The Secret wish List (19 page)

Subject: Reaching out

Are you sure you looked properly in the site for Diksha? ☺

Look again.

I am mailing her straight away.

And you never gave me your number.

Tanu

From: Ankit Uttam (ankit2112@ uttamhospitality.com)

To: Tanushree Dev (tanud@bibcom)

OMG! You are right!

How could I miss it? I swear, I looked for months and never saw her name.

In fact, even when I saw yours, hers wasn’t there.

Is it the same Diksha?

Please check and tell. I don’t want to mail her just yet.

A

From: Tanushree Dev (tanud@bibcom)

To: Ankit Uttam (ankit2112@ uttamhospitality.com)

Subject: Reaching out

I just mailed her. I too had searched many times earlier, but she wasn’t there. She must have registered recently. Will let you know when she replies.

And I am not going to ask for your number again.

Mine are here in this mail.

Tanu

The mails ended here.

I read them again and again. It really is Ankit
. My
Ankit.

And he has been desperate to get in touch with me.

Why hasn’t he got in touch with me, then?

I want to know and I want to know right now. So I call up Tanu.

When she answers, I ask if it’s okay for her to talk now.

‘Of course, babes. Anytime. Never too busy for you,’ she says

‘Tanu, I read the mails. Why hasn’t Ankit got in touch with me? Why do the mails end abruptly?’

‘That is because he called me after the last mail, silly.’

‘Oh! You never said a thing!’

‘You never asked,’ she says and I can almost feel her smile.

‘I wanted to but…’ I trail off.

‘I know. See, the thing is, I wanted to see you first. I wanted to see if you were happy in your marriage. To know if you really want Ankit back in your life, at this point.’

‘What? You wanted to see? How can you take a call on that? How can you decide my life for me? What if I was perfectly content in my marriage? What would you have done then?’

‘I would have told Ankit that this is not our Diksha, it is someone else and the email ID is fake.’

I know she is only teasing. I hound her to tell me all about her conversation with Ankit. I want to know all the details. How he sounds, does he still speak the same way, what did they talk about.

Tanu says that Ankit and she had talked for a long time immediately after that mail. She wanted to tell me about it when we first met, but somehow the time didn’t seem right. She said that Ankit had mentioned that even though he really wants to get in touch with me, he wants to be certain that I do too.

Then after Tanu had met and talked to me, she had once again contacted Ankit and confirmed that it was indeed me and that I was now married and based in Bangalore and had a child too. She said that Ankit was quiet for a long time. She had asked him if he was okay and he had replied that he was as okay as he could ever be.

Tanu wasn’t sure how to tell me all this, which was one of the reasons why she kept stalling it.

But now that I had brought it up, she had no choice but to tell me in detail.

My head is reeling with this entire information-overload about Ankit.

I do not know what to say or do. I tell Tanu that there is someone at the door and I have to hang up.

‘Okay. Call me right back after you attend to whoever it is,’ she says and hangs up.

I lie on the bed and I think about all of this. It is obvious that Ankit does want to contact me, but maybe he is not making the first move as he knows I am married and a mother now. I am in a dilemma.

The easiest thing for me would be to
not
get in touch with Ankit. Treat all of it like it never happened. After all, Ankit hasn’t reached out.

But how can I not reach out to him, now that I know this much has happened? The meeting with Tanu has brought back all the memories of Ankit and all the time we spent together.

He seems to have taken a permanent place in my head these days. I just cannot stop thinking of him.

There is only one way to deal with ghosts of the past. To lay them to rest, I have to face them. And in order to do that, I have to speak to Ankit.

There is no doubt at all in my mind now.

I call Tanu right back.

‘Hey, babes,’ I say. ‘Please pass me Ankit’s number. I want to talk to him.’

Nineteen

I
T ISN’T OFTEN THAT THE PAST COMES CALLING.
And sometimes when it does, you have no choice but to answer.

Ankit—a name that has haunted me and changed the entire course of my life—a name which still has the power to give me goose bumps all over my skin and a tightness in my throat. Mostly, when memories of him had come to mind, I had not allowed myself to luxuriate in them, instead I had pushed them aside forcibly, rudely, and had continued with my mundane chores. I had convinced myself that the domesticity I had settled for was bliss. But over the years, the veil has worn thin and I know now that delusion can work only up to a point and no further.

Now, I know, more than ever before, I just
have
to speak to Ankit.

And even though I am alone in the house, I lock myself in my bedroom to make the call. The guilt is that deeply ingrained. I guess, things that happen to you when you are sixteen seep into your blood and grow with you.

When he answers, it feels as though a million butterflies have been let loose inside the hollow of my stomach. His voice is deeper, more suave, and polished now. Yet he sounds the same as he did all those years ago. I pause just for a few seconds to absorb the impact of the moment—the fact that at the other end of the line is someone who has cast his presence over my entire life, without even being there.

‘Hello?’ he says again.

‘Ankit, it is me,’ I say and am quiet.

There is silence for a few seconds.

And then he says, ‘Oh my God. Is this real? Give me a minute.’

I hear him ask someone to excuse him as he needs to take this call. I hear a shuffling of the chair and guess that whoever he was with has left the room.

‘Hey, Diksha,’ he says. His voice is almost a whisper.

‘Yes,’ I say and then I am unable to say anything more even though there are a million things I want to say.

The silence between us speaks a thousand words. We sit, submerged in the quietness, holding on to our receivers listening to each other breathe. A sudden waft of breeze rattles my window panes ever so slightly. There is complete silence from his end.

I guess he is in office which is probably soundproof.

‘You have no idea how much I have tried to track you down,’ he finally says, breaking the silence which was screaming in our ears.

