The Homing Pigeons... (26 page)

Radhika

I didn’t know if he had miraculously had a change of heart. Just yesterday, we had had the ugly conversation and now, Aditya was calling me incessantly. I switched the phone off and continued the conversation with my boss, “What next?” I asked.

“There are plenty of roles available, if you’re interested,”
she said.

“
I want a new role, preferably a posting away from Gurgaon,” I said.

The girl from Human Resources looked at me strangely. Gurgaon was the head office – it was an aspirational place to be in within the realms of the bank, and here I was declining one. “There’s an operations position, reporting to the branch
manager in Lucknow that fits your grade.  Would you be interested in something that mundane?” my boss asked me.

Normally, I wouldn’t have been, but it was imperative. I just had to go away. There was no other option. I had to get back at him, somehow, for what he had done to me. For that, it was important that I go away. I was taking a rash decision driven by anger, I knew it. I didn’t know anyone in Lucknow and that
would mean a loss of familiarity. I wonder if familiarity always ends up in heartbreak.

“Yes, I’ll take it,” I said, sealing my fate.

The meeting ended with shallow expressions of gratitude. I still had a week to wrap up. I thought about him and a sudden sense of disgust pervaded me. I didn’t know why he did this to me but another voice in my head kept asking me, “Didn’t you do the same?” I justified to that voice that I had done it for him. It didn’t agree with me, so I ignored it, revelling in the loathing of him.

In the evening, I didn’t take the route that I normally did, instead took the bus that went to Delhi. I got myself dropped near the Delhi border and took a rickshaw back home. I sneaked in through the back door, knowing that he would come there too. I wondered if calling the cops on him was enough revenge. Maybe, I could press charges of stalking and harassment. Maybe, that would douse the fire. A small part of me still wanted him to be there and maybe that is why I went to the balcony to peek through the curtains to see if there was any sign of him.

I picked up my cell phone. There were two more missed calls from him and a message that said, “I love you. Please answer the phone”. I had half a mind to type “Fuck off. I hate you” but then I stopped myself. His penance was in him being ignored. I switched off the phone and carried on with the evening. I went into the kitchen. The maid who came to cook had made the watery dal that she was so notorious for. I had a small portion of it with rice and went back to my room.

My thoughts went back to our relationship. It was almost like destiny never intended us to be together and we had been trying to change its course. I wished that it didn’t have to end. Even if it had to end, I wished that it could have been a better
end. When it had been alive, it had been so beautiful that it deserved a better end.

I pretended that I was reading a book but the words would refuse to form a sentence. Sometimes, when they did, they flew past my brain. I read it and then reread it until I gave up and closed the book. I wanted to pee but didn’t go to the washroom. I was besides the window again, looking for a sign of him. He wasn’t there but there was the tree that the harsh summer had killed. It told me my story. The voice in my head returned and asked me why I couldn’t hate him completely and forever.

I was still contemplating a definite answer when the doorbell rang. I didn’t answer it. I rushed into my room and locked the door. Just as another precaution, I went into the washroom and locked that door too. Maybe, I was just afraid that if he came, I would succumb. When I had steeled my nerves and made my decision, I didn’t want to be the wimp that I had always been.

I tried to hear if there were any sounds that resembled his voice or if the footsteps belonged to him. I pressed my ear closer to the door. There was stillness, no sound belied his presence. I stayed there, locked inside, sweating, unsure who I was hiding from. The bolder
me said I shouldn’t be hiding, but I stayed inside the bathroom for over half an hour. I finally came out, half expecting him to be sitting on the solitary chair in my room.

He wasn’t there. I went back to the curtain and stole another look outside. There was nothing; absolutely no hint that he was here or intended to be. Maybe, he had just sent the message as a teaser.
A sadists attempt to see if his victim was suffering enough. I came back to my room and turned off the lights. It was important that I get some sleep. I would have to join the Lucknow branch next week, which left less than five days to wrap up.

I thought if I should ask my parents, if I had made a good choice in moving to Lucknow. But, why even bother when I had nearly been estranged. Maybe, I didn’t deserve happiness. Maybe, I was the creation of a lesser God whose creative abilities hadn’t been developed enough to add happiness or colour into this life.

