THE ONE YOU CANNOT HAVE

  And now it is my turn to laugh.

  ‘Come, let’s go for a ride,’ she says and I am happy to oblige and she gets on the bike.

  ‘Where to?’ she asks.

  ‘I don’t know. I am just driving, let’s see where the bike takes us,’ I reply.

  Anajli clings to me and I notice that she is very comfortable with me now. She holds me tight, hugging me close. I quite enjoy it. There isn’t much traffic on the roads today and I am glad as I take the flyover and go onto the inner ring road. That is a nice stretch for a drive.

  Before I realise it we are at Koramangala and even before we realise it we are at Ibulur, zooming through the army cantonment area, lined with large shady trees, making crisscross patterns on the road. It looks pretty and picturesque. The one thing about Bangalore that I love is the greenery. I continue riding and Anjali continues clinging to me.

  ‘This is lovely!’ she exclaims.

  I just smile as I ride. I love this machine. It is an amazing feeling to be riding this. Being on a two-wheeler brings back so many memories of the time I was in engineering college.

  ‘Hey. We are now very close to Dipika and Vikram’s place, let’s drop in and say hi. It must be just three kilometres from here,’ says Anjali suddenly.

  I definitely do not want to go to their place and face Dipika again. But I don’t know how to tell Anjali that.

  ‘No, let’s do that another day. They may be busy,’ I say.

  ‘No, no, I know they are likely to be home. Don’t you want to see Ria and Reema? Such dolls they are!’ she says.

  I do want to see the girls. I find them sweet and they are insanely fond of me. But I don’t want to face Dipika.

  But before I can protest, Anjali has already whipped out her mobile and she shouts now over the din of the bike.

  ‘Yeah, yeah… We’re just five minutes away… Sure? Okay—we will drop in,’ I hear her say.

  Then she hangs up and tells me, ‘They are cool with it. Let’s go and see them.’

  I don’t have a choice anymore. Very reluctantly I rev the bike. We make our way to Vikram and Dipika’s place, with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.

  Chapter 19

  Shruti

  Being nice to his parents involves a lot more than I anticipated. It is getting harder with each passing day. The work pressure at office has increased tremendously. I am assisting in organising the campus recruitment drives. Our organisation has decided to recruit from the lesser-known engineering colleges in south India and I now have the additional responsibility of co-ordination with the placement cells of each of these colleges. I have too much on my plate already and this added load is making me a bit grumpy. And the worst part is my boss cross-checking each day, as to how many colleges have been done. Soon I will have to travel to all these places too. The only silver lining is that I will get to spend at least ten days in Bangalore, as we are doing a couple of colleges there, which means that I can get to stay with my parents for at least ten days. I desperately need that break.

  As I take the bus home from work, I reflect about how much my life has changed in just over a month. Earlier, before Rishabh’s parents visited, I would look forward to coming home and sharing the details of my day with Rishabh. Talking to him always made me feel better. But, ever since that fateful day that he discovered the e-mails between Aman and me, that has come to a grinding halt. (How much more does the guy want to punish me? This has gone on enough. I do wish Rishabh would forgive. But then again, I guess he must be deeply hurt. I so want him to forget all that happened, but it is a decision he has to make for himself.)

  In addition to his not being communicative, his mother is fuelling the already burning fire. I do not know if she does it on purpose or whether it is inadvertent. Whatever it is, it is further straining the relations between Rishabh and me. When I ask Rishabh how long they are going to stay, he gives me a cold look and asks if there is any problem.

  I do have a problem. Not one. Several. But I think they will seem inconsequential to Rishabh if I bring them up. After I come back from work, I usually shower and change into more comfortable clothes. But these days, even to take my undergarments from my own wardrobe, I have to knock on the door, as my father-in-law has a habit of locking the door while he rests. I find it bloody annoying when he does that and I have to knock and wait to enter my own room.

  Then of course, there is my mother-in-law. Each day that I return, the meals are all cooked. I try telling her that there is no need to cook and one of us will do it when we get home. She says that her husband needs his dinner before seven-thirty pm as he is not only a BP patient but also a diabetic and it is imperative that he eats on time.

