Page 19 of 12 Years: My Messed-up Love Story

‘Okay, fine,’

he said finally.

‘Please don’t tell our parents at home.’

‘Are you crazy? Never.’

We walked away from the Eiffel Tower towards a street with several eating establishments.

‘I’ll start easy. Maybe mix my wine with some water first,’

Parimal said as we entered one of the cafés.

‘Careful,’

Parimal said as I stumbled into a chair upon entering our hotel room in Paris.

We had finished a full bottle of red wine. I’d drunk most of it.

‘I’m high,’

I said, collapsing on the bed.

Parimal sat on the chair next to the study table in the room. He held a bunch of receipts in his hand and began typing something on his phone.

‘What are you doing?’ I said.

‘Accounts for the day.’

‘What?’

I said, taking off my shoes.

‘Checking how much we spent in Paris today. I always like to keep track of daily expenses.’

‘Even on your honeymoon?’

I said in a muted voice.

‘What?’

‘Never mind. Come here,’

I said, patting the bed next to me.

He looked at me, surprised. ‘Now?’

‘Yeah, I’m nice and high. Why not?’

‘I thought we do that at night. There’s still light outside.’

‘Is it illegal to do it if there is daylight outside?’ I said.

‘No. Actually, it gets dark late in Paris. At ten. It’s because the geographic location—’

‘Don’t teach me latitudes and longitudes. Just come here,’

I said, interrupting him.

He left the receipts and his phone on the table and walked up to stand in front of me.

‘Remove my dress,’

I said.

‘slowly. And kiss my neck and shoulders while doing it.’

Parimal followed my instructions.

‘Is this good? Am I doing it right?’

he said as he pecked the back of my neck, like a woodpecker attacking the bark of a tree.

‘Don’t ask questions. Remove your clothes as well,’ I said.

He undressed and reached for the bedside table to pick up a condom.

‘Wait,’

I said.

‘There is no need to rush to that part.’

I pulled him into the bed. I kissed him, slower and longer.

‘Slowly, use your fingers and lips to touch me all over,’

I said.

‘Nothing else is allowed.’

‘How do I—’

he started, but I shushed him.

He kissed my clavicle and then the top of my chest. Maybe it was the wine, but for a change, it felt somewhat nice. I held his head and pushed him down.

‘Yes. Kiss me everywhere. Touch me and kiss me. Yes, Saket …’

My body froze. Even in my drunken state, I realized I’d made a blunder.

Parimal stopped and shifted up, coming face to face with me.

‘What did you just say?’ he said.

‘Suck it. I said yes, suck it,’

I said and pushed his head down again.

Lucky save, Payal, I said to myself. I can’t have this happen again. And I won’t be able to give this marriage a chance if I keep thinking of Saket. It’s okay. I’ll drink all the wine I need to, but I’ll make it work with my husband. Make it work, Payal, come on, make it work.

‘Does this feel good?’

Parimal said after a few minutes, still working on my breast diligently, like a rabbit nibbling on a carrot.

‘I told Neeraj I don’t like to travel much. Yet he’s put me in this investor conference in New York. I have to go next week.’

‘Hmm,’

Parimal said.

‘He said it’ll be good for my career. Networking with the senior partners in New York is important. In a way, he’s not wrong,’ I said.

Parimal looked up from his phone and stared at me for a second.

‘New York? What?’

‘Yes, I’m going there next week. I just told you. Our new India head, Neeraj, he’s asked me to.’

Parimal looked at me blankly and then went back to his phone.

‘I don’t need the networking though. My deals are the best-performing ones in the Mumbai office. I cracked CloudX, and it’s already up four times the initial investment that we made five years ago.’ I said.

‘Really?’

he said without looking at me.

‘Yeah. I think I should make MD in two or three years. I just need a few IPOs and exits to happen.’

‘Sorry, I need to make a call,’

Parimal said, walking off to the terrace.

‘You promised the PVC material would reach Thane last Wednesday. What are all these sorry-for-delay emails then?’

I heard Parimal speaking on the phone outside.

I went to the terrace and stood in front of him. He ended his call a few minutes later.

‘What?’

he said.

‘Why are you standing here like this?’

