Page 11 of 12 Years: My Messed-up Love Story

‘I’m Lokesh Agrawal. I have a law firm, and our offices are on the tenth and third floors. If you need a private space to talk in, you can sit in one of our meeting rooms on the third floor …’

Payal and I looked at each other.

‘I’m going there now. Would you two like to come with me?’

the man said.

The lift doors opened at the third floor. I looked at Payal. She nodded.

‘Thank you so much, sir,’ I said.

The man, Mr Agrawal, led us to the office of Agrawal and Bansal Legal Associates. The Agrawal–Bansal-powered law firm occupied the entire third floor and a part of the tenth floor. Young associates scurried around, printing documents and typing away at their computers. We passed an empty meeting room, and Mr Agrawal gestured that we could use it.

‘Thanks again, sir. We’ll only be ten minutes,’ I said.

‘Take your time, no rush,’

Mr Agrawal said as he left us there.

Payal and I entered the meeting room which was filled with legal books. It reminded me of the meetings with my lawyers, where we’d haggled and argued over my divorce settlement for hours. Today, however, I was here to close a marriage deal. And I only had ten minutes do it.

Payal called her mother.

‘Hi Mom. I forgot to get a printout. Yes … Just ten minutes. I’ll be down soon,’

she said on the phone before turning to me.

‘How have you been?’ she said.

‘You blocked me. Everywhere. You changed your number. Never tried to reach out. And now you ask how I’m doing?’

‘Saket, you know what happened. That day, you landed up drunk and—’

‘What choice did I have?’

I interrupted her, my voice rising.

‘Please don’t shout,’

Payal said, hands on her ears.

‘Everyone only shouts at me these days.’

‘I’m not shouting. I’m just in pain. I’m distressed. Lost. Empty. Purposeless. Depressed. That’s how I’ve been. And I wish you’d reached out.’

‘Have you thought even once about asking me how I’ve been? Or what I’ve been going through?’

Payal said, her eyes welling up.

‘What happened, Payal?’

I said, my voice softening.

‘It’s too much, Saket. I can’t. I can’t put up with all this. They’re tracking my location, and controlling my life. They stop eating if I protest. They threaten to jump off the roof.’

‘Have you tried talking to them?’

‘Yes. A million times. They think I have a mental problem. That I’ve been brainwashed. They’ve put me in therapy.’

‘What?’

‘They don’t get it. After the two episodes at home, they don’t understand why I want to be with you, not Parimal.’

‘Do you understand it?’

Payal looked straight into my eyes for one long minute. She didn’t answer my question.

‘Do you miss me?’

‘You have no idea how much,’

Payal said as a tear ran down her cheek.

‘You do?’

‘I can’t think, work or eat. But at the same time, I’m so scared about what my parents will do. I know I might be coming across as cold and uncaring right now, but it doesn’t mean I’m not in pain.’

‘I’ll marry you,’ I said.

‘Stop,’

Payal said.

I continued speaking.

‘I said I wasn’t sure about marrying again. But I’m sure of one thing—I can’t be away from you, Payal. It’s not possible. I can’t function. I can’t even do normal everyday things. And if marrying you is what it takes to be with you, then let’s do it. In fact, we’re in a law office right now. Can’t we do it here? Or do we need to go to a court? Is there a night court?’

‘We can’t. Have you lost your mind, Saket?’

‘Why? What’s so crazy about wanting to marry the love of your life?’

‘For one, my mom is waiting downstairs. And two, you’re not ready to get married again, that too so soon. You’re doing this just to somehow make things work.’

‘I can’t lose you, Payal.’

She looked at me, and yet more tears rolled down her cheeks. Gently, I wiped the tears with my hands. She shook her head.

‘What?’

‘It won’t work.’

‘What won’t work?’

‘This.’

She gestured at the space between us.

‘You and I need to accept it. Maybe they’re right. We were just a phase for each other.’

‘A phase?’

‘The older-guy thing for me. The younger-girl thing for you. It was exciting. But ultimately, it wasn’t meant to last.’