  I don’t know how to solve that problem. I leave for work very early in the morning and these days I am able to return only by eight pm. By then, dinner is already waiting.

  Rishabh brings it up with me when we retire to bed that night.

  ‘You know, this visit is becoming a strain for my mother. She is doing the cooking for all of us. She doesn’t complain but I can see how stretched she is. It just isn’t right. After all they are on a holiday here,’ he says.

  It is becoming a strain for me too but I don’t think you notice that anymore.

  ‘What do we do, Rishabh? I feel bad too. I have so much work these days. My travel is going to start too as the recruitment drives are happening. How about us employing a cook? Then she won’t have to cook, right?’

  My mother-in-law kicks up a fuss and turns down the suggestion as though it is the most preposterous thing she has ever heard.

  ‘In the thirty-four years that I have been married, I have cooked each and every meal for my family. I have never employed a cook and nor will I like the food that the cook makes. It is okay. I am at home the whole day. I will cook,’ she says in a tone of finality signifying that it is the end of the matter.

  Our bedroom (or rather, the room which used to be our bedroom) is completely taken over by their possessions now. I try not to wince when I see my father-in-law’s kurta-pyjamas strewn all over the pale cream faux leather two-seater that I have in the bedroom. I try to look calm when I see their suitcase lying open and their stuff spilling out. I have to fight my urge to tidy their bed which is rumpled and unmade. And as though that wasn’t enough, my father-in-law is a smoker. Though he doesn’t smoke inside the house (thankfully) he does smoke on the balcony of our bedroom and the stench permeates indoors and hangs around the air. I detest what my home is turning into. Their possessions have even begun spilling over into the living room.

  When I ask my father-in-law if his kurtas need to be washed, he tells me to leave them alone, as he has worn them just once and he will put them in the wash when he wants to. I also offer to make the bed but my mother-in-law sees this as interference and she mentions this to Rishabh. She says that it isn’t as though I actually do any house-work. All I do is dress up in ‘modern clothes’ and leave for office. What right do I then have to tell my father-in-law to put his kurtas in the wash? All this is narrated to me by Rishabh who is irritated that I dare speak to his father that way. I want to explain to Rishabh what exactly happened but he is in no mood to listen.

  ‘Can’t you just let it be? Does it bother you that much?’ he asks and I beat a hasty retreat and tell him it is okay. Actually it isn’t. But I do not want to argue with this new snappy, curt, to-the-point Rishabh.

  When I mention all this to Asha, she says, ‘Yeah, you are lucky. At least they will go back. Imagine my plight. I am stuck with my mother-in-law all the time. And Gaurav won’t hear even a word against her. Why do you think I work late every day?’ she smiles.

  I nod. I can now completely relate to what she must be going through on a daily basis. No wonder she feels happy speaking to her ex. I am now beginning to understand her.

  ‘Actually, that is a good solution, Asha. I never
thought of it. I will stay back extra-hours till they leave,’ I tell her.

  ‘No babes—if you want to win Rishabh over, don’t do that. Go early. Take them out somewhere. Be nice to them. Then he won’t grudge you. My case is different as she is living with us permanently. But with you, it is only a few days. Do whatever it takes, no matter how much you dislike it. Buy peace,’ she advises.

  I think about what she has said. She is right as usual, of course. Yes, that is exactly what I will do.

  So I ask my colleague (the one who has come back from her leave) whether she will pitch in for me. She agrees readily as she knows I have been doing more than my fair share while she was on leave. I tell her the urgent things that have to be done and I decide to surprise my in-laws.

  On my way home, I feel benevolent at my gesture. I decide that I will take them to Siddhi-Vinayak temple. They will probably like that. And then I can take them to the Worli sea-face. We could probably have a meal outside. I text Rishabh about my plans and he texts back saying, That is sweet of you. Thank you!

  Yes! I think I am making some leeway in thawing my frozen husband. I mentally thank Asha for the suggestion and I am in a good mood, all the way home.

