The One She Was Warned About (12 page)

‘I’m not planning to speak to them,’ he said shortly. ‘You can tell them if you want.’

Veena shot Shweta an appealing look, but Shweta didn’t want to interfere in something that Nikhil evidently felt strongly about. She changed the topic and Veena followed her lead, though a worried frown still puckered her forehead.

Nikhil was just dropping Shweta back home, and she looked at him in surprise when he pulled the car over halfway between their apartments. ‘Something wrong with the car?’ she asked.

He shook his head. ‘No, there’s something wrong with me,’ he said, leaning over her to release her seat belt and pull her into his arms. ‘I’m likely to die of frustration,’ he muttered against her lips as he began to kiss her. ‘We should have checked into that hotel, and to hell with everybody else.’

The kiss was explosive, and when they finally broke apart Shweta found herself trembling.

‘We’re likely to get pulled in by the cops for indecent behaviour in public,’ she said shakily. ‘Let’s go.’

Priya had some friends over, and Nikhil refused to come upstairs. He knew Shweta well enough to know that she’d feel awkward and embarrassed taking him into her room if other people were around.

‘I’ll see you soon,’ he said, caressing her face.

Even the gentlest touch had the capacity to send her up in flames, and for a second she was tempted to forget her scruples and drag Nikhil up to her flat. Then she remembered Veena, and how scandalised she would be if Nikhil stayed the night with Shweta. Sighing, she stepped back and waved as Nikhil got into his dangerous-looking car and drove away.

Shweta spent the next day in a happy daze. So far she’d only told Priya about the engagement. Her father and aunt would need to be told soon, but Shweta wanted to tell them face to face. She was slightly apprehensive about her father’s reaction. In spite of having finally broken away from her father’s overpowering influence, she found herself regressing a bit now, when it came to her marriage—she wanted him to approve.

It was around seven in the morning on Saturday when her phone rang, and for a few seconds Shweta didn’t recognise the agitated female voice. When she finally realised who it was, she said, ‘Veena Aunty, you need to calm down—I can’t understand a word of what you’re saying.’

‘I need to come and see you. Can you message me your address? I’ll take a taxi and come.’

‘What’s happened? Is Nikhil OK?’

‘Yes, yes, Nikhil is fine. But he’s very upset with me, and I really need to see you before I leave.’

‘Leave for where?’ Shweta asked in bewilderment. Only the day before Nikhil had told her that Veena might be staying on for another week, to meet some distant relatives from the US who were passing through Mumbai.

‘I’m leaving for Kerala today. Nikhil’s father has booked the tickets. I just need to go to the airport and pick them up, he said. But I have an hour or two, and I need to speak to you.’

Shweta could get nothing more concrete out of Veena on the phone, and finally gave her detailed directions to her apartment. When she arrived Veena seemed a lot more composed than she’d sounded over the phone— only the way she was twisting her
sari pallu
betrayed how upset she was.

‘Why is Nikhil angry?’ Shweta asked gently.

‘I asked him to tell his parents about the engagement and he refused. Maybe I should have let it go, but I thought it was important for him to call them—and they will need to be involved in the preparations for the wedding... Your father would think it very strange if they didn’t participate. Then Nikhil said he wasn’t even planning to invite them.’

Clearly that statement had led Veena to remonstrate with him, and their argument had got completely out of hand, with Nikhil storming out of the house at the end of it. While Shweta sympathised with Veena, she could see the whole thing from Nikhil’s point of view as well.

‘He hasn’t really forgiven them for all he went through when he was growing up,’ she said gently. ‘It couldn’t have been easy, dealing with all the gossip around his being illegitimate.’

‘If he wasn’t illegitimate he wouldn’t exist,’ Veena said. ‘Better being illegitimate than not being born.’

As a statement, it was a difficult one to argue against, but Shweta was finding it incredible that Veena, who had far greater cause for complaint than Nikhil, was staunchly defending her husband.

‘I think he feels that his dad was very unfair to you.’

