Chapter 20
4:15 AM
He sat there, staring into his dark Mocha, lost in the past. Funny how they came back to haunt you, even when you rather they didn’t. Funny how it had all started all those years ago, right here in Cafe Moshe’s in Colaba. The reason why he stayed away from Mumbai unless he really had to come. This time, he had to. Khushi had needed him. She had called him early in the morning, and the sound of her voice had told him, things had gone incredibly wrong. Or incredibly right. Despite his happy-go-lucky demeanor , NK Singhaniya wasn’t what you’d call an optimist. He’d like to term it as being a reluctant realist who was steadily leaning towards the left-hand path. So maybe... he resumed his previous vein of thinking - all wasn’t right. NK had to stay, although he had been meaning to leave Mumbai this morning. He had some hand in whatever that had happened to his very naive friend. He had to be there to help her deal with the repercussions - whatever it maybe. He would. NK always paid his debts. Something told him, this wouldn’t be as simple as picking up a couple of tabs. NK always paid attention to his gut feelings - that’s what had made him a good businessman, although, he thought laughing quietly, it was something Raizada would never see over his intensity. Good. NK liked people to think of him as the loveable idiot. It made things easier for him. He picked up the dual chocolate biscotti and bit into the dark chocolate side, she had loved it too. For some reason, NK still loved torturing himself by remembering everything she had liked and loved. Doing things accordingly. Was that romantic? He didn’t know. To be honest, at the ripe age of 29 he didn’t care much either - he just did them because it kept her closer to him. Rituals. To keep her close. Rituals for the he one who got away, some 4 years ago. he never really had a chance, did he? No. He admitted to himself - He hadn’t. Fate had decreed it so. NK smiled. How did one fight fate?
How did they all forget? These people around him? He looked around. They all must have suffered heartbreaks at one point or the other. They had all gotten over it, laughing and eating kebabs, head close to their partners, enjoying the chill of the rain soaked afternoon. Why hadn’t he? Did that mean there was something fundamentally wrong with him? Or was everyone as good as he was at hiding his feelings? The utter desolation. The fear. The confused hurt. If so, then it was a scary thing. So many masks. Who was he? What was wrong with him then? The quintessential one-woman man, he thought with a wry smile that just twitched the scar tissue on his heart. Careful. He had to be careful. Maybe that’s why he tried to keep things light all the time. All his affairs, no, he thought, flings, they all had boiled down to the same thing - sating his body. Maybe hers, who ever she was. What about that aching core in his heart? What would sate it? Would it ever stop aching anymore? He didn’t think so. Last night, he breathed in deeply, at one point, while they had been dancing, somehow it had hit that she wasn’t there. That she would never be there. Ever again. He had tried to stave those dark thoughts off until they were alone, had to be merry, drinking, dancing. Partying. Way too hard. He had been on the sharp edge of the brink last night and it had scared him stiff. Had Khushi noticed? He hoped not. She had enough problems of her own right now. No need to bruise that tender heart with his problems now. Hers was bruised enough as it was. Not when they had no solution, not really. Khushi was a natural fixer, a handler. She would want to fix everything. Except there was no solution for this... was there? No. Why talk about it then? He would much rather quietly go crazy thinking about her. There was no point of discussing it. Not anymore. Fate hadn’t given him that option.
