Page 21 of 12 Years: My Messed-up Love Story

‘Really?’

‘Yes,’

I said.

‘Every guy was checking you out, baby.’

‘But you don’t want me.’

‘It’s just tonight. I’m tired.’

‘Is it my lips? I need to get more fillers.’

‘You get fillers?’

‘Of course, all my friends do. There’s this Botox place in the Marina.’

‘Your lips are fine. And you’re so young. Why do you need Botox?’

‘Is it my boobs? You don’t like them anymore?’

‘Come on, Tania. You’re perfect. You have a model-like figure.’

‘I can get them changed. Any way you want. You want them bigger?’

‘What? No. Please, Tania, relax. I’m just not in the mood today. Must be all the work stress. I’ll see you soon though. Okay?’

Before she could suggest other cosmetology treatments, I said.

‘Your Porsche is in the driveway, right? Come, I will drop you to the porch.’

Once alone in my bedroom, I lay in bed, unable to sleep. I picked up my phone. There was a message from Payal, sent several hours ago.

‘Thanks again for taking me to the temple and the gurdwara. Felt wonderful. Have a great evening.’

I noticed she was still online. What was she doing up so late?

‘You’re welcome, Payal. Am glad you came,’

I replied.

‘Hi, up so late?’

she texted back instantly.

‘Yeah. Just came back home from the birthday dinner. What are you doing up so late? It’s almost three,’

I messaged her.

‘I was asleep. Woke up and then I couldn’t go back to sleep.’

‘Why, what happened?’

‘No idea. Also, I felt a bit hungry. Maybe I didn’t eat enough at the langar.’

‘Oh no. You should’ve.’

‘Or maybe I’m just being greedy, but am craving something.’

‘Craving what?’

‘A snack. Something unhealthy. I don’t care what it is, as long as it’s unhealthy.’

I replied with three crying-with-laughter emojis, and then added.

‘Order something from room service.’

How was this simple chat with Payal more fun than having Tania naked in my bed? Was I losing my mind? Was I not a man anymore? Or was I just too old?

‘This hotel only has fancy things. All nicely plated with napkins and cutlery. I don’t want that,’

Payal replied.

‘What do you want?’

‘Something tasty, unhealthy and unpretentious. Is that a thing?’

I replied with another string of laughter emojis.

‘Or maybe I should just try and sleep again …’

‘Where’s the fun in that?’

I replied.

‘Let’s go unhealthy-snack hunting.’

‘What?’

‘I know a place where you’ll get what you want. Tasty, unhealthy, unpretentious.’

‘Where?’

‘I’ll pick you up. Let’s go.’

‘Now?’

‘Yeah, right now. Pick you up in twenty minutes.’

‘We’re doing this? Really? Going out to satisfy a pointless snack craving at three in the morning?’

‘Yep. Because sometimes, the whole point of life is to do pointless things.’

‘Good morning,’

I said as Payal got into the cab. She was dressed in a Hello Kitty T-shirt and matching track pants.

‘Good morning,’

she replied.

‘I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.’

The taxi left her hotel lobby and took the road towards Jumeirah.

‘Where are we going?’ she said.

‘Kite Beach,’

I said.

‘They have a tea shop there that’s open all night.’

‘I’m in my nightclothes!’

‘Don’t worry, this place is, like you wanted, “unpretentious”.’

Kite Beach, in Jumeirah, runs along the coastline of Dubai. Famous for kitesurfing, from which it gets its name, the beach is always full of families and young people. Open at night as well, it offers night swims and night kitesurfing, which are particularly popular in the hot summer months.

The cab driver dropped us where I told him to, near my secret tea shop. It was a small rectangular kiosk, built inside a shipping container, with an Indian guy manning the shop.

‘What do you have right now?’

I said to the guy.

‘Karak masala chai. Biscuits, samosas and Maggi,’ he said.

Payal’s eyes lit up at the mention of Maggi. I smiled.

‘We’ll have two cups of tea and a Maggi.’

‘I also want biscuits and a samosa,’

Payal said.

‘That’s literally everything on the menu,’

I said.

‘Anyway, I’m fasting. I’ll only have tea.’

