Page 13 of 12 Years: My Messed-up Love Story

‘What? What will you do then?’

he replied.

‘Have to figure that out. Let’s meet and talk.’

Mudit and I met at the Yoga House café in Bandra. Located inside a yoga studio, the pure vegetarian café offered a variety of salads, porridge, soups and all things organic and good.

We sat on floor cushions, facing a balcony, with a low wooden table in front of us.

‘Could you have picked a healthier place?’

Mudit said sarcastically as he scanned through the menu.

I ordered a porridge and a superfood salad for the both of us.

‘Thanks for coming,’ I said.

‘No worries. How are you?’

‘Better. But not fully there yet …’

‘Still thinking of her?’

Mudit said.

I kept quiet.

‘You do, right? How often do you think of her?’

I let out a huge sigh.

‘Let me put it this way—I never not think of her.’

‘Wow,’

Mudit said.

‘Like, even now?’

‘Yeah. When I was going through the menu, I tried to look for dishes Payal would like. You know, Jain-friendly stuff.’

‘Everything here is Jain-friendly,’

Mudit said, and began reading out from the menu.

‘There’s the Ayurvedic Oats Porridge. Or the Yoga House Khichdi. Or the Tofu Brown Rice. Wow, this place is Jain heaven.’

‘Yeah, well. Anyway, I do think of her all the time. But the thing is, now I’m at least aware that it’s a problem. I want to think of her less. I want to move on.’

‘And how are you going to do that?’

‘Avoiding alcohol. Spending time at the gym.’

‘Okay, all that’s good. How about work?’

‘That’s the thing, Mudit. Something has died in me. Comedy won’t happen anymore. Payal was the fuel, the life force, you know … She propelled me to write, to create.’

‘Oh, stop it, man. You were already on stage when you met Payal.’

‘Yeah, but later on, it all became linked to her. She was my—’

‘Muse?’

Mudit interrupted me.

‘Seriously? We’re comics, bro. Not M.F. Husain or Picasso.’

‘Whatever. Without her, it seems difficult.’

‘You need to properly get over her, bro. Really, this isn’t good. I don’t like what she did to you.’

‘Am working on it. I called you here for that. I’m going to take some big steps just to get over Payal.’

‘What big steps?’

‘I’ll tell you, but promise not to freak out.’

‘Are you turning gay? Bro, I like gay people, and I love you and all, but you and I can’t be that—’

‘No,’

I said, interrupting him.

‘What? It’s nothing like that. Stop it.’

Mudit laughed. I smiled as well.

‘See, you can smile. All it takes is a half-assed joke,’

Mudit said.

‘I know I’ll be okay. But right now, just like alcohol, I have to avoid something else.’

‘What?’

‘Mumbai.’

‘Huh? What do you mean?’

‘I can’t be here, Mudit. There are too many places here that remind me of her. The dozens of cafés we went to, the lanes of Bandra that we walked, the grocery stores we shopped at. Marine Drive, Bandstand, Carter Road, Nariman Point, Colaba—it’s like every corner of Mumbai is stamped with her memory.’

‘Don’t forget Ghatkopar,’

Mudit said, grinning.

‘Fuck, that too. Though I’ll never go to Ghatkopar. But it’s true. And she still lives in this city. With her husband.’

‘That she does.’

‘I’m afraid of being here.’

‘Why?’

‘Am afraid I’ll have one of those weak moments and end up doing something stupid. Land up at her place, or her parents’

place, or her office, or her dad’s factory …’

‘Bro, no. Not her dad’s cable factory. Her parents’

home was bad enough. In the factory, they’ll probably tie us up with electrical cables and electrocute us.’

‘Us?’

‘Bro, if you’re doing something that stupid, I’m obviously not going to let you go alone,’

Mudit said.

‘I love you, Mudit,’ I said.

‘I love you too,’

he said as he blew on a spoonful of hot porridge.

‘But no gay stuff between us, okay?’

I laughed.

‘You’re meant to laugh, man. When life screws you over like this, we comics are supposed to make material out of it. Not sit and cry.’

‘I’m not crying. I’m doing this rationally. I need to leave Mumbai.’

‘For a break?’

‘No. For good. I can’t be here, Mudit. I’ll end up doing something ridiculous …’

‘You’ll run away?’

‘Call it whatever. If it helps my sanity, so be it.’

‘What about me?’

Mudit said.

‘That’s going to be the hardest part about leaving this city. You’re here.’

‘Then don’t go.’

‘You could visit me. Or better yet, just move with me.’

‘How can I? I have the club and everything else here.’

‘I know.’

‘Where are you planning to go anyway?’

‘I want to work again and make some good money. My best bet is something related to my previous job. Start-up investing.’

‘Venture cap? Private equity?’

‘Yeah. I want to work for a few years. Re-establish my contacts. Then I want to set up my own start-up. Something that has the potential to scale and grow big. I want to make solid money this time. No selling out early to buy a stupid suburban house in the Bay Area.’

‘Money, eh?’

‘What?’

‘Nothing. I thought you never cared about money. You left money and came to Mumbai. To follow your heart.’

‘And where did following my heart lead me to? Doom. It’s better to bring back the cold, rational and, hopefully, rich Saket.’

‘I prefer the warm, emotional one,’

Mudit said.

‘who cares about feelings more than numbers.’

‘Feelings suck, man. They lead you nowhere. I’m done. I need to find the highest-paying job that I can get.’

‘Where? You going back to the US? So far away?’

‘No. The US has Raashi. Mumbai has Payal. None of these places. Plus, the taxes in the US are too high.’

‘You of all people are talking about taxes now?’

‘Cold and rational. Told you.’

‘Where, then?’

‘Dubai. A few months ago, a firm called Pantheon Fund approached me with an offer. I declined it then, but I think I can make it happen again.’

‘Oh. You have it all figured out already.’

‘Dubai is also closer to Mumbai. You can visit me, easily.’

‘I’m so bummed you’re leaving Mumbai. How will I manage without you?’

‘Then come with me. To Dubai.’

‘What will I do there?’

Mudit said.

‘We’ll figure something out. We can work together to build something.’

‘Bro, it’s going to be hard to leave the club right now. Maybe one day … Tell you what, though, once you open your own start-up, and it’s going somewhere, I’ll come join you. How about that?’

‘Done. Whatever my next venture is, you’ll be the co-founder,’ I said.

‘Wow, that does sound cool. Plus, I’ll get rich too.’

‘Most start-ups fail. You know that, right?’

‘Yeah. But I think you’ll make it work.’

‘What makes you so confident?’

‘Nobody can be that unlucky—in love and in work,’

Mudit said as we both burst into laughter.