‘What do I do?’

‘For what?’

‘To get my husband’s attention? To talk to him for a few minutes after work?’

‘I’m here only.’

‘But are you listening to me?’

‘I heard you. You’re going to New York next week.’

‘Forget it,’

I said and stormed back into the bedroom.

If this were a one-off thing, it would’ve been okay. But this was the norm. In fact, even as I was telling him about work, I already knew that Parimal wouldn’t listen to me, and that he wouldn’t ever admit to it. That’s the thing about marriage. Five years of being with someone is enough time to let you predict their annoying behavioural patterns.

Parimal followed me in.

‘You get upset over little things. I just had to make a short work call,’ he said.

‘Never mind. Let’s get ready. We have to go to your parents’

for dinner.’

‘I know Dr Aditi Jain personally,’

said Parimal’s father.

‘Just meet her. She’ll sort out whatever issue there is.’

Parimal and I sat around the dining table with his parents. Over dal baati churma, we discussed IVF and what else we could do to get me pregnant and provide the family with a much-needed son.

‘I’ve already gone to two doctors. My tests came back fine,’

I said.

‘And I tried IVF once. It was painful and it didn’t work.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with me either,’

Parimal said.

‘If Aditi does the IVF, pregnancy chance is hundred per cent,’

said Parimal’s mother.

‘Fine. I’ll meet her,’

I said with a resigned air.

‘Though I don’t think we need to have a child so soon. I’m only twenty-seven.’

‘What do you mean soon?’

Parimal’s mother looked shocked.

‘More than five years since your marriage. Everyone in society asks me, “What happened? Why no good news yet? Any problem?” What do I tell them?’

How about telling them that your son is a lousy lover? That he neither knows how to get his wife in the mood nor what to do with her in bed? Or that he isn’t even interested in sex. And that neither am I now.

‘You’re trying naturally also, right?’ she said.

I guess it was a civilized way of asking if we were having sex. But no, we weren’t. And since I couldn’t tell her that, I did what a bahu is supposed to do—pretend to be shy and look down at the food.

‘Mom, please stop,’

Parimal said.

‘What is there to feel shy? This is important—’

‘Payal will go to Aditi. Leave it, Supriya. Payal beta, did you try the churma?’

Parimal’s father said, interrupting his wife and saving us all from further humiliation.

‘Parimal, I want to talk to you,’ I said.

‘About what?’

Parimal said, hands on the steering wheel. We were in the car, driving back home from his parents’

place.

‘And before I forget, can you get me some formal shirts from New York?’

‘Fine, I will. But I need to talk to you—’

‘Actually, get them from duty-free. That’ll be cheaper. No VAT, you see,’

he said, interrupting me again.

‘Parimal, I’ll get you your shirts from New York and save you the VAT. Now, can we talk? About us?’ I said.

‘What about us?’

he said, surprised.

‘How is our marriage, you think?’

‘It’s normal. Why?’

‘Normal? We don’t talk heart-to-heart. We hardly do anything physical anymore. There is no connection between us. You have your factory. I have my career.’

‘Both of which are doing well.’

‘Yes. But what about us? Don’t you want more out of this relationship?’

‘More? Like what?’

Parimal looked genuinely confused.

‘You tell me.’

‘A child? You’re going to meet Dr Aditi …’

‘No, Parimal. You and me. What do you want between us?’

Parimal shrugged and continued to drive in silence. We had reached the entrance of our building when he spoke up.

‘You know, VAT is called GST in India.’

‘What happened?’

I said to the airline staff manning the Emirates Lounge reception at the Dubai airport.

‘Unprecedented rainfall in Dubai, ma’am. A lot of flights have been delayed or stand cancelled. Please be patient. We’re doing our best.’

I nodded and walked into the lounge. It was unusually crowded, but I managed to find a quiet area and sat down to get some work done. I was in the middle of writing an email when I sensed someone come and stand in front of me.

‘Payal?’

a man’s voice said. That voice. I knew that voice.

I looked up from my laptop.

‘Saket?’

I said, standing up in a daze.

‘And that’s the night I ran into you, Saket. At the Emirates Lounge,’

Payal said. She took a sip of her ginger and spice tea and looked around. Every table in L’ETO Caffe was now occupied.

