Arranged Love (18 page)

‘Why don’t you tell me Jay, what you are doing?’ I asked, my voice stiff and offended.

‘She is nothing more than an old pair of jeans that I have no emotional attachment to, but I might wear it once in a while in moments of despair,’ Jay explained with amazing poise.

As always, he was as calm as the middle of the ocean when the coast is tsunami-struck. He must have been a mortuary manager in his previous life, to be able to keep such a calm countenance when people around him were burying their dead.

‘Don’t try to do a snow job on me, Jay,’ I challenged coldly.

‘We were just chugging beer outside our tents in the moonlight, chatting and chilling after a tough day of physical activity,’ he began recounting the incident. ‘After a while, the others retired to their tents and it was just the two of us. She asked me if I missed you and I said yes. She said I was very lucky to have found you. Then I asked if she was happy with her boyfriend
and she said they broke up last month because he thought her boobs weren’t big enough. Next minute, she took off her top and asked me what I thought her cup size was. She was wearing this black crochet lingerie that came around her neck like a deep halter, barely covering her nipples. I have to admit that I had forgotten how soft and succulent her breasts looked and got an instant hard on. She started rubbing herself on me and I lost all self-restraint. So when she asked if I was game for some bridge sex, I couldn’t say no. I really wasn’t planning to cheat on you or anything. Besides, it’s not like we are married. I know many guys who have made out with multiple, random girls at their bachelor’s party.’

‘So was this your bachelor’s party?’ I asked, aghast at how casually he had justified his one-night stand with Denise.

‘If that makes is easy for you to accept it, sure!’ he offered magnanimously.

‘What if you got similar opportunities after we are married? What would you do, Jay?’ I asked, feeling hurt, angry and jealous all at the same time.

He simply shrugged his shoulders in response.

‘I would like it if we played Dumb-C at another time, Jay. I really need verbal answers here,’ I said furiously.

‘Frankly, I don’t know,’ said Jay. ‘Sometimes you are out in the market, strolling aimlessly. You see a fancy car and you get enticed into taking a free trial ride. I don’t see what’s wrong in that. It can happen to you too.’

I heard him legitimize his actions and suddenly it occurred to me that the differences between us were more than IST and EST time zones now. There was a whole generation gap between him and me. Sex for him was like eating. While he was serious about his relationship with me the way he enjoyed his meat and potatoes,
a one-night stand was akin to a hot fudge sundae for dinner. I was the healthy option that would nourish him while Denise was his break from the regular monotony of marriage. However, like most Indians, though I loved variety in my cuisine and culture, I believed in monogamous mating for life.

In Neha’s ‘boys are like cars’ world, Jay was an American car, incapable of delivering speed and mileage on Indian roads.

‘Checkmate, Jay. Game is over, Jay,’ I said firmly.

‘What do you mean, hon? I love you,’ claimed a thoroughly disoriented Jay like he had just woken up from sleep.

‘I don’t know about you, but I can never be myself with you, Jay,’ I replied with the same calmness that he had displayed moments ago. ‘Kadai paneer, cricket, karwa chauth and Kishore Kumar are all a part of me. I do want you, but I want you with a lot of modifications—with Hindi, with love for parents, with Indian values and without Denise. Besides, Suhaani Guy sounds more like a beautiful and tame cow.’

‘Like So-Honey Egg-R-Wall makes any sense?’ Jay mocked. ‘Denise was right that you never loved me. Jesus fucking Christ, I can’t believe I fell for your trap.’ His voice was no longer soft and loving.

‘What do you mean Denise knew I didn’t love you? I didn’t know it myself till five minutes ago.’

‘Because we never did it.’

‘That’s ridiculous! Anyone who doesn’t do IT is “not in love”? I am sure LGBT could sue Denise for making allegations like these.’

‘You just get into relationships with guys to legitimize getting physical with them, but you don’t want to go all the way because you don’t love them,’ accused Jay. ‘You played around with that IITian during the summer internship and then dumped him when he tried to make love,’ he added.

‘He dumped me, after making out with me. He said he wanted a virginal wife,’ I refuted.

‘All the better for you. You didn’t have to cook up a reason to get rid of him. Remember the poor guy at school whom you tricked into kissing and then ditched after a week when you had had your fill? You never even owned up to him or your parents that you were the reason he had tried committing suicide.’

‘I didn’t do anything wrong. Everyone says I love you in moments of passion.’

‘Yes, but you say I love you to justify the moments of passion. You have double standards for everything. You can only truly make love when you fall in love. I wish you all the luck for that. But stop fooling guys till then and spare them the agony.’