‘Whose words are these? Yours? Your parents’? Or that friend of yours?’

‘Akanksha.’

‘Did she say all this?’

‘She’s not wrong, is she? The age difference matters. Twelve years, Saket. I was four when you went to college.’

‘You can’t put it like that.’

‘Then there’s my community. And the fact that you’re divorced. And that you showed up drunk …’

‘Can we just forget that day?’

‘If only it were that simple, Saket. I can’t completely go against my parents. They’ll really do something to themselves if I choose you.’

‘And yet, you were with me for a year.’

‘I wasn’t thinking ahead, about the consequences.’

‘Where is that old Payal? I miss that Payal. The one who didn’t overthink and lived in the moment.’

‘That Payal is growing up. She had to.’

I looked at her and saw both love and sadness in her eyes. I hugged her. She didn’t resist it, but she didn’t hug me back either. I checked the time—we had three more minutes.

‘It’s quite simple now, Payal. I’m ready to get married. So is Parimal. It’s your choice,’

I said, letting go of her.

‘It’s not just my choice. I have to consider my family.’

‘Yes, being with me means going against them for a while. But in the end, it’s still your choice, Payal.’

When she didn’t respond, I continued.

‘We’ll win them over, babe. I’m a comic. I’ll eventually make them laugh, and this whole crazy phase will seem like a joke.’

‘Saket, you don’t get it,’

Payal said firmly.

‘This isn’t a joke. My entire extended family, Parimal’s extended family, they all think that Parimal and I are the perfect match. If I go against all of them, do you realize the shame my parents will face? Jains can be brutal. My parents will be ostracized.’

Okay, this isn’t going well, Saket Khurana.

I looked at her. She looked away.

‘Are you breaking up with me?’ I said.

Payal stood up.

‘I need to go. Mom will be waiting.’

‘At least have the guts to answer me.’

‘I told you. This isn’t working. It’s not meant to be.’

‘So, you are breaking up with me.’

‘I’m sorry, Saket. It’s not me breaking up with you or you breaking up with me. Sometimes, things just don’t work out.’

It felt like a huge heavy rock had just dropped on my head.

‘Sorry, I have to go. Mom’s given me two missed calls already,’

Payal said.

‘But …’

I started. However, no words came out.

We walked out of the meeting room, me following her.

‘Also, Saket, a request,’

she said, turning as we reached the elevator.

‘What?’

‘Don’t contact me. Don’t reach out. Don’t think of me. I’m also trying to do the same. It’s hard. Let’s not make it harder,’ she said.

How do you not think of the person you love the most in the world? The elevator dinged. She looked at me and came forward to give me a hug. Before I realized what was happening, she waved a silent goodbye and disappeared into the lift.

As soon as the lift doors closed, I fell to my knees. I cried, I don’t know for how long.

Mr Agrawal tapped my shoulder.

‘Are you okay, young man? What’s the problem?’ he said.

‘I’m not a young man,’

I said.

‘and that’s the problem.’

‘You know what I love? Spam messages on my phone,’ I said.

A few people in the audience giggled.

‘No, seriously, I do. They just make me feel less lonely. I may not have a girlfriend anymore, but at least someone wants to teach me how to make two crores a month by trading in stocks. Someone out there cares. I actually send a thank-you to all of them. Plots in Lonavala that’ll double in price in three years? Thank you, sir, for sharing this amazing scheme with me.’

The audience laughed.

‘Anyway, yes, so I have a life update. Turns out, I don’t have a girlfriend anymore. She broke up with me.’

The audience went ‘aww’

and ‘oh no’.

‘Any guesses why she broke up with me?’

I said to the entire audience.

‘You cheated on her,’

someone screamed.

‘No,’

I said.

‘I didn’t cheat on her, bro.’

‘She cheated on you,’

another audience member said.

‘No, she didn’t,’ I said.

‘That’s what you think,’

the same person said.

‘Fuck you,’

I said. The audience laughed—partly at me using a curse word and partly because I’d replied in an upset voice. Except, I hadn’t made up that upset voice for the sake of the set. I was genuinely upset. Comics aren’t supposed to take offence. We offend so many people, after all. However, that day, I’ve no idea what triggered me. Because I didn’t stop there.