‘So now that you have found me, what are you going to do?’ I smile.

‘I will fly soon to Bangalore,’ he replies.

‘You aren’t serious?’

‘Never been more serious in my life. I am not kidding. I want to meet you. Real bad. ’

I don’t know what to say, really. I too want to meet him, but I am drowning in a flood of emotions. There is exhilaration on one side, and trepidation and nervousness on the other.

‘So where are you right now?’ I ask

‘Doha. I’ll fly back to India tonight,’ he says.

‘To which place?’

‘Mumbai. And then I will take a flight to Bangalore.’

‘Wow,’ I say and stop at that.

‘You will meet me, won’t you?’

‘Have I ever said no to you, Ankit?’

‘God, Diksha, I do want to tell you how very sorry I am. Back then, I was helpless, but now I am not, and you have no idea how happy I feel right now, speaking to you. ’

‘Me too, Ankit. Me too.’

And with that our tryst is sealed. Laced in secrecy. Shrouded in guilt.

The unfinished business between us that changed both our lives forever, has come cruising back into our lives and is begging to reach completion.

It has been eighteen long years and it is time to make amends.

And so I hear myself asking him his flight details, where he will stay? (At The Leela, no less, I note), for how many days will he be here? I hear him reply that he is flying down just to meet me and will leave the same day. I inhale sharply at that.

When I hang up, I realise I feel something which I have never felt in a very long time. At first it is so hard to recognise what the feeling is and when I finally do, it leaves me astonished.

What I feel is utter contentment and peace.

It feels as though I am complete.

It feels as though I am home.

Ankit calls me the next morning around eleven and my heart again performs its customary drum roll when it sees his name flashing. One would think it would have calmed down by now. But it has a mind of its own and I cannot control it anymore.

I answer on the first ring itself.

‘Hey, how come you called without texting first?’ I ask

‘Is there a rule that I have to first take your permission to call?’

‘What if my husband had been at home?’

‘Does your husband answer your phone calls for you?’

‘No, but he would have asked me who called.’

‘So?’

‘Come on! How can I tell him about you?’

‘I know, I was just teasing you. I am really not used to this. I don’t usually call up married women, you see.’

His tone changes as he speaks and I can feel a slight hesitation or perhaps shyness creeping into his voice. I imagine him blushing and find myself smiling, relaxing into that easy vibe we used to have with each other all those years ago. Funny, how some things remain the same. Here I am, connecting with Ankit after what seems a lifetime, and it feels like yesterday. All that happened in between did not matter.

‘So where are you? Back in India?’ I ask.

‘Yes. How soon can you get out of the house?’

‘What? You’re in Bangalore?’ I almost scream.

‘Yes, ma’am. Couldn’t wait. After I heard your voice on the phone, I was impatient to meet you. I am checking into Leela in about five minutes.’

‘Oh my God! Ankit! This is crazy.’

‘I know. I have been trying to ask myself what the hell I am doing. I don’t know. All I know is I just have to see you.’

‘I have put on tons of weight. I have a double chin and I have become really fat. My arms are the size of the balloons you see at kids’ parties. You are going to be disappointed, Ankit,’ I say and a huge smile spreads across my face.

‘Oh,’ he says and pauses for a minute.

I smile even wider in the five second silence that follows.

Then he says, ‘You know what, Diksha, I really don’t give a damn about how you look and how much weight you have gained. All I know is that I have to meet you and I have flown directly from Mumbai just for that. Now are you coming here or should I come to your place? Where do you live?’

It is my turn to be speechless now. I know that with those words, Ankit has won me over completely. All these years I have tried to suppress my feelings for him. I have tried to immerse myself in my domestic life. Tried to do ‘the right thing’ by marrying the guy my parents chose. To walk the prescribed path. But Ankit has blown my cover now.

My heart has never sung the way it is singing now. It is a song I cannot stop. A perfect rhythm, a melody so harmonious and its notes are perfectly in sync and rise beautifully, making me feel more alive than I have ever felt my entire life.

It is as though all the emptiness and hurt in my heart has vanished and it is overflowing now with love, abundance, happiness—everything that had eluded me so far.

It is so strange, this feeling. It is irrational, completely illogical, and I am powerless to stop it.

‘Yeah, Ankit. I will meet you. I live on Artillery Road. It isn’t too far from where you are. I will see you in about forty-five minutes to an hour,’ I say.

‘So long? An hour? How are you coming?’

‘I’ll take an auto.’

‘No way. I am sending the car for you. Give me your address.’

‘No!’

‘Yes! I can’t let you travel in a rick.’

‘No, Ankit. I will be fine. I will see you soon.’

‘I know you will be fine, but I don’t want you to take a rick. The hotel car will come and pick you up, Diksha. Just give me your home address.’

‘Hey, listen. You are delaying me by arguing about this. I have to return home before Abhay comes back from school. Now let me hang up, else I will get no time at all with you,’ I reason patiently. I feel so touched that he doesn’t want me to take an auto and is ready to send a car for me. It is something that would never occur to Sandeep.

I take time to choose what I will wear. The fluttering in my heart refuses to die down. I realise that I have never dressed up this way for Sandeep. I apply my eyeliner and the mascara that I use only for special occasions. Then I use a sheer lip gloss that make my lips look fuller. I select one of the new outfits I had bought for salsa and, boy, am I glad I went shopping.

‘Dressed to kill,’ I think, as I glance at myself in the mirror, feeling childishly pleased with the overall effect. I have worn a white sleeveless top with delicate lace, skinny jeans which accentuate my legs and the Charles and Keith heels which I usually wear only to parties. I am thankful I am slim and haven’t put on weight even after having a child. I am so glad that I look so much younger than my years and I feel so too.