He closed his eyes, tightening it. As if attempting to hold it all inside. Khushi, he thought abruptly, they were both on the same boat - in more ways than one. More than she would ever know. If he couldn’t help himself and her... Least he could do was help Khushi... maybe that would be his way of atoning for many a sin. Still, he sighed, staring sightlessly out into the rain drenched, grey streets of Colaba; Mumbai really didn’t like him very much. The harried store manager, he noted abstractly, was walking around to accommodate all the couples trying to squeeze into the tiny cottage-like cafe, some climbing upstairs while others remaining downstairs where NK sat, looking out the window, observing the torrential rains, right back there in the little Mediterranean cafe that held so many memories. He took a bite of the forgotten Philadelphia Cheescake that had been sitting in front of him. She liked it here. It was almost as if she had sat opposite to him. Just gotten off from her seat to visit the powder-room. Or maybe... he thought looking over to see a couple of acquaintances. Maybe she had gone over to say hi to them or someone else they knew. Wouldn't be away for long. It was so easy to think that way. Her. With him. Over cups and cups of Mocha and Philadelphia cheesecake that she had deigned to share with him, to his delight. She hardly ever shared. He could almost imagine it. A harmless fantasy. Fantasies. For there were countless such moments in everyday of his life. Everytime he was alone. Harmless really. To everyone but him. To him these moments were real. What would Daddy Singhaniya say if he heard it? An apoplectic fit? A near heart attack? Send his only living son to some psychiatric facility, claiming that he had gone off for a vacation to some far off, exotic country? Wouldn’t be back until the next summer? Ignore it and hope it would go away? Or, his favourite - attempt to marry his youngest and only living son off to some beautiful heiress, or just beautiful woman (his father wasn’t a classist, he snorted laughing, remembering his beautiful, addled mother) and hope that it would serve as the just medicine to right what was wrong in his head? What would happen if NK gave in? Would his wife understand? He didn’t think so. Nobody. Not his father or anyone else for the matter would really realize that NK needed these moments. A coping mechanism. For the moment he realized that she was gone, that she was really gone, he would fall to pieces, much to his father’s horror. After all, what would people say? NK laughed throatily. He was being unkind. His poor father.... Nobody loved him better. Somebody clicked on an old old song and immediately he was transported back in time.
If you see her, say hello, she might be in Tangier
She left here last early spring, is livin' there I hear
Say for me that I'm all right though new things come and go
She might think that I've forgotten her but don't tell her it isn't so
We had a falling-out, like lovers often will
But to think of how she left that night, still gives me a chill
He had been sitting at the roadside view table in the Cafe, trying not to groan as he massaged his forehead with his cup of steaming, brewed, spiced egyptian coffee. Really, would it have been so difficult for the Clients to come and meet them in the Delhi Head offices? Dad always did this to him! It never could be his older brother, who had to attend these kind of god awfully, skull crackingly boring meetings! No! It had to be NK. He had sighed and looked up at the entrance just in time to catch the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, walk in. She wore a baby pink sleeveless kurti, delicate silver mirror work done on its front, in beautiful patterns of Peacock tails, coming down to her mid-thigh, A plain white Patiyala Shalwar matched with it- almost hiding her feet inside it. The simple plain white georgette dupatta draped over her chest and shoulders, somehow added to her charm. She held a small white clutch purse in her hands- adorned with silver beads, which seemed to jingle as she moved, the fine silver line bordering the clutch matching the one bordering her dupatta. Thin silver bangles twinkled at her wrists, a small black thread peeping out from behind the bangles every so often. A heavy braid of dark long hair hung off of her shoulder, the dark Black contrasting becomingly with her golden complexion. A long swan like neck, unadorned- but beautifully so, a small rounded chin, delicate, petal-like lips, gorgeously dimpled cheeks, a small pointed and somewhat cutely upturned nose, and then he had stopped. Because then, he had seen her eyes. Big, kohl darkened, long lashed- beautifully engaging, inky black eyes. Her lashes had fluttered, as she lightly bit down on her bottom lip turning around and twisting her hands and looking back at the entrance as if she was searching for something, while NK just stared at her. Transfixed.
She had sat down at the table opposite his, huffing in mild irritation as she looked out the window at the streets. And he had felt a gentle tug somewhere inside his chest. Why was she irritated? It had felt like he could do anything to wipe that frown off her face- aching to see a smile there. She had kept her clutch purse on the table and sighed wistfully looking down at it, her hand coming to cup her cheek as she rested her elbow on the table, still gazing outside- as if she was waiting for someone.
