Can Love Happen Twice? (6 page)

Along with me she re-entered the van. She was with me when I bought my sandwich. I grabbed a polybag from the shop.

‘You need this big a polybag to hold one sandwich?’ she asked.

‘Not for me.’

‘Then?’ I noticed her head again tilting on her left shoulder as she awaited an answer from me.

She was cute, both in her expressions and in her body language.

‘For you. To hold all those sandwiches in it,’ I answered, satisfying her curiosity.

She was amazed at my chivalry. She smiled.

Moments later we were out of the van. By now we had become better acquainted. She was basically from Gurgaon and had come to Belgium to pursue an MBA. She was in her second year, and her college was quite close to my office. She also had her immediate relatives living in Belgium.

‘My chaachu and his family live in Brussels,’ she revealed. I visit them sometimes.’

As per her school policy, she lived in a girls’ hostel that was next to her college. It was nice to know that she belonged to a Punjabi family. I don’t know if she felt nice knowing that I was Punjabi too.

That afternoon I ate my lunch walking along with Simar. Her hostel was on the way to my office. At the next crossing, where she was to take a different path, a few of her female friends stopped by in a car. They took the sandwiches from her and handed over her bag to her.

I realized that they were in a hurry and she was late in getting them their lunch. She quickly chatted with them and they drove ahead in their car. She held a white bag on her shoulder and something struck me.

We then shook hands for the very first time—interestingly, to say goodbye and see-you-soon. She was the first one to turn and move. I was still watching her, remembering something.

She took out her iPod and plugged it into her ears, and slipped her white purse on to her right shoulder. She pulled out the band and loosened her hair. I stood there noticing her walking away. All of a sudden I felt a sense of déjà vu happening. My mind told me that I had seen all this earlier and wondered where I had seen her.

It took me a while to realize.

Damn! Simar was the same girl whose back I had seen one afternoon at that same sandwich eatery!

It was my birthday and fortunately a Saturday as well. I had talked to my mom and dad early in the day. They were happy to know that all my Indian friends in Belgium were coming to my place to celebrate my birthday.

The Indian community which used to catch the evening bus had this protocol of setting up get-togethers for every big and small event. And for the sake of celebration every small event turned into a big event. On such get-togethers, the invitation used to go to almost every desi we knew by any means. Those gatherings were indeed a great opportunity to bond well together and overcome feelings of homesickness.

A day before, while we all were in the bus on our way back from office, Sanchit had announced:

‘It’s Ravin’s birthday tomorrow, guys!!!’

And then the plan of a party at my place had been finalized even before I got off at my bus stop.

‘Vasudha and Jyoti, you folks will have to come as well,’ said Rishab, one of our friends in the bus.

I was proud that by now I was aware of everyone’s name.

‘Aiiyo, from Brussels! Ah, it’s hard to come out on a weekend. Nakko ji. Need to finish some household work.’ Vasudha had answered in her typical South Indian accent.

‘Ask your husband to do that!’ said someone in the crowd and we all started laughing.

‘Hey! Everyone, get your spouses and kids as well. We’re gonna have fun. See you guys tomorrow!’ I said moments before we reached my bus stop.

There were some ten people, including a little kid, who showed up to celebrate my birthday. Sanchit and his wife were the most important people in the gathering. All of a sudden my empty house had become very lively. As predicted by a few, Vasudha didn’t show up. And as predicted again by other few, the excuse she gave for not attending that day was that she was ‘not feeling well’.

The party began. The Indians were living up to their reputation of being highly enthusiastic. There was a great deal of shouting and hooting, and many wished me Happy Birthday loudly. The little kid was crying while Bollywood songs were playing in the background. Everything was happening at the same time.

I had welcomed everyone with juices and Coke but Rishab had ignored the light drinks as he went ahead to open the refrigerator.

‘Stellas!’ he exclaimed and pulled out a can for himself.

‘Take out some more for those who want to have beer!’ I shouted.

Sanchit left the glass of juice on the dining table as he heard the word ‘Stellas’ and went to check the refrigerator.

‘Oh boy! A dozen cans? But you don’t prefer alcohol, right?’ he asked, taking out one for himself.