Aditya

I can’t help feeling lucky with the offer letter in hand. It is a handsome salary that Axis bank is offering me. I know that being lucky and being happy are two different things. I  remember  when  my  boss  gave  me  the  promotion  letter, right  after  my  conversation  with  Radhika.  I went to his room, still wondering if I could’ve been a little politer in that conversation. I had been harsh but if I hadn’t been, it would’ve been detrimental. It would’ve made her feel that there was still room for reconciliation and I didn’t want it. I had made my choice and my plan had been executed. Why else had I sat on the chair in the balcony when Radhika writhed in pain? Why else had I told Robin to tell her that I was at work?

For the first time, I looked down at the letter that my boss had given me. It was a handsome raise and I thought that now was a good time to buy a car. I imagined the car of my dreams and it’s all shiny and bright, but it came with a vacant passenger seat. Suddenly, the letter was nothing but a piece of paper. It was meaningless and even in being able to break away from
her, I hated my parents and myself.

I left the office early. My manager thought that I was going
to celebrate my promotion.  He couldn’t quite understand why I still had a forlorn expression when I should have been rejoicing. I parked the car below the apartment and went upstairs. I knew she wouldn’t be around, not after all that I had said. Robin answered the door. “Has she left?” I was half hoping that he would say no.

“Yes. She left in the afternoon.” I nodded as if she had told me and it was all planned.

I changed into shorts and sneakers. There was so much negative energy that had to be drained. I had almost stopped running and I wanted to run today. Run until the last bit of energy was drained, until I would collapse, until I died. The emotions of anger, guilt, frustration and shame mixed up in a heady cocktail that kept me running. I ran away from a reality that I had been unable to face. It was past ten when I came back and crashed on the chair in the balcony and drank as I once had very long ago. In all the things that had changed since then, one thing remained. I was still without her.

The next day, I didn’t go to office
. I was expected to attend training. Through the morning, I had been unable to concentrate, preferring to doodle and think when the trainer had the others’ rapt attention.

“It is your marriage next week, you want to look ravishing, and you walk into a store and look at about fifty suits. You find five in your size that you like enough to buy. You boil down the choice to two – the charcoal grey Armani and the navy blue Calvin Klein. Money’s not a constraint, even though the Armani is a little more expensive.” He continued, “You try on both, they’re a perfect fit, but you are still indecisive. You settle for the Armani. You walk down to the teller, happy that you’re about to buy what you wanted. The teller swipes the card, you sign for it and just as you are about to enter your car, creating images of yourself in the charcoal grey suit – a strange voice in
your head tells you, ‘you should’ve bought the blue one’. That is cognitive dissonance,” the tall, cynical trainer said.

Now, with that last example, he had told me my situation. I wanted the Calvin Klein suit. I had broken up with her, and played the truant and the ideal son, but I wasn’t sure where that left me. I thought that a breakup would help ease the stress, yet, it had only aggravated it. I longed for a date with her. I longed to meet her. Hell, I even longed to see her. I cursed myself for being stupid enough to take it to a point of no return. I was annoyed with myself that I had driven the relationship to this dead end.

I walked out of the conference hall at the Taj Hotel, the venue of the training. The trainer stared at me. Maybe he wasn’t used to people walk out of his training. I didn’t care to explain where I was going. On the way out, I grabbed my cell phone that had been kept aside this morning to deter deviant minds from reaching out to that distraction.

I reached the lobby that led to the many banquet halls. It was empty, even though the banquet halls seem to be occupied. I dialled her number; she didn’t answer. I dialled her number again. No Answer. I dialled it a third time. A strange woman said in a sing-song voice, “The subscriber you’re trying to reach is busy at this time”. I dialled a fourth time, the same thing happened. The fifth time, the same woman said, “The number you are trying to reach is switched off”.

I went back inside, momentarily, to retrieve the car keys from my table. The trainer didn’t stare at me this time; he made a note and carried on. I drove like crazy from the Taj, almost running over the labourers who were busy trying to construct a fly-over at Dhaula Kuan. I had to see her. I would apologize; I would beg her to take me back. I would promise to never be a bastard again. If she agreed, I would marry her tonight. I knew that I had dug my own grave. In wishing that I spoil my relations with her, I had hurt her so grievously that she refused to speak to me.

*

It was over three days that I had not seen her, nor spoken to
her. Even when we would pretend to be strangers in office, we would bump into each other – sometimes in the corridors, sometimes in the cafeteria. But it seemed that she had virtually become invisible. I went to the floor where she worked, but she wasn’t there. I thought about waiting below her house when she entered, but what would that achieve. It was best for time to heal some wounds before I approached her again. I hated myself, not only because of my fickle mindedness, but also for my abjectly gross behaviour.