The waitress had approached her then, blocking his view of her- and he had tried to surreptitiously lean sideways in his seat- so he could watch her smile up at the woman- a small smile lighting his face when she shook her head at the waitress, a fringe of dark hair settling on her forehead before she flicked it away with her fingers. And then he had heard her say. “Could I use the telephone here? I left mine at home.”
She had frowned when the waitress had told her that the phone at the Cafe was temporarily out of service- but that she could use the payphone just down the street. She had nodded,a slightly worried expression on her face and ordered a cup of tea.
He had smiled, a boyish grin lighting his face up, there was his chance to hear the Angel talk again! He had gotten up from his seat and sauntered over to her- smiling at her in a friendly manner all the time. “You could use my Phone, you know? The payphone over there is not really good. Especially if you’re calling someone important.” He had jerked his head towards the door, as he took his phone out of his pocket and offered it to her.
She had looked up at him startled, before looking down again. He had watched in amusement and slight awe as she looked up at him again peeking through her lashes, making him feel a bit hot around his ears- though he had no idea why. She had seemed to mull it over- looking at his phone and then back at him, several times before she had smiled at him tentatively- the dimples making his heart turn over, as she extended her hand to take his phone. He had given her the phone and settled down opposite her- watching her as she dialled a number and waited for the person to pick up. He had watched as a myriad of different emotions crossed her face as she talked to the person. Disappointment the most obvious of all.
“But you said....”
“I left it at home...”
“No, its... a... friend’s number...”
He had grinned. Friend, was he?
She had listened then, a small frown settling on her forehead again. She had nodded then, and cut the call. Handing the phone back to him, she had clutched the Purse and started to get up, her eyes still downcast and her face still morose. She had just turned around, without even giving him a second glance, when he called her.
“Hey Friend!”
She turned back, her eyebrows going up as he smiled at her. “I’m NK by the way. NK Singhania. Didn’t catch your name though!”
And then she had smiled- a bright, amused, smile that had made his smile widen involuntarily. “Maybe Later... Friend.” she had winked at him- a slight pink tinge coloring her cheeks, her dimples showing through- looking even more becoming. And then she had walked away.
NK had known then, that she had taken his heart away with her too.
And though our separation, well it chilled me to the heart
She still lives on inside of me, we've never been apart
If you're making love to her, kiss her once for me
Who always has respected her for doing what she did
For I know it had to be that way, it was written in the cards
But the bitter taste still lingers on, it all came down so hard
He had been frequently visiting Mumbai, nowadays. Hoping for a glimpse of the Angel from the Cafe. Friend, she had called him. Would she have forgotten about him? Or did she remember him- in vivid details- like he did her? Would she recognize him, if they were to meet right that moment? Would she smile that amazingly sweet dimpled smile at him? He had been wandering through the Hall, smiling politely at his colleagues- not really interested in making small talk- as he sipped sweet, fruity Riesling from the delicate goblet held in his hand- his other hand buried inside his pocket- staring out at the Roof-top view of Mumbai that the venue for the Formal party offered him- wondering when and how he would meet her- wondering what she was doing at that moment. He had just turned away from the view, thinking of making the round again- working the Hall, they called it- he was quite good at it- smiling at the old men, charming them with his Harvard earned knowledge, cracking sarcastic jokes and making sure that they thought about investing in the Singhania Group Shares, subtly of course, when he heard that tinkling voice.
“Namaste, I’m Payal. Payal Rathore.” He had turned around in a circle- frantically trying to place her voice. Because he was sure it was her. His Friend. And then he had seen her smiling demurely, dressed in a Bottle Green saree with simple butta work done in a darker shade of the same green done on it, a full-sleeved blouse- the sleeves made in chiffon- in a lighter shade of bottle green with a thin gold border at the pleated cuffs. Tinkling green bangles adorned her white wrists- reshmi choodi- he mused, the texture of those bangles actually resembling silk. Silk on satin, perhaps? He thought as his eyes traced her. Her eyes were lined with a hints of green, the color seeming oddly beautiful on her- her long lashes seeming even longer as she lowered her eyes and looked up again. Her long hair- slightly curled -was draped over one shoulder, a Rajasthani style necklace- a simple jhumar in green and gold hanging from a thin beaten rose gold chain around her neck, the elegantly filigreed pendant with stones in pave setting nestled at the base of her throat. Matching jhumkas adorning her ears- twinkling in the lights, as she moved her head, smiling away all the time. He sighed. His heart seemingly slowing down for what felt like the first time in a long, long while. He had not realized how restless he had become- but now that he had her in front of him... He should talk to her shouldn’t he? He had hitched a big smile onto his face- and had just taken a step towards her when he heard her talking again.
