Page 18 of 12 Years: My Messed-up Love Story

‘Did you know she got divorced? Two years ago?’

‘What?’

Mudit said in a high decibel.

‘Shh, keep it down. I just found out about it. I had lunch with her the other day, to discuss our future strategy.’

‘Our future?’

‘Very funny. SecurityNet and CloudX’s future strategy. Neeraj set up the meeting, remember?’

‘Yeah. But how did her divorce pop up in that discussion?’

Mudit said, raising an eyebrow.

I recounted my entire lunchtime conversation with Payal for Mudit’s benefit.

‘That’s it. She asked me how I was doing. I felt obligated to ask her the same. That’s when she told me she got divorced.’

‘And she also said she wants to meet you separately to discuss personal stuff? Wow.’

‘“Let work meetings be work meetings.” That’s what she said.’

‘Bro, she clearly wants to hang out with you.’

‘No, she doesn’t.’

‘She’s the one asking all the personal questions. Sharing stuff about herself. Suggesting you meet outside of work.’

‘She’s here in Dubai. She doesn’t know anyone. Maybe that’s why … Maybe she just wants to meet me as an old friend.’

‘Perhaps. Suits her now to make you “an old friend”.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Be careful, that’s all. Don’t get affected or involved, bro. And did you say Tania called you during lunch?’

‘Yeah, but I didn’t take the call.’

‘And you said Payal saw her name, and her picture?’

‘I think so.’

‘Excellent. She should know times have changed. You have options. Great, hot, upgraded options.’

‘There’s nothing like that happening with Payal anyway, Mudit.’

‘That’s even better then. You’ll meet her outside of work?’

‘She pretty much asked me to. Besides pure curiosity and nothing else, I do want to know what happened between her and Parimal.’

‘Oh, that was the loser’s name, right? Parimal Jain,’

Mudit said.

‘Yeah.’

‘Here’s the thing about some of these Jain marriages. It is often a last-name Jain marrying another last-name Jain. You don’t even know when they get married or divorced. The last name remains the same. I could’ve never guessed Payal is divorced.’

I laughed.

‘That’s a good one. Comedy-set-worthy. I would’ve included it in my set back in the day.

‘Where are you guys going to go?’

Mudit said.

‘Not sure. After work means drinks? Or dinner? Or both?’

‘Too much. Just do tea.’

‘Tea?’

‘Yes. That’s what old friends do. Just meet for a quick cup of tea. Get all the dope on her divorce and run.’

‘Cool. Will do that. I’ll fix a time and date to meet her for a quick cup of tea. That’s it.’

‘Excellent. Now, let me go unlock all our secrets for these capitalist moneybags,’

Mudit said, hurrying out of my office.

L’ETO Caffe became extra famous after actor Alia Bhatt’s Instagram reel went viral. In the reel, she talks about her superstar husband, Ranbir Kapoor, flying in the famed milk cake from L’ETO London all the way to Bulgaria, where they were shooting a movie together. I, however, simply chose this café in the Mall of the Emirates since it fell midway between Payal’s hotel and my house.

We’d decided to meet on a Saturday afternoon, and Payal reached the café before me. From her knee-length floral dress to her handbag and open-toe platform shoes, she was all in white.

‘Sorry, this mall is huge,’

I said.

‘Took me a while to walk here from the parking.’

‘That’s fine,’ she said.

No hugs. No handshakes. Only smiles as we sat down across from each other.

I ordered a jug of hot ginger and spice tea and a slice of the famous milk cake. The waiter returned quickly with our order. I slid the cake towards Payal.

‘The Alia Bhatt cake. Tell me if it’s worth the hype,’ I said.

Payal took a bite of the cake, spooning up some of the creamy milk it was dipped in. ‘Wow,’

she said.

‘This is so good. But …’

she paused mid-sentence.

‘But what?’

‘Tastes like rasmalai,’ she said.

I took a spoonful too.

‘Come to think of it now, it does,’

I said and both of us laughed.

We sat in silence for a couple of minutes. Then I said.

‘Okay, so Parimal and you …’

‘Yes, we got divorced.’

‘That’s strange,’ I said.

‘What makes you say that?’

Payal said.

‘I remember seeing your Instagram account long back. There were so many pictures of you and him. On trips around the world. You guys seemed happy and content.’

