The Plunge (8 page)
Authors: Sindhu S.
“Interesting,” Priya said, grinning.
“Hmm… That explains why the tiger population is declining. Brainy stuff,” Anjali said.
“Very funny! You are acting weird today,” said Priya. “Tell me what is bothering you, after work.”
“I’ll tell you now.” Anjali spoke into her ear. “Priya, I can’t live away from him. I can’t live in Mumbai anymore. I might quit.”
Priya stared at her, hand over her mouth, and blinked in disbelief.
.
J
anuary, another year.
Anjali woke up looking unwell.
Priya watched her friend as she sat sipping tea, eyes fixed on the 2001 calendar that still hung from a nail on the wall, a red cross on November 3, the day she had met her lover, whoever it was.
She worried about Anjali’s mood swings. She had been thinking about her all night. She knew the turn that the relationship had taken, and that had helped her gain more clarity into the situation. She was shocked when Anjali shared her secret.
She waited for Anjali to say something more. Nothing?
Priya began with, “Do you think he is a gentleman?”
She paused, let out a frustrated sigh and said, “I’d call him selfish, for obvious reasons. Look at him. He has a perfect life. And look at you. I suspect he has used you, and maybe has plans to do it again.”
“I don’t think so,” Anjali said, her face turning pale. She sighed, and said hurriedly, “He loves me. He really does.”
Priya’s eyes widened. “As I see it, it’s just a one-time thing, a fling maybe. A relationship that cannot be public has no future. At least that’s how it appears to me.”
Taking note of the confused sadness on Anjali’s face, she said, “Don’t imagine a relationship. Don’t force it on yourself and him. It will only lead to more heartbreak.”
Priya hastened towards Anjali and placed her hands on her shoulders. “OK, if you’re looking for a no-strings-attached arrangement, go ahead, have fun. But as I see it, that’s not the case with you, Anjali. You have already invested too much emotionally.” She stopped, and stared at Anjali for a reaction.
Getting no answer, she said, “Think again. It’s not too late yet. Forget him. Turn a new page. Move on. Don’t let him meddle in your life. I don’t know why you’re letting him lead you to nowhere.”
Anjali stared at Priya. “I can’t forget him. It’s too late,” she said, her face turning red.
“You’re out of your mind!” Priya declared. She shrugged as if disgusted. “Anjali, I think all he sees in you is a prospective mistress. He surely cannot have any delicate feelings or respect for you if he is the one to suggest that idea. Why should you opt for a relationship with a married man, even if you are looking for companionship? There are plenty of single men around. You are so beautiful. Besides, he is no James Bond, I’m sure. And hello, what about commitment? Passion alone won’t feed a relationship for long.”
“No, I don’t think so,” said Anjali. “I was the one who wanted to meet him. He merely obliged.” She paused only to sigh. “Why don’t you understand? I can’t think of life without him. I can’t live away from him. Not anymore.”
“But…,” Priya tried to interrupt.
“But nothing, Priya. He has never pretended to have a troubled marriage. He has never given me false hope. He has been honest about his feelings towards his wife and kids. So don’t blame him.”
“Anjali, I am trying to understand,” Priya burst out. “Why the hell is he encouraging you?”
“He cares about me. That’s why. He loves me. How can you even imagine that he’s exploiting me?” Tears rolled down Anjali’s cheeks.
Priya blinked back her own tears. “I hope and pray that you’re right,” she said.
Anjali was going crazy over a man unworthy of her and spoiling her career. It was a huge gamble. Secrets were scandals in no time. She was inviting unnecessary complications into her life.
She had tried to reason with Anjali like an elder sister would, even though she was younger.
She remembered Swapna’s words during their recent conversation about Anjali: “Why does he need a relationship with another woman to complete his life, which he claims is already complete?”
Anjali woke up feeling lonelier the next morning.
“Shall try and come again soon,” Siddharth had said while leaving.
She could almost feel his warmth entering her body as Siddharth had held her to him that morning. They had wandered among the crowd at the railway station before the train left Mumbai Central, taking him away from her.
Two months since, everything about him had lingered. His husky voice was still in her ears. His touch was still fresh along her neck. Anjali could almost smell his musky scent. She bit her lips to stop them from quivering at the thought.
Priya was making her bed when Parvati appeared at the door. She looked tired. Without much prompting, she confessed that she was pregnant, the fourth time in her five-year wedded life, though bedded life was probably more appropriate.
The frail woman went from house to house during the day, washing and cleaning for families in the neighbourhood. Her husband allowed her the privilege of earning enough for the whole family. When he was not drunk, he was busy gambling away whatever little Parvati had managed to save.
“Not again,” moaned Priya.
“What can I do? It just happens. It’s God’s will,” Parvati said, quite convinced that the divine was indeed responsible for her situation.
“Why didn’t you listen to me?” Priya stared at her, wasting no tenderness. “Why didn’t you go to the health centre and get yourself sterilised?”
Parvati looked at her pleadingly.
While Priya stared at Parvati in disbelief, Anjali laughed.
“God’s will! Did you hear that, Anjali? This is the first time I’ve heard someone calling a prick God’s will,” she said, laughing uncontrollably. She grinned at Parvati, who rushed out of the room in embarrassment.
Anjali was going to skip work yet again. She had already called in sick twice the week before.
“What is Your Highness doing today?” teased Priya.
“I’m tired. I’ll sleep.”
