Can This Be Love? Read online

  ‘A blog.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A blog. You get this web address and it’s almost like having an online diary. It’s quite cool. I can…’

  ‘I know what a blog is, Mum!’ I said, interrupting her.

  Web address. Online diary. Quite cool. Was that really my mum I was speaking with? What had happened to her?

  ‘Then, darling, let me send you the link to mine. It is time you have it,’ she said nonchalantly before cancelling the call, leaving me pretty much gasping for air.

  When will Mum cease to surprise me?

  11.05 a.m.

  To put it rather simply, I stared. Stared without blinking at the computer screen in front of me. Stared with my mouth gaping open.

  Not only does my mother have a blog, she has had one for about three months. She has only recently decided to come out in the open with it. Anyone visiting Mum’s blog would have no doubt about what he will get from the page; the blog is, after all, titled rather unabashedly, ‘Pearls of Wisdom’.

  I checked the number of followers and did a double take. Eighty-four!

  In a matter of three months? Is Mum headed for cyber glory?

  2.00 p.m.

  I feature extensively on the blog. To protect my identity, I am not called Kasturi on the blog. For reasons past understanding, I am mostly referred to as Pimple. Dad is called PkP – Pimple ke Papa, as she explains in brackets. To make matters worse, I come across as a spoilt, irresponsible teenager. Is that how Mum perceives me?

  Our Apartment, Delhi, 15 February 2013, 6.00 p.m.

  Pitajee was sitting on the deewan in our living room, his head in his hands, occasionally looking up to stare dismally at Anu who was sitting a little farther away on the sofa. I sat next to him, one hand loosely slung around his shoulders in a silent show of solidarity. Purva had just come from the hospital, and, seeing Anu in tears, had rushed to her side. He now had his arm around her shoulders and was wiping tears off her face.

  ‘Are you okay, Anu?’ he asked in his low, gentle voice.

  Anu nodded her head, looked up at Purva, then promptly buried her face in his chest and burst into tears. Taken aback at the outburst, Purva cradled Anu, all the while gently murmuring something in her ear. Pitajee and I exchanged a look. This was not good.

  ‘So what exactly happened?’ asked Purva.

  ‘I met them, that’s what happened,’ said Pitajee, as if that explained it all.

  Purva looked quizzically at Pitajee and then at me.

  ‘Well … Ahya threw a fit,’ said Pitajee, looking up. ‘Which is quite bad in itself. Then Govind joined in and he threw another massive tantrum.’

  For no reason the image of two elephants stamping their feet and demanding ice lollies came to my mind. Being the true friend that I am, I stifled my giggles.

  ‘And?’ asked Purva, his face serious.

  ‘They asked me to get out of Anu’s life.’

  ‘What do you mean? Why are they saying no?’

  Pitajee grimaced.

  ‘Govind actually called out to some servant and asked him to show me out.’

  ‘Polite way of telling someone to get lost,’ I added helpfully.

  ‘Thanks, Kas, just in case anyone here had not figured that out,’ said Pitajee, managing a grin. I pulled him closer and playfully tousled his hair.

  ‘Are you kidding me?’ exclaimed Purva.

  ‘No Sir, I am not,’ said Pitajee, nodding his head. ‘They asked me a few questions, decided that I would not be able to provide Anu the lifestyle she is used to … I am not an IAS officer, you see. I could have somewhat redeemed myself had I managed to get an IIM A,B or C tag or an engineering degree from IIT, but since I have not, they concluded that I should be simply thrown out of the house.’

  ‘And the caste bit,’ I added, most helpfully.

  ‘Thanks, love,’ said Pitajee, throwing a sarcastic grin in my direction. ‘Yes, that Anu and I are not of the same caste does not help matters.’

  ‘Do you want to consider giving the IAS exam?’ I said, brightening up. It could be the perfect solution to the problem. ‘You could wear a kurta-pyjama, oil your hair generously, take an apartment in JNU and not come out of it for days. We could line your room with books, which you could spend days and days studying. You could also buy a guitar and play songs on it in during the few minutes you are not studying.’

  ‘I … I … could … I guess…’ said Pitajee doubtfully.

  Anu managed a weak smile. ‘No, sweetheart. You won’t. I can’t have you change your career just to please my parents.’

  I have to admit that Pitajee looked fairly relieved. ‘I have a friend who has been giving the exam ever since he was two and has still not cracked it,’ he muttered to me.

  ‘Guys, parents eventually understand. They’ll take their time, but they will come around,’ said Purva optimistically.

  There was silence in the room for a few seconds.

  ‘I don’t see that happening,’ said Anu, voicing the thought that everyone was thinking.

  Things were bleak. So bleak that they were almost black.

  10.30 p.m.

  ‘You are very quiet today,’ said Purva, looking up from his book and staring intently at me.

  ‘No, no, no,’ I said vehemently.

  A small smile began to dance around Purva’s lips as it often does when he tries to prise something out of me. He put aside the thick book he had engrossed himself in after dinner and took my hands.

  ‘What’s wrong, Kas?’ he asked as he fiddled with the ring on my finger.