‘Isn’t Instagram amazing? It makes everyone else other than you look happy,’

Payal said, taking a sip of her tea.

‘You were not?’ I said.

Payal looked away. She turned to me after a few seconds.

‘I was trying to be,’

she said.

‘I thought I could make our marriage work. I was wrong.’

‘What happened?’

‘It wasn’t one specific thing. It was a lot of things. Right from the start, the foundation of it all. You remember all the drama at that time, right?’

I looked into Payal’s eyes. I didn’t just remember all that drama. I had it etched in every neuron in my brain. And it wasn’t just drama for me. It was trauma.

‘I do,’

I said, keeping my cup down.

‘Which is what makes it more surprising.’

‘Meaning?’

‘The way it all happened … I thought you were really into the guy, I mean, eventually …’

‘The way what happened?’

Payal said.

‘Forget it, it was a long time ago. Why bring up old stuff?’

‘No, tell me. Why did you think I was “really into the guy”?’

‘Well, you completely cut me off. Got married so fast. Never bothered to get in touch. I figured you must’ve come to like the guy a lot.’

‘That’s what you thought?’

‘Yes. Plus, your family loved him. He was Jain and age-appropriate and had never been married before. That’s why it’s even more shocking that you and Parimal got divorced. Are Jains even allowed to get a divorce?’

‘Is that supposed to be funny?’

‘Sorry, that was insensitive.’

Payal nodded.

‘It’s okay,’

she said in a subdued tone.

‘How are you doing now?’ I said.

‘I’m much better. I’m grateful for work. It keeps me busy.’

‘Okay …’

‘I didn’t cut you off by choice,’

Payal continued.

‘Leave it, Payal. It’s old stuff. You have your version, I have mine.’

‘And what’s your version? I cut you off because I met Parimal?’

‘Didn’t you? You blocked me everywhere, so I couldn’t reach you either. Then, within a couple of weeks, I hear that you’re married. Then followed years of smiling pictures of both of you, holding each other in different exotic locations. What else was I to conclude?’

Payal kept quiet. She seemed overcome with emotion.

‘This was a bad idea,’

I said, trying to keep my voice calm.

‘This is why I wanted to keep our conversations about business only.’

Payal took a deep breath, as if composing herself.

‘You’re right,’

she said.

‘I did do all that. But maybe you don’t have the full picture.’

‘How can I have the full picture if you never told me anything?’

‘I can tell you now. Will you listen?’

‘Of course,’ I said.

‘You wanted to know what led to my divorce, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘Like I said, it wasn’t one incident. It’s important I tell you everything that happened, right from around that time.’

‘What time?’

‘When my parents found out about you and me twelve years ago.’

PAYAL SPEAKS…

‘I’m not in touch with him, Dad. I made a promise to you that day, and I haven’t broken it,’ I said.

Dad lay on the sofa in the living room, one hand massaging his chest. He held the other hand out towards me, asking for my phone.

‘Please focus on your health, Dad. Are you okay?’

‘Just give it to him,’ Mom said.

‘Why?’

‘I want to make sure you’ve blocked him,’

Dad said, his eyes shut. He seemed to be in pain.

‘I did block him. On WhatsApp and Instagram,’

I said. Not from my heart, I wanted to say but didn’t.

‘Show me,’

Dad said, opening his eyes.

I couldn’t believe that I was being made to go through this humiliation and being treated like a child. I handed him my phone.

Dad fumbled through the apps on my phone.

‘How do you check this, Yashodha?’ he said.

‘How would I know?’

Mom said.

‘You please don’t stress yourself right now. Dr Verma is on his way.’

‘I will be stressed until I know that haramzada is out of our lives,’ Dad said.

‘There’s no need to abuse anyone, Dad.’

He ignored me. He went through my contacts list. No Saket. He opened Instagram.

‘How do I check whether he’s blocked here or not?’ he said.

‘See my list of blocked people,’

I said. I opened the blocked list for him. Saket was the only one in it.

‘Good,’

he said.

‘Can you block him everywhere else too? Like your email and Facebook?’

‘Who blocks anybody on email?’ I said.

‘I just want to make sure. What’s your phone’s password?’ Dad said.

‘Why?’

‘Just tell me.’

‘That’s personal, Dad. Besides, I have my work emails on this phone. It’s all confidential stuff.’

