The Plunge (15 page)

He looked up when Anjali clasped his arm as they climbed to the Lower Bazaar of the Mall Road. The drizzle made the climb tricky. The connecting road was covered with slush, slowing down their pace. They crossed the busy road, past the parked tourist buses. The tour conductors called out to vacationers the names of places of interest in Shimla and elsewhere in Himachal, such as Dharamshala and Manali.

Anjali walked along the stone-paved edge of the path. The narrow lane to the Tibetan Market ended in a steep climb. The Tibetan Market was one of her favourite shopping spots for trifles.

“Let’s enjoy the sun for a while,” she suggested with the excitement of a child when they reached the Ridge.

The Ridge, the heart of Shimla, was the hub of cultural activities and the venue for celebrations. He recalled how it had come alive during the Shimla Summer Festival a month ago.

The large open space ran alongside Mall Road, and stretched between Scandal Point on the west and Lakkar Bazaar crafts market on the east. The Telegraph Office was on the west end. The iconic grey stone building, the Town Hall, was the centrepiece of the Ridge. He had become thoroughly familiar with the area as a Shimla correspondent during his newspaper days, years ago. The place was close to his heart ever since school days, having captured most of his childhood memories here.

As they walked through the Upper Bazaar a little later, Anjali talked animatedly about her life at the institute, the discussions in the evenings with fellow researchers, and the books she had read between his visits. He heard most of what she said. The rest of the time, he saw only a flurry of emotions on her face, rising and passing like light and shadow across the hills on an overcast day.

Once a British-only street, six-kilometre long Mall Road was now a popular tourist attraction. Somewhere during the 1850s, civic buildings came up along the road, which remained an auto-free zone. The road kept the colonial past alive with its unique railings, street lights, staircases, wrought-iron benches and stone-paved roads. Many of the stately emblems were sadly missing from the majestic banisters.

One of the important British-era landmarks, the Gaiety Theatre, had recently been restored to its past glory.

Gaiety was part of the five-storey structure, the Town Hall, which used to be the tallest building in those days. The design won the Bijou Theatre Award from the Dramatic Society of London. It was the only theatre in Asia with an authentic Victorian hall and stage, with high-pointed arches, ribbed ceiling, and flying buttresses that showcased Gothic architecture.

The architectural spectacle, with flawless acoustics and unique features, was the hot spot of theatre lovers. It was frequented by patrons, professional artists, and amateurs.

The theatre hosted musical performances and original plays. Writers such as Rudyard Kipling had performed at the Gaiety. Kipling had played a character in
A Scrap of Paper
, Siddharth had read in a recently published book on Shimla.

The same book mentioned a funny incident that marked the first performance at the Gaiety, with a play entitled
Time will Tell
. One actor, who was playing a female character, refused to shave off his moustache, creating a scene. In another instance, a charity show had to be cancelled at the eleventh hour, as the lead actor was too drunk to perform. Surely, those were interesting days.

Anjali had listened wide-eyed when he told her about the slow transformation of the theatre during his previous visit.

A short distance away from the Ridge was the quiet Summer Hill, where Mahatma Gandhi had lived during his visits to Shimla.

On one corner of the Ridge was the library, a favourite spot of the locals. Edifices such as the Christ Church, the second-oldest church in north India, added romance to the space. The stained-glass windows of the church and its pointed arches were reminiscent of the British taste and the crowd that would have once frequented the place.

A few steps down the Ridge and a short distance away was the Ladies Park, also known as Rani Jhansi Park, open exclusively to women and children.

The modest restaurants tucked into the sides of the stairs leading to the Lower Mall from the Ridge served Himachali food. The mashed
dal
and the spicy kidney beans cooked with curd were Anjali’s favourites.

The Lower Mall was made up of tiny shops perched on either side of the narrow lane. It was a place where he would not normally loiter, but Anjali’s company made the congested place rather interesting.

Her presence did something pleasant to him. He felt younger and relaxed. The office, pressing engagements, and the overbearing presence of his wife; all faded. He was just him, the adventurous Siddharth that he used to be before marriage. Anjali had changed his attitude towards life. But strangely, she seemed to be unaware of her effect on him.

Mall Road was not crowded. Anjali checked out the ethnic jewellery collection at the handicrafts shop.

The Upper Bazaar had changed over the years. It now had tourist dens, such as pizza joints, bookstores, and memento shops.

The Indian Coffee House was the favourite spot of journalists and office workers, mostly men. Siddharth wanted to avoid the coffeehouse. There was a strong chance that he could bump into some old acquaintance. It was a popular hangout for local men and visitors alike.

While climbing the stairs that led to the Upper Bazaar, Anjali stopped and held his forearm. “I’m tired,” she huffed out of exertion. They had been walking for the most of the afternoon. Siddharth, too, was feeling tired after climbing the numerous steps between the two bazaars.

“Siddh, haven’t you forgotten something?” asked Anjali as they walked towards the hotel.

He looked at her, making a futile attempt to guess.

“It’s my birthday. You couldn’t guess even after I gave you a hint. I thought your visit was a birthday surprise for me,” she complained, lips drawn side in a frown.

“Oh, no! It escaped my mind,” he regretted the slip. “I don’t remember birthdays or anniversaries. Chandni keeps a track. But she doesn’t complain like you.” He only meant to distract her. But it did not work that way.

“I’m not so perfect, Siddh. I am not as understanding or wonderful as your wife. I’m too ordinary. I feel sad, hurt, and angry when things don’t work my way,” she said, her voice choking.

Siddharth realised his mistake. He should not have mentioned his wife. Anjali was too sensitive. He felt stupid.

“Let’s go back and buy something for the birthday girl,” he tried to cheer her up.

It worked. She brightened up and led him to the Himachal Pradesh handicrafts shop.