  How does he know, each time?

  ‘I am worried about Pitajee and Anu,’ I lied. Agreed, I was worried but at the moment it was not thoughts about them that tormented me. The worst kind of fear is when you are scared of yourself. And I was. I was very scared of what I could do. I felt like flotsam bobbing on the sea at the mercy of the waves, desperately looking for something solid to cling to and make my way ashore. My only hope was Purva.

  ‘Why do you look so scared, Kas? They will be fine … it will work out. It always does.’

  ‘And if it doesn’t?’

  ‘Then, as they say, it is not the end,’ said Purva.

  By this time, I was standing very close to Purva and he had an arm around my waist, his chin touching my head. He had been performing surgeries all day and reeked of the typical hospital smell that I had grown to absolutely love.

  ‘And there you go!’ he said, grinning.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘You are sniffing for the hospital smell,’ he said.

  Time to roll my eyes and crinkle my nose.

  ‘Don’t like it?’ he said, tapping my head.

  ‘No.’ I said, promptly.

  ‘Liar!’

  Giggling, I threw my arms around his neck and he wrapped his around my waist. We stood like that for a few moments in companionable silence. Purva buried his face in my hair and breathed deep. I could almost feel the stress, tension and anxiety leaving his body.

  Poor guy, I thought to myself, he works hard to save lives most people have given up hope on. If he can’t spend enough time with me, that doesn’t mean that I start hyperventilating about a man I was in love with a lifetime ago. It’s no excuse, I said to myself, hugging Purva tighter.

  Purva immediately withdrew a few inches away from me, surprising me yet again by how sensitive he was to each change in my mood, movement and thought.

  ‘You okay, Kas? ’ he asked again, looking intently at me and placing a light hand on my head.

  ‘I am not okay, Purva,’ I said in a fake hoity-toity voice. ‘I am cool, sexy and very, very glamorous.’ I finished it with a sophisticated arch of the eyebrows and a coy look at the nails.

  Purva burst out laughing. ‘I get worried when you are not monkeying around, Kas,’ he said and lightly kissed my lips.

  ‘Wait!’ I said and he stopped, surprised.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You know…’

  �
��…that it’s your birthday in two days?’ he said, groaning.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, laughing.

  ‘You monkey!’ he said, laughing and pulling me closer.

  12

  Our Apartment, Delhi, 7 March 2013, 2.00 a.m.

  It’s 2.00 a.m. and I am sitting upright in my bed; sleep is as far away from me as is possible. Is this going to become some kind of a nocturnal ritual now?

  Go away Rajeev, go away!

  Shoo!

  Boo!

  3.00 a.m.

  Do you think Rajeev has married his binge-drinking girlfriend, Teena?

  3.01 a.m.

  No.

  3.02 a.m.

  Yes. He is married, I am sure. Married with three kids. Three fat, screaming kids who throw tantrums at the drop of a hat.

  The image of Rajeev’s (other) girlfriend, all fat and stodgy after not being able to get rid of the post-baby fat, came to my mind and I heaved a sigh of deep satisfaction. I closed my eyes, folded my hands and prayed fervently that Teena had put on at least 500kg. It would be poetic justice and we all like poetic justice.

  4.00 a.m.

  I can’t sleep, so I am in the kitchen making mooli ke paranthe. Rajeev is probably awake too, sharing the marital bed with his grumpy, obese wife and screaming kids.

  As I smeared one perfectly round parantha after the other with generous dollops of ghee, I knew that somewhere in the cosmos, Veena Aunty was dying of an unexplained heart attack.

  The unfairness of life.

  9.30 a.m.

  There is something horribly and hopelessly wrong with P.P. Padma.

  The forehead is missing the bindi. Is this the end of the world? A year late, but here nevertheless?

  10.00 a.m.

  I am the one who has been up all night because of a man who cheated on me two years ago and is probably married to his (other) girlfriend and P.P. Padma is the one who is grumpy.

  Really?

  11.00 a.m.

  P.P. Padma has snapped eleven times this morning. I counted.

  Seven times at me (have I ever had the chance to mention how much she loves me?), twice at the peon and twice at Mr Vijaywada, who is now scurrying around the office on tip-toes, trying his best to keep out of P.P. Padma’s way.

  The woman is transformed into a crazed, vile witch. Not that she was not one before.

  Noon.

  Do you think Rajeev ever thinks of me after all these years?

  12.01 p.m.

  No.

  12.05 p.m.

  Definitely not.

  12.06 p.m.

  What if…

  2.00 p.m.

  God fearing, I-go-to-the-temple-everyday, I-will-die-the-day-I-miss-puja P.P. Padma just used the F-word.

  What is wrong with her?

  3.00 p.m.

  I walked into the ladies’ room, humming my own, rather charming version of ‘Happy Birthday … toodle doo … to me’ and stopped dead in my tracks. Sitting on the floor in front of the wall-length mirrors was P.P. Padma.