‘I’m not going to check your work emails or anything.’

‘Why do you need the password then?’

‘To make sure I can check anytime that you’ve not unblocked him.’

‘Dad, I’m not a child. You cannot control me like this.’

‘Ah.’

He winced in pain.

‘Are you going to give him the password, or will you make sure he has a heart attack?’ Mom said.

I gave him my four-digit password. He noted it down on his phone. For someone in cardiac pain, he seemed quite alert.

The doorbell rang a minute later—Dr Verma had arrived.

‘What happened, Anandji?’

Dr Verma said.

‘Chest pain since last night,’ Dad said.

Dr Verma put on his stethoscope and checked Dad’s heartbeat.

‘There is some arrhythmia,’

he said after a while.

‘If you want, we can admit him in the hospital for a night or two and run some tests. Maybe run a continuous ECG,’

Dr Verma said.

‘Hospital?’

Mom said, looking concerned.

‘What happened to him?’

‘Relax, Yashodhaji. Just being cautious. We don’t want to take chest pain lightly.’

I took the stairs at Kokilaben Hospital, each step heavy and tired. I had come straight from work, braving two hours of Mumbai traffic to reach the hospital in Andheri. It was close to 11 p.m. when I entered Dad’s room. He was watching Sudarshan News on the television.

‘Sorry, I’m late,’

I said.

‘Work and traffic. Both too much.’

‘Come, sit. Did you have dinner?’ Dad said.

‘I did,’

I lied. I hadn’t had dinner, lunch or breakfast. Not for the past two days. I just couldn’t eat. Akanksha had told me that Saket had reached out to her. He’d even met her. She’d also said that Saket seemed desperate and obsessive, and that I should stay away from him. Of course, he would be desperate and obsessive, just as I was to see and talk to him. I so wanted to call Saket. Ask him to meet me. To hold me once and tell me everything was going to be okay.

‘How are you today? What did the doctors say?’ I said.

‘By God’s grace, I’m lucky,’ Dad said.

‘What had happened?’

‘They discovered a blockage in one artery. Over ninety per cent.’

‘Oh no.’

‘Don’t worry. They’ll do an angio and put in a stent tomorrow. I’ll be okay after that. All God’s blessings.’

‘I’m glad, Dad,’ I said.

‘Thank you. Call Parimal, beta. He’s a good boy. Ever since the engagement, you haven’t spoken to him.’

‘That wasn’t supposed to be an engagement, Dad. You tricked me.’

‘I did what is good for you. Have you even spent some quality time with Parimal? Gone out for a meal with him? Spoken to him about the future?’

‘Why should I? Stop trying to control me so much, Dad.’

Dad looked away from me. He began taking short, fast breaths. I immediately called the nurse on night duty. She took his pulse.

‘Why are you up so late? Exerting yourself like this. Sleep now,’

the nurse said to him. She turned to me.

‘Madam, don’t visit so late. Exertion isn’t good for heart patient.’

‘Sorry, nurse. I’ll leave now,’

I said, getting up.

‘Bye, Dad.’

Dad held me by my wrist.

‘It’s your father’s wish, beta … I could die anytime. Please marry Parimal. He’s good for you.’

I took several long breaths to keep my composure. Then I extracted my hand from my father’s grip and left the room.

As I walked towards the hospital exit, my head began to spin. Everything turned dark and I collapsed and fell on the floor.

‘Ah, you’re up,’

Akanksha said. She was in the middle of recording her own video on her phone, which was attached to a selfie stick.

I looked around. I saw that there was an IV drip attached to my left hand. Clearly, I was in a hospital room, and Akanksha was making a reel about being in a hospital. Okay, was this all real or was it a weird dream?

‘You fainted. Good thing it happened in a hospital,’

Akanksha said.

‘They admitted you immediately.’

‘Which hospital?’

I said, still disoriented.

‘Kokilaben, where else?’

Akanksha said.

‘Your dad is on the same floor, five rooms away. You slept through the night. They took him for his angio early in the morning. The procedure went well.’

I nodded. She panned her phone to take a close-up shot of the IV bag.

‘What are you even doing?’ I said.

‘I’ve never done a hospital video. I thought, let me record something since I’m here anyway. I’ll figure out how to use it later.’

