Inconvenient Relations Read online

  With each passing day, she felt more positive. Gradually, he seemed to be getting used to having her around. On some evenings, he made tea for her; and when she protested, he would say, “If you can turn on the coffee machine for me every morning, why can’t I do this little bit for you?” He rinsed the dishes and loaded the dishwasher and had even started removing his shoes before entering the living room.

  But he hadn’t taken her out. That is, not for fun though they had made several trips to the grocery store. He was busy with work all the time or so he said, coming home late almost every day and after dinner shutting himself away in his room from where she could often hear the busy tap tapping of the computer keyboard. ”I have a deadline next week,” he volunteered as an excuse even though she didn’t ask for it.

  Then one Tuesday night, when he failed to make an appearance at the usual time, she was overcome with unease, suspecting and dreading the cause yet she consoled herself, “Have faith, Ruhi.”

  But when it approached eleven o’clock, she couldn’t wait anymore, she had to know for sure. “Dadamoni?”

  “Haan Ruhi, what’s up? Did Shaan quarrel with you? Give him the phone, I’ll speak to him!”

  “No. Umm… How is di and Anu?”

  “They are fine, little sis. You are constantly on Debo’s mind, Ruhi this and Ruhi that. Aakhir behen kiski hai?” (After all, whose sister are you?) “Am I saying it right?”

  “Yes, perfect.” She paused, not wanting to create any rifts between Shaan and his friend. “Was he still at work when you left?”

  “Shaan? No. In fact, I came home not too long ago. But he had left quite early at four. He rushed out in a hurry after getting a phone call. I thought it must be you asking him to take you somewhere. Why, isn’t he there?”

  Biting the edge of her lower lip, she said, “No…I hope he is all right.”

  “He should be. Don’t worry. He can take care of himself. Many times, he just sits in a coffee shop with his laptop and works for hours. I used to do so before Debo came. But why should Shaan do that now? It doesn’t make sense. Did you try his cell?”

  “No, I didn’t. I thought it might disturb him.”

  “Why didn’t you? You are his wife for God’s sake though sometimes I don’t like it when Debo calls and pesters me, but this is a different matter altogether. Let me give him a ring.”

  “No, dadamoni. I think he’s home.”

  She glanced up to see Shaan open the door and enter the apartment. He looked harried, unlike his usual calm and composed self and appeared surprised to see her. “You still awake?”

  “Uh…I was just waiting for you and got worried when you didn’t come.”

  “I had work, a lot of work, you know the deadline. Sorry, I should have called you. I’m not used to people waiting up for me you see.” He wasn’t a good liar. And he failed to meet her eyes. “I’ve had dinner already. Sorry again.”

  She wept that night.

  He wasn’t tardy the rest of the week. Perhaps he is riddled with guilt, she thought.

  The next Saturday morning he was late coming out of his room when the phone rang.

  “Can I speak to Shaan?” The voice was female.

  Taking a deep breath, Ruhi answered, “He is still sleeping. May I know who is calling?”

  “Tell him it’s Des. I need to talk to him. He hasn’t been answering my calls!”

  She had a young, but high-pitched voice, a woman who was used to getting her way and who wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  Ruhi bristled with anger. “You can call back in half an hour. He should be up by then.”

  She hung up.

  Soon she could hear him in his room talking and arguing on the phone. She ran into the master and locked the door to shut out the sound.

  Almost a month had passed since they had been together, and she still felt clueless about him. He was like a giant jigsaw puzzle with the key pieces missing. He was good at times, caring, kind. Perhaps it was his nature, and he didn’t consider her special. What was certain was that he continued to see this other woman, and Ruhi’s presence hadn’t altered it. Her rival appeared larger than life, and she had lost the fight even before it had begun.

  “Aren’t you going to eat?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Well, that’s something I cannot say to tell you the truth. You have influenced my taste completely.” He smiled.

  “Have I?”

  “Well, here’s my clean plate as evidence.”

  “I’m not talking about food.”

  “Then what are you talking about?” His guard was up.

  “I have been here for quite some time now, and I still feel you’re a complete stranger to me. I was thinking…”

  “What do you want to know?” he interrupted.

  “What is she like? Who is she? What kind of relationship do you share? Tell me. I think I have a right to know.”

  “That’s none of your business. Another four weeks and you’ll be back home. Let’s leave it at that,” he said, abruptly brushing her off.

  None of my business. She left the table before she threw her fork at him.

  None of your business…

  The words echoed over and over in her brain like a neverending sermon.

  She sat on the bed with her knees drawn up; her tears had run dry. No words could be more hurtful. He had been done with her from the very beginning, and she—like a fool—had believed she could win him over by playing the ideal Indian wife. He’d probably been laughing at her all along.

  I can’t stay any longer, I have to leave now! Papa will get me the tickets.

  Reaching for the phone, she hesitated. Her parents had no idea about what was going on. She had made a conscious decision to not tell them anything. They would be shocked, heartbroken. She had to break it to them gently, but for that to happen she would need to stay.

  But how? Not like this!