“Akash. Akash Singh. I’m his fiancee.”
And he had stopped. Dead. What was that shattering noise? Was it... could it be, his heart? Why did his chest feel so hollow? His eyes had gone blank as he had looked down at his hand- bemused at finding the glass from he had been sipping his drink, broken- a few glass shards stuck in his feet- as blood trickled out of his fingers. He watched as the blood trickled away- just like his happiness at seeing her again was doing.
His hopes had been crushed even before they had had time to start taking root. Crushed.
Well, I meet a lot of people as I make the rounds
And I hear her name here and there as I go from town to town
And I've never gotten used to it, I've just learned to turn it off
Well, either I'm too sensitive or else I'm just gettin' soft
If you see her
Sundown, yellow moon, I replay the past
I know every scene by heart 'cause they all went by so fast
“NK? NK Singhania?” He looked up again. What now? He wanted to snap. He had been through five back to back meetings- all of them mind numbingly complicated- and had barely survived. Couldn’t he just have a few hours to himself? Drink his sorrows away? Drown however many of them that he could in the cup of strong bitter coffee before he had to pull his socks up again and dive straight into yet another round of files and facts and figures. But his tongue stopped short of the words. Because there she stood- His Angel. No, he corrected himself. Someone else’s Angel.
He sighed and pressed the hot cup to his forehead again- not looking at her. “Payal. Payal Rathore.” he said. He looked up, amazed this time when she plopped into the seat opposite him and propped her face on her hands, smiling at him openly- hating himself a little for almost reeling when she flashed those dimples at him.
“Well someone seems grumpy!” she laughed at him and he groaned.
“You would too, if you were stuck in boring meetings all day long.” he said, still avoiding looking at her while massaging his pounding head with the cup.
“Ah, Work!” she said, and he looked up- not caring.... needing to look at her once. So what if she could never be... He shook his head. No, he was not going there.
“Yes, Work.” he said, a small smile playing at his lips. “Wish I could just sketch and make a life out of my paintings.” he sighed. And she laughed. “You can, you know. But only if you’re good enough.”
“Do you think I am good enough, Payal?” He had asked her- his voice serious. And he had seen her smile falter a little before it came back full force. “Its you who need to see them as good enough, NK. Not me. Not anybody else.”
He had watched awed, as she smiled at him- the smile, more than a little sad, as she got up and turned away. But then turned back.
He had watched awed, as she smiled at him- the smile, more than a little sad, as she got up and turned away. But then turned back.
“Enjoy your coffee grumpy. I’ll see you around!”
And she had walked away. Turning around at the door she smiled at him again- and he suddenly felt light. They could be friends, right?
If she's passin' back this way, I'm not that hard to find
Tell her, she can look me up if she's got the time
Tell her, she can look me up if she's got the time
She stood in her wedding jora - Cream silk beaded with crystals and gold beading, all over. The scoop neck of her decolletage was edged with fiery red, crimson at its deepest - like fresh blood out of his still beating heart, spread all over her bodice. The kamar patti was made up of thin chains, each layer dangling a specific gem - rubies, diamonds and golden pearls again. The hems were same, as if she had gotten them there stepping on the said heart while walking away. Worked over with bronze thread and crystal and swarovski beads. She stood, averting his eyes, a turquoise dupatta on her head worked with the same bronze thread and crystals have shielding the perfect little chignon on her head, the updo drawing attention to the elegant shape of her head. There were little white forget-me-nots tucked into them. As was her norm, she had worn beautiful but minimal jewellery. A mangtikka of rubies and diamonds in claw setting. A nose ring with a little ruby flower, dangling over her lips. A heavy Lariat necklace made up of antique gold, golden pearls, and rubies hung in layers and matching jhumkas in her ears, shaped to resemble flowers. Almost like the little forget-me-nots, with ruby centers. She looked ravishing. She should have looked like a goddess. He could easily say that. Cherry lips, artfully tilted cat eyes, pink cheeks. Except, her eyes seemed hollowed too.