I sat up on the bed.

‘Relax, you’re okay,’

Akanksha said.

‘The doctor said you haven’t been eating. Your blood sugar dropped too low, hypoglycaemia.’

‘What time is it? I have to go to work. There’s a live deal I’m working on,’ I said.

‘Can you calm down? It’s the perfect excuse to take a day off. The hospital will give you a certificate,’

Akanksha said.

‘Still. I don’t want to be here.’

‘They’ll discharge you today. But next time, don’t diet so much. This exact thing happened to me when I skipped meals. To lose weight before my marriage.’

‘What?’

‘Yeah. Suraj said we’d go to the Maldives for our honeymoon. He wanted a relaxing place. Instead, it made me extra stressed. How would I look in a bikini? I cut down to one meal a day. One week later, I fainted. I told Suraj, no Maldives. That’s why we shifted our honeymoon to Switzerland.’

‘Good solution,’

I said, my voice too weak to make the sarcasm obvious.

‘You’re also doing this for Parimal, right?’

I shook my head.

‘Then? What happened?’

I remained silent.

Her eyes widened.

‘What? Oh, that guy, Saket? Payal, you have to forget him. Parimal is your man now.’

‘I love Saket. Every cell of my body does. I can’t just switch off, Akanksha.’

‘You can switch off. It’s all in the mind, babe. You haven’t met or spoken to Parimal. You haven’t spent any time with him. You haven’t given him a chance.’

‘No. I don’t want to,’

I said, looking out of the window.

‘Why?’

‘I can’t think of a life without Saket,’

I said.

‘And I’d rather die than marry Parimal.’

‘That’s what you feel right now. You’re not thinking straight. Let it go, Payal. Spend time with Parimal. Think about the future. You can have a nice family with him. Your parents will also be happy.’

I felt shaky and woolly-headed. Was she right? Was I unable to think?

‘Anyway, I have to go now. I promised my mother-in-law we’ll make dhokla together today,’

Akanksha said.

‘Are you sure you can take on more?’

Nimit said.

‘You’re already working on two deals.’

I sat in my boss Nimit’s office. I had requested him to give me more work.

‘I can. There’s an interesting company called CloudX. I want to see if we can invest there,’ I said.

‘You’ll be overstretched. You’re already working past nine every night.’

‘I have the capacity, Nimit. It’s okay.’

My phone buzzed. A text message from Mom popped up on my screen.

‘Sunday. R City Mall, Ghatkopar. Urban Tadka, 1 p.m. Lunch with Parimal.’

I turned my phone face down.

‘Sorry about that, Nimit. As I was saying, I can look at CloudX too.’

‘If you insist,’

Nimit said.

‘But what about your work–life balance?’

‘Right now, I am actively looking for work–life imbalance,’

I said. Because my life is hell, I wanted to add but didn’t.

By the time I got back to my desk, my mother had sent another message.

‘Be on time. And wear the pink salwar kameez I got you on your last birthday.’

Parimal wore a shirt with blue and black paisleys printed all over it, the kind of shirt that only certain types of Gujaratis and Jains find cool. It was also three sizes too large for his skinny frame. He had a box of Ferrero Rocher chocolates with him.

‘For you,’

he said, handing me the box.

‘Thank you.’

‘You look very beautiful,’ he said.

‘Thank you,’

I said again.

Urban Tadka, a Punjabi-dhaba-themed restaurant, was packed with families with loud kids. We managed to get a table for two and sat facing each other.

‘Lot of non-veg items here,’

Parimal said, opening the menu.

‘Yes …’

‘Do you want to drink something?’

‘Like what?’

I said. I wondered how he would react if I ordered an extra-large tequila?

‘Like mocktails?’

he said.

‘They have jamun lemonade. Virgin mojito as well.’

‘Too much sugar,’

I said.

‘You can order one though.’

‘Actually, it’s a rip-off. Two hundred rupees for jamun lemonade. Not worth it.’

‘Right.’

‘What about food?’

Parimal said.

‘You should order whatever you want. I’ll share with you.’

‘They have parathas with chole. I wonder if they can make it Jain-style.’

‘I’m okay with onion and garlic occasionally. Especially when I go out to eat and if they have nothing else on the menu. Too hard otherwise.’

‘I keep it Jain as much as possible. They have khichdi too. That should be okay.’