‘Fuck you, man,’

I said.

‘She didn’t cheat on me. I think your wife or girlfriend cheated on you, isn’t it?’

Okay, this wasn’t funny at all. Why did I just say that? We can pick on the audience a bit, but we aren’t supposed to attack them. At that time, of course, none of this crossed my mind.

‘You know why she broke up with me? Because I’m divorced. And too old. She’s marrying a younger guy. I could beat the shit out of that younger guy, but anyway. Anybody who’s divorced in the audience? Anyone too old? Come on, admit it, you losers.’

The audience looked at me, horrified. I hadn’t called the entire audience losers. I was only calling old and divorced people losers. And in that, I was making a joke about me being the loser. You see, I’m old and divorced. So, I’m the loser. See the joke? No? Well, neither did the audience. A few people got up and walked out of the auditorium.

‘Who are these guys who are walking out? The divorced ones or the old ones?’ I said.

For the first time ever, Mudit came on stage in the middle of my act. He tapped my shoulder and whispered.

‘Let’s go, Saket.’

‘What?’

I was surprised to see him on stage.

He put his arms around my shoulders and tried to tug me.

‘Come with me.’

‘I’m okay,’

I shouted.

‘He’s the boss, guys. But he’s taking me away. Where? To Ghatkopar Jail?’

Another attempt at a joke that didn’t land. Nobody knew the context, after all.

Mudit snatched the mic from me and spoke to the audience.

‘I’m sorry, guys. Saket isn’t feeling well today. But we have a replacement act coming up, so stayed seated. Big, big applause for Saket Khurana.’

A few in the audience clapped, looking confused even as Mudit dragged me backstage and took me to the bar outside.

‘I told you I’m fine,’

I said to Mudit.

We sat in the club bar. He didn’t allow me to drink alcohol. Instead, he forced me to gulp down glasses of water. He had lectured me for half an hour. He still had more to say.

‘You’re not fine, bro. Come on, more water.’

‘No more water, Mudit, please. I’ll burst.’

‘You went on stage drunk.’

‘I just had a few beers before the act.’

‘More than a few.’

‘Cut me some slack. My girlfriend left me and is getting married to someone else.’

‘Boohoo. Should we all cry? Rename this place the Crying Club instead of the Comedy Club?’

‘I’m sorry the act didn’t go well today. It happens sometimes.’

‘Not just “didn’t go well”. You bombed. Big time.’

‘Fine, I bombed. So, kill me.’

‘You abused the audience.’

‘They said Payal cheated on me.’

‘They were fucking joking. Having fun. That’s what people come here to do. What are you? A baby? And you called the audience losers.’

‘That was a joke about me being old and divorced. It didn’t land.’

‘It crashed. And created a dumpster fire. We’ll get terrible reviews on social media for sure.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s not good for the club. We’re trying to scale here, bro. Investors don’t like a place that abuses and mocks the customers.’

‘Is it all about money to you, Mudit? Really? That’s it? You want to raise capital, and this upsets your plans? You don’t care about what your best friend is going through?’

‘Stop it. If money is all that mattered, I would’ve also joined investment banking and not been foolish enough to open a comedy club.’

I didn’t respond.

‘You think I don’t care about you? Really?’

Mudit said.

‘You do. But you don’t get it. You don’t get what I’m going through.’

Mudit took a sip of water before speaking again.

‘You’re right, I don’t get it. Why are you so into this girl anyway?’

‘I love her, Mudit. I’ve never loved anyone like this.’

Mudit smirked.

‘What?’

I said.

‘Tell me what you’re thinking.’

‘Okay, this will sound harsh. You asked for it. Hear me out. I think you found a hot young girl and felt super attracted to her. She liked you as well. The sex was insane. She was inexperienced. You taught her everything, which is super hot as well. She submitted to you for a year. You lived in this world of crazy sex with a babe. It became a drug. Now that she’s gone, you miss your drug. This is the withdrawal phase. It’s making you do insane things like day drinking, that too before your act, and insulting the audience.’