“Don’t, Payal. Please.” He had breathed. Tears brimming and spilling over. Knowing in his heart that what was happening was wrong.
“I’m.... I’m sorry, NK. I have to.” she had said. And turned away. Like she had always done to him. Turning away from him. For the whole of the ten months of their friendship. The best and the worst ten months of his life.
“Payal.” he had called, his arm half raised- his fingers curling into thin air- stopping short of touching her. And she had turned back, her eyes moist- but determined. “Come with me. We’ll go away somewhere. You don’t have to do anything Payal. We’ll make a life. I’ll keep you happy!” He had pleaded- almost begged her.
She had smiled at him, ruefully. Wistfully. “I know you will, NK. I want to... but I... can’t.” She had almost choked on a sob. and then she had started walking away.
“I’ll.... I’ll wait for you, you know.” he had smiled through the tears. “Always.” he had whispered. And she had turned halfway towards him- her hands gripping her lehenga. Her eyes shining with unshed tears. Pearl Drops, he mused, as he saw one make its way down the creamy expanse of her cheek.
“I’ll wait for you too, NK.” she had smiled- and it had taken his breath away. His heart telling her to turn around. Once- only once. Come running back to him. Be His. Like they both wanted her to. But it was not to be, was it?
Why? He had wanted to ask her. Shake her. Pick her up and run away. But he had been helpless. Watching her step away from him. Forever. Taking his life, his heart away with her. Never to be whole again.
He had watched silently, helplessly, even as she took the pheras, with Akash Singh. Even as he clamped his hand, almost brutishly on her softer, paler arms and almost dragged her around when she tripped a little, NK kept staring. Committing the image to his mind. She was someone else’s now. Even as she looked up for the last time and stared straight into his eyes, wounded. Devastated. Destroyed. He had seen the same look somewhere else today. When he had looked into the mirror before he had come to her wedding. She looked away and he turned. Never to see her again. He had later found a bouquet of forget-me-nots in the passenger seat of his car. He hadn’t mentioned it to anyone.
They still sat, pressed in a dog-eared copy of Paul Eluard’s Capital of Pain. Apt, he thought, with a sad smile.
The Curve of Your Eyes
The curve of your eyes embraces my heart
A ring of sweetness and dance
halo of time, sure nocturnal cradle.
And if I no longer know all I have lived through
It's that your eyes have not always been mine.
Leaves of day and moss of dew,
Reeds of breeze, smiles perfumed,
Wings covering the world of light,
Boats charged with sky and sea,
Hunters of sound and sources of colour
Perfume enclosed by a covey of dawns
that beds forever on the straw of stars,
As the day depends on innocence
The whole world depends on your pure eyes
And all my blood flows under their sight.
Paul Eluard (Capital Of Pain)
He looked up, shaken. The memories had felt just as recent as if it had just happened. Right now. Right here. How was a man to live with that? Live with that tearing pain over and over again. Should he call his father and just have himself committed and save his family the trouble? The mocha had gone ice cold and somehow, he had crumbled the cheesecake to resemble an appetising mess. He saw her before she saw him. Khushi. She looked shaken herself. She was wearing a long sleeved plaid shirt, buttoned to her neck, hands in her pocket. Eyes dark. Purple shadows underneath them and he had a terrible foreboding. “Dammit! What have I done?”
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