‘Fine,’ I said.

A waiter came to take our order. Parimal spoke to him.

‘Paneer parathas but without onion and garlic. Can you make the chole without onion and garlic too?’

‘Paratha, yes. Not the chole. They are already made,’

the waiter said.

‘Okay, then one plate paneer parathas. No chole. And dal khichdi. Make everything Jain, okay?’

‘Yes, sir,’

the waiter said.

Parimal and I sat in silence after the waiter left, wondering what to talk about. I felt zero chemistry with him. I don’t think people like Parimal can even be associated with a subject like chemistry. There’s only one subject they know and understand—accounts.

‘They have a combo deal too,’

Parimal said suddenly, flipping through the menu again.

‘Oh, the mocktail comes free in the combo deal. We could’ve ordered from here, better value.’

‘You can call the waiter and amend your order,’

I said, keeping a straight face.

Parimal gestured to the waiter to come back and changed our order.

‘That was a good idea,’

Parimal said, smiling for the first time since we’d sat down.

‘Glad you found a good deal,’ I said.

‘Yes, it saved four hundred rupees straight. We would’ve had to pay for the jamun lemonade otherwise,’

he said, my sarcasm flying well above his head like a badly aimed frisbee.

‘Parimal, you know why this lunch has been arranged, right?’ I said.

‘Yes. So that we get to know each other better.’

‘Correct. I don’t know what you want out of a marriage or a partner. And whether I’m the right person for you or not.’

‘Of course you are. Everything fits—age, family, religion.’

‘There’s more to marriage.’

‘Like?’

‘Like compatibility. Emotional connection. Passion. Matching interests. Chemistry.’

‘Chemistry?’

‘Yes. How you feel with the other person. Do you have a certain chemistry with them or not. Either it’s there or it’s not.’

‘Do you feel we have it?’

We have as much chemistry as two inert rocks kept together, I wanted to tell him but didn’t.

‘I don’t know. But our families are rushing us to get married. Possibly, in the next few weeks or perhaps a month.’

‘I’m okay with an early date. The things you’re talking about, all that can come later,’

Parimal said.

‘What can come later?’

‘The closeness.’

‘I don’t think I’m ready to get married,’ I said.

‘Who is ready ever? The point is, if we’re a good match, and if our parents want us to get married, then why not?’

But you and I are not a good match, I wanted to say.

‘I don’t know,’ I said.

‘Anand uncle is like a father to me,’ he said.

‘I know.’

‘I heard he almost had a heart attack.’

‘Yeah …’

‘I pray that nothing happens to him. But God forbid, if something does happen, don’t you want him around and happy on your wedding day?’

‘Stop crying, babe. It’s spoiling your make-up,’

Akanksha said.

‘Oh dear, that mascara is ruined. Where’s the make-up lady?’

The tears wouldn’t stop. Within a month after that lunch with Parimal at Urban Tadka, I sat facing a mirror in a suite at the Four Seasons Hotel in Worli. The hotel’s banquet hall and the garden right outside it made up the venue for my marriage with Parimal. Ironically, on our first date, Saket and I had come to Aer, the rooftop bar in the same hotel.

The hairdresser turned on the hair dryer, the noise helping to drown out the sound of my sobbing.

‘I don’t want to do this, Akanksha. I can’t do this,’ I said.

‘You can, Payal. You’re just nervous,’

Akanksha said. She turned to the hairdresser and instructed her.

‘Give more volume here no? And don’t cover her forehead so much.’

‘I don’t want to get dressed, Akanksha. I don’t even want this marriage.’

I was panicking by now.

‘Shh …’

Akanksha said.

‘don’t talk like that.’

I broke down completely. The hairdresser had to stop doing my hair as my whole body was shaking.

Akanksha held me by my shoulders.

‘Calm down, babe. What’s the matter with you?’

‘I want to call Saket.’

‘Why?’

‘He was right. He said we aren’t dealing with rational people. That we should run away. I want to run away.’

‘Payal,’

Akanksha said.

‘Come to your senses. This is about your future, my love. You can’t ruin your life over some stupid thing that you had with an older guy.’

‘I just want to talk to him once. May I?’

‘No.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’m your best friend and I can’t let you do what is bad for you.’