  I do not ring the bell and I let myself in as I want it to be a complete surprise. I don’t see either my father-in-law or my mother-in-law in the living room. So I walk towards the bedroom and what I see shocks me.

  My father-in-law is lying on the bed and reading the newspaper. My mother-in-law is coolly going through the contents of my bedside drawer. She now has the birth control pills that I use in her hands. She reads the label on it and then tells him, ‘Look at this. No wonder they don’t have kids yet. And when I ask Rishabh he says they are trying. I bet that girl hasn’t told him about this,’ she tells my father-in-law waving the pills at him.

  ‘I can’t understand these present-day girls. Isn’t our son earning enough? What is the need for her to work ? We should have made all this clear when we were finalising the match,’ he replies.

  ‘Yes, we should have, but it was Rishabh who was in such a tearing hurry to get married to her. She trapped him with her charms and looks and our poor idiot fell for it. See, he even has to cook for her, when he comes. Madam is busy roaming around in short skirts,’ she says.

  I am shell-shocked and enraged by what I have just seen and heard. How dare she thinks it is perfectly acceptable to go through the contents of my drawer? I am seething in anger. This is the limit. What right does she have to make those comments? What business is it of hers whether I work or laze around? It is between Rishabh and me, and as long as we have no issues, she should stay out of our personal lives.

  I am tempted to tell her I have heard her and give her a piece of my mind. But that will back-fire badly and Rishabh will be furious if I ever spoke to his parents like that. So I grit my teeth and take a deep breath and force myself to be calm.

  Then I step back quietly and then plonk my hand-bag down heavily on the dining table to make a noise, so that they are alerted to my presence. I hear the drawer in the bedroom being shut and I see my mother-in-law emerge from my bedroom.

  ‘Oh! When did you come?’ she asks and there is no sign of guilt or remorse on her face. I would have thought she might have felt ashamed or at least been aghast that I might have overheard her conversation, but if she is, she gives absolutely no indication of it and she has hidden it well. Or perhaps it is that she thinks she has done nothing wrong by rummaging in my drawers.

  ‘I just entered. Rishabh wanted me to take you all out. I was thinking of taking you to Siddhi-Vinayak temple,’ I say, forcing myself to talk politely and sweetly even though I am fuming inside.

  ‘Oh. Yes, we have heard a lot about this temple. It will be nice to see it,’ she says.

  She doesn’t ask how I got away from work early or whether I have had lunch. I can see that she has cooked lunch for both of them, judging by the mountain of unwashed vessels in the sink. I make a mental note to pay the house-help a little extra this month, else she is sure to grumble, run away and find another job.

  I do not know why I am doing this—making this huge effort with his parents, when all I want to do is for them to leave. Is it to save my marriage? Is it to get some brownie points from Rishabh so that he will talk to me normally again? Whatever it is, it is too late now and I kind of feel sorry for them, as they have both quickly changed and emerged.

  My father-in-law asks how far it is and how we will be going. We will have to take a cab from our place in Andheri and depending on traffic it would take a good forty minutes (at least) to get there. We manage to get a cab almost immediately and my father-in-law gets into the front and I get into the back of the cab along with my mother-in-law. They discover that they detest the Mumbai traffic which crawls at a snail’s pace. I am quite used to it by now but I can see that they are restless in the cab. The cab does not have air-conditioning and they are clearly very uncomfortable. My father-in-law has sweat dripping from his forehead and he keeps mopping his forehead. My mother-in-law fans herself continuously with her sari pallu. When we stop at a signal some eunuchs emerge, clapping and asking them for money. My mother-in-law looks terrified. I quickly take out a twenty rupee note so that they will leave us alone.

  We finally arrive at Siddhi-Vinayak temple. The serpentine queues to get in almost make my in-laws faint. When I see how uncomfortable they are, I tell my mother-in-law that we need not go inside but we can just pray from outside.

