Losing My Virginity and Other Dumb Ideas (25 page)

But now I was here. In their home. And I wanted to be here more than anywhere else in the world.

‘Kaveri! Good you’ve come now,’ said my mom, opening the door and hugging me. My mom is a tall woman, with olive skin like mine and hips that had begun resembling her mother’s. Gosh, this was going to be my legacy.

‘Why?’ I asked, putting my bags down in the living room, knowing that Raju, our help, would take it to my room. I could behave like that in my parents’ house. I was wanted and pampered. It felt good! Sometimes I wondered why I ever moved out. And why do people ever move out of their parent’s houses when parents always looked out for you, made your favourite meals, worried about you if you were staying out late, were concerned about your career choices, gave you money when you were broke, and were involved with your life. So the reason to move out for most Indian children at any age, really, didn’t make sense. Except the fact that your parents also wanted you to lead a life
they
wanted, and space was non-negotiable. You didn’t have any. If you lived under their roof, you were accountable for everything. And sooner or later, you would want your own life. And mine was in Mumbai.

But all that was secondary right now. I was happy to be home and eating my favourite meal, chatting with my mother about the things I had been up to. But I left out the part about a man. My mom, keen to know more about that aspect, tried to probe by saying, ‘So you know … Pooja, your cousin who’s in Dubai?’ I nodded, knowing fully well where this was going. ‘She’s got engaged. To an American. The whole family was quite aghast wondering how he is going to fit into our culture, but I was the only one supporting it. I think we should mingle amongst all cultures. I would be perfectly okay if you wanted to …’

‘Mom!’ I said stopping her, ‘I know where you’re going with this. But I don’t have anyone, white, brown, black, red, yellow, whatever skin man, in my life. And thank you for the assurance that I can look beyond India. I am happy Pooja has your vote of confidence!’

She smiled smugly and said, ‘Okay!’ If she could get metaphysical poetry and candle making, I didn’t understand how she could not get ‘sarcasm’. And then she stayed quiet and I felt bad. I had snapped again. I was too quick to judge her, condemn her and dismiss her. How was what she had done any less important than what I had done? Look where I was in my life. I didn’t have a clear career or a husband or a pot of gold to take me through life. All she had done was try to make me like her. And she did it because she wanted me to be as happy as her.

‘I’m sorry, Mom,’ I said, not giving a hug or anything but just a smile to say I understood what she was doing. ‘I’ll go to Pooja’s wedding.’ She knew what I meant. And she gave me another spoon of the rich kheer she had made.

My parents and I went out for dinner on my birthday. Bangalore Club was a lovely, quiet place they went to regularly. My father was well known there and my mother was highly respected. They loved the place. I thought the food was awful and had always complained about it to them. But this time, I just let them do whatever made
them
happy. They ordered way too many starters and had way too many drinks and, by the time the night was half way through, we were already stuffed.

‘So Kavu, here’s a toast to you being thirty-one!’ my dad raised his third glass of whiskey, slurring a little but beaming quite merrily.

‘God, I feel old,’ Mom cribbed. ‘
You
turning old is making
me
feel old!’

I raised my glass and said, ‘Thank you. Thank you all around.’ And then I started on my ‘Oscar’ speech, ‘I’d like to thank Almighty God for what I have achieved in these last few years, my parents for always supporting me …’ And as I said the words, I realized that they had. They had always supported me. And I had always shunned them, thinking their way of life was boring, or too old fashioned or oppressive.

I might have been a much more contented person had I sat back and enjoyed their way of life. I continued, ‘I truly want to thank you for letting me spread my wings and fly. I want you to know that I appreciate all that you’ve done for me.’ And I kissed both of them on the cheek and I could see both of them getting misty eyed. But I had meant it. And I enjoyed my dinner and we had many more laughs after that. It felt good to be with them. It felt good to take that huge chip off my shoulder and begin to realize just how much I loved my parents.

I finally felt what Aditi had felt for her parents. A sense of deep respect and love.

While I was trying to somehow manage a living, Aditi was trying to organize a wedding. And she was going mad doing it. Her parents were driving her crazy and her relatives’ list was becoming larger than the population of Shanghai. By the time I went to her place after my Bangalore visit, the wedding was only two weeks away and she was fuming at me.

