Page 25 of 12 Years: My Messed-up Love Story

‘I went there. They made me lie down on this narrow bed, and then they poured oil all over me. Like, they soak you in a drum of oil. And I’m like, what’s this? Are they going to deep-fry me? Give me a tadka?’

A few people laughed. Sitting in the first row, Mudit smiled when I looked at him.

I continued.

‘It’s nice to be rich though. My partner, Mudit, and I can finally travel business class. Even though we don’t really have a business anymore,’

I said, pointing at Mudit. He waved sheepishly as people laughed.

‘No, seriously. I remember the early days of the company. If Mudit and I had to fly somewhere for work, we would opt for the lowest, cheapest seats available. Like, we wanted a class lower than economy. There should be one for people like us, isn’t it? Those who want to save, no matter the flying conditions. Maybe call it survival class? Okay wait, that exists. It’s called Indigo, isn’t it?’

People clapped and laughed in the audience. Lot of Indigo pain points, I guess.

‘Okay, guys, that was just a joke, no offence to Indigo. Anyway, when SecurityNet started to do better, Mudit and I said, “We’re senior management. We should fly better.” But we couldn’t afford business class, not just yet. So, we flew this new class—premium economy. Wait, what? What does premium economy mean? Is it premium? Or is it economy? Make up your mind, guys. Who the hell got paid to come up with this name? Premium or economy? How can you be both?’

The crowd laughed. Mudit gave me a thumbs-up.

‘Anyway, our company is called SecurityNet. Well, it’s no longer our company, technically. You guys bought it, it’s your problem now,’ I said.

Neeraj laughed, though I could see a hint of worry on his face.

‘Anyway, we do cybersecurity. Nobody understands what that is, right? We’re like the guys who make the annoying pick-all-the-traffic-lights-in-the-picture tests. Sometimes, we ask that question even when there are no traffic lights in the picture. Yeah, we like to mess with people like that.’

The CloudX and SecurityNet teams laughed the most at this joke.

‘Honestly, though, I’ve never understood those CAPTCHA things. You go to buy a train ticket. And the website goes, “Prove you’re not a robot.” Dude, what is that supposed to mean? Why would a robot want to buy a train ticket in the first place? It can just go for free, as baggage, right?’

Everyone in the audience laughed, except for one elderly couple: Mr and Mrs Grumpy Jain, who remained as glum as ever.

‘Business class and all is fine, but speaking of train tickets, I miss Indian trains. As a child, I used to travel on trains with my family. India’s train culture is unique. There are some products that only exist for trains. Like chains, to tie up your luggage to the berth. Yes, my mother used to love chaining up her suitcases. Someone might steal her nighties, you see.’

People laughed uncontrollably at this joke. I could see Payal laughing as well.

‘But I remember this one time, when she’d chained and locked everything, all the suitcases, and then she lost the keys, and when Chandigarh station came …’

I paused strategically. The audience, imagining the rest, spilled into laughter.

‘Yes, we had seven minutes to break two locks and get out at Chandigarh,’

I said.

‘Anyway, I could go on with this comedy act,’

I said.

‘but who needs comedy, when your own life has been the biggest joke.’

A few in the audience laughed, expecting another routine.

‘I just want to share something with you guys, something I’ve never shared in public …’

I said, my tone serious.

The audience sat up straighter and looked at each other, wondering what was going on.

‘This venue,’

I said.

‘has a lot of meaning for me. Twelve years ago, I left my job in the US and came here to Mumbai. My marriage had also ended. I decided to have a fresh start. Mudit, my best friend, gave me a chance to do stand-up comedy here. Right on this stage. And here I am today, twelve long years later, celebrating something else. With him.’

The audience clapped.

‘There’s been a lot of career growth in the last twelve years. And thanks to you guys, now I have a ton of money I don’t even know what to do with. But I think the biggest growth for me isn’t all that. It’s the fact that I finally have the courage to be myself at forty-five, something I didn’t have at thirty-three. Which is why I can stand here and say what I want to today.’

The entire audience listened with full attention.

‘You see, twelve years ago, when I did my first-ever act here—which was terrible, by the way—I met someone. Right here, in the audience. She was twenty-one, I was thirty-three …’

I looked at Payal. Even in the dim lighting, I could see that her face had turned white. She looked terrified of what I was going to say next.

‘Yes, I know some of you will judge me. Cradle snatcher, too much age difference, whatever. At some level, even I did. I had just come off a divorce. People around me advised me this was not going to work long-term. That I was just living out some younger-girl fantasy. That this was just a rebound. It was lust, not love.’

I saw Payal’s parents shift in their seats. They wanted to leave. Payal gestured to them to stay seated.

‘Our communities didn’t match either. And I met her parents in the most awkward way possible. Yeah, I was naked. I had to use a teddy bear to cover my most important bits.’

The audience gasped. Some laughed.

‘I told you, my life itself is a comedy. Then again, in retrospect, everything is, isn’t it?’ I said.

Payal’s father stood up.

‘Sit down, Uncle, I’ll only be two more minutes. I promise,’ I said.

The audience laughed, unaware of who the man was. Payal’s father hesitated, but then he sat down.

‘Anyway, things didn’t work out between her and me,’

I said.

‘I tried to fight for it. But it still didn’t work out. She married someone else.’

The audience sighed collectively.

‘And I thought, okay, it’s just a break-up. I’ll get over it. That’s what they say on Instagram, isn’t it? All those reels that say yes, you will heal. You’ll move on. You need to focus on yourself. Get busy. I did all that. I moved. Countries, not cities. I got busy. And that’s how SecurityNet was born.’

A few in the audience nodded.