“Show me earrings, the large ones the hill women wear,” she told the salesgirl at the jewellery section.

After searching the collection for a while, Anjali selected a large pair of metal earrings with intricate carvings. Siddharth found her interest in ethnic jewellery curious.

“You like it?” she asked.

He smiled to indicate his approval.

“Pay for your gift.” She handed him the bill with an impish smile.

Siddharth noticed how easily her mood changed. One moment she was irritable and the next absolutely cheerful. Erratic, just like the hill weather.

Anjali was very sensible most of the time. But her mood swings and mercurial temper often bothered him. She would get annoyed at unexpected moments and over insignificant issues. She also said hurtful things when she felt emotionally raided. She behaved strangely after weeping, which as a rule followed an outburst of bad temper.

“Thank you, Siddh,” she said after he paid for the earrings. “Shall we have coffee?”

When he saw her pleading look, he couldn’t refuse.

The coffee house was crowded as usual. Some men turned around to look at her. Siddharth immediately regretted having agreed to the idea. Though Shimla was not a place he might encounter many known faces, there was still a remote chance. He had spent some years in the hills, first in school and then in work. Besides, people visited the hills from nearby cities during short breaks. People from Delhi, Punjab, and other parts of Himachal came here for work, meetings or conferences. Those were the pretexts he made to visit Anjali.

“Shall we order a sandwich, but only if you will share it?” she asked after they had found a quiet corner. He smiled in agreement and looked around to make sure there were no known faces in the room.

The coffee and vegetable sandwich arrived. He watched her sip the coffee, enjoying the aroma, which made him pick up his cup.

“Hi! Siddh! What a surprise!”

Siddharth looked up at Avtar, his neighbour, struggling to calm his pounding heart.

“Hi!” he responded, forcing a smile on his face.

Why was this fool here? He felt flustered.

Staring at Anjali, Avtar asked, “How come you’re here?”

“Mm…oh… it’s a meeting, interview actually.” Why the hell was he stammering?

Avtar had fixed his eyes on Anjali, leaving him no choice but to introduce her.

“Anjali, a former colleague. A chance meeting here,” he mumbled. “Avtar Khanna, a friend.” Siddharth reluctantly introduced his snoopy neighbour to her.

The Avtars came over uninvited most weekends. Chandni did not particularly enjoy the company of his wife, Neetu, who she said was vain. However, she seemed to like Avtar and his kind of humour. She would laugh out loud whenever he cracked some silly joke, which irked Siddharth.

Siddharth heaved a sigh of relief as he hurried out of the coffee house, waving goodbye to Avtar, who continued to stare at them.

As if taking the hint, Anjali followed him with the same haste.

“Is he trouble?” she asked gingerly as they walked down the slope along the Tibetan Market.

“Hope not. He stays next door. A compulsive gossiper,” he briefed her on the rudiments, still tense.

Once inside their hotel room, she wore the new earrings.

“Do they look good?”

“Nice, but aren’t they too big for your little face?”

She looked at him faking anger, and then smiled.

“I’m not going to wear these out. They are for my precious collection. Very pretty, I think.”

She removed the earrings and carefully repacked them.

“Why don’t you give me a real present, say, a baby?” she asked with a wicked smile.

“Are you crazy?” He almost yelled.

She rolled on the bed, bursting into her infectious belly laugh. But he could not laugh. He stared at her, unable to believe that she could suggest something like that, even as a joke.

Anjali pressed her lips together as if to hold up her giggles even as she hugged him. It did not calm him. While he sat on the bed, all flustered and breathless, she kissed him again, his face cradled in her palms. He struggled to steady his trembling limbs.

“I was kidding, Siddh, honest,” she sounded convincing.

“You look totally spooked,” she said, laughing away, yet again.

“Sorry,” she said, covering her mouth. Tears welled up as she rolled over and laughed some more, like a young bully.

“It’s not funny, OK? Please, don’t crack such stupid jokes,” Siddharth said, stressing each word.

It was a scary thought. He should be careful. It would be disastrous if anything went amiss. The consequences of such an event made their intimacy a huge risk. He had never thought along those lines until that moment.

“Siddh, you are so self-obsessed. You don’t realise such a situation would affect me more than you. I would have to face the world, not you. You would be nowhere in the picture, unless I chose to reveal it. It’s me who would be called an unwed mother, a slut, perhaps. Do you think I am stupid enough to bring that on myself? It was just a joke, Siddh.”

Her assurances won him over.

“So why don’t we see what our junior has to say?” She moved her hand towards his groin.

He stopped her halfway, forced her down on the bed, and kissed her on the lips. She made it difficult with her giggles.

“You are impossible,” he said.

Lying away from her clasp that night, Siddharth felt a growing tenderness for Anjali. He was aware of her adoration for him. He, too, felt a strange connection with her.

But did they have a future together? He did not want to dwell on that thought for long.

By the time she woke up the next morning, he was ready and packed.

“Good morning, ma’am. Get ready fast. Remember, I need to reach Delhi before tomorrow evening. My pretty little things will be desperate for me in the office.” He was trying to provoke jealousy in her, but failed.

“We only have till the afternoon,” he reminded her.

“Oh no…” she whined. “I’m tired.”

They walked back to the Ridge after breakfast and sat watching the crowd.

The crowd usually grew thick at the Ridge at dusk. Tourists, mostly couples and families, hovered near the railing to admire the view.

“You should not mix with that Ajay much,” Siddharth finally said, holding her hand as he studied the numerous lines that ran through her palm.

“I don’t. Anyway, I will avoid him. OK?” She squeezed his arm, which brought a smile to his face.

“I’m just alerting you. Men probe, and try to take advantage of unattached women,” he said, his voice breaking.