‘I didn’t insult them. I made a joke that didn’t land.’

‘Whatever. Point is, you’re not in love. Every man has a mid life crisis in his thirties or forties. Nobody wants to be middle-aged and old. Payal came into your life and made you feel young. For a while, it was like being back in your wild twenties again.’

‘I never had a wild twenties. I was always studying. Or busting my ass off for my start-up.’

‘All the more reason why this is hitting you so hard. You never had your wild twenties. Or wild anything. This was the first time you did something crazy and exciting. This was nothing like the boring, occasional sex you had in Silicon Valley with a wife who never loved you.’

‘Mudit,’

I said, my voice loud.

‘Sorry. But am I right or not?’

‘Partly. Yes, Payal brought excitement. But it was more than that. We went grocery shopping. We sat on the ledge and worked in silence for hours. We cooked together. We went on walks …’

‘Yes, you played house-house with her for a while. Which makes the withdrawal worse. It also makes you feel way more lonely. But you know what?’

‘What?’

‘It was all an illusion. She’s twenty-one, Saket.’

‘Twenty-two.’

‘Fine. She’s twenty-two. And she’s beautiful, smart and comes from a rich, conservative Jain family. You knew these facts from day one. What did you think her parents would say, “Okay, beta, marry that middle-aged, divorced stand-up comic who lives in a rented one-bedroom flat in Bandra?”’

‘I’m not middle-aged.’

‘Getting there soon though.’

‘So are you.’

‘Yes, and that’s fine. Bro, there’s nothing wrong in getting old. Nothing wrong in having fun with a young girl either. Hell, a part of me was jealous. But where it starts going wrong is when you start assuming it’s something else. A hot adventure is not a lifelong partnership, Saket.’

‘It wasn’t just a hot adventure for me.’

‘Well, seems like it was one for her.’

‘No.’

‘Yeah? Why did she leave you then? Why did she not walk out with us that day when we went to her house? She had her fun, bro. And when it was time to get real, she wanted to marry someone more suited to her and her family.’

I stared at Mudit.

‘I know it hurts. Reality often does,’

Mudit continued.

‘That’s why humanity needs comedy clubs. To get away from it all.’

I stood up.

‘I’m going home. Is it okay if I take a few weeks off?’ I said.

‘You have acts scheduled next weekend.’

‘Cancel them. I don’t want to bomb again.’

The Home Diva account was public.

I scrolled through Akanksha’s previous posts, going back two years.

She had turned every major life event into a piece of content.

Her posts began around the time of her marriage.

Every ceremony—roka, engagement, sangeet, haldi, jaimala, kanyadaan and pheras—had multiple posts.

Each post featured a long caption explaining the significance of the ceremony, how emotional she’d felt when the haldi was applied to her face, or who had designed the dresses she’d worn.

Each post ended with hashtags like #blissful #grateful #lovebeingatraditionalgirl.

Even after the wedding, she continued posting about her #blissful marriage.

One post was about cooking a meal for her husband for the first time.

In that, she demonstrated how to make heart-shaped rotis—you roll out the dough in a flat circle, use a steel katori to cut out some bits, to make it heart-shaped, before cooking the rotis.

‘More than anything,’

the caption read.

‘a great meal for your husband must have the most important ingredient—love.’

I had to talk to Akanksha Chandak—my last hope.

I sent her a direct message:

Dear Akanksha,

This is Saket, Payal’s friend. I would like to meet you to discuss a few things. There have been some misunderstandings between Payal’s family and me, leading to a lot of distress. Since you’re Payal’s most trusted friend, I would like to explain my side to you. Then you can decide if you want to help resolve the issues between us.

With regards,

Saket Khurana

P.S. You have a wonderful Instagram account, and you’re an amazing content creator.

I added the fake flattery at the end, hoping it would help my case.

She replied an hour later:

Hi Saket,

Thank you for your compliments. I’m shooting some content videos in Kala Ghoda this Wednesday. I can meet you for coffee at the Kala Ghoda Café at 4 p.m. Does that work?