‘But no matter how busy I kept myself, I couldn’t forget her. It was like she’d made some permanent grooves in my head. Whatever I did, wherever I went, forget a day, not even a few hours passed without me thinking of her.’

Pindrop silence in the audience.

‘In all this, I thought, at least she’s happy. As it turned out, she wasn’t. It didn’t work out for her either. Which is when I finally realized that maybe we were meant to be. Twelve years’

age difference or whatever. Sometimes, people are just meant to be.’

The audience remained quiet. Payal looked emotional.

‘One question has always puzzled me. When do you know it’s love? How do you know it’s not just an intense attraction, an infatuation? How does one figure out that this person is “The One”?

The problem is, there is no easy way, no test to take to find out. You can’t summarize it in an Instagram reel. Sometimes, only time will tell you.

When you cannot live without them. Or even if you do, it’s not the same life. When nobody else comes even close to making you feel the way you do when you’re around them. For a year, then another year and, in my case, twelve years …’

A few audience members nodded.

‘But I’ll tell you how I finally figured this out.

Three days ago, you guys sent me the biggest bank transfer I’d ever seen in my life.

That single amount had more zeros than a phone number.

Yes, the moment that money-has-been-credited message popped up on my phone was quite something.

It made me feel happy, sure.

For about half an hour.

After that, it was just back to normal life. Then at night, I thought about the other moments of my life that have made me happy. When was I the happiest? Most of those moments didn’t involve major sums of money.

‘Those moments were about taking a walk at night in Bandstand, sitting on the window ledge of my tiny Bandra apartment.

It was having tea and Maggi at four in the morning on the beach.

It was clearing up the dining table after dinner, visiting the temple.

All normal, regular things, right? But they were the most special moments of my life.

Because they all had one thing in common—she was with me, in every single one of them.

‘And that’s when I realized that she is The One.

She’s the one without whom I’m incomplete.

The person without whom there is a life, but it’s a life without joy.

She’s the one who can make even grocery shopping fun.

I’d rather have cheap Maggi on the beach with her than dine without her in a fancy Michelin-star restaurant.

Her mere presence gives me joy like no amount of money could.

Yes, she’s the one. Because, ultimately, her happiness automatically creates my happiness.’

I stopped for a second because I was choking up.

‘I should’ve fought for her more,’

I continued.

‘I should’ve believed in myself and trusted my feelings. I shouldn’t have given up. I gave up because I felt that maybe all the others around us were right. I gave up because I was afraid. Of marriage, commitment, society, everything.’

I cleared my throat. The audience waited before I spoke again.

‘But I’ll tell you the real comedy. It just so happened that life reconnected us. She came back into my life. After twelve years. She wasn’t married anymore. Neither am I. Talk about God giving you a second chance. But you know what I did? I blew it this time too. I said mean things. I didn’t understand her feelings. I was stupid. I didn’t know what I wanted. I messed it up, again! I don’t know why, when it comes to me and my love story, it always gets messed up.’

The crowd was hanging on to my every word. I paused and smirked before I spoke again.

‘So, yes, that’s it, guys. The biggest joke in my stand-up act is me.’

The audience sat in their seats in silence, stunned and confused by what I had said.

Payal stood up. Our eyes met.

It took a few seconds for the audience to make the connection. They figured out Payal was the girl I was talking about. Everyone shifted in their seats, turning at various angles to get a good look at her. Payal’s father tugged at her elbow to make her sit back down. She shrugged his hand off.

The audience’s eyes remained glued to Payal, wondering what she would do next.

She walked sideways, even as people in her row folded their legs in to enable her to come out to the aisle. She walked up to the stage.

We stood facing each other. The crowd made no sound.

Payal held the microphone in front of me and fumbled to find the switch. She turned it off. Only she and I could hear each other now. The audience could only see us.

She shook her head and smiled. We talked to each other in whispers.

‘What?’

‘Saket, if this is somehow a part of your act, and if all this ends in a prank or a joke, I’ll kill you,’ she said.

‘No, obviously not,’

I said and smiled, even as I teared up.

‘I did all this preparation for weeks.’

‘Okay, fine then,’ she said.

‘I’m sorry. I messed it up again.’

‘No, you didn’t mess it up,’

Payal said, her eyes filling with tears.

‘Be mine, forever? Will you?’

‘I always was,’

she said, not missing a beat.

We looked at the audience. They watched us in silence, with full concentration, as if watching a suspense movie, on mute.

‘What do we do next?’ she said.

‘I don’t know. Maybe we should kiss?’

‘In front of everyone? My parents are here. My colleagues are here.’

‘That’s true.’

‘I don’t really care though,’

Payal said.

‘Okay, then,’

I said, and took a step closer to her.

She stepped forward as well.

‘But wait, the media is also here,’

I said.

‘This will be in the papers tomorrow.’

‘That’s also true.’

‘You know what? I don’t really care either,’ I said.

‘The audience is waiting, Saket,’

Payal said.

‘Either we leave the stage or—’

Before she could finish, I bent forward and planted a big kiss on her.

Whistles.

Hoots.

Cheers.

The crowd went into a frenzy as we continued to kiss.

Everyone apart from two people, of course—Mr and Mrs Grumpy Jain.

The two Jains were upset and wanted to leave.

However, the crowd got to its feet and started to clap, making it difficult for them to exit.

I switched on the mic and spoke to the audience.

‘Sorry to have cut the sound, guys, but as you must’ve already figured, she said yes.’

Another round of laughter, applause, cheers and whistles followed.

Payal hugged me. She whispered.

‘You didn’t have to be this dramatic.’

‘We’ve had a messed-up love story. Let us at least have a spectacular ending,’

I whispered back.