  Pulling off her maroon sari, she stuffed it in the bottom of her still mostly unpacked suitcase. She hated it.

  Then walking into the bath, she assessed herself in the mirror. If marriage held no meaning for him, why should it for me? If everything was going to come to an end in another month, why not now? Why continue with this charade?

  Unclasping the sacred marriage necklace from around her neck, she laid it down carefully on the counter. Then, wiping off the vermillion dot from her forehead, she examined her face again.

  She smiled. Finally, she knew who she was. She was Ruhi Sharma, and there was no looking back.

  Reflections

  Shaan couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned for hours but couldn’t close his eyes despite the fatigue.

  For as soon as he did, her face appeared in front of him—eyes rife with hurt, accusing.

  Why did you say those words?

  Why? He didn’t know; it was a spur of the moment blurt, a “knee jerk” reaction he had no control over. Was he getting too used to her presence?

  Sitting up, he leaned back against the wall.

  He felt sorry for her; no, not sorry, he hated the word, it was devoid of responsibility, a word implying resignation…simply put, an easy way out. He felt empathy for her or hamdardi—yes, that was a better word.

  They were both victims of circumstances, she more so. She had likely harbored dreams of making a successful marriage with him, but he had shattered them cruelly on their wedding night. He didn’t fault her at all for asking him for the two months; indeed, he had been amazed by her resilience and presence of mind.

  How he wished he hadn’t been so blunt, in the least, he owed her that much! She was probably in her room crying her eyes out.

  But now that it was out, it couldn’t be taken back. He wished he could hit the rewind button and erase that sentence. Instead he had said, “I don’t think you need know an
y more than you already do. Let’s continue the way we have been and part ways without any hard feelings. You’ll be free to find someone else more deserving. Nobody in his right senses would be able to say ‘no’ to a girl like you.”

  Nobody in his right senses? What do I mean by that? Does that include me?

  Screwing his eyes shut, he sighed. He could no longer deny he was drawn to her. He liked having her around. It was something he’d been afraid of. Was it simply a physical attraction?

  For sure, she was incredibly beautiful. With her large, black, doe-shaped eyes, her full lips naturally pink, her smooth unblemished complexion, and thick wavy black hair, she could hold his attention for hours. And he knew that she knew it, too.

  He frowned. “Shaan, what has come over you? Why is your mind wandering like this? You have no future with this girl! She needs to get back to her own life and you to yours. Perhaps under different circumstances things could have worked out.”

  God! If only life wasn’t so complicated. If only he hadn’t met Des!

  Picking up the frame from the nightstand, he scrutinized the picture. In the past six, almost seven years, he had scarcely paid much attention to it, for it reminded him of a past he wanted to forget.

  He remembered the day quite clearly; he was young and ebullient, happy to have achieved something no one else in his family had—graduating from BITs Pilani with honors and acquiring a scholarship from a renowned university in the United States.

  He had not regretted leaving home; he was itching to get away, to be free from his father’s domineering influence. He disliked him tremendously for how he treated his mother, how he took her for granted and rained indescribable miseries on her. Yet at the same time, he didn’t sympathize with his mother either for how she bore everything silently.

  In graduate school, he had worked very hard to prove himself. He had no time, or made sure he had no time for extracurricular activities, though there had been plenty of opportunities. He was tremendously relieved upon graduating summa cum laude. But the ultimate thrill was achieved when he got the job offer.It meant he wasn’t returning home; something he had dreaded all along.

  After working a few months, he realized he could take it easy. Sujoy, who had just tied the knot, became a dear friend and he had urged him to get married. “The best thing that can happen to any man!”

  But he wasn’t ready for it; he valued his independence more than anything else.

  Then he met her. Her true name was Heather, but she wanted him to call her Des because it lent a secret aura to their relationship; now he knew the real reason why.

  She came to work in the neighboring department; he had to pass by her desk every day to get his coffee.

  After a few days, she said hi, and he said hi back.

  Then they started talking, sometimes over coffee or casually meeting for lunch in the cafeteria. She was his first female friend, and he liked her and she wasn’t bad to look at—tall, slim, blond, with a knockout figure. They conversed about everyday things. She asked about his back ground and told him about her family and the small town she hailed from in the south. Then she became more personal.

  “You know, Shaaan (she had this way of adding an extra ‘a’ to his name), I haven’t told you yet, but I’m married.”

  He stared at her for a moment dumbfounded then looked pointedly at her bare hand. He had been toying with the idea of advancing their relationship to the next level.

  Seeming embarrassed, she said, “I remove it before I come to meet you.”

  “Then I don’t think we should continue anymore. You should have made me aware earlier.” He stood up to walk away.

  “But, Shaaan, hear me out. I was afraid of this very thing. You know how much I value our relationship, and there is nothing wrong with being friends, is there?”

  There was no harm, he guessed, but he was not entirely comfortable.

  She began to reveal how unhappy in her marriage she was, that her husband didn’t care about her, and treated her worse than his pets. That he abused her both mentally and physically, and she was ready to bail out.

  “I haven’t opened up to anyone like this before, you are the first. I thought you’d understand.”