Akanksha

I fist-pumped and replied immediately, confirming our meeting.

The Kala Ghoda Café, located near Colaba, is a quaint yet spacious coffee shop. Spread over two levels, it is housed in an old heritage building, typical of the Kala Ghoda area. Its stark white interiors, however, give it a modern warehouse feel.

I was already seated in the café with a cup of black coffee when Akanksha walked in. She wore a lime-green saree with a dark-blue blouse, and had accessorized the outfit with lots of silver jewellery. Another young girl, dressed in a white T-shirt and jeans, accompanied her. She seemed like Akanksha’s assistant, carrying a selfie stick, a mic and two shopping bags full of clothes.

‘Hi,’

Akanksha said, extending her hand and taking off her sunglasses.

‘Sorry, I’m a bit late. Shoot took long. Saket, right?’

‘Yes, I’m Saket,’

I said and stood up to shake her hand.

‘And it’s okay, you aren’t that late. How was the shoot?’

‘Good. It was a collab video with a new designer launching a traditional line. This is Garima, my manager.’

‘Hi Garima,’ I said.

‘Garima, why don’t you sit upstairs and download the videos onto your laptop?’

Akanksha said.

Garima nodded and went to the upper level. Akanksha and I sat downstairs. She ordered a cappuccino and spent a few minutes taking ten photos and two videos of the coffee cup from different angles. Once she was done, she set her phone aside and turned to me.

‘Sorry, I’m collecting food content,’

she said.

‘I might launch another food-influencer account.’

‘Sounds great. Anyway, Akanksha, we never met, but I feel like I know you.’

‘I feel that way too. Payal has spoken so much about you.’

‘What did she say?’

‘Everything. Trust me, I know every detail about you and Payal.’

‘Really?’

I raised an eyebrow.

‘Girls talk.’

Akanksha brushed back a strand of hair from her forehead.

‘How’s she doing?’ I said.

‘She’s getting better every day. All this has been traumatic for her.’

‘Separating from me?’

‘Everything. The entire drama. Her parents walking in on you guys. Then that day, on her engagement, when you showed up drunk at her house.’

‘You were there at her place that night too, right?’

‘Yes. I was there. Right after you left, I had to handle her and make sure she was okay.’

‘What happened after I left?’

‘She was distraught. I took her to her room and she told me what had happened. What you did wasn’t right—showing up like that and creating a scene.’

‘And was it right for her parents to force an engagement with Parimal like that?’

‘What’s wrong with her parents wanting her to settle down well?’

I looked at Akanksha.

‘Payal and I love each other,’ I said.

Akanksha smiled in response.

‘What?’ I said.

‘Nothing. How can I help you, Saket?’

‘Can you talk to her parents?’

‘About what?’

‘About Payal and me. You know everything about us. You know how happy she was with me.’

‘Happiness isn’t everything, Saket.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘What is happiness anyway? And how can she be happy if she knows she’s hurting her parents?’

‘This is about her life, not theirs.’

‘Even for the sake of her own life, is this the best choice for her?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Sorry, Saket, I don’t mean to be disrespectful. But you’re a lot older. You were even married before.’

‘Yes. But we fell in love. Does love even consider age?’

‘I don’t think it was love.’

‘Then what was it?’

‘Forget it,’

Akanksha said, taking a sip of her coffee. She wiped the milk-foam moustache from her lips with a tissue.

‘Say it,’ I said.

‘You know about her thing for older men. Maybe it stemmed from that, from trying to win her father’s love and approval all her life.’

‘This is not about any daddy issues that she may have had. I’m not her fetish. I love her, and I’ll marry her. We’ll be happy together.’

Akanksha shook her head.

‘You don’t agree?’ I said.

‘I don’t think my friend will be happy. Sorry, Saket, but she can do better than you.’

‘And Parimal is better?’

‘Well, he fits into their family, and she fits into his. They’ve been family friends for years.’

‘But will he be compatible with Payal? Will he make her laugh?’

