Can Love Happen Twice? (15 page)

‘This third one, Ravzi, is when you want to make out and I am not in the mood—which rarely will be the case! But in case that is so, you can make me game with this feather!’ Saying this, she held her hand over her mouth, trying to control her laughter.

I was happy for she was finally laughing.

The second last one was funny. ‘This will save you one time from my mood swings during my periods.’

We both burst into a fit of laughter and I said, ‘I wish I could get plenty of
this
kind of feather!’

‘Shut up, Ravz!’ she shouted, warning me with her eyes.

‘And what’s with this fifth one?’ I asked, getting serious.

‘This one I will let you know only once all the other four have been used.’

‘Interesting,’ I said and kissed her as if she was my kid. She was a darling! I was very impressed with all the hard work she’d done for me.

We didn’t sleep that night but kept talking the whole night. At dawn, when it was all calm outside, Simar and I stood in my balcony. The Christmas lights still glowed in the surrounding area. The stars were about to disappear and the sky in the east was turning red when the cab arrived in the parking lot in front of my building.

It was time to say goodbye to the house in which Simar and I had created many wonderful memories which would remain with us for the rest of our lives. It wasn’t easy and it was more noticeable given that the two of us were not talking much in our last few moments in that house.

In the silence of the early morning, I locked up the door of my rented apartment in Belgium for the very last time and handed the keys over to Simar who would then give them over to the landlord later in the day. Till the moment we reached the cab neither of us talked and all that was audible was the sound of our footsteps. Laughter had yet again failed to show up on Simar’s face.

About an hour later, I bid Simar goodbye. I did that with the kiss she’d once taught me!

I butterfly-kissed her.

I was back in Chandigarh.

The change that both Simar and I felt in the initial few days was huge. All of a sudden from being in each other’s company, seeing each other every day, we were now miles apart from each other. There were plenty of moments of missing each other, of mood swings and of the sudden urge to see each other. We fell upon technology to fill in the gap created by the distance that now separated us. Most of the time we would be on video chat.

The four and a half hours time difference between India and Belgium was felt more now than it used to be in the past when my parents would call me. Time-wise I was ahead of her. In the morning I would feel alone for a couple of hours. I would feel that I was wide awake in the real world while she was in her dream world of sleep, and that there was a gap between these two worlds. A seemingly unbridgeable gap. And around 11 a.m., when I would think that Simar was getting out of her bed, I would see the gap between her world and mine being bridged. It’s all psychological but then that’s what it used to be with me. Not that we used to talk as soon as she used to get up, but somewhere in my subconscious mind I would feel a sense of comfort realizing that I could reach her easily now. I would feel that she was thinking about me.

I missed Simar. I missed Belgium. I missed the combination of them the most. I would recall the times I held her in my hands, or when I smelled her hair with my chin resting on her shoulder from behind. I would think of the times we roamed in the countryside of Belgium and got wet in the rain. I missed holding her in my arms; I longed to touch her soft skin.

Back in India I gradually was adapting to my old routine of living with my family. From home to office, from office to gym and from gym to home again was pretty much my usual day. My time at night was all reserved for Simar. For hours she and I would chat over the Internet via a webcam. Most of the time I would see her in her nightdress. Occasionally, when she would turn seductive, she knew what to wear and what not to wear. She would make various funny faces and I longed for the technology to transport me instantly to where she was.

‘Ravz, it only happens in virtual-reality movies like
Matrix
.’

She would say that so cutely and I would instantly want to kiss her; not in virtual reality but for real.

We did make love over the phone. It used to be the only way to let ourselves loose and talk crazy. We imagined ourselves with each other and soon our imaginations would take us to a world from where we never wanted to return. I would narrate to her the scene and she would happily fill in the gaps wherever need be.

‘The way you describe it, the way you choose your words, I feel it’s all real,’ she once said after making out over the phone.

‘I know. I am an author,’ I told her.