‘He doesn’t know anything about it,’ Veena said. ‘It’s I who wasn’t fair to Nikhil’s father. He’s always been a perfect gentleman.’

OK, this was really strange. Shweta gave up on trying to understand. Her face must have reflected her confusion, because after a pause Veena said with great difficulty, ‘I could never be a proper wife to Nikhil’s father.’

‘Because you couldn’t have children?’

‘No, that’s not what I mean. We never—never lived together like man and wife.’

Never living together
like man and wife
was presumably a euphemism for
we never had sex
, and Shweta finally began to understand. Not sure how to respond, she asked tentatively, ‘So, was that because of a medical issue?’

Veena shook her head. ‘Not a medical problem. It’s not a very...
nice
story. I’m going to tell you, though—that’s the only way to make you understand.’ She waited till Shweta nodded in assent, and then continued. ‘I grew up in a family in Kerala. My parents were very simple folk—they had a farm, and my father was out on the farm most of the day. My mother would be busy with the cooking and the housework and the younger children. I was the oldest and I had three younger brothers.’

She paused a little, and Shweta wondered where the story was going.

Veena continued, ‘There was a distant cousin of my father’s who used to come home often. He was a college graduate, but he was unemployed. He told my mother he would help me with my studies...’

And then Shweta knew. It was the kind of story she’d read in magazines and books and been horrified by—hearing Veena talk about it in her flat monotone was sickening in a more gruesomely immediate way, even couched in euphemisms.

‘He misbehaved with me—I was only nine...’ It was a heart-rending story.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Shweta said, and the words sounded pathetically inadequate. ‘I can’t imagine how you would have felt... Didn’t you tell anyone?’

‘I was scared,’ Veena said, and smiled briefly. ‘It was too shameful to talk about. And my mother was always so busy. It went on for three years, until I turned twelve and became a woman.’

Became a woman
was a common way of describing reaching puberty, and Shweta didn’t ask for an explanation.

‘And then you married Nikhil’s father?’

‘It was an arranged marriage—my father chose the groom for me. Nikhil’s father was well-educated, and he lived in Pune. I wanted to get away from the village.’

Shweta noted that, like most ultra-conservative women, Veena didn’t call her husband by name—‘Nikhil’s father’ was the term she always used. Irrelevantly Shweta wondered what Veena had called him through the ten years before Nikhil was born.

‘How old were you when you married?’

‘Nineteen. At first Nikhil’s father thought I was just shy and scared, because I was so young. Then he realised that something was wrong.’

‘And you told him?’

Veena shook her head. ‘He guessed. He asked who the man was. I couldn’t talk about it. I never have. This is the first time I’ve—’ She broke off and her face contorted with grief. ‘Nikhil’s father was so good to me. He was like a brother to me after that. I felt terrible—he was a young man and I was ruining his life. I could never have his children...’

‘And then he met Ranjini Aunty?’

‘We’d been married for ten years. He never reproached me. If I tried to apologise all he would say was that it wasn’t my fault. But I knew he wanted a proper family—not a wife in name only who cooked and cleaned... And then he met Ranjini. He didn’t want to hurt me, but they fell in love. They never wanted to tell me. It was only when they found out that there was going to be a baby that Nikhil’s father came and told me. Even then he said that Ranjini would move to a different city and he would send money to look after the child...’

‘You asked him to bring her home instead?’

‘Yes.’ Veena tried to smile. ‘Nowadays it would be a lot simpler—I would have a job, and I could divorce him so that he could marry Ranjini instead. But I had no job, only a high school education, and I couldn’t stand the thought of going back to my village. My parents would have died of shame. And I wanted to see a baby in the house—I wanted Nikhil’s father to watch his son grow up.’

A thought struck Shweta. ‘Was the man still there? In your village?’

Veena shook her head. ‘He died in a motorcycle accident soon after I got married. So at least I didn’t have to see him when I went home on visits. And I don’t think he misbehaved with any other girls—he had begun to drink, and people stopped allowing him into their homes.’

There was a short pause while Shweta digested what she’d just been told.