  Although that in itself was shocking, (not the fact that she was sitting, but that she was doing so, cross-legged, in the ladies’) the real thing was yet to come. Sensing me walk in, P.P. Padma turned around. She was, I deduced immediately from her red eyes and tears, crying bitterly.

  Oh dear! My first reaction was to flee from the scene of danger. P.P. Padma had been in a vile mood today and given that she looked borderline hysterical, I was quite sure that she was capable of physical assault. Something, however, stopped me from doing that. And before I knew it, to my utter shock, I found myself sitting cross-legged, right next to P.P. Padma on the bathroom floor, gingerly extending a shaking hand towards her rather broad and dangerously muscular shoulders. Idly, I wondered how bad it would hurt were P.P. Padma to turn around and thwack me on the head.

  ‘I don’t bite, you know,’ said P.P. Padma caustically, turning angrily to face me.

  ‘Yes, yes,’ I said weakly and found myself patting her shoulders. The surprises life throws at one.

  P.P. Padma glared at me, tears streaming down her face. I looked on, mesmerized. It had never crossed my mind that one could glare and cry at the same time. I made a mental note to try it sometime.

  ‘I mean … no, no, of course you don’t.’

  ‘Don’t what?’ she said impatiently.

  ‘Bite.’

  ‘What? Who bites?’

  ‘You bite.’

  ‘What! Are you suggesting that I bite?’ she said in a low growl, sounding remarkably like something that could bite.

  ‘I mean…’ I said, nervously, ‘you don’t bite … I mean…’

  I decided to shut up. Speaking was not helping.

  P.P. Padma and I sat in silence. A weird kind of comfortable silence.

  A little later and very meaningfully, I cleared my throat. ‘Are you okay?’ I asked.

  ‘You can leave,’ was her curt reply.

  ‘No, it’s okay. Don’t answer my question if you don’t want to,’ I said meekly and crossed my legs so that I was sitting more comfortably. I spent the next couple of minutes tossing the tear-stained tissues in the air, stopping when Padma glared at me … yet again.

  I then fiddled with my phone, sent a couple of text messages to Pitajee, who did not respond, forwarded a few rather lame jokes to Dad, who also did not respond, and sent a virtual kiss to Purva, who did not respond either.

  ‘I have a boyfriend,’ said P.P. Padma, suddenly.

  I rolled my eyes at her and laughed. She could be funny too! This was turning out to be a day of revelations.

  Silence reigned supreme as P.P. Padma glowered at me.

  Oh dear! She actually has a boyfriend? I immediately straightened my face and tried desperately to disguise my guffaw into a groan.

  ‘And … and…’ faltered the mighty Padma.

  ‘And?’

  ‘He won’t take me to meet his mom!’

  ‘Big deal! Don’t meet the mom. Trust me, no good comes out of meeting the boy’s mother,’ I said, forcefully smacking the bathroom floor with my hands, my mind wandering to the parantha-making classes.

  ‘Tiger,’ she said, then shook her head when I looked blankly at her. ‘My boyfriend, Tiger, loves me but … I think … I think he does not think his mother will approve of me.’

  I bit my lip and tried not to comment on the name of her boyfriend. It was not the time to say anything about it. I vaguely recalled a friend in engineering college whose dog was called Tiger and I had found even that deeply amusing. Who calls a dog Tiger? Would that mutt not grow up with a deep rooted identity crisis?

  ‘Why?’ I asked instead.

  P.P. Padma pointed a finger at her face and cast such a sad glance in my direction that my heart melted for the gawky girl.

  ‘P.P. Padma,’ I said, ‘looks don’t matter!’

  ‘It’s easy for you to say that … you’re pretty; men fall for you left, right and centre. And even if it were not your face, there’s your personality. You…’ Padma seemed to be lost for words for a minute and I looked at her encouragingly, ‘…you … bring sunshine into the room … guys just can’t help … hell, if I were a guy, I would have a crush on you…’

  My eyes and ego grew to the size of Jupiter in a matter of nano seconds. P.P. Padma is not that bad, I thought, chewing my lower lip thoughtfully. Maybe I had misjudged her all this while. And no, it had nothing to do with the compliments she had just thrown my way. I am not, I repeat, I am not that shallow.

  ‘So … err … that sunshine bit that you were talking about … is it, like, my dress, or you think it’s because of my….’

  Another glare from Padma and I shut up.

  ‘So what’s the big deal about him not taking you to see his mom?’ I asked after a few moments.

  ‘How do you think we will ever get married if I don’t even meet his mom?’ she asked the rather pertinent question.

  ‘True,’ I agreed.

  ‘Tiger loves me for the person I a
m, but I overheard him talking to his friend. He is sure Aunty will not like me because … because … I am not pretty enough!’

  ‘P.P. Padma!’ I interjected, trying to exclaim indignantly at the regressive line of thought. However, it is tough to say ‘P.P. Padma’ and sound indignant. Try it, if you don’t believe me.

  ‘I don’t know why I am telling you all this...’ said P.P. Padma, tearing up. ‘You will just make fun of me…’

  ‘P.P. Padma,’ I repeated, more sternly.

  ‘