She handed me some tissues. It took me a few minutes to compose myself. The make-up lady came in and began fixing my make-up again.

‘It’s normal for girls to cry at their wedding, madam,’

the woman said to me, reapplying some eye shadow.

‘Every bride does. It’s okay to have doubts. You’ll be fine. Try your best not to cry now. I’ll also give you extra-absorbent tissues. Use them to dab the tears immediately.’

There, the solution to my misery—extra-absorbent tissues to wipe off my tears the moment they spilled out. After dolling me up, they took me downstairs. My red zardozi lehenga weighed more than twenty kilos. It forced me to enter the banquet hall in slow motion. The Punjabi folk son.

‘Din Shagna Da’

played in the background, making my entry look extra graceful and romantic. Guests threw rose petals at me as I walked to the stage. Now, even if I cried, it would look like happy tears. In any case, I had the extra-absorbent tissues clutched in my hand.

The day after my wedding, I arrived at my in-laws’

house, also located in Ghatkopar, for the Sva Graha Aagamana ceremony. This is a Jain tradition, where the new bride is formally welcomed by the groom’s family into her new home. I hadn’t slept the previous night due to the pheras taking forever to complete. Even at Parimal’s house, the ceremonies continued all day. Underprepared, tired and sleep-deprived, I was led to a bedroom in the house, to spend my first night there with Parimal.

One of Parimal’s older married cousin sisters said to me.

‘Take it slow, okay? Tell him to be soft and gentle.’

I couldn’t tell her that Saket and I liked it hard and rough. I simply looked at the floor to act like the perfect shy bahu.

‘Okay, Didi,’ I said.

‘But don’t forget to have fun,’

she said and winked at me as she left me in the bedroom.

I looked around myself. Like they show in the suhaag-raat scenes in Hindi movies from the eighties, the entire bedroom was decked up with flowers.

What was I supposed to do now? Sit like a coy bride, with the ghoonghat over my head?

I sat on the bed. Normally, in the movies, there’s a glass of milk kept on the side table. The man drinks it to gather energy before the action. Doesn’t the woman need energy too? Shouldn’t there be two glasses of milk? I thought of random things to keep myself distracted from the reality: that I was expected to have sex with Parimal within the next twenty minutes.

I waited for Parimal to arrive. Was it okay if a bride scrolled through Instagram while waiting for her husband to arrive for the suhaag raat?

I checked my phone. It had run out of battery. They really should give power banks to brides. How was she supposed to charge her phone otherwise, that too in a new place?

Okay, there you go, girl, your mind’s all over the place. Again. Focus on Parimal. This is your special night, I said to myself.

I needed rest. I hadn’t slept more than four hours in the last two nights. The barrage of relatives and friends who’d come for the wedding didn’t stop, not even at Parimal’s house. I must’ve touched a thousand feet. I was probably the highest collector of ashirwaads and blessings in Mumbai in the last forty-eight hours. Like my phone, I needed to be recharged.

The door creaked open. My heart began to beat fast. What did Parimal expect? A long, passionate night? I was his wife now. He had the right to expect that. However, the idea of him touching me was repulsive.

‘Hey,’

Parimal said as he came in and shut the door.

‘Nice decorations no?’

‘Hi,’ I said.

He came and sat next to me. Then, without another word, he leaned forward and kissed me. I froze. It felt like something cold and metallic had touched my lips. He kept his hand on my breast.

‘Can you remove this?’

he said, tugging at my blouse.

It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t even pleasant. But it wasn’t threatening either. It felt like a child asking his mother to be breastfed. And what was I to do anyway? I was his wife now. Maybe this would help me get closer to Parimal.

I complied.

‘And this,’

he said, pointing to my bra.

I didn’t want to. But I had to. I removed my clothes one by one, as instructed by Parimal. He quickly did the same.

Where Saket was a beast, Parimal was a toothpick.

Do not compare bodies, I reminded myself.

Parimal pushed me down on the bed, got on top and entered me. All this, without exchanging a single word or touching me anywhere else. It hurt. I wasn’t turned on at all. I winced in pain. He started to move back and forth. Half a minute later, he grunted and then stopped. His body slumped on me, and the weight of it felt heavy.

‘I’m done. I came,’

he said, rolling over to his side of the bed.

‘That was good.’

‘Oh, okay,’ I said.

‘Did you come?’

