I Too Had a Love Story

  That evening, I asked her mischievously, ‘Hey! Do you mind talking in Punjabi? I never heard you fulfilling my expectations. Or are you going to start after our marriage?’

  ‘And if I say I won’t do that even after our marriage, what will you do?’ she teased me and laughed. I imagined her jumping off her bed and running to the window to catch a few raindrops.

  ‘Then I’ll take you back to your home in Faridabad and leave you there.’

  All she said was, ‘Shona …?’I could hear the rain falling on the ground outside her window. I realized what I landed up saying. My attempt at humor had badly failed. I did not know how to react. Before I could say anything, she said, ‘Shona, you carry on with the passage. See you later.’ And she hung up very quietly—something she never did.

  I felt very uncomfortable, recalling the way I had reacted to her teasing. I could neither call her up to tell her that I didn’t mean what she thought I meant, nor could I concentrate on my RC passages. All my answers for the next passage were incorrect.

  Later that evening, around 7 p.m., I rode my bike to the nearest ATM to get some cash for my ticket back to Bhubaneswar. It started drizzling—the first rain of the season. Now I could imagine how she felt when she had called me earlier. I got out of the queue in front of the ATM and dialed her number.

  ‘Hello?’ she said. Her voice was shaking.

  ‘Khushi,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, Shona,’ she promptly responded. Then I heard a choking noise which was enough for anyone to realize that she was crying.

  I could not say anything for a moment, during which her tears rolled down further. ‘Hey dear! Please … Please don’t cry. I’m so sorry for having said those terrible words.’

  She started sobbing loudly and I felt very ashamed for what I had done to the girl who wanted to hold my hands and dance with me in the rain. I felt as if I had committed the greatest sin—making the sweetest girl on earth, who was only meant for me, cry. How could I have done that? I hit the wall in front of me very hard. The people in the queue looked at me. I moved down the street to where there was no light.

  ‘I am so sorry, Khushi. I am so sorry. Please don’t cry because of my stupid mistake.’

  Silence.

  ‘Talk to me dear. Say something. Punish me but, for God’s sake, talk to me,’ and with that I too started crying.

  After a while she managed to say, ‘Shona, you haven’t even taken me to your home yet and you’re talking of sending me back.’

  Her simple, innocent question left me speechless. She was crying, I was crying and the sky was crying with us. It started raining heavily.

  ‘It took you just a second to say that. But I am a girl. I will be leaving my parents, my brother and sisters, people with whom I have lived my life so far, my home, which holds so many memories, just to become yours. And you said that you will leave me.’

  ‘I’m stupid, I’m terrible. I really am,’ I shouted, hitting a pole on the side of the street, crying loudly in that rain, not caring if anybody saw me. The clouds thundered. The rain came down hard and noisy. And I kept hitting the pole and crying. There must have been something wrong with me, for I had never cried that way.

  And it’s probably the nature of the feminine heart to stop others from crying. So she did what I should have done for her. She wiped my tears first.

  ‘Shona! Shona … Please! I can hear you crying. Please don’t do that. Please … See, I’m talking to you. And no matter what, I am yours, just yours and even now I am with you. And if you want to see me happy, please don’t cry, my dear.’ The broken heart was comforting the heart that had broken it. She even made me laugh a little, later.

  Then I said, ‘I feel sorry and I’m ashamed of myself for hurting you.’

  ‘Shona, do you know that, just like you, I too want to be with my family for ever. But because of the way our society and culture is, I have to leave them all. And I will do that, because I am in love with you and the person I need the most for the rest of my life, to take care of me, is you.’

  ‘I know that dear. I know that very well. I don’t know how I landed up saying that. I never felt it from my heart. You have all the right to punish me.’

  ‘Punishment?’ she asked in a cute voice.

  ‘Yeah. It can be anything,’ I said.

  ‘Where are you?’ she asked, and I felt her voice getting better.

  ‘I came to get some cash from the ATM. It’s two blocks away.’