Anjali tagged along with Priya to the railway station. She could see the trains passing in the distance. They moved towards each other, appearing to join into one long train. Soon, it telescoped into a shorter train before being torn in two, each part heading in opposite directions.
It reminded her of the earthworms that had struggled under her brother’s weapon, a sharpened twig, years ago. Anup was about twelve years old then. He would look up grinning victoriously after tearing up a worm and then watch the pieces crawl away from each other like total strangers.
It must have hurt; those poor creatures. She imagined that the sticky liquid at the injured ends of the worms was earthworm blood.
Anup and his friend Roy would slice the worms, attempting perfection with each new captive, and laughed villainously when the parts behaved like two separate worms. Anup said they were creating two worms out of one, which would then live separate lives.
Other times, the boys would roam about the plantation pursuing various new exploits. They would collect sap from the rubber trees from the halved coconut shells that were tied to the tree trunks. The sap dripped into the shells from the freshly cut wedges. They would roll the tapped rubber into long strips and wind them into the shape of a ball while they were still supple. They had a stink similar to burnt tyre. The ball was heavy and when hit with it, painful.
Anjali tossed her head as if to clear her mind. Memories; why did they keep crowding her mind? Why did she dwell on the past more these days? Something to do with hormones?
Parvati was drying washed clothes on the line when Anjali returned. She sat on the steps at the front door watching the woman hang clothes after squeezing the water out of them.
Parvati should take Priya seriously. Maybe she should, too.
“Shall I prepare lunch for you?” Parvati asked as she wiped her palms on her sari.
“Cook some rice and
dal
… and roast
papad
.”
Parvati nodded. She would surely expect a reward.
Anjali heard the sound of utensils in the kitchen as she flipped through the newspaper. The pressure cooker whistled when the lentils were cooked into a mash with onions and green chilli. The house was soon filled with the overpowering smell of fresh garnish. Warm oil hissed wooingly when whole mustard seeds were thrown in, followed by cumin seeds. The pods spluttered while the curry leaves and dried red chillies turned crisp. A hiss followed as the garnish was thrown on top of the curry along with freshly chopped coriander leaves. Roasted
papad
liberated the trapped flavours of black lentil, black pepper, and other spices. Her stomach groaned. She was hungry.
Parvati smiled gratefully when she handed over some money for her extra work.
The food tasted divine. She picked up
The Castle
and tried to focus on the pages, curled up in her bed.
Perhaps Priya was right. She did not know her lover very well. He had often warned her that men were incapable of understanding love as an emotion. Love was merely an emotion in action for the average man, he had said during one of their chats. She had considered it a joke back then. But what if he really meant it that way? What if he was only into sex? Such thoughts made her uneasy.
She had to be sure of his feelings before she made any life-changing decisions. She had changed a lot in the last few months. The Anjali who had talked about a platonic relationship with Siddharth was dead and buried. The one who was alive struggled with desire, edging out reason. All she wanted was him. Was it lust? No. Maybe a trace of lust, but much love, she tried to cheer up her troubled mind.
Why did she have these feelings for Siddharth? Could this be merely an admiration for a more successful senior colleague? Or was it a result of her past experiences with men? She had always assumed that men were sick, like Sugadan uncle, as they called him. They were not worth wasting time on.
The dreadful experience with Sugadan uncle at her grandmother’s house during the summer vacation of class five had formed her basic opinion of men.
Staying at ammamma’s house was fun. Anjali was an important guest, the youngest cousin who lived there for a few weeks every year.
There were visitors every evening, relatives and neighbours. They brought news and gossip. Her cousins were five to six years older than her. The girls and their friends would exchange library books, magazines, and novels. They would share secrets, while huddled on the
thinna,
the concrete bench stretched all-around the house. The
thinna
was the ideal place to gather and gossip. The girls would discuss compliments received from idle young men gathered at street corners, on their way to the temple. They would parade their love letters from college, and giggle over lewd messages they had found scribbled on their desks. They would fall silent when someone like Sugadan uncle went past them.
“Sugadan uncle” is how the neighbourhood children called the forty-plus doctor. The chronic bachelor lived with his mother in a large bungalow next to ammamma’s house.
He had spent more than a decade in the Gulf, which ended with his deportation from Abu Dhabi after a six-month jail term. Ammamma did not know exactly why he was imprisoned and deported. Years later, Anjali had come to know that he was booked for sodomy, a serious crime in the United Arab Emirates. Some said he was lucky to have escaped alive.
“Look at Anjali. She’s so thin. I’m worried,” one day, Ammamma shared her worry with Sugadan uncle. Big mistake.
She was nervous to be alone with him in his clinic.
“Lower your panties,” he had ordered.
He drew apart her thighs to peep in. She felt embarrassed. His touch tickled her. Why was she being peered into and rubbed? He continued to finger the area, angering her. She got up and bolted out of the room, pulling up her underwear even as he yelled at her to stop.
A week later, he had grabbed her in ammamma’s presence. He squeezed her playfully into an embrace and kissed her on the neck, rubbing his stubbly cheeks against her skin. She screamed to get away from his grip. Ammamma watched them and laughed, misinterpreting it for playfulness. Revolted by the violation and the toddy stink on her face, Anjali had to struggle to break free of his savage grip and join her cousins in the courtyard. She hated the way he crushed her against him. She kept spitting for a long time that evening, having bitten his wrist to break free.