‘No.’

‘Relax, everyone is tired on the first night,’

Akanksha said.

I had set up an emergency meeting with her at Prithvi Café, attached to Prithvi Theatre in Juhu. The outdoor café was filled with a bohemian crowd, consisting of theatre lovers, aspiring actors, artists and young people. Akanksha paid attention to me only after recording three videos of the famous Sulaimani chai, a lemon black tea, which we had ordered.

‘It wasn’t just that night. We tried again. Twice,’ I said.

‘And? How was it?’

‘Hopeless. Akanksha, it feels like a punishment. I never imagined that sex could be this bad. Actually, it isn’t just bad. It’s awful. Like worse than getting your teeth pulled out at the dentist’s.’

‘What are you even talking about? Intimacy between husband and wife is the purest form of love.’

‘There’s nothing like that,’

I said.

‘Gosh, is this going to be my sex life?’

‘Don’t say sex. Say intimacy,’

Akanksha said, taking a sip of the chai.

‘What? Why?’

‘Intimacy sounds better.’

‘There’s nothing intimate about it at all. It’s like a trip to an incompetent gynaec. And you know the worst part?’

‘What?’

‘He always asks, “Did you come?” Like, seriously, bro.’

‘What do you tell him? Just say yes. Always. That’s what I do.’

‘No. I said no.’

‘Why did you do that?’

‘Because that’s the truth.’

Akanksha shook her head.

‘You’ll hurt his feelings like this,’ she said.

‘What about my feelings? We’re going on our honeymoon in two days. What will happen then?’

‘Is it just him, or is it also you?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You say he’s bad, fine. But what about you? Have you made an effort to want him?’

‘How? I don’t feel any desire for him.’

‘Okay, I would never advise this under normal circumstances. But try this—get drunk.’

‘What?’

‘You’re too wound up. I never advise alcohol. I don’t even drink. But a few times, Suraj and I had wine before being intimate. It really helped.’

‘I don’t know if wine can fix this. Plus, Parimal doesn’t drink.’

‘You’re going to Paris, the land of good wines. Tell Parimal to have some, like a tourist experience.’

Paris is beautiful. When you see it for the first time, it feels like you’re in a dream. I might’ve come to Paris with Parimal, but wherever I went, my thoughts drifted to one person—Saket.

We would’ve walked down the Seine, hand in hand. And stopped at that cute bakery, the boulangerie, as they called them here. I would’ve stared at the chocolate croissants greedily. Saket would’ve fussed, arguing and explaining to me just how much sugar, butter, carbs and calories each croissant had. I would’ve told him that Parisian calories don’t count, and then gone ahead and stuffed myself with pastries and croissants. I smiled as I imagined Saket’s shocked face watching me eat.

‘What are you smiling about?’

Parimal said as we made our way to the Eiffel Tower.

‘Nothing,’

I said.

‘Can we go to that boulangerie on the corner of the street?’

‘Sure,’

he said.

‘What is that place? A bakery?’

‘Yes.’

Parimal and I picked up four chocolate croissants. He ate one. I ate the remaining three as we walked in silence towards the Eiffel Tower. In between, Parimal held my hand, as he often liked to do. When we reached the Eiffel Tower, there was a massive queue to go up.

‘Not worth it,’

Parimal said.

‘Thirty-six euros per person just to go to the top. Plus, you have to stand in line.’

‘I agree. Let’s do a nice dinner instead,’ I said.

‘Okay. Where do you want to go? There’s Rasoi. It’s Indian, so it’ll have Jain options.’

‘We didn’t come to Paris to eat at Rasoi, Parimal.’

‘Oh. What then? Pizza? Pasta?’

Those are the few safe choices that Jains have when they travel abroad. It’s either Indian food, pizza or pasta. Or packed theplas your parents forced you to take on the trip.

‘Let’s have a bottle of wine and a cheese platter for dinner,’ I said.

‘Wine?’

Parimal looked shocked, as if I’d suggested we snort cocaine.

‘Yes. We’re in France, the land of wines. We must try it here. Like a tourist experience.’

‘But it’s alcohol.’

‘It’s okay, Parimal. God will forgive us this one time.’

‘But …’

‘I need it. Okay? I feel like it’ll help me open up to you better.’

Parimal thought about it for a few seconds.