  ‘Are there people at the ATM?’

  ‘Yeah, there is a long queue.’

  ‘Go back to the ATM queue.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Just go there. It’s part of your punishment.’

  ‘All right,’ I said and went back. ‘Yes. I am there.’

  ‘Ok. Now give me five kisses.’

  ‘What!?’

  ‘Shona!’ she said sternly, reminding me that I could not back out.

  I had made her cry, and now I had to do what she wanted. I steeled myself and, ignoring the people around me, went ahead and gave her five loud kisses over the phone. I was the second last person in the queue and I kept my head bent to avoid contact with the surprised eyes which were staring at me.

  It was embarrassing, to say the least, but she just laughed. And despite my embarrassment, I was happy to make her laugh again.

  At the same time, I understood a girl’s situation, the sacrifices she makes for the man of her dreams. She leaves behind everything she possessed so far in life, to embrace him and his family. I asked myself how I would have felt if I was to leave my family for her. Could I even think of leaving my family? How do girls do it? And, more importantly, why do only they have to do it? I didn’t have any answers. In due course of time, Khushi taught me several such lessons. Gradually, she was changing me and my mindset.

  That evening, I did not withdraw any cash because the next moment, I noticed one of my neighbors standing in the queue, right ahead of me. His face made it clear that he had caught me kissing my phone.

  It is midnight, the last Saturday of August. I have come back home after watching a movie. Khushi and I had a quarrel in the afternoon and, because I couldn’t stand not talking to her, I went to watch a movie, thinking it would make me feel better. It did not.

  Unable to stand it any longer, I call her up in the middle of the night.

  She picks up my call with a laugh, making me realize that I couldn’t stand by my tough words—I said I would not be the first one to start talking again. Moments later, even I join in her laughter. We are no longer quarreling. Later, she says something that touches my heart.

  ‘Shona! Let’s make this a rule for our life after marriage. If we are together at home, then we will have dinner in the same plate, no matter what. Even if we had a terrible fight that day. We may not speak to each other, but sitting together … waiting for our turns to break the next bite of chapatti … the inadvertent touch of our hands as we eat … all this will calm our anger. Hai na?’

  It was the beginning of October—almost three months since we knew each other. I had talked to her entire family by then, and she had talked to mine.

  In fact, she had become a good friend of my mother. Mumma always wanted to have a daughter. Gradually, she started sharing her joys and sorrows with Khushi. She used to talk about my childhood, my nature, my likes and dislikes, the things that made me angry. She also talked about her life in this family, a family in which men outnumbered women by a ratio of 3:1 and where, unfortunately, the majority dominated.

  There were things about my mother which I had never known earlier. But Khushi would tell me those things. Like any other son, I also love my mother, but the problem is that we never know when we become part of this male dominant society. Khushi used to explain to me the nature of a woman and her expectations. She used to tell me what I should do for her when I went back home, on weekends. She used to give me tips. At times, she also used to shout at me if I forgot them. I had one more reason to be happy the
n, for Khushi understood the importance of relationships, she knew the importance of family and how to care for it.

  One more responsibility that I had given her was to neither call me up after 10 p.m., nor talk to me if at all I happened to call her up after that time. The reason was that the CAT exam was close and I wanted to devote three-four hours a day for preparation.

  So, we took a vow, albeit reluctantly.

  ‘Till the CAT is over, we will not talk to each other after 10 p.m.,’ I said.

  ‘… And this rule will only be followed on weekdays,’ she added her clause, reasoning that on weekends we have surplus time to prepare and didn’t need to make our lives tougher by not talking to each other.

  ‘Ok baba. Now repeat after me,’ I said.

  ‘In the name of God, I, Ravin …’ I paused for her to repeat after me.

  ‘In the name of God my Shona and I, Khushi …’ And I felt so good for the ‘my Shona’ in her statement. Inside, I felt like kissing her one more time for these small but wonderful things she often did for me. Outside, I went ahead with my vow.