  He did understand. Indeed, he did more than that. He began seeing her more often.

  She went to visit him when her husband was out of town, at times in tears, with black eyes and bruises. He wanted to console her, share her pain.

  Meanwhile, she did not consider it crucial to reveal the identity of her husband, and when he did find out, it had become too late. For he had grown habituated to her, she was everything he had been missing in his life—soft, feminine, someone who needed him, somebody he wished to protect.

  At the company’s Christmas party, he met him. It was none other than his boss, Rich Jenkins, a person he looked up to and admired. He felt betrayed. But Des assured him that he was doing no wrong. She promised to work on getting a divorce, but that had been two years ago.

  He grew bitter, his opinion of women dropping further. They were needy, conniving, and untrustworthy creatures who used men as sources of entertainment.

  Disgruntled, he initiated a showdown with her before leaving for his homeland. Yet caved in to the pressure of her pleas and the hope he could still wrought a change in her selfish attitude.

  But he was to be disappointed. After the trip, when they met for the first time in a coffee shop (he declined a rendezvous in a motel), he found her changed; she seemed happy. Had she been putting on an act all along? He would soon discover why.

  “So how is your new Indian wife, Shaaan? Pretty, comely, submissive like a mouse? Hmm?”

  “Why do you need to know? I thought we were here to talk about us.” Oddly, he didn’t care for her alluding to Ruhi.

  “I was curious, that’s all. I mean… You know, how she is in bed and so on. She must keep you well occupied. You haven’t looked me up once since you got back. The girl is something else.” Her lips curled into a sly grin.

  “I resent you speaking about her in this manner. What do you take me for, a philanderer who victimizes innocent young women?” he exclaimed loud enough to cause a stir among the customers.

  “Don’t get me wrong, Shaaan. I just felt since you are married, too, that perhaps we could carry on the way we were. Nobody need get hurt in the process, neither Rich nor your wife.” Her voice had assumed that familiar whining quality she used whenever she wanted to get her way. But not anymore.

  “Well, unfortunately for you, I cannot ‘carry on.’ I cannot deceive my wife. She deserves much better. We should stop seeing each other. I assumed you had true feelings for me once, but now I think—no, now I know I was wrong.”

  Standing up abruptly, he marched out the door.

  “But, Shaaan…”

  He didn’t look back, and when she called him he didn’t answer any of her calls.

  ***

  It was close to 7:00 a.m. Shaan hadn’t slept, but some good had come out of this introspection; he had made some sense out of himself.

  If I really sit back and think about it, my life has been an utter mess. But I won’t let another turn out the same way. I should apologize.

  Gently, he knocked on her door. “Ruhi?” There was no answer.

  He knocked louder. “Ruhi, it’s Shaan. I am really sorry…”

  Then cursing under his breath, he said, “I want to apologize about last night!”

  She didn’t respond.

  Running a quick eye around, he found the place deathly quiet. Discovering the door unlocked, he hastened into the room, now concerned she may have taken some drastic step. The bed hadn’t been slept in. Her two suitcases still stood neatly in a corner like always; packed and ready to board a plane at a moment’s notice. She wasn’t floating dead in the bathtub either.

  Shaking his head, he laughed. �
�I’ve gone nuts. She’s playing with me!” He strode into the kitchen expecting to find her preparing breakfast as usual. But his hopes came crashing down.

  She was gone.

  Truce

  “Damnit!”

  Shaan paced the hallway.

  “Where could she have gone at this hour, or did she leave way before? Ruhi is new to the neighborhood. What if she gets lost?” He stopped midstride. “How will she call for help? She doesn’t even have a cell phone. Gosh!” He slapped a fist against the wall. “Me and my stupidity! How can anybody survive in a place like this without a phone or money?”

  He glanced at the kitchen counter where he was used to dumping his keys and pocket change… Everything looked as is, undisturbed.

  Did she go to Sujoy’s? She possibly could have, but so early in the morning? No, he didn’t think so. Somehow he didn’t believe she would have taken that route. She was someone who liked to keep things to herself until the situation went overboard like it had with him. He guessed Des’s phone call had broken the camel’s back and, of course, his insensitive addendum.

  In the least, I should make sure she’s not in the vicinity. She could be sitting on the stairs or even somewhere on the grounds crying. He didn’t think she would have ventured far.

  Slipping on his sandals, he rushed out in his pjs. It was a cold September morning, fall was in the air, chilling him to the bone, goose bumps puckered up all over his skin. But what about her? She had only a thin silk sari on that he could recall, the maroon one—the one he liked. Had she worn it especially for him?

  “Damn! How uncaring can I get?”

  He wandered around the well-worn paths in a state of anxious agitation, scouring the park benches, the cobblestone plaza around the fountain which graced the entryway to the apartments, and the pavement which circled the complex before heading out to one of the busy roads. He didn’t see anybody around who even vaguely resembled a sad and lonely girl in a maroon sari.

  Overcome by a severe malaise, he leaned against an old sycamore tree when he heard the unmistakable sound of a young pup tugging on a leash; it’s plaintive yelps followed by those of a young girl struggling to control it.