Wow! So it was okay to have a sex video of fucking your ex on YouTube, but it was treachery if you kissed a guy and said you loved him but weren’t ready to make love to him!

It was painful to hear such harsh words from someone who had been pledging his love to me seconds ago. I shuddered to think that I had been ready to hurt my parents for him. There was one last thing I wanted to know.

‘Why did you not respond to my Crush mail?’ I asked.

‘Oh! It was you then? I assumed it was Denise,’ he said, sounding genuinely startled.

I had nothing more left to say or tell. ‘Goodbye, Jay,’ I said with decisive finality.

‘Well, what should I do about this nude painting?’ he asked indifferently.

I saw his nude painting peek from behind him and remembered how exhausting it had been to control my excitement while making it. Presently, I felt nothing for him. After having gone through the ups and downs of the emotional rollercoaster in the last one hour, I was now feeling strangely serene.

‘Gift it to that fucking Denise. I am sure she will be able to put it to good use,’ I replied and disconnected.

My updated status read. ‘Sometimes, all it takes is a trek to test if your boyfriend really loves you.’

‘My current girlfriend and ex swapped places and I am loving it!’ Jay had proudly broadcasted our break-up news to all his Facebook friends.

I felt nauseated on seeing his FB status the next morning. I wasn’t expecting him to feel remorseful, send me ‘I am sorry, let’s patch up’ messages, or eat fudge topping out of the jar, but I didn’t expect him to hook back with Denise and celebrate it either. It was like he had erased our relationship of two years with a Ctrl+Z, like an undo in an editor and gone back to the previous text in a flick.

While most people had congratulated him saying ‘Old is gold’ and ‘Sweet deal’, my mail box was flooded with private condolence messages from our common friends. I knew it was good in a way because it was already out there for everyone to know, yet I couldn’t help feeling cheated. I mean, how dare he take all the credit? After all, it was me who had done a checkmate. ‘I had dumped the bugger,’ I wanted to tell everyone. Instead, I just posted the link to his YouTube video in a comment. Let everyone see what a piece of shit he was.

I also decided it was best that I went through the post break-up rituals to exorcise my ex. So I deleted all his lovely SMSes that I had saved in my mobile, the emails from my Gmail and the chat history from Skype. I hid him from the IM buddy list, altered my Facebook settings to hide all future posts from Jay and unfollowed his tweet.
I also downgraded his email address to the PITA category in my email prioritization tool. I still had to go back home and delete all our joyful JPEGs—arm linked, kissing, drinking and sharing a salad—that were lying inside a secret folder in my laptop. And then there were photos of us tagged together on FB that I didn’t know how to deal with.

Heck, break-ups are not as easy as shredding photos and burning a box full of love notes any more. It can be quite a challenging task in today’s multimedia age.

Sitting in my oversized ergonomic chair, I was busy severing all communication channels with Jay, when Deep asked me for the usual first round of coffee. Oblivious to the storm raging in my heart, Deep eagerly talked about Rohan sir’s visit to our office for the ASM next month and how we needed to show him some improvement on the customer conversion rate. Although the sketch of a purchase funnel typically reminded me of a weaver bird’s nest hanging upside down, today, for a change, I wanted to talk business. Anything to take my mind off the urge to squeeze and crush Jay’s testicles.

I put myself in a casual web browser’s mouse, focused all my energies and started to think. What would get me excited enough to buy a holiday package online? I guess, other people telling me how great the resort was and how iTrot took care of all their needs. And of course, like most people wary of Internet deals, I would feel more comfortable if I could undo my action. ‘Please check your order details carefully, before you get redirected to payment gateway’ was the worst message to give to someone who was still in two minds. It was like putting him on the spot and telling him that this was his last chance to back out.

I told Deep that we should actively promote the customer testimonials with our holiday packages and offer free cancellation for online bookings. Deep was pleasantly surprised by my insightful
propositions and said he would promptly discuss them with the others. We were about to head back, when a harried-looking guy who hadn’t slept the whole weekend came up to Deep seeking his sexpert advice. Deep caught the sly smile on my face as I pretended to look inside the bottom of my coffee cup. It had become almost a routine every Monday morning. With 9 to 5 office hours becoming a thing of the past and twelve-hour workdays being the new norm across the industry, marriages had also been reduced to being functional only during the weekends. Weekends were the only time people got around to trying to or having sex with their partners.