‘Where have you been? I’ve been going insane doing all this by myself. You’re supposed to be my best friend who’s supposed to be helping me!’ I felt guilty. It was true. I should have been around her for such an important occasion. But since I needed to get away from the past, I’d landed up alienating Aditi as well and distanced her during my Aaron venture and my birthday.

‘Don’t worry. Everything will be all right. We can fix this.’ I said with great authority, as if I had been a wedding planner all my life. ‘Now,’ I said, opening up a diary that was lying on her bedroom dressing table. ‘Tell me what to do.’

She threw her hands in the air and said, ‘I don’t know what you should do, idiot,’ she screamed, all flabbergasted. ‘The cards haven’t been sent out, the menu hasn’t been fixed, the flowers haven’t been chosen, the groom’s clothes haven’t been picked out, the songs for the sangeet haven’t been selected, the DJ for the night hasn’t been chosen …’ Aditi rambled on and I listened patiently.

Then I got up and said, ‘Okay then, I see that you’ve got most bases covered. I’ll see you in two weeks, huh?’ I pretended to leave and Aditi threw a pillow at me.

‘Bitch! Get back here or I’ll get you married to my dog!’ she laughed.

‘Aww. That’s no way to call your fiancé,’ I teased. She threw another cushion at me and we were back to being our old selves.

In the next few days, I dispatched all the cards and had thrown away a few that Aditi secretly didn’t want to invite. If the people came, her parents would be glad and if they didn’t, she would blame it on me and be secretly happy. We also picked out a DJ for the sangeet, since I knew one who was a family friend and would play for a very nominal fee. I bought a few magazines for Aditi while I took her to the parlour for a facial one day and we picked out the flowers and the groom’s clothes. I realized in the middle of all this how, in just one year, our roles had reversed. Here I was, taking her to the parlour and making decisions about her life. Soon enough, most of the things that had plagued her about the wedding were sorted out. By the time the grand day arrived, everything was in place.

Aditi stood in her bridal finery in the hotel room allotted to us and said, ‘I really thought you would get married before me, Kavu.’ She was looking so happy. She had chosen someone finally and that person had chosen to be with her. It was a big step in her life.

I looked at her and smiled, ‘I didn’t.’

She gave me one of those looks like she knew what I had gone through. ‘Aditi,’ I explained, ‘in my heart, I never wanted to get married. And you did.’ Aditi gave me a strange look as if I had gone mad. And I knew I was not saying this to please her on her wedding day. I had thought about it a long time and I really believed this now. ‘You went out with as many people as you could to see who you would be compatible with for life. I went out with one who was already married. I brought that upon myself. I get it now. So you know what? I’m happy you’re getting married before me. It’s okay.’ I whispered softly.

She came over to hug me. We had a moment.

But before her mascara could run, I continued my thought, ‘Ya’cos now, I’ll be the one who’ll be with all those men and you’ll have to wake up to the same old, balding, fat man for life!’

‘Shut up!’ she laughed. And then said seriously, ‘Thank you. For everything. For being my best friend. For being …’

‘I know.’ I interrupted, ‘And thank you too, babe,’ I said. ‘Because you showed me
reason
. And I was running away from it for so long. I know you looked out for me. And I love you for it.’

She held me tight, ‘I love you too.’

Just then, her cousins flooded the room and took her towards the mandap. So I let them and I stayed back in the hotel room to take a breather before I put on my smiley face in front of Aditi’s relatives.

When Aditi and her cousins had left, I looked out of the window and saw the lights of Mumbai. It was beautiful. I loved this city. And I felt that even though I had loved and lost here, I had strength now to be something that I had been afraid of being earlier. I completed
me
. I didn’t feel the need to be the person walking towards that mandap. I knew that if it had to happen, it would be a nice thing that I would cherish. But I had stopped believing in a forever. And it wasn’t a cynical feeling. It was a practical, liberating, independent feeling. I realized that if I was never to get married, that would be okay too. Oh, I wasn’t giving up on love. Or giving up on having a man in my life. It was just the opposite. I was opening up to love. I was opening up to having many special people in my life. At different stages. At different times. And I knew that each person I had, would be loved, even if I lost him later. That would not stop me from trying to love again, and I would not remain bitter at him or at the concept of ‘love’.