And for some unknown reason she burst into laughter. I wondered if this time I had picked the wrong words.

At times we would fight. It made the relationship feel more human. She would get irritated when I talked in Punjabi. She was never comfortable with it and I wanted her to pick it up—which, in a way, would have helped her after our marriage. She didn’t like seeing me dressed in my kurta–pyjama night suit on the webcam. In Belgium she would push me to change into T-shirts and shorts but she had little say when I was in India. Simar said that this was the outcome of a long-distance relationship.

No matter what we did we missed each other. We were always on each other’s mind.

This phase of longing for each other from a distance continued for a while and then the situation gradually stabilized and our daily routines started taking over our lives. I got occupied in setting up my team at the offshore office. Simar also got busy with her exams and we chatted less frequently. After her exams, Simar came to India during her term holidays.

It is over a month since I left Belgium. It is midnight in India. Simar and I are chatting over the Internet. She says she is feeling low. I can sense that without her telling me. She is missing me. I am trying to cheer her up. She says she is not able to focus on her studies and wants me to come back to Belgium.

‘Bt its been so long n I hvnt seen u …’ she writes.

I send her my webcam request, so that she can see me and vice versa.

‘Ravz, this isnt wht I want, n u knw that well. I am missing you goddamnit.’

And she ends up crying.

I don’t want her to cry. It hurts me to see tears in her eyes. I can’t bear to see any pain on her cute face. I want to take her in my arms and kiss her forehead as if she is my baby.

‘Simar … no sweetie. It’s jst a matter of 4 more mnths. N after that we wll always b together.’

It takes me a little while to calm her down. She has stopped crying but is not saying anything. She doen’t want to chat any more and wants to be alone.

‘Btw wen u’ll b here, shall I come to ur place in gurgaon or will u b comin to chandigarh?’ I ask this only to distract her from her misery by involving her in conversation.

‘Ravz pls u come na. Coz in d night u can stay with ur frnd MP in gurgaon. If I come I won’t find ny place 2 halt in the night.’

After crying, her face looks dry with her tear-stained cheeks and heavy eyes. But she does fine as I hold her attention and continue to talk with her.

‘Yes b4 marriage our families won’t allow us to spend a nite at each oder’s place. But if u come to Chd I’ll arrange a hotel for you.’

‘Ravz … wch hotel?’

I don’t answer her but watch her on my screen.

‘Bolo na, Ravz … hotel taj?’

‘No baby.’

‘Hmmm … thn hotel marriott?’

‘No dear.’

‘Then which hotel Ravziiiiiiii?’ she writes back and raises her hands in the air.

‘Hotel Decent ;-),’ I say.

And she bursts into laughter, recalling the plot of the movie that we once watched together.

When she is able to catch her breath again, she playfully quotes a dialogue from the film, ‘Ravz, hum room ghantey ke hisaab se lengey ki purey din ke liye?’

She laughs again, this time at her own statement, and doesn’t even bother to listen to my answer. I feel satisfied to see her laughing again.

Simar was back in Gurgaon and she had planned to make me meet her parents.

I boarded the Chandigarh–Delhi Shatabdi and then took a metro from Delhi to Gurgaon. The metro ride was good. It was my first ride in the metro which had recently started plying in the city. The whole idea of rushing across a city in a capsule that travels both under the earth as well as high above the ground, and which yet remains so neat and clean—something we seldom associate with trains in India—was exciting. It was fast and hence rather different from the local Indian trains. The only similarity was the uncountable Indian population which somehow manages to squeeze its way into the coach. I was fascinated by the kinds of announcements being made within the metro—first in Hindi, followed by its translation in English. But more than all this, that entire morning I felt this excitement of seeing her again after so long a time. It was a different feeling altogether.

Near about noon I reached her place. I had been talking to her over the phone to find the directions to her house. As I reached my final destination for the day, I saw her from a distance standing at the main gate of her house.

I smiled. Seeing me, she waved.