I overheard the poor guy tell Deep that his scooter had a low pick-up and how he would be pressing on the accelerator for hours before his scooter’s engine would have barely lubricated. He obviously didn’t know that I had heard several similar stories by now and knew that the scooter he was having start-up issues with was his wife/girlfriend.

Deep patiently explained that he was wrong in expecting his sensitive scooter to behave like a macho motorcycle. ‘A motorcycle gets into action immediately while a scooter takes its sweet time to warm up and pick speed,’ Deep elaborated. The guy’s face lit up as it dawned on him that while both men and women were two-wheelers, there was as much difference between them when it came to pick-up and horsepower as between a motorcycle and a scooter. He went away humming cheerfully, looking forward to slowly and lovingly servicing his scooter next weekend.

‘I think I should create an online KS FAQ,’ said Deep, his face radiant with the satisfaction that comes from giving happiness to others. ‘My knowledge can benefit so many more people if it’s available on the net.’

‘Excellent thought,’ I seconded his idea, ‘but I would look at monetizing these pearls of sexology.’ I had had the business idea in
my mind for some time now. ‘Confidential, online sex advice—try us for free and pay only if it brings you ecstasy.’

‘Finally! Someone sees the true potential in me,’ exclaimed Deep enthusiastically. ‘Are you ready to become my partner in crime?’ he asked eagerly.

‘Me?’

‘You are nearly an expert yourself, now that you have been eavesdropping into my sessions for a few months. Besides, I am sure there are aspects of female psychology and physiology that you understand better.’

It was evident from Deep’s tone that he meant business, but I couldn’t take any chances. I bit my lips nervously. I knew I had to tell him now.

‘I am sorry Deep, but I don’t think there is a future for us together,’ I said regretfully.

He looked me in the eyes, wondering if I meant what he thought I meant. For a brief second, I saw disappointment in his eyes as he tried to absorb the gravity of my statement. Then it was gone.

‘Ah well, I see that you couldn’t handle my sex quotient,’ he joked, going back to his charming, smiling self.

I could feel the hot tears welling up inside my eyes and a lump beginning to form in my throat. I excused myself, went to the bathroom, and cried—for a relationship I thought was love but turned out not to be and for a relationship I thought was nothing but was hurting like love.

Last night after the split-up with Jay, I had looked at my bare face, without any make-up, in the mirror. It had been my moment of truth. Devastated at having discovered that Jay was not the everlasting love I sought, my heart craved for a keeper. It was clear that I didn’t love Jay, but who knew if Deep was my soulmate either. Deep could have been only a distraction I was looking out for in my unsuccessful relation with Jay.

After three rejections in the last thirty-six hours— Suitor #5, Jay and Deep—I badly needed to nourish my shattered soul. I went back to my seat, sent Deep a mail that I was going out for some personal work, picked up my purse and walked out. I headed straight to MG Road for some quick retail and tattoo therapy.

After two hours, when I returned to the cubicle, having substituted the pain from multiple rejections by that from tattoo needles, I found MD’s face exuding the unmistakable pregnancy glow. Was she already? Had Sanjeev fast-tracked the plan and skipped some minor formalities? I gave her a quizzical look as she crooned the song, ‘
Tujh mein rab dikta hai, yaara main kya karoon
’ to the customer acquisition bar graph on her monitor. Moments later, I heard Sanjeev’s fingers snapping to the same tune. I watched him keenly as he sauntered leisurely to his seat and there was a halo of happiness above his head too. I was aware that tattoos cause the release of endorphins in our system, which can induce feelings of euphoria, but I had no idea it could have delusionary effects like this. Sanjeev caught me staring blankly at him and smiled. He said he had something to tell me and asked me to sit down. I hadn’t even realized that I had been standing all this while. Feeling dizzy with vague doubts clouding my already overworked brain, I did as I was directed. ‘Here’s the recap of what happened this weekend in
ghar ghar ki kahani
,’ said Sanjeev.

He then brought his seat closer to MD’s, took her hand gently in his, and said, ‘
Suniye.’

Madhuri turned around, brimming with a beatific, I-am-in-love smile, and replied,
‘Kahiye, kahiya na?’

For a few minutes they kept looking into each other’s eyes like they were playing the who-will-blink-the-eyelids-first game.

Sanjeev then started saying the famous dialogue from
Silsila
, ‘
Main aur meri tanhai, … tum ye kahti, tum is baat pe naraaz hoteen
…’

MD looked coyly at him and said, ‘
Haath chodo mera, ab itni bhi
khoobsorat nahin hoon main.’

