Page 36 of Eva Reddy’s Trip of a Lifetime

The Morning After (Nothing) the Night Before

I wake up the next morning, by myself, in a too-narrow bed in a single occupancy room. I’m not sure if I am relieved or disappointed. But at least I am well rested, which mightn’t have been the case if things had worked out differently.

I drag myself out of bed and make my way to the bathroom, promising myself that I will not linger in the shower.

Fantasy came way too close to colliding with reality last night and I don’t need to give my imagination any more ammunition.

My resolve only strengthens when the shower produces a lukewarm trickle.

I am clean, dressed and eating breakfast within half an hour.

On the waiter’s advice, I team my usual pile of paratha with a chutney dish and a vegetable curry.

The meal is excellent. Now that I have cut red meat and alcohol out of my diet, my skin and eyes look brighter.

Physically, I am feeling the best I have in years.

Unfortunately, my state of mind is another story altogether. Emotionally, I am a wreck.

I’ve stopped obsessing about what could have happened last night but now I am consumed with what actually did happen.

Does Utkarsh have feelings for me? Watching the dance of the cranes, I felt our relationship shift.

But what if the attraction is one-sided?

What if it isn’t? Maybe I imagined the whole thing.

Certainly, our current arrangement would be untenable if there is any sexual tension between us.

A romantic entanglement would upend everything. I have to pull myself together.

I am still talking myself down off the emotional ledge when Utkarsh appears.

He is freshly shaved and looking more handsome than ever.

I hope the colour rushing to my cheeks doesn’t give me away.

Just in case, I dab at my forehead with a napkin, suggesting that any redness is entirely temperature related.

Utkarsh gives my meal an approving nod and calls over to the waiter, ‘I’ll have the same.’

He pulls up a chair and sits down opposite me, his manner no different to any other morning. I let myself relax. I can deal with my little crush. It is only ever going to be a problem if the attraction is mutual.

‘How did you sleep?’ he asks, reaching for a paratha.

I try to match his light tone. ‘It wasn’t the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in, but I must have been tired, because I passed out the moment my head hit the pillow.

’ That is a lie—there had been a fair amount of tossing and turning and some guilty but enthusiastic what-iffing before I finally dozed off.

But when I did fall asleep, it was with the heft of a hibernating bear.

‘Excellent. I am beginning to understand that your mother is a very difficult woman. But I also think she has your best interests at heart … some of the time. She knew you needed to rest.’

At the exact moment Utkarsh mentions my mother, our phones go off. It is as if just saying her name out loud conjures her into being. Like Bloody Mary.

We huddle around my phone. My mother appears on the screen wearing a magnificent turquoise sari.

She’s dressed my father up as an Indian prince, complete with an elaborately brocaded jacket and jewelled turban.

He is seated with two hand drums in front of him.

And—oh, God, please, no! As I peer at my screen, it is unmistakable—his face has been slathered in the darkest possible foundation.

This is unconscionable even by my mother’s despicably low standards.

Cultural misappropriation. Black face. Racial insensitivity.

I would report her to TikTok except I don’t dare shut off my one conduit of information about her whereabouts.

Utkarsh, whose culture is being so horribly insulted, seems untroubled. His attention is wholly focused on the screen. He moves a little closer as the picture switches to an imposing and elaborately carved temple. Then my mother starts to speak.

‘The Taj Mahal, dancing cranes … Enough of all this lovey-dovey stuff.’ She does a little shimmy. ‘It’s time to get down and dirty!’

My father gives the larger drum a punctuating slap.

‘Doug and I are great believers in the pleasures of the flesh.’ She gives my father a playful pinch on his cotton-clad bottom before launching into a routine of slightly raunchy Bollywood dance moves. ‘And our latest destination is a celebration of physical love.’

My vegetable curry heads up toward my throat. I put my hand over my mouth, just in case.

‘So where am I?’ She winks at the camera. ‘Well, I can’t give away that kind of content for free. You’ll need to sign up as a premium subscriber. Let me just say, I expect we will all learn a lot.’ Another wink and the video ends.

‘Please don’t tell me I have to subscribe,’ I plead to Utkarsh. ‘That last video was bad enough. I don’t want to compound my misery by paying for a lesson in sex ed from my parents.’

‘It’s okay, Eva. I know exactly where they are.’ Utkarsh’s mouth twitches. He might be reining in a grin. I hope not. ‘You’ve heard of the Kama Sutra ?’

‘Of course.’ Once again, I can feel my cheeks burning.

‘The Kama Sutra is an ancient Hindu text but the drawings only truly come alive in our temples. And there are no temples more famous for their erotic art than the temples of Khajuraho. I recognised the buildings in your parents’ video straight away.’

‘But it was only a few seconds … how did you …’

‘Let’s just say I did some intense and very private research of those sculptures in my youth. I’ve never been there but I’ve always wanted to see the temples up close.’ He pulls out his phone and starts googling. He is as enthusiastic about this latest turn of events as I am horrified.

‘Khajuraho is about ten hours away by train. A little less by road, but I made inquiries last night in case we needed a driver. Everyone is fully booked—it’s Holi festival in a few days’ time and where we are in Northern India is a hub for the celebrations.

People come together from all over the country.

We could think about renting a car, but we’d come up against the same problem. What do you want to do?’

‘Let’s take the train,’ I reply, grateful for an excuse not to spend another day on the road. Between the hire car and the rickshaw yesterday, I have quite the collection of bruises.

‘There’s a train leaving this evening.’ Utkarsh is scrolling furiously. ‘And there are seats available. It will be a sleeper train but the beds are usually quite comfortable. I do think this is our best option.’

An overnight train trip with a man I am hopelessly attracted to, on our way to one of the most erotic places on earth, where I fully expected to find my parents enrolled in a tantric sex course. I try to imagine a worse scenario, but nothing comes to mind. My life has finally hit rock bottom.

Spoiler alert: Not even close.

From: Jonathan Moore

To: Me

Eva,

I have arrived in Delhi. I would have contacted you earlier, but I really did fly economy and I collapsed the moment I checked into my hotel.

But now I am awake, it’s critical that I meet up with you.

There must be a way to save our marriage.

We’ve been together too long to throw it all away.

I know this is entirely my fault, no matter what Emily says.

And I really will do anything to make things right.

Where are you? This place is a horror show. I hope your taxi driver took you straight to your hotel. I was driven everywhere except where I actually wanted to go. I can’t imagine how you are negotiating this madness on your own.

I’ll meet you anywhere, just email me a place and a time.

I’m guessing by now you are with your parents.

Or about to be. I really don’t want to deal with your mother but I am so desperate to see you, I’m prepared to contact her.

Please don’t put me through that. But if I can fly economy, I can survive anything. Even your mother.

I love you.

Jonathan xxx