‘I remember that night,’

I said. I put down my cup and smiled.

‘What?’

‘Your marriage had problems even then?’

‘Yes.’

‘You never mentioned it. I recall buying those shirts with you. It made me think that you and Parimal are one team. Like one unit.’

Payal smirked and shook her head.

‘For the record, he hated the shirts,’ she said.

‘How can you hate plain white and blue shirts?’

‘He found them too expensive.’

‘Doesn’t he make good money in the factory?’

‘He does. But more than making and spending money, he likes saving it. Getting value. He said he could’ve gotten similar shirts in India at a cheaper price.’

‘To each their own. What happened after that?’ I said.

‘I still hoped my marriage would survive. I tried to make it work for three more years after that. Ultimately, though, it didn’t.’

‘Who initiated the divorce?’

‘I did,’

Payal said.

‘Parimal thought there wasn’t even a real problem. That it was all just me, overreacting to things.’

‘How did your parents take it?’

‘You know them. They’re older now, but things are still the same. For them, divorce is …’

She stopped mid-sentence.

‘Divorce is what?’

‘Divorce is shameful.’

‘Yeah, that’s the reason why they considered me shameful. Well, one of the many reasons anyway.’

‘It’s not like that, Saket.’

‘Leave it, Payal. It’s in the past. So, one day you said, “I want a divorce,” and that’s it?’

‘No,’

Payal said, sighing deeply.

‘It wasn’t that simple. Lots of drama. Lots of family meetings.’

PAYAL SPEAKS …

‘Idon’t even understand what the problem is,’

Parimal’s father said.

‘I see you guys. You live like any other normal couple.’

Parimal’s parents, my parents, Parimal and I had gathered in my parents’

living room. I had moved back home a month ago after telling Parimal I couldn’t take it anymore. We had lived parallel but separate lives for far too long. It had become normal for an entire week to go by without either one of us exchanging a word. I didn’t see the point of this marriage. Everyone else in the room couldn’t see the point of what I was doing.

‘Papa,’

I said to my father-in-law.

‘there needs to be a connection between husband and wife.’

‘Meaning?’

Parimal’s father said.

‘What does that mean? Connection?’

My mother spoke up.

‘I know why this is happening. There’s no child. If they had one, everything would be solved.’

‘We sent them to the best of doctors,’

Parimal’s father said.

‘Even Dr Aditi is shocked. This shouldn’t have happened. The IVF should’ve worked by now.’

‘I tried it three times. Each time, it was traumatic for me. For Parimal it’s easy—he just masturbates into a cup and is done,’ I said.

‘Payal,’

Mom said angrily.

‘Is this the way to talk in front of your elders?’

‘I’m simply telling you about the procedure. That’s how it works, in case you want that grandchild,’ I said.

‘Payal beta, Parimal is a good boy. I work with him every day in the factory. Trust me, I haven’t seen a more hard-working person. You’ve seen how the business has grown since he joined us. Our margins have doubled too.’

‘I’m not hiring an employee, Dad. I want a husband, not someone who can improve the EBITDA or profit margin. I would rather he didn’t work as hard and gave some time to the relationship.’

‘Like how?’

Parimal’s mother said.

‘Even Jigneshji doesn’t give me time. Neither does Anandji sit and chat with Yashodha for hours. They are husbands. They don’t do connection and heart-to-heart talk.’

‘Yes, Anandji never has time. If I want to talk to someone, I have my kitty group,’ Mom said.

‘I’m sorry if I want more from my husband,’

I said sharply.

‘Am I allowed to do that?’

‘More what?’

Mom said.

‘What more do you want him to be?’

‘I want someone who listens to me. Soothes me with words when I’ve had a stressful day at work.’

‘Why do you even work if it’s stressful? Parimal makes good money now,’

Parimal’s father said.

‘Because I want to work, Papa. Even if it’s stressful sometimes. I just want my partner to support me. Talk to me. Make plans with me, for us. Care about meeting me. And …’

‘And?’ Dad said.

‘And is intimate with me. We aren’t intimate. It’s been two years. Nothing. Parimal is not interested in sex.’

‘This is how she talks to me also, see,’

Parimal said to the parents. Like those kids in school who go complain to the teacher.

‘Look, ma’am, she’s being so mean.’

‘Payal beta, these things may be true. But life is above all that,’

Parimal’s mother said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘All this need for attachment, it’s there because you’re not close to God.’

‘What?’ I said.

‘Yes. Attach yourself to God. Rise above all these worldly pleasures. At this age, these physical pleasures are anyway bad for you,’ she said.

‘I agree, do a fast. Paryushan is coming, it’ll help,’

Mom added.

‘She can also have some cold methi water every morning. It’ll curtail her impure thoughts,’

Parimal’s mother said.

I looked at all of them. Their great solution was to surrender myself to God, fast and drink methi water every morning?

‘We’ve had too many meetings like this. You’ve all tried to help. I appreciate that. But I’ve made my decision. I met a lawyer,’ I said.

‘What?’

everyone gasped in unison, as if I’d hired a professional assassin.

‘I want a divorce,’

I said.

‘And I say this with great sadness, because Parimal knows I’ve tried to make things work for years.’

‘You cannot divorce him,’

Dad said, his voice faint.

‘I can. It’s my right,’ I said.

‘He’s part of our family business. I can’t stop him from coming to the factory,’ Dad said.

‘Then don’t,’

I said.

‘He can continue working with you.’

‘Anand, this can’t happen,’

Parimal’s father said.

‘We’ll have no face left in society.’

‘This will be too shameful,’

Parimal’s mother said.

‘Yashodha, you know we’ll be ostracized in the community. We’ll become the gossip around town.’

‘Are you going to say anything?’

Parimal’s father turned to him in agitation.

‘She won’t listen. I’ve tried enough times,’

Parimal said.

If only he’d actually tried to talk to me … I took out a big brown envelope from my laptop bag and kept it on the coffee table in front of us.

‘This is a divorce settlement agreement.’

‘What settlement? I’m not going to give you anything. You want this, not me,’

Parimal said.

‘I want nothing. No alimony. Not even a share in the factory, which technically belongs to me because it’s my father’s factory. But I don’t care. I just want out. This is your chance to save, Parimal. If you sign this, I’ll walk away with nothing,’ I said.

Mom slapped me hard across my face.

‘Don’t think you can come and live here if you leave him,’ she said.

‘Oh, that’s what it has come to now?’

I said.

‘Fine. I won’t.’

Mom turned to my in-laws and folded her hands.

‘I’m sorry for her behaviour. I don’t know where we went wrong in her upbringing. Maybe we educated her too much.’

Parimal’s parents didn’t care about my mother’s apology or explanation. They stood up to leave.

‘I gave you my only son. He came into your family, and your business flourished. And this is how you reward me, Anand? With shame and badnaami in society?’

Parimal’s father said angrily before stomping out, his wife and son following him.

Nobody cared about our marriage. The only issue—the big shame.

‘I’m sorry, Mom, Dad,’

I said once the three of us were alone.

‘I let you down.’

‘Get out,’

Dad said, barely controlling himself.

‘Now?’

‘Yes.’

I turned to my mother. She looked away.

Without another word, I went to my room, packed a few clothes and left.

Tears rolled down Payal’s face. She looked at me and smiled.

‘I’m sorry, Saket,’

she said.

‘I didn’t realize I would get emotional talking about it.’

‘It’s understandable,’

I said.

‘You’ve been through a lot.’

‘Yes. Things are better now though,’

Payal said.

‘They are?’

‘Much better. Two years have passed since our divorce. Parimal has accepted it.’

‘What about your parents?’

‘Things improved between us. It took another crisis. You remember Vansh?’

‘Your brother?’

‘Yes. He had a drug problem. Had to go into rehab.’

‘Oh no!’

‘Yeah, and for my parents, more than the drug problem itself, it was the social shaming that they feared. What would people say if they found out that their son has a drug problem? They didn’t keep him in rehab for too long.’

‘He’s okay now?’

‘Sort of. They brought him home. Then six months ago, they reached out to me, asking if I wanted to move back to their house. Mainly to help take care of Vansh.’