Sanjeev then responded with, ‘
Aapko kisme rab dikhta hain Madhuri ji
?’

MD promptly replied with her rehearsed dialogue, ‘
Main apnee favourite hoon, Sharmaji.’

Sanjeev then bent down on his knees and asked, ‘
Mujhse shaadi karogi?’

MD looked lovingly at the guy kneeling before her in a white t-shirt, cream pants and white shoes, his hair soaked in
shuddh
coconut oil, a heavy gold chain hanging around his neck, and a tilak prominent on his forehead. Sanjeev started singing,

‘Cutlet-ketchup, bread-butter jaisa apna pyaar

Lena hoga janam hame kai kai baar.’

MD laughed and mumbled indistinctly but I lip-read her and guessed that she was singing,
‘Hum dil de chuke sanam … teri kasam.’

Despite the severe pain in my heart, and the tattoo carved in the soft skin above my heart, I couldn’t help but feel overjoyed for Sanjeev and MD. I congratulated them, went to the loo and cried a bit more. Sitting in the loo, I sent a message to Di.

Me: ‘Said no to both Jay and Deep.’

Di: ‘I said no to VC too, but he wants me to reconsider.’

Me: ‘I am so sad.’

Di: ‘Me too. Michael Jackson is dead.’

Me: ‘I just got my heart tattooed to deal with post-rejection stress.’

Di: ‘I prefer watching
Jaane Bhi do Yaaron,
though I have to admit that the last guy I rejected was a decade ago.’

Me: ‘See you on the ASM. You have to come.’

Di: ‘Won’t miss it for the world. Am dying to hear Deep.’

Me: ‘Why?’

Di: ‘You only said he was too good.’

Me: ‘Why the hell did I reject him then?’

Di: ‘I am trying to find an answer to that question for the last fifteen years.’

Later in the day, Deep and I were sitting together in a meeting room having a video conference with Rohan sir. Once again I found myself bewildered at how a sparkling gem like Rohan sir could stay undiscovered. Maybe he was also unsuccessful in love, like me? Only a broken heart can understand the pain of another broken heart. Pity that he was rather old for my taste. Perhaps, I should connect him to Tanu di when he comes down to India? After all he was from IIT-D. Oh! And his surname was Khanna too. My thought process was however interrupted when I heard Deep speak out my name. It was high time I got over his husky, sexy voice. He told me to put forth my ideas on increasing the width of the purchase funnel. It was very satisfying to see my suggestions being appreciated by others, especially Rohan sir, yet I could only manage a weak smile. I was trying hard to behave normally, but something was wrong with my eyes for they kept refilling their tank of tears every few hours. I stole a glance at Deep who was laughing and cracking jokes with the others. He seemed to be managing with such ease that it broke my heart to see my rejection didn’t matter to him. I really wanted some time alone with my back office. At last the meeting came to an end, everyone left, and we were left alone in the room.

‘You are not your normal self today. Did you have a fight with your BF?’ Deep asked affectionately.

Flummoxed that he should know about Jay, I gave him a perplexed look and asked, ‘Boyfriend?’

‘I figured that if you are so much in favour of love marriage, you must be in love with someone,’ Deep reasoned.

‘Love is a big mirage,’ I replied sceptically. ‘A score of zero in tennis. A figment of authors’ imagination.’

He looked dubiously at me. I saw tenderness in his eyes and
it filled me with pain. I wanted to reach out to him, hug him and kiss him. Instead, I got up to leave. On my way out, I noticed the frame hung on the wall. It had a quote from Robert McCloskey on confusion. ‘I know that you believe you understand what you think I said, but I’m not sure you realize that what you heard is not what I meant.’

For the last couple of weeks, many of us had been staying back in office almost every evening for ASM preparations. I didn’t really need to stay back that evening as I was only part of the ballroom dance, which was rehearsed on Tuesdays and Thursdays. But while I was busy applying ointment on my tattoo, the office cab had left without me. So, I aimlessly walked down to the basement where the practice sessions were held. Deep was singing my favourite Kishore song,
‘Khwab ho tum ya koi haqueeqat, kaun ho tum batlao.’
I sat spellbound on the stairs outside, not wanting to face Deep, but wanting to believe that he was singing the song for me. I was so lost in my thoughts that I was startled when Deep came out and tapped me on my shoulders. He offered to drop me back home. No way! I didn’t want to go kissing him again. This time I wouldn’t even have the beer excuse. But I didn’t want him to think anything had changed between us either, so I agreed. Well, if anything happened, I could always blame it on the post-tattoo endorphin high.