  ‘… take a vow that …’ ‘… take a vow that …’ ‘… we will not call each other on weekdays after 10 p.m., unless there is some kind of emergency …’

  ‘… we will not call each other on weekdays after 10 p.m., unless there is some kind of emergency … and even if there is no emergency but, somehow, I am not able to sleep, I will only call you for five minutes,’ she added another clause to the vow.

  ‘What is this …?’ I asked, and laughed. Not being able to hold back my love for her, I kissed her. One after another, those kisses flew all the way to her place, bypassing so many mobile towers and satellites.

  Khushi made me enjoy every moment of my life: the good, the bad, the challenging. She made them all simply wonderful.

  The first week, it was quite tough to abide by our vow but, somehow, we managed. The truth was that, because of this vow, the urge to talk to each other, especially after 10 at night, increased even more—it is human tendency to desire what is prohibited. And during our morning calls, we realized that night was such a beautiful time to talk to each other.

  ‘Talking at night used to be so romantic na?’ she asked in her cute, innocent voice one morning.

  ‘I miss them so much. This decision makes me feel like I’ve struck my foot with an axe, by mistake,’ I said.

  ‘No dear, it’s not like you’ve struck your foot with an axe,’ she started politely, then suddenly shouted, ‘Rather your foot wanted to lick that axe and, willingly, you jumped on a sharpened one, that too barefoot! Now enjoy your wounds.’ She was fuming.

  But nothing could be done. Promises are meant to be kept, and we both knew we had to keep this one.

  Soon, the weekend night came and we were desperate to talk to each other.

  Night! Night is really a beautiful time to talk, for love-birds. Parents are asleep by then. Siblings understand why they should not disturb you. And you? Holding your cellphone, you are alone in your bedroom, lying on your cosy bed in your shorts and a comfortable T-shirt, with the lights dimmed. Which means, you are completely with the person you are talking to.

  ‘Hi Shona,’ she said.

  There was something different in her ‘hi’ that night. Something passionate, something I’d rarely felt before.

  ‘Hi honey,’ I responded calmly, and we began talking. I remember how good we felt talking to each other at night after so long, though it had just been a week. A little later, she was telling me about her friend’s engagement and, in a short while, she was talking about what our engagement would be like.

  ‘The engagement will be at our premises, and I will be wearing a sari that evening. You know, why? Coz I look stunning in a sari,’ she answered her question, before I could.

  ‘Aha … Chalo, in that case, I want to see my Shonimoni in a sari that evening.’

  ‘It will be one of the best evenings of my life. I will be standing beside my fiancée, amid so many people. I can touch you, hold your hand in front of everyone and nobody will say anything,’ she said.

  ‘I am dying for that evening to come. Then I will hold your hand and we will dance to the music, in front of everybody. I want my friends to be jealous because I possess you,’ I said dreaming of that day soon to come.

  ‘And, in everybody’s presence, our eyes will be talking to each other.

  Those unsaid words which will be heard very clearly by them. When you will look into my eyes, you will understand what I am feeling, that very moment, gazing at you.’

  ‘And when the people will be busy helping themselves to the food, my eyes will ask you to come upstairs, to the terrace. And I will make my way to the staircase and head upwards.’

  ‘And my eyes will tell you to go on ahead, and at the first opportunity, I will soon escape, saying I have to go to washroom,’ she said, in that girlish, mischievous tone.

  ‘I will be on the terrace, standing just behind the door where the staircase to the terrace ends.’

  ‘You will hear my anklets and my bangles tinkling as I come up the stairs to the dark terrace,’ she said, slowly.

  ‘But you won’t know that I am standing behind the door,’ I whispered.

  ‘And I will push the door and go straight ahead,’ she too started whispering.

  ‘The moment you go two steps ahead, I will grab you from behind.’

  I don’t know what was happening to us. Was it the fruit of spending those weeknights without talking to each other, or something else?