Then Veena said, ‘Nikhil isn’t really illegitimate.’

‘But I thought you said a divorce wasn’t possible?’

‘Not then. But around the time Nikhil got expelled from school we were shifting cities anyway, so his father and I filed for divorce by mutual consent. Ranjini and his father married soon after the divorce was finalised.’

Shweta stared at her. ‘But why haven’t you told Nikhil this?’ she asked. ‘It would make things so much easier for him!’

‘He knows,’ Veena said sadly. ‘He was the first person we told. It made him settle down for a while, but then he started brooding about it and he turned very bitter. You see, he was always very attached to me. Both his parents were working, and I’d looked after him for most of his growing up years—I’d always loved children, and maybe I even spoilt him a bit. I was so worried about people misunderstanding, thinking I was ill-treating him because he was my husband’s illegitimate child... At some point he started blaming his parents. He thought they had coerced me into agreeing to the divorce. Nothing I could say would convince him.’

‘He’s never told me about this,’ Shweta said in a daze. ‘And we’ve discussed it a lot. He even told me he was upset because his dad and mom are “pretending” to be married.’

‘That’s what he said to them as well. The last time he was home he had a terrible fight with his father. And he got so angry yesterday, when I tried to convince him to make up with them... I can’t stay with him any more. I feel like I’ve stolen Ranjini’s son away from her.’

Shweta sat silently for a while, trying to absorb what she’d heard. She felt sorriest for Nikhil’s father—to be vilified by his own son for a sin he hadn’t really committed seemed grossly unfair.

‘Do you want me to tell him—tell Nikhil, I mean?’

Veena shook her head in panic. ‘No! I can’t bear the thought of him knowing—he’s more than a son to me. It would kill me, having him know what happened to me.’

Shweta stared at her in frustration. ‘He’d understand, Veena Aunty, and he wouldn’t mention it to you ever! It’s the only solution—can’t you see?’

Veena shook her head again. ‘It would kill me,’ she repeated. ‘Promise me you won’t tell him.’

When Shweta hesitated, she said, ‘You have to promise me. Otherwise I’ll need to cut off all ties between me and Nikhil.’

Which would only make matters worse. And in any case, whatever she might feel about it, the secret was not hers to share. Reluctantly, Shweta promised not to breathe a word to Nikhil.

‘But what do you want me to do, then? What was the point of telling me this if you don’t want me to tell Nikhil?’

‘Convince him to come and meet his father,’ Veena said. ‘To reconcile with him. If his father wants to tell him part of the story I won’t say anything. But Nikhil needs to make the first move.’

‘So far my trying to convince him has been pretty disastrous,’ Shweta said. ‘But I’ll try once again if you want.’

It was getting late, and Shweta called a cab to drop Veena to the airport. She even offered to come with her and help her get her ticket from the airlines, but Veena refused.

‘I’ve troubled you enough today,’ she said, giving Shweta a grateful kiss on the forehead. ‘God bless you, child. I’m sure Nikhil will listen to you.’

Marvelling at Veena’s completely misplaced confidence in her, Shweta waved her goodbye. Then she looked down at the ring on her finger, twisting it around a couple of times with a wry smile on her lips. She’d have to speak to Nikhil, but given a choice between bringing up the topic with him and getting a root canal treatment, she’d choose the root canal any day. Perhaps even without anaesthetic.

NINE

‘The least you
could do is hear me out!’

Nikhil said steadily, ‘I’ve heard enough. Shweta, I hate to say this, but you have no idea of what you’re talking about.’

‘But you’re not even illegitimate! Your parents got married, didn’t they?’

‘Yes, they did—but that’s not the point. They coerced Amma into agreeing to the divorce.’

Shweta gave him an exasperated look. ‘She was an adult woman! You can’t force someone into a divorce like that. Does it never occur to you that she might have had her own reasons for agreeing?’

As soon as she said it Shweta realised that she was skating a little too close to the truth.