Radhika

There is something about Ranikhet that leaves me awestruck. I grew up in the hills, so it isn’t unfamiliar to be in the hills, but Ranikhet is different. It has to be the snow-clad peaks in the distance, the forests around town and that wild leopard that crossed us one night. It leaves me enchanted.

A large part of me wants to stay here. I know that I can stay here and do everything that I am doing back in Delhi. I will be closer to Shipra, for sure. I chide myself that this is just a dream that will take a long time to accomplish. It isn’t real. Very long ago, I stopped believing in dreams.

The last two weeks at Shipra’s home were heavenly. Each morning would begin with a cup of tea on the lawns of her house and each day would end with drinks. I still don’t drink, even though Divya was pushing me.

It has taken a lot to go back to reality. My reality is a makeshift school that I run out of the Gulmohar Park house. I bid my goodbyes and just as we leave the cantonment, Divya’s phone rings. It has to be another one of her shady calls because she is talking about her commission.

I ignore her again as I had done on my way in, but this time she is adamant to tell me about it.

“I think it’s important to have sex. It’s human,” she says.

I didn’t know why she has vaguely and abruptly brought up this conversation with me.

“I couldn’t live with my ex-husband, but that doesn’t mean that I deprive myself. I even checked with the gynaecologist. She agrees,” Divya continues.

I nod my head but don’t say anything.

“You know, there are so many women who are faced with this same problem. I just help them,” she says.

I wonder if the cause is so noble, why she is talking about her commission.

“You should try it too,” she says.

This time, I don’t nod. I’ll be honest; it does cross my mind as an option.

Aditya

Finally, I saw her walking out of office on the fourth day. I walked up towards her, to accost her, to fall down on one knee and confess that I had been a fool for not understanding my emotions in time, beg her for forgiveness and to let me be a part of her life again. She saw me coming and instantly turned around, walking back into the crowd of people that would insulate her from me.

My ego should’ve died that instant and I should’ve followed her and done what I intended to do. I didn’t. She walked with the crowd and I saw her leaving. I would have to wait for another chance. That chance never came.

I didn’t know that when she walked away from there, she was leaving the city for good. I still didn’t know that would be the end of my love story. I didn’t even know that you could call this a love story. I didn’t see her for a few more days. I thought that she was on vacation, to take time off work and to recuperate from my actions. It was much later that I discovered that she had taken up a posting in Lucknow. It was bizarre that she chose Lucknow when almost everyone in our generation wanted to move away from that city.

I thought about chasing her, going to Lucknow and telling
her everything that I wanted to in Gurgaon. It did cross my mind that she would be unwilling to talk to me in Lucknow, when she was hesitant to talk to me in Gurgaon. I just waited for the wounds to heal before I could approach her again.

It was a Saturday that I went back home and rang the bell. Robin answered the door, but didn’t say anything. He wasn’t used to seeing me come home alone on Saturdays. I didn’t go out to drink. I switched the television on, surfing channels mindlessly. Nothing held my fancy. I switched off the TV as abruptly as I had started it. Nothing seemed good.

I had been here earlier, but I had someone to blame back then. It wasn’t my folly that I had been left alone then. Now, there was no one else that I could blame. I picked up my cell phone and dialled her Delhi number, knowing that she wasn’t here. But still, fervently praying that she had made a weekend trip to Delhi and switched on her cell phone. I wasn’t lucky.

The days passed, abysmally slowly. It was nearly three months since she was gone. It wasn’t only her going away that hurt so much; it was my guilt that burnt me inside out. I owed her an apology at the very least. I sat on my desk typing an e-mail. I had never been eloquent but when you write from the heart, it usually comes out well. I read it and re-read it. It was everything that I wanted to tell her. I explained my actions, my failures, my reasons. I apologized. I promised that I would never ever let her down again if she just forgave me. It was complete. In the global address list, I typed the surname Kapila; her name didn’t come up. I typed Kapila, R; still no matches. I typed Kapila, Radhika; the name didn’t exist in the Citigroup global address list. A little over three hundred thousand e-mail IDs were listed, but that elusive one that I needed to send the mail to
, was missing. There was only one conclusion that could be drawn – she no longer worked for Citibank. And if she didn’t, where was she? In Lucknow? Chandigarh? Abroad?