‘People find ways to laugh. They don’t have to marry a comedian.’

Ouch, I don’t know why, but that stung.

‘Does she love me?’ I said.

Akanksha didn’t answer.

‘Did she say she loved me or not?’

Akanksha took a deep breath before speaking again.

‘Saket, I’m going to tell you something, but you have to promise me that you’ll never bring it up with Payal or anyone else. You can’t even acknowledge that you know this.’

‘What is it?’

I said, concerned.

‘Promise me first.’

‘I promise. I swear I won’t tell anyone, including Payal.’

‘Good. Just know that, for me, the most important thing is my friend’s well-being.’

‘Is she okay?’

‘She’s better. And yes, she did say that she loved you. She was obsessed with you. When she was forced to stay away from you, she had a nervous breakdown.’

‘What? What do you mean? How? When?’

‘After the temple incident. She stopped talking, sleeping and eating. Anand uncle found a therapist for her. She had daily sessions with him and was prescribed antidepressants. Someone had to be with her all the time. It was really difficult.’

‘Why didn’t she tell me all this?’

‘How could she? That would mean staying in touch with you. How could she heal if she kept seeing you?’

‘Heal from what?’

‘This unhealthy attachment and … sex addiction with a much-older man.’

‘Sex addiction?’

‘Yes. The first step in treating any addiction is separating the addict from the drug.’

‘Who said this?’

‘Her therapist. He’s qualified. He knows what’s really going on, even if we confuse it with love.’

‘And who’s this therapist?’

‘Dr Mukesh Jain. He has decades of experience as a psychiatrist.’

‘Let me guess—Jain … He’s either a friend or relative of Payal’s father?’

‘Yes, Anand uncle has known him for years.’

‘And he’s also traditional,’

I said sarcastically.

‘You make it sound like it’s a bad thing, but yes, he’s a traditional Jain.’

‘So, he’s probably just doing what Anand Jain wants—brainwashing Payal into believing her love is a perversion and an addiction.’

‘It’s not brainwashing. It’s the truth.’

‘Really?’

I said.

‘And how do you know that?’

‘I got married young, just like my parents wanted. To a boy from my community, close to my age. I’m very happy.’

‘Good for you. But Payal might want something different.’

‘She’s my best friend. We grew up together. We’re the same.’

‘No, you are not,’

I said, frustrated.

‘She works at Blackwater, cracking multi-million dollar deals on a daily basis. The high point of your day is posting about heart-shaped phulkas and dressing up for Karva Chauth.’

‘I see. So that’s what you think of me and my content.’

Akanksha stood up.

‘And here I was, coming to see you, like a fool.’

Okay, I had messed this one up. Big time. I stood too.

‘Akanksha, I’m sorry,’

I said.

‘Please, sit down.’

‘No, I have to go make dinner for my husband. My day’s “high point”, like you said …’

‘I didn’t mean it that way, Akanksha.’

Akanksha smirked and shook her head.

‘You should see a therapist too,’

she said and walked away. She’d barely taken a few steps when she turned around and came back.

‘What?’

‘By the way, that heart-shaped-phulkas post had more than five thousand likes, including one from a celebrity chef, and we even had a semi-genuine collab query from an atta brand,’

she said, before storming out of the café.

Mudit had called me for the ninth time. I finally took his call.

‘Hi Mudit,’

I said, my voice groggy. I lay on my sofa. The bright afternoon sun fell on my face, making me squint.

‘Oh God, bro. Why aren’t you picking your phone?’

Mudit said.

‘I dozed off,’

I said. I saw the bottle of rum, the cans of Coke and an empty glass on my coffee table. Okay, I’d passed out drunk. Like I had almost every other day for the past one month.

Who cares, let me make another drink.

I stumbled into the kitchen, opened the fridge and took out some ice cubes from the freezer. I came back to the living room and made myself a drink.

‘What are you doing? Did I hear ice cubes dropping into a glass?’

Mudit said.

‘Maybe. Anyway, what’s up?’

‘Are you drinking?’

‘I’m having cold water, dude.’

‘Bullshit, I can smell the whisky through the phone.’