  Outside, it had started raining, adding to the sensation of the moment. I could hear the rain spattering on the ground, and the cold breeze blew open the windows and came into my room that night.

  ‘Shona!’ she cried my name with pleasure.

  ‘And grabbing you from behind, I will take you and lock you in my arms.’ I closed my eyes. And maybe she did the same when she said, ‘Shona!’ again, very slowly, full of love, taking a deep breath.

  ‘And with my hand I will bring your long hair in front of your left shoulder and I will bring my face very close to your neck on the right, with my other hand playing on your bare waist …’

  I tried to keep my emotions in check because I did not want to scare my sweetheart too much, so early. She didn’t say anything for a while, but our breaths were getting louder. My own heart was pounding inside me with pleasure.

  ‘And then?’ she finally asked. I understood her state of mind, the ripples, the troughs and crests in her heart. But, above all, she wanted to enjoy that moment with me.

  And I answered her, ‘And then you will feel my lips behind your right ear, on your neck.’

  ‘Mmm,’ she murmured, breathing heavily.

  ‘I am feeling something so different at this moment. Are you?’ I asked her very silently.

  ‘Yes, something very different. What are you feeling?’

  ‘With you in my arms, I am able to smell the cologne that you are wearing, your sweet feminine fragrance. I feel my lips kissing your shoulder and going down your back, licking the slightest sweat adhering to you …’ By this time, even my voice had started shaking. I asked her, ‘Tell me, what are you feeling?’

  ‘I feel …’ she was struggling to complete her sentence and I could still hear her breath loud and clear.

  She hesitated. I waited.

  ‘I … I feel,’ she paused and then tried again, ‘I feel as if you are hypnotizing me, casting a magic spell that I don’t want to come out of.’

  She was breathing faster now, shivering. Her passionate voice was stimulating me further.

  ‘Now my other hand is moving on your waist. And then …’ I paused.

  ‘And then …?’ she insisted I go on.

  ‘And then, all of a sudden, it has started raining,’ I brought the rain from outside my window into our sweet dream.

  ‘Mmm … And then …?’

  Very slowly, I whispered, ‘And then, I have turned you towards me. We are wet from the rain
. I am watching you in your wet sari which is sticking to your body. I am seeing the raindrops falling on your forehead, running down your nose and hanging on your lips for a while before running further down your body. Strands of your wet hair are glued to your cheek.’

  ‘And then …?’ She started whispering again.

  ‘You are looking down, somewhere on my shirt, too shy to look into my eyes. I am raising your chin, to help you look into and read my eyes which are staring at you.’

  ‘A … n … d … t … h … e … n …?’ she was hardly able to speak any more and was losing her words.

  ‘With our heads tilted slightly, my lips feel the raindrops sticking to your lips, swallowing them, further discovering the softness of your lips …’ And that passionate kiss which I described to her lasted for quite a while. That was the first time, I felt, she allowed me to cross a few boundaries. Miles apart from each other, we felt each and every shiver of that moment.

  We were lost in each other when, suddenly, she turned mischievous. ‘Hey! People down there will be looking for us. I have to rush before my parents come upstairs, searching for me,’ she shouted.

  I wonder how she collected her energy and, more than that, how she remembered the fake people in the fake rain, on that fake engagement night (though it was to come true, in a few months).

  ‘Aah! The people down there will be happy with their food,’ I tried to convince her.

  ‘Nah … please. Come on dear, now open your arms. We have to go and change our clothes before they see us,’ she urged, laughing at the virtual reality we were in.

  ‘Ok. But on one condition.’

  ‘And what’s that?’

  ‘I want to see you while you change.’

  ‘Oh … ho … ho … tumhe ungli kya pakdaai, tum to pura haath pakdna chahte ho. Zyaada galat fehmiyaan mat paalo,’ she warned me with a little laugh.

  ‘Haath pakdna? Not just the hand, I want to hold all of you!’ I responded. I tried hard to convince her, but she didn’t allow me, even though it was only make believe.