Nikhil was shaking his head, and though he sounded quite calm when he spoke a vein was throbbing in his temple. ‘Yes, she
did
have her reasons. She had no job, and she was from a poor and terribly conservative family—they wouldn’t have taken her back if my dad had thrown her out. She’d have probably starved on the streets!’

‘Nikhil, I’ve met your dad. And I’ve heard Veena Aunty talk about him so much. There’s no way you can make me believe that he forced her into a divorce.’

‘Perhaps it wasn’t that, then. Perhaps it was me.’

‘Perhaps it was you, what?
You
threatened to throw her out?’

Nikhil shook his head. ‘No. Maybe you’re right, my dad would have supported her financially, but she’d never have seen me again—she had no rights over me. I wasn’t related to her. Maybe that’s what she couldn’t deal with. She was barren herself, but she loved children. She’d looked after me all my life and she had no other real family. Even her parents were dead by then, and she wasn’t very close to her brothers.’

If Shweta hadn’t known it to be untrue, it would have seemed a very plausible story. For a second she wondered if she should just let the topic rest. She couldn’t help remembering Veena’s tortured expression, though, and in spite of her better judgement she ploughed on. ‘Nikhil, it’s stuff that’s between
them
. You’ll never know what really happened. Why don’t you take them at face value? Veena Aunty’s obviously happy with them, or she would have agreed to come and live with you.’

Nikhil asked abruptly, ‘Why are you so interested in me making up with my parents all of a sudden?’

‘I told you! Veena Aunty came to me and she was upset—I’m trying to help. But the more I speak to you, the more convinced I am that it’s utterly useless trying to talk sense into your thick head.’

‘And from what I can figure, Amma’s worried that your father will say no to the wedding if my parents aren’t involved at every stage. I can’t think where she would have got the idea other than from you,’ he said.

The thought that she was ashamed of his background had been eating at him from the day they’d started dating. Shweta still hadn’t told her father that they were engaged. He’d told himself that he would give her time, but in the face of her insistence that he reconcile with his parents it was difficult not to flare up at her.

‘I’ve
never
spoken to her about what my father might say!’ Shweta exclaimed. ‘Really, Nikhil, you’re pushing it a bit too far. Even if my father said no, that wouldn’t stop me from marrying you.’

Nikhil shrugged, his eyes remote. ‘Your father will hate the thought of us marrying, won’t he?’

Shweta hesitated. She wasn’t really sure how her father would react—she suspected he wouldn’t be very pleased, but explaining to Nikhil in his current mood that her father had rigid views on most things and rarely approved of her decisions would be difficult.

‘I’m not sure,’ she said finally. ‘It doesn’t really matter, does it?’

He didn’t answer.

Shweta said, ‘
Does
it, Nikhil?’

‘It doesn’t matter to me,’ Nikhil said slowly. ‘I know you keep saying you’re out of your dad’s shadow, but you’re always trying to live up to his expectations.’

‘What?’

‘Now that you’ve found out that my parents are married after all you want me to reconcile with them, so that you can present a nice textbook family to your father. Reformed son, reasonably successful, legally married parents...’

Shweta stared at him for a few seconds, and then anger began to kick in. ‘If I cared about any of that I wouldn’t have got involved with you to begin with!’ she said. ‘I could have gone ahead and married Siddhant, or someone like that. Why would I bother getting engaged to
you
?’

There was another short pause, and then Nikhil said, ‘I guess it helps that you actually enjoy sleeping with me.’

His voice wasn’t even cold, it was matter-of-fact, and somehow that made it worse.

‘You don’t have a very high opinion of me, do you?’ Shweta asked, fighting to keep her voice steady.

‘I could say the same of you,’ Nikhil said.

Quite suddenly, Shweta knew she’d had enough. Nikhil didn’t trust her, and there was nothing she could say that would make a difference. It was ironic, really—given the number of relationships he’d had in the past,
she
was the one with a logical reason not to trust
him
.

‘Maybe we should take a break from each other,’ she said, and she was surprised at how calm she sounded. Jumbled thoughts were warring for attention in her mind—one part of her was grappling with a deep sense of hurt, while another was wondering whether she was going completely mad.