‘It’s rum. But nice try.’

‘It’s two in the afternoon, bro.’

‘How does it matter? Any particular reason you called me?’

‘Two reasons. One, your mother called me. You haven’t returned your parents’

calls in a week. Can you just call them back and tell them you’re alive?’

‘You could’ve told them that.’

Mudit remained silent.

‘Fine, I’ll do it. What’s the second thing?’ I said.

‘There’s an enquiry for a corporate show.’

‘No, can’t do it.’

‘Bangalore. Easy money. One of those tech conferences. You could even do a day trip.’

‘I’ll pass, Mudit. Give it to one of the other comics.’

‘They asked for you specifically.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. They saw clips of your previous corporate shows.’

‘I’m not the same guy anymore.’

‘Come on, bro, you can’t throw away your career like that. It’s a great gig. Many tech-company CEOs will be there. You’ll get more shows after this.’

I gulped down the rum.

‘Okay, that’s a disgusting sound,’

Mudit said. He could hear the alcohol glugging down my throat.

‘Why are you drinking rum like it’s water?’

‘Sorry,’

I said, slamming the empty glass on the coffee table.

‘Anything else?’

‘So, I just decline it? Say no to a lakh you could earn in a few hours making jokes you already know?’

‘Yeah. Whatever. I have to go. Anything else?’

‘Yes. Just don’t check Instagram for a while.’

‘Why?’

‘You follow that Payal’s friend’s account, right? That hot diva housewife or something?’

‘Akanksha? And it’s Home Diva.’

‘Yes. Don’t look at her feed, bro. You aren’t in the right place.’

‘Why can’t I see it?’ I said.

‘Trust me. Don’t,’

Mudit said and hung up.

I immediately opened Instagram on my phone. I saw why Mudit had warned me. Akanksha had posted a congratulatory post about Payal and Parimal’s upcoming wedding, with a professionally shot picture of the two.

For the first time, I got a proper look at Parimal—fair, reasonably slim (even if not super fit), clean-shaven except for a light moustache, and a few inches taller than Payal. He had a wide grin on his face as if he’d hit the jackpot. Well, he had.

Payal and Parimal both wore light-beige traditional outfits. Payal held Parimal’s forearm and looked down with a shy smile on her face.

I searched for some sadness in her eyes, any hint that she wasn’t happy on the inside. I couldn’t find it.

You know what’s worse than a break-up? A break-up where you can see your ex is happy and has moved on.

Back in the pre-social-media days, it was hard to see that happen unless your ex was your neighbour or something.

Today, social media has made it possible for you to watch your ex act coy with their new partners, even as you gulp your sixth rum and Coke in the middle of the afternoon.

Did the inventors of social media ever realize this? Mark Zuckerberg, do you know your apps are causing pain to all the men and women who’ve been dumped?

I read the caption under the photograph.

‘Big congratulations to my bestie Payal and her super handsome, super cool bae Parimal for getting engaged. They’ll be having a full-on traditional Jain wedding soon, and I’m doing a poll here to ask you all, my followers, this question: Should I post regular updates and pictures from the wedding or not? This will be a deviation from the typical Home Diva content, but gosh, I’m so excited! Welcome to the married world, bestie—it’s better out here!’

Even in my drunk state, I could tell that the caption was wrong, on multiple levels.

One, Parimal was not super handsome. Fine, he didn’t look awful in this picture where the lighting, the make-up and the photographer were all on point. But super handsome? Come on. He could pass off as a doorman at one of those posh heritage hotels. If Parimal was super handsome, what would she call Hrithik Roshan?

Two, Parimal was definitely not super cool. He was a chartered accountant. How can a chartered accountant be super cool?

Three, what was with calling Parima.

‘bae’? Parimal was an arranged match. The Jain seniors had worked out the whole deal. Like farmers arranging to buy goats at the village fair. He ain’t no bae, babe.

Four, why the manipulative clickbait poll? Indians are obsessed with weddings. They’ll never say no to seeing regular updates and pictures of any wedding.

Five, sayin.