Within minutes, our order was ready. I collected the food and told Payal to follow me towards the beach. I had carried a backpack from home. Once we found a nice place to sit, I took out a picnic mat from inside the backpack. Payal and I held it on either side, spread it on the sand below us, and sat down facing the waves. They made a soothing sound every time they touched the shore.

‘This is perfect,’

Payal said, dipping a biscuit in the tea and biting into it.

I looked at her and smiled.

‘I haven’t had a night out like this in ages,’ she said.

‘Me neither,’

I said.

‘Somehow, I just couldn’t sleep tonight.’

Payal nodded. Then, after a brief pause, she said.

‘Are you happy, Saket?’

‘Yeah. I told you I am,’

I said, looking at the waves.

‘Happy with my work and the company we’ve built. And now, thanks to you, I’m about to get a truckload of money as well. Even though you’ve lowered the bid.’ I smiled.

‘I didn’t mean happy in terms of work and money.’

‘What else then?’

I said, turning to look at her.

‘May I ask something personal?’

‘Yeah, sure.’

‘Are you happy with this Tania-type situation?’

‘She’s not a situation. She’s my girlfriend.’

‘Is she?’

Payal said.

‘What do you mean? We hang out all the time. We care for each other. We have a good physical relationship.’

‘Sure …’

she said. She took out the container with the Maggi in it from the brown paper bag.

‘You don’t approve of it, is it? You’re judging Tania,’ I said.

‘Who am I to judge her?’

Payal said, scooping up some Maggi with a wooden fork.

‘What is it then? Why did you even ask me that question?’ I said.

‘I shouldn’t have. Sorry.’

‘No, tell me.’

‘Is it real, Saket? Is what you have with Tania … is it something deep and meaningful to you?’

I remained quiet. We sat in silence as she continued to eat her noodles.

‘It’s not real,’

I said after a while.

‘Yes, it’s an arrangement. Friends with benefits, situationship, whatever you want to call it. But I don’t want real now. I have trust issues.’

‘Trust issues?’

‘Yeah … I got married. That broke down, and it was hard. But that hard was nothing compared to when my next relationship ended.’

‘You mean you and I?’

‘Yes. I went through hell. Not for days, weeks or months. But for years. Even today, I can’t trust anyone to get that close to me. Or be that vulnerable. I don’t know how I allowed it to happen back then.’

Payal stared at me for one long moment. I clenched my lips and looked away.

‘Years, Saket? To get over us?’ she said.

‘Almost a decade,’

I said.

‘And a part of me has changed forever. Like, I can’t imagine how I ever did stand-up comedy. How did I feel so free to do that?’

‘I wish you were still doing stand-up though. You were good.’

‘That me is gone. Like that me who fell in love so hard, it broke him when it ended. So yes, you’re absolutely right. Tania, Paulina, and their kinds—whatever I have with them is superficial, like the Botox fillers they get done. Yet, it keeps the surface beautiful. It’s not deep, sure, but it also means that I can’t get hurt. Sometimes, you need to swim in a shallow pool so that you don’t drown.’

‘I’m sorry I couldn’t stand up for you, Saket,’

Payal said, looking into my eyes. She reached out and clutched my hand. I gently extracted it.

‘It’s okay,’

I said.

‘You were under intense family pressure. That’s a real thing in Indian families. You tried your best.’

We sat in silence for quite a while before Payal spoke up.

‘I can relate to your trust issues,’

she said.

‘I have them too.’

I looked at her.

‘My marriage scarred me as well. I can’t even imagine being with anyone now …’

‘Do you also want to try the Tania-type system? Do you want me to ask her if she has a brother? Back home in Kyiv?’

Payal laughed out loud.

‘No, thanks. That’s not my scene at all.’

‘I can at least ask her to send some pictures,’

I said.

‘A Ukrainian toyboy. At least look at some photos?’

‘Stop it,’

Payal said, and punched my arm. For a moment, it felt like the same fooling around we used to do twelve years ago.

Our banter was interrupted by a young man who rode up on a unicycle on the cycling track that runs along the beach. He was dressed in a striped shirt and pants, resembling a circus clown.

‘Excuse me, lovely couple,’

he said, struggling to balance his unicycle.