Nikhil had gone very still. ‘Just because I won’t listen to you and go running to my parents?’

She bit her lip. It wasn’t that. It was because he didn’t trust her, and because she still wasn’t sure if he really loved her. At that point if Nikhil had made the slightest move towards her she would have probably collapsed gratefully into his arms. He didn’t, though—he just kept looking at her, his expression grim.

‘Not just that,’ she said finally. ‘I’m not sure you’re really committed to us being together. It’s just convenient because you’ve known me for so long, and...and because I know about your family and everything.’

There—she’d said it.

His face was like granite, but she floundered on. ‘We don’t really have much in common. I don’t move in the same circles as you do, I wouldn’t fit in with all your celebrity friends, and you’d get bored with me after a while.’

‘Spare me,’ he said. ‘I’ve used the “it’s-not-you-it’s-me” line too often to be fooled by it. We’ll take a break, then, if that’s what you want.’ When she didn’t answer, he said, ‘Let me know when you’re ready to give it a go again.’

Shweta nodded silently and Nikhil turned towards the door. Halfway there, he turned back, and Shweta felt a ridiculous surge of hope go through her. His eyes were still grim, though, and the hope died as quickly as it had been born.

‘If we do get back together it has to be on the understanding that you don’t try interfering in parts of my life that don’t concern you,’ he said, and his voice was hard and uncompromising.

‘I’ll try to remember that—if I’m ever tempted to get back with you,’ Shweta said hotly.

He shrugged. ‘Always better to make things clear.’

Shweta suddenly saw red. Despite what he’d said, he seemed so
sure
that she’d come crawling back to him. Rather as if she was a child throwing an unnecessary tantrum. He wasn’t even acknowledging that they had a genuine problem, preferring instead to believe that she was splitting up with him because she was ashamed of his parentage.

Deliberately she took the diamond engagement ring off her finger and tugged the matching earrings out of her ears.

‘Maybe you should take these with you,’ she said, her voice icy-cold. ‘Just in case I don’t change my mind.’

Something changed in Nikhil’s face and Shweta knew that she’d done something that couldn’t be easily undone. For a few seconds she stared into his eyes, her expression defiant as she held out the jewellery.

‘Sell the stuff if you don’t change your mind,’ he said and, turning around, he strode out of the room without another word.

The rest of the day was hell for her. Unable to cry, she paced the room, replaying the things Nikhil had said over and over in her head. What he’d said had revealed a lot about the way he thought of her. Perhaps there were excuses that could be made for him—she was in no frame of mind to make them. All she could think was that she’d been right all along when she’d believed he didn’t love her.

‘I need a week off,’ she told Deepa the next day.

She’d expected Deepa to create trouble. The sleepless night had, however, left dark circles under her eyes, and she looked only inches away from a nervous breakdown.

Deepa took one look at her and nodded briskly. ‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Hand over your work to Faisal. He owes you for picking up the slack when he broke his wrist. Do you want to take off from tomorrow or Monday?’

‘Tomorrow, please,’ Shweta said.

She left the room without remembering to thank Deepa, and the other man in the room raised his eyebrows.

‘Getting soft in your old age, Deepa?’ he asked.

She laughed and shook her head. ‘Shweta’s a good resource,’ she said. ‘And Diwali’s coming up anyway, so work is slack. Something must have happened—she’s behaving very uncharacteristically.’

‘Boyfriend trouble?’

‘Isn’t it always? And in this case the boyfriend is a hotshot type. Sometimes I feel thankful I’m middle-aged and married and beyond all this.’

Shweta would have given a lot to be beyond heartbreak, but unfortunately there wasn’t a switch she could turn off to stop the hurt. Mechanically, she took Faisal through the documents on the audit she was currently handling.

‘Is everything OK?’ he ventured once she was done. ‘You look upset.’

Shweta made an effort to pull herself together. ‘Everything’s fine,’ she said. ‘I just need a break. Now, are you sure you’ve got all that?’