‘I got it this morning for you guys. Won’t mind having one today,’ I chuckled.

‘Ice cream!’ one of the ladies screamed as she eyed a bucket in my open fridge.

All of a sudden, I felt that everything at home had become vulnerable to inspection by the guests. Anyone could open and check out anything. My house was under everyone’s control and my bathroom was under the control of the little kid who had soiled his diaper with some artistic colourings and made his mother’s life more difficult.

There was absolute craziness.

Then suddenly someone screamed, ‘Let’s cut the cake! Hey birthday boy, come here!’

I went to the kitchen to get a knife, when Sanchit came and whispered, ‘Hey, didn’t you invite her?’

Busy finding the knife, I answered, ‘I did. But Saturday is not off for her. She had her finance class late this evening.’

A few weeks back I got to know that Sanchit knew Simar. In fact, even before I’d told him about Simar, he had met her a couple of times at the same sandwich diner before I landed in Belgium. And in the past few days, the three of us often had our lunch together on the bench outside the diner.

Sanchit kept looking at me for a while and spoke again, ‘Shall I ask you something?’

Having some idea of what he was about to ask, I laughed a bit and said, ‘Dude, enjoy the drink and give me one.’

I continued hunting for the knife. Sanchit’s eyes were still on me.

Trying to steer Sanchit away from the topic that was on his mind, I spoke again. ‘Thanks! In case you are the one who got the cake.’

‘Do you like her?’ he asked with a big gulp of beer. He was looking intently at me.

‘Are you crazy? There is no such thing!’ I exclaimed as I found the knife under the gas stove. ‘Oh, here it is. Come, let’s go cut the cake.’

‘Why are you avoiding my question?’ Sanchit persisted.

The voices from the living room had suddenly become louder. Rishab had cracked some joke and everyone was laughing at it.

‘Come on, Sanchit, we are just friends,’ I said, facing the kitchen door. Sanchit was behind me.

‘You like her or not?’ he repeated.

I turned towards him and took a deep breath. ‘You know my past very well, Sanchit …’ I was going to continue but Sanchit cut me mid-speech.

‘Yes, and because you wanted to come out of it, you left India and came here.’ Sanchit’s voice was louder this time.

I wasn’t left with much to say. I stood still, vaguely looking at the knife which I was holding in my hand.

‘Ravin, it’s been a long time now. Think about your future, think about your family back home. Get yourself a life.’ Sanchit gesticulated with his hands, spreading his arms wide open in the air, as he made an attempt to convince me.

Sanchit knew everything about me. He was like a brother to me. He had groomed me in the initial days of my job, and now he was supporting me quite a bit in settling in Belgium, especially in getting started at the on-site office.

I know he was absolutely justified in saying these things to me. Everyone close to me had said the same—my mom, my dad, the rest of my family and my friends. I knew they were all right. But I wasn’t wrong either. I knew I wanted a change and I left India for the same, but getting another girl wasn’t the change I left India for. I wanted to experience a change in terms of my daily life, my surroundings, the culture and people I interacted with. Of course I found Simar to be a nice girl, but only to interact with. It was exciting for me to see her but I never imagined myself falling in love with her.

For me love was just meant to happen once and it was forever.

How do I fill the same heart with love for someone else? Not that I never thought that way, but whenever I thought of it, I couldn’t give myself an honest answer. And in the absence of any legitimate answer, I would tell myself to simply leave it all up to destiny.

‘I am not saying that you should go and find happiness. All I am saying is that if happiness comes knocking at your door, then don’t deny it,’ he said, gently putting his raised hand on my shoulder.

His words didn’t register in my mind. I stood quietly to let him finish speaking what his heart felt. Alcohol makes people speak from their hearts. Sanchit was now speaking from his.

I was yet to have my share of alcohol. I was yet to speak from my heart.

‘What’s cooking between you guys?’ Sanchit’s wife came looking for us.

‘Darling! We are wondering what to cook?’ Sanchit immediately responded with a smile.

‘Oh, don’t worry, guys. Together we will cook with whatever is available here and if there is nothing, we will order something from outside. Come on, now! Let’s cut the cake!’ She held my hand and took me out.