  ‘No, no, you should never do that. You cannot turn your back once you enter a temple,’ she says. There are tons of people and I now realise that bringing them here was perhaps a bad idea. My father-in-law looks increasingly uncomfortable but he stands in the queue quietly as it inches forward slowly like a giant millipede. We finally emerge from the temple an hour and ten minutes later.

  They are very content at having got a wonderful darshan of Lord Ganesh.

  ‘It is worth seeing. The energy inside the temple is amazing,’ says my mother-in-law.

  ‘Yes, no wonder so many throng to it,’ admits my father-in-law.

  They seem happy and content. I am glad that all that effort has been worth it.

  After that, I take them to Worli sea-face and they enjoy watching the waves lash against the rocks. They gaze at the sea of humanity that makes its way here in the evenings. There are young lovers, old people, students probably taking a break from college, hawkers selling all kinds of stuff, the fitness freaks who are running, families who are visiting, tourists who come in groups to see Mumbai, and people walking their dogs. They marvel at the tall multi-storeyed buildings lining the sea-face. I also tell them about the Bandra-Worli sea link and explain how it has cut down commute time drastically. They aren’t too impressed by that, but they nod agreeably, nevertheless. Unless one has lived in Mumbai, I don’t think one would get the importance of it, as one wouldn’t know how long it used to take earlier.

  They look at everything in fascination like two excited children. Watching them, I feel happy that I made the effort today. I am secretly hoping my mother-in-law will mention how sweet I was to Rishabh and all this redeems me in Rishabh’s eyes.

  I stand there watching the waves lash about, along with my in-laws, and think what a strange turn my life has taken. Two years back I was certain I wouldn’t have a life without Aman. I think about how sweet Aman’s mother was to me. I think about how it would be if she was my mother-in-law. I am certain we could have been friends—she was that kind of a woman. And now here I am bending backwards, trying to please Rishabh’s parents though deep down I don’t even like them.

  Suddenly my mother-in-law gives out a cry. I turn around and for a few seconds what is happening does not register.

  Then I gasp as I see my father-in-law collapsing on the pavement.

  Chapter 20

  Anjali

  Maybe it was a huge mistake drag
ging Aman to Dipika and Vikram’s place, on a whim like that. Whatever was I thinking? I don’t know. All I know is it is exactly seven days, eight hours, twenty-four minutes and eight seconds since I got the last message from Aman. (Okay, did not actually count it. I used an app on my smart phone which is a time calculator that shows you the time elapsed from the last message to now.) I am miserable. I feel like a student who has written a very long and elaborate answer to a question and has then discovered that the answer is completely wrong and irrelevant.

  I thought Aman and I had a good thing going. I thought I had done all the right things and the ‘date’ (the house-hunting trip really) had been fabulous. Until the motorcycle ride which ended in the visit to Dipika and Vikram’s house. I have replayed that scene so many times over in my head, to see if I did anything ‘wrong’. I can’t think of anything other than the fact that I insisted we go there. Ria and Reema were delighted to see us. I smile thinking of how Ria gave a huge hug to Aman and how she brought out the doll that Aman had gifted her and explained to him the entire feeding schedule, the daytime activities and bathing schedule down to the last detail, and how Aman had listened patiently and asked all the right questions. He was interested! I found that so endearing. I noticed that during the entire duration of the visit, he did not even look at Dipika, and once or twice when she asked him something about whether he had found a house, he answered in monosyllables. I had felt obliged to provide details and gone into great depth about the houses we had seen.

  ‘Oh, you both went house-hunting together?’ Dipika had asked and I had nodded happily. Looking back now, perhaps I should have kept mum about the whole thing. I shouldn’t have:

  1. Insisted we go to their house.

  2. Blurted out details of the houses we saw.

  3. Acted like his girlfriend (maybe I did, but I swear I didn’t mean to).

  I don’t know what it is, but I sure feel lousy waiting like this to hear from him. Men are always complaining about how difficult it is to understand women but I think it is the other way round. Men clam up and do not express what they feel. Then they suddenly stop all communication with you and vanish. And all you can do is wait. I wish men came with instruction manuals. Or rather Aman came with an instruction manual.