‘I think so,’ Faisal said. ‘You’re still in town, right? Or are you going to Pune? I might need to call you if I get stuck.’

Until he mentioned it Shweta hadn’t thought of going to Pune, but now that the idea had presented itself it seemed the logical thing to do.

‘I’ll probably leave tomorrow,’ she said. ‘I haven’t seen my dad in a while.’

She booked her bus tickets online before she left the office. Nikhil had tried calling her once, and she half expected him to be waiting for her when she got back home. There was no sign of his gleaming black car, though. Not sure whether she was disappointed or relieved, she climbed the stairs to her second-floor flat. It didn’t take long to pack, and for the sake of something to do she clicked on the TV.

She was flipping channels when she came across a live telecast of a Bollywood awards show. Award shows were a dime a dozen now, and she vaguely remembered Nikhil talking about this particular one with her. Perhaps that was what made her stay tuned to the channel, blankly watching a lissom starlet gyrating around the stage with a troupe of bare-chested male dancers. The number came to an end and the starlet ran off the stage to thunderous applause. Anjalika Arora came onto the stage next, and Shweta sat up.

Anjalika looked stunning, in a gold sequinned sari with a halterneck blouse. She was heavily made-up, and even under the glaring lights she looked a good ten years younger than she actually was—the young debutant actor next to her was completely overshadowed. They were speaking into the microphones alternately—a carefully rehearsed but impromptu-sounding conversation, full of innuendo and Bollywood in-jokes. Anjalika announced the next set of awards and stepped off the stage. The camera followed her as she went back to her seat in the audience, and with a jolt Shweta realised who she was sitting next to.
Nikhil.
In a perfectly cut evening suit, with his hair gelled back, he looked remote and rather grim. The camera stayed focussed on him for a few seconds, and Shweta found herself hungrily taking in every detail of his appearance.

In spite of telling herself that she was being stupid, Shweta stayed glued to the TV until the programme came to an end. They didn’t show Nikhil or Anjalika again, and she found herself wondering if they’d left together. Then she shook herself in annoyance. Nikhil’s job entailed attending events of this sort—from what he’d said, he didn’t even like them much—but they helped him build contacts that would be useful for his business. And surely it was unfair expecting him to stay home and brood when Shweta herself had been the one to split up with him.

It was five in the morning when she got out of bed after a largely sleepless night. It took her less than half an hour to bathe and change. She’d planned to have breakfast before she left, but her appetite had almost completely deserted her.

The bus route to Pune was one she had taken so often that she hardly registered the spectacular view of the Western Ghats as the bus zipped down the expressway. She couldn’t stop thinking of Nikhil, of the expression on his face when she’d asked him to go. Slowly she was beginning to question her own behaviour. Shouldn’t she have paused a little? Tried to understand
why
he’d come up with the ridiculous idea that she was ashamed of him? Quite likely it was something she’d said or done that had given him the impression. And instead of waiting till they’d both had a chance to calm down she’d given him back his ring.

Her father was waiting for her at the bus stop in his battered old Fiat. It was the same car he’d used for the last fifteen years, and nothing would convince him that he should upgrade.

‘You needn’t have come to pick me up,’ Shweta said, the way she did every time.

So far it hadn’t deterred Dr Mathur from driving down to the bus station whenever she was expected. He took her bag from her and put it in the boot—with a pang, Shweta noticed that his movements were slower than last time. Though in excellent health, Dr Mathur was growing old.

‘How’s Anita Bua doing?’ Shweta’s aunt never came to pick her up—instead she stayed at home, cooking up a storm to greet her niece.

‘Looking forward to seeing you,’ her father said. ‘It’s been a while since you last visited us.’

He was right—ever since Nikhil had arrived on the scene Shweta had reduced her visits to Pune. She’d told herself that it was because her father and aunt had their own fairly busy lives to lead, because she needed to get out of the habit of running to Pune every time she felt lonely. For the first time it occurred to her that they might have missed her.