and call out his name repeatedly and dig my fingernails deep into his back.

Ankit cuddles me after he comes. I like that. Again, it is something Sandeep has never done.

We lie in silence, hugging each other for a long time as our breathing slowly returns to its normal pace. Then he turns around and traces a line with his forefinger on my cheek.

‘God, Diksha, you are amazing,’ he says.

‘You too, Ankit. You too,’ I reply.

I have never felt this complete before. Ankit completes me, he really does.

He glances at his watch and asks, ‘What time do you have to go back?’

‘Three thirty is when the school bus reaches home,’ I reply.

‘I so wish you could stay longer,’ he says.

‘Me too, but I have to be home,’ I say.

‘I will drop you home. You aren’t taking any more autos. Not when I am around,’ he says.

I kiss him again in response.

We are ravenously hungry and he orders food while I shower and get dressed. I am amazed at how easily I have slipped and committed adultery and gone from being a ‘good housewife’ into a ‘cheating adulterous spouse.’ I don’t even feel guilty. I wonder where my conscience has vanished.

As we eat our meal, Ankit and I talk. I ask him about his relationships.

He tells me about his brief engagement to the daughter of his father’s wealthy friend, which he broke off (much to his parents’ fury). He tells me it was more a business deal for his dad than anything else, and while the girl was pretty and pleasant, he felt nothing at all towards her. He also tells me about the large number of women he has had sex with, some of whose names he does not even remember.

‘And don’t worry. It was all safe sex. I never ever do it without a condom.’

Strangely, I don’t feel jealous at all.

‘No wonder you are so good at it. You have had so much practice,’ I tease him.

‘You know what, Diksha, it is the first time in ages I have felt this peace that I am feeling with you,’ he says. ‘This thing I feel for you, it is so strong, I am powerless, Diksha. I truly am.’

I am amazed that I feel exactly the same way.

Somewhere at the back of my mind, I do know that what I am getting into here will be a tangled mess. But it feels so wonderful and so very right that I am unable to stop it.

All that matters at this moment is that Ankit is back in my life and I feel ever so happy about it.

Twenty

T
HERE IS A SONG IN MY HEART AS
I
COOK DINNER
that night. I smile constantly to myself as I recall how Ankit pulled me towards him and kissed me hard in the backseat of the hired hotel cab, as he dropped me home, even as the chauffeur probably got a nice look through the rear-view mirror, and how very glad I was for the tinted glasses.

‘Will see you again soon. Take care, Diksha,’ he had said.

‘Bye,’ I had replied looking into his eyes and there was so much said in that one single word. I knew he understood. It was the secret language of lovers, of two souls who understand each other intuitively and who are in perfect sync.

I miss Ankit like crazy even as I stir the dal.

‘Ma, why are you smiling so much today?’ asks Abhay, jolting me back to reality. He is perched on the kitchen counter, watching me cook. He loves doing this. He sits and swings his legs while I cook and is usually the most communicative at these moments, and we discuss and talk about various things.

‘I just remembered a joke,’ I lie.

‘What joke? Tell me?’ he insists.

‘Why is an elephant large, grey and wrinkled?’ I ask, telling him the first joke that comes to my head.

‘I don’t know. Hmm… Because they evolved that way?’ he asks. He is my little geek, my little Darwin.

I smile.

‘No, because if it was smooth, round and small, it would be a headache tablet,’ I say and smile.

Abhay chuckles.

‘That’s a good one, Ma,’ he says. I am relieved that I have thought of something to tell him which explains my mysterious smile.

Sandeep has an announcement to make that night and he chooses to do so at dinner.

‘I will be going to Korea for about a week. If things work out, I will probably have to be there for a month or so. I have been chosen to spearhead a project and my visit will be crucial for the deal,’ he says. He looks triumphant. As though he has won a war. I know this is really important for him and I am happy he has got what he wanted.

‘Oh. Glad you got to head it. When will you be leaving?’ I ask.

‘Day after tomorrow. I have to be there as soon as possible,’ he says.

‘Oh, you will miss my science fair, Papa. I am making a robot, a real robot. And it moves,’ says Abhay.

‘I can’t help it, son. Mummy will be there for you. This is a very important project for papa,’ replies Sandeep.

‘So? This is an important project for me, too,’ says Abhay as he pushes away his plate of food angrily and stands up. The plate knocks over the glass of water which floods the table.

‘ABHAY. How DARE you? Sit down right now and behave,’ Sandeep yells at Abhay.

I hate it when he does that. His booming voice echoes across the room making my ears hurt. I am very scared when Sandeep is like this, though I mask it. But Abhay is unfazed.

He sits down, but does not touch his food. He crosses his arm over his chest and sulks. ‘You are never there, Papa. I was chosen to display my robot. I beat all the older kids,’ he says. All his pent-up frustration at Sandeep for not spending time with him comes pouring out.

I am so afraid of how Sandeep will react. I am certain that he will crush Abhay’s spirit with his harsh words. Sandeep is quite insensitive that way.

‘Abhay, it is okay, sweetie. We will video-tape the whole thing and send it to Papa. He will see it from Korea,’ I quickly intervene before Sandeep can say anything, creating a truce between father and son.

Later, I cannot help thinking how right Abhay is. Sandeep is never around to witness and appreciate any of Abhay’s accomplishments at school. It is always I who attend all his events and everything he participates in. I recall how Abhay, while in kindergarten, many years ago, was participating in a function on his school day, where he was a rabbit and had to hop across the stage in a bunny costume. Sandeep had taken off to play golf as usual, saying he could not attend, as he found such events boring and had no interest in seeing a bunch of kids prancing about on stage. I had felt bad, but quietly accepted. Over the years, it had become a pattern. Sandeep would wash his hands off anything to do with Abhay, and I was always the ever-present parent. Abhay too had quietly accepted it and today was the first time he was speaking out. My little boy is growing up and standing up to his father. Secretly I am proud of Abhay.