Soon everyone sang loudly in unison ‘Happy Birthday to you … Happy Birthday to you …’

This was followed by a lot of clapping. The cake was cut, smeared and thrown around.

A little later we all cooked together, spoiled my kitchen together and then ate together. There was an air of warmth and fun all around. At about 8.30 p.m. I bid goodbye to everyone and was left in a messy house. It was quite early for a party to be over, but many of my guests were living in Brussels and the journey back home would take them at least an hour.

I kept staring at my messed-up house and the dirty cutlery and crockery under the kitchen sink. Cleaning up would be a huge task so I changed my clothes into a comfortable vest and shorts before I was ready to dirty my hands.

It took me close to twenty minutes to reset my living room. I was cleaning the utensils in the kitchen when my doorbell rang. I wondered if someone had returned to collect something they might have left behind. I went out to check who it was and looked through the peephole of my door.

‘Shit!’ I murmured.

It was Simar, with some girl.

My heartbeat had accelerated all of a sudden. Instead of opening the door I ran in. I looked at the kitchen’s condition. I looked at my own condition. Then I quickly looked for my T-shirt and jeans and got back into them again. I closed the kitchen door to hide the mess in there. Only then did I unlock the main door.

‘Hello,’ I said, panting.

‘Happy Birthday!’ Simar sang, her head tilted to one side as usual.

I smiled.

‘Happy Birthday!’ wished the other girl and then shook my hand.

‘Thank you,’ I responded.

‘She is Tanu, my batchmate; and Tanu, he is Ravin,’ said Simar, beginning the introductions. ‘He works with Pitney Bowes—you know, that blue–white coloured building, na? The one at the first right turn on the road outside our hostel?’

‘Yes, yes!’ Tanu acknowledged, but I could clearly see that this wasn’t the first time she was getting to know this from Simar.

I welcomed them into my house. They had barely sat down when Tanu’s cellphone rang. She went out to take the call. I offered her my balcony for privacy but she pointed outside, indicating that she would prefer to go out. I didn’t stop her.

‘I will be back in twenty minutes!’ she said to Simar as she walked out.

Simar gave her a sad look. They also exchanged some strange glances and some girlish talk in sign language. I didn’t understand what they were conveying to each other. It was a little uncomfortable for me to be a part of that silent conversation. Hence I took the opportunity to go to the kitchen and grab some lemonade.

By the time I returned Tanu was gone.

‘What’s going on?’ I asked Simar, offering her lemonade but looking at the main door.

‘Her boyfriend!’ Simar answered. None of us felt the need to ask more or explain more.

‘Sorry for this mess. My friends were here,’ I mentioned.

‘It’s okay. Chill!’ she said, squeezing her eyes shut as she pronounced
chill
.

I wondered if it was the tangy lemonade which had made her squeeze her eyes shut like that.

As we sat next to each other, I noticed that she was looking visibly uncomfortable. I assumed it had to do with the closed door and the conscious realization that it was just the two of us inside my home. I could see the discomfort on her face, in her body language, in her exaggerated smile, and even in her gestures as she repeatedly smoothened her hair.

But before she could have felt more uncomfortable, I jumped in to change the strained atmosphere. I got up from my couch and began telling her about the birthday celebrations that had taken place at home a short while back. Simultaneously, I started cleaning up the party mess.

‘How come you turned up this late?’ I finally asked her the question that I had wanted to ask her sometime back.

She relaxed a little. ‘Arrey, I had that finance class, na. I wouldn’t have been able to come at all, but the class got over half an hour early. And when I mentioned to Tanu that it’s your birthday, she got all excited about eating the cake. So …’ She left the sentence incomplete but raised her shoulders as if the rest was self-explanatory.

‘Oh, so it’s because of your friend Tanu that you are here. I thought you came to wish me,’ I said as I walked by her, carrying a stack of dirty dishes. I hadn’t missed the opportunity to tease her.

‘No. No. It’s not like that!’

‘Then what is it like?’ I smiled back, knowing the advantage I had.

‘It’s difficult to come out alone, na. So I wanted Tanu to accompany …’