It was a tender moment which had come after so long a time. I was finally seeing my Simar. She too was impatiently waiting for me. I ran towards her with the flowers in my hand that I’d brought for her. Simar was visibly delighted to see me right in front of her eyes. After a run of about fifty-odd yards, I was breathing fast. It was a moment of celebration for both of us—and a very emotional one too. I satisfied the thirst in my eyes and looked at her from head to toe. It was incredible to see her, to touch her and to hear her next to me once again. She was as beautiful as I had left her in Belgium. She first looked here and there to check if anyone was staring in the neighbourhood, then gave me a quick hug. I enjoyed that brief unexpected surprise and lost myself in the warmth of her touch which I had missed so much in the past few months. I wanted it to last longer. It was different yet special to be together again—different because the environment around us was so unlike that of Belgium; and special because we got together again after a long interval.

It took me a while to shift my attention from Simar to her house. It was a huge bungalow with a sprawling and lush green lawn. There was a wooden swing in one corner of the lawn with a few cane chairs surrounding it. A Honda CRV and an Audi were parked in the garage on the left.

She took me inside her house and it was something to be admired. It was luxurious, spacious and well designed with nice interiors. At a distance I saw her parents approaching us.

‘You never told me you are that rich!’ I whispered and elbowed her.

‘Shut up!’ she said and pinched my back.

In a few seconds, her parents were right in front of me. I touched their feet. Simar made the necessary introductions.

Her dad, I came to know, was a businessman and was running some telecom business. I was already aware of this but Simar seemed to want to update me one more time. I don’t know why she would sometimes get extra formal like this. Her dad was tall and well built. But he looked slightly older than what he looked like in the family pictures that Simar had shown me. Her mom on the other hand looked exactly like how she appeared in those same pictures. She was fair and slim. Simar clearly got her looks from her mom. Her mom was a lawyer. I was already aware of this as well but then there was no point in stopping Simar. I allowed her to repeat, all over again, everything she had once told me about her family. It was like copy-pasting from the past.

‘Where is your dog, Simar?’ I asked when she forgot to copy-paste this part of her family story. And I found there was no pasting required this time.

‘He died, Ravz, about two months ago,’ she said sadly. ‘I only got to know yesterday.’

I hung my head low, thinking I would score some brownie points from her dad if he noticed me sharing their grief.

‘I miss him and now I want to get a new one. But Dad hates pets!’ Simar said and, in less than thirty seconds, thus ruined the position of advantage I thought I had.

Simar’s dad was to leave for a workshop in a few hours and her mom had taken leave from her office so that she could meet me.

We talked a lot over lunch. We talked about how Simar and I met. We talked about my career and goals. We talked about my novel.

‘I heard from Simar that your novel is a bestseller,’ her dad asked.

‘Ah … Yes,’ I softly answered without boasting about it.

‘It’s titled
I Too Had a Love Story
, right?’ her mom asked this time.

‘Hanji.’

‘Hmm … I will read it soon though Simar narrated the storyline to me last night. It takes guts to pen down an emotional tale, young man,’ her dad pitched in.

I didn’t say anything for I didn’t know what to say.

Later in the evening, when Simar and her mom were back in their rooms, her dad and I walked out in the lawn. It was pleasantly cloudy outside. In one corner the gardener was digging the earth to plant a few saplings. There were quite a few domestic servants in that house—a watchman, a gardener and a maid.

‘I found you to be a nice guy, Ravin,’ her father said.

I looked up to his face as he continued, ‘And Simar is our only child. She has been brought up with a lot of affection.’

‘I know,’ I responded.

From there it was almost as if a round of one-to-one conversation had begun between her dad and me. The last thing he said, before we sat for the late-afternoon tea, was, ‘At times Simar doesn’t know what she actually wants. It’s very important for you to ask her on how both of you plan to live your lives together. In my short interaction with her today I found that she is yet to talk to you about a lot of things. I hope both of you have a common path.’