And with that thought, I went to give my best friend away to wedded bliss.

It was about eleven at night. I was sitting at home checking my social networking sites to see what other people were up to. My voyeuristic pleasure seeking side emerged at night. Just then, I got a call from a woman who sounded American.

‘Hi, I’m Susan from the Metropolitan Museum of Art,’ she chirped.

‘In New York?’ I asked, disbelievingly.

‘Yes. Have you got my mail?’

I quickly opened my email account and started reading the mail and before I could stifle a shriek, she continued, ‘Kaveri, we have some very exciting news. We went through your application and we would like to give you a paid internship at the Metropolitan if you are ready to relocate to New York?’

‘Of course!’ I said too eagerly, ‘Yes! Thank you. This is a huge. I mean … thank you.’ She told me to go through my mail and call her if I had any queries and wanted me to start by next month. I told her I would be ready to do so. I would be studying and working at the museum around my favorite subject of all time, art. I was really psyched. I immediately thought of calling Arjun and telling him. We could still be friends and friends shared happy news! After all, he had been the one who had encouraged me to submit my application and the essay on Picasso. Before I could shun the thought, I dialled his number.

It rang. And rang. I hung up.

My excitement was truly lost. He didn’t care anymore. Maybe I was stupid for wanting to connect again. And he had truly moved on. Maybe exes could not be friends and I had made a terrible mistake. I didn’t want my bubble to burst so easily, so I went for a walk by myself. I thought about calling my mother. But then, even though she would be happy for me, she would be a little melancholic that I would waste another six months doing something that was not organizing my wedding or finding a man to ‘settle down’ with. So I didn’t want to hear her lecture or her wounded voice.

I thought of calling Aditi. But she was still on her honeymoon on an island where the connection was weak. But even then, I thought that our ‘connection’ might be weak from now on. She was married and needed to be a part of a new home. I couldn’t be calling her in the middle of the night with exciting news or taking her out for coffee to Coffee De at seven in the morning.

Coffee De! That was it.

I headed straight towards it and sat down on my favorite red sofa with purple cushions and ordered myself a hazelnut café latte and a big chocolate brownie with whipped cream and nuts. I needed to celebrate myself.

Thankfully, at this time of the night on a weekday, there were no teenagers. I remembered that day, long time back. My God, it had been more than a year since when I decided to lose my virginity. I had changed so much. I could look back now and say, dude, what was I thinking? But I knew that if I hadn’t made that decision that morning, I would never have opened up to the men that would follow in the last one year. There had been some incredible men. And I had formed some great friendships. Like the one who was walking in right now.

‘Hi, Aniruddh,’ I said. Aniruddh was the anchor in the reality show I had participated in.

For a second, he didn’t recognize me. Till I said, ‘From the reality show where I won the trekking contest? Remember?’

‘Aah yes,’ he said, standing near my couch hesitant.

‘Wanna sit?’ I asked.

‘Are the tables reversed? Is this your casting couch?’ he mocked.

I laughed, ‘It could be!’ What a serious change from what I was a year ago. I would never have thought of inviting a guy to sit with me. But the new me felt it was the right thing to do. He sat down.

‘Hey, who won that show?’ I asked.

‘You didn’t see it?’

I shook my head, ‘I couldn’t watch after I was eliminated.’

‘Pooja. The web designer. From Hyderabad.’

‘Oh ya. She was sweet.’

‘Ya and Karan’s mom, who came down for the second last episode, picked her from the final three.’ Aniruddh laughed.

‘What?’ I asked, disbelievingly. ‘The mother-in-law angle? He couldn’t even pick his own bride?’

We both burst into giggles and I muttered, ‘Thank God I was not there. I would have walked out on him and his mom.’

‘But you made quite an impression on him and the girls,’ he smirked.

My brownie came and he looked at me as if he had never seen a woman eating one all by herself. ‘What? You’ve never seen a woman eating a brownie?’ I asked.