‘We’re not a couple,’ I said.

‘Oh, okay, sorry about that,’

the unicyclist said.

‘I’m Jamal, a professional juggler. May I request you for a little help?’

‘Sure,’ I said.

‘I’ve been practising a new act for a while now. But before I launch it in front of a bigger audience, I wanted to show it to a few people and get their feedback. May I show you the act and get your genuine opinions?’

Payal and I looked at each other.

‘Don’t worry. You don’t have to pay me anything,’

Jamal said.

‘Sure,’

Payal said.

‘Let’s see it.’

Jamal bowed to us. He got off the cycling track and dug the wheel of his unicycle into the sand to stabilize it. Then he put on some music with a peppy beat on his Bluetooth speaker. Jamal sat on top of the cycle and took out six balls from his pocket. He started juggling them, beginning with three balls and increasing to all six.

Payal’s eyes remained transfixed on Jamal’s hands, the balls in the air, and his focused-yet-smiling face. I alternated my gaze between the juggler and Payal. I found more happiness in Payal’s delight from watching the act than in the act itself. Maybe that’s what I liked about being with Payal. Her happiness automatically created my happiness.

‘Bravo, superb!’

Payal clapped as Jamal finished the act. He bowed, and I applauded as well.

Payal took out a 100-dirham note from her purse. Jamal vigorously shook his hands.

‘Astaghfirullah! No, no,’

Jamal said.

‘I can’t accept that. You’re my test audience. Just give me feedback.’

‘What feedback?’

Payal said.

‘You’re fantastic. Just do it with a little more flamboyance and be proud. You’re too good.’

‘You’re too kind,’

Jamal said.

‘Allow us to at least buy you a cup of tea,’ I said.

‘Sure,’

Jamal said.

I went to the tea stall and returned with three fresh cups of tea.

‘Thank you,’

Jamal said as he took a cup from me.

‘You guys live in Dubai?’

‘I do. She’s visiting,’ I said.

‘Okay. What are you doing out on the beach so late at night? Or rather, so early in the morning?’

Jamal said.

‘We couldn’t sleep,’

Payal said.

‘and I was craving a snack.’

‘An unhealthy and unpretentious snack, to be precise,’

I said. Everyone laughed.

‘Was it hard to become a juggler? What you did seems incredibly difficult,’

Payal said.

‘You know the hardest part?’

Jamal said.

‘It’s not juggling the balls. It’s juggling all the family pressure.’

‘What do you mean?’ I said.

‘We can all agree that juggling is not in the list of the top-ten lucrative careers in the world,’

Jamal said.

Payal and I smiled.

‘What do you guys do?’

Jamal said.

‘Private equity,’

Payal said.

‘I have my own cybersecurity company,’ I said.

‘See, now these are jobs my parents would be proud of,’

he said.

‘Desi parents don’t like jugglers. Not as their kids.’

‘You’re from India?’

‘No, Pakistan. Lahore. But janaab, it’s the same thing there. Desi parents want to control their kids until their kids are sixty. Maybe seventy, actually. After that, it’s difficult, because then the parents are usually dead,’

Jamal said.

Payal and I laughed.

‘So that was the hardest part. Being nearly disowned by my parents. Having to survive on my own. Doing little gigs at kids’

birthday parties and beach clubs, just to be able to eat. Fortunately, I managed to come here to Dubai. I can make a living now. I even have social media, with more than twenty thousand followers. I post reels of my acts. Helps me get more business. May I give you my Insta?’

We took out our phones as Jamal pointed us to his Insta account.

‘That’s impressive. How are things with your parents now?’

Payal said.

‘Not great,’

Jamal said.

‘They’re both lawyers. As were their parents and grandparents. My family runs one of Lahore’s most prominent law firms. I’m the first black sheep in generations.’

‘Don’t say that,’

Payal said.

‘My parents don’t understand. I love my job. It makes me happy. That’s all that matters. Hopefully, they’ll understand that someday. If they don’t, oh well. That’s just too bad,’

Jamal said and shrugged.

‘Your job doesn’t just make you happy. It makes people happy—kids, grown-ups, everyone. It’s beautiful,’

Payal said, her voice emotional.

‘Thank you,’

Jamal said and bowed to her.

‘Anyway, I better leave. I’m impinging on your couple time. Oh wait, you’re not a couple, right?’

‘No, we’re not,’

Payal said and smiled.

Jamal waved us goodbye and vanished on his unicycle.

After he left, Payal sat quietly and stared at the horizon for a long while. As the first streaks of daylight spread across the sky, her face glistened in the blush of dawn. I saw a tear escape her eye.

‘Payal? Are you okay?’ I said.

Payal nodded, keeping her eyes fixed on the water. It looked like the sea was on fire, with the light from the rising sun falling over it. Payal’s body began to tremble.

‘You sure?’

I said again.

She nodded vigorously, but her face told a different story. Within seconds, she broke down completely. She sobbed uncontrollably.

‘What happened, Payal?’

I said, gently placing my hand on hers.

‘I couldn’t juggle,’

she said in between her tears.

‘I failed to juggle.’

‘What?’

I looked at her, confused.

But Payal didn’t respond. Instead, she continued to cry her heart out for the next five minutes. It was as if a dam buried deep inside her had burst open, and the tears wouldn’t stop.

‘What is the matter, Payal?’

She struggled to compose herself. I gave her some tissue that had come with the food package to wipe her tears. Eventually, she stopped crying.

‘Look at Jamal,’

she said, her voice catching.

‘He fought with everyone close to him. Why? For the sake of what he loves. And what did he say finally? “I love my job. It makes me happy. That’s all that matters. Hopefully, though, my parents understand that someday. And if they don’t, that’s just too bad.”’

‘I know, that was quite something.’

‘He’s doing gigs at birthday parties. Making a living somehow. But he’s still doing what he loves, and he does it so well too. His family should support him. But forget that, they disowned him. Still, he smiles and does it. It’s so …’

Payal paused, searching for the right word.

‘So brave …’

‘It is,’

I said.

‘But I can’t believe he’s had such an impact on you.’

‘Because he held up the mirror, Saket.’

‘Mirror?’

‘Yes, he showed me that even in the most difficult of circumstances, it’s possible to stand up for yourself. You go toss balls at kids’

birthdays, but you don’t compromise on what’s important to you. Now compare that to what I did. I had a high-paying job, but I still couldn’t stand up for myself.’

‘It’s not easy to go against one’s family,’ I said.

‘But it’s not impossible either,’

Payal said.

‘And I failed to do it. I married the wrong guy, even when I knew he wasn’t right for me. I made myself suffer. I made you suffer ….’

She teared up again.

I put my arm around her shoulder. Holding her delicate body like that felt familiar, even after so many years.

‘I doubted myself,’

Payal continued.

‘I believed some of their nonsense.’

‘What nonsense?’

‘All that stuff about you and me. That it wasn’t love. It was just lust. The age difference. Sex addiction and blah blah …’

Payal burst into tears again.

‘Don’t cry, please. It wasn’t your fault.’

‘How was it not?’

she said.

‘I didn’t fight enough. I didn’t believe in myself enough.’

‘You were too young, Payal. What do we know at twenty-two?’

Payal looked at me tearfully.

‘It’s okay,’

I said.

‘Really. You were a twenty-two-year-old girl! It’s hard to go against everyone at that age. It’s difficult to not get influenced. I get it.’

She turned to look at me. She hugged me, nestling her head against my shoulders. Exactly how she used to twelve years ago.

‘Still, I’m sorry, Saket,’

she whispered.

I realized that we’d been holding each other for a few seconds longer than necessary.

‘Be careful,’

Mudit’s words rang in my head.

‘It’s fine,’

I said, withdrawing myself.

I checked the time. It was 6.30 a.m.

‘Should we head back?’ I said.

It took six weeks for the due-diligence team to give their final sign-off. They had checked every file, document, receipt, invoice and data inside SecurityNet.

‘Here, three and a half billion dollars, ready to go,’

Neeraj said as he slid the final binding offer document towards me.

I flipped through the fifty-page document, pausing briefly at the page detailing my payout. At this point, I owned twenty per cent of SecurityNet, implying my stake was valued at seven hundred million dollars, or nearly six thousand crore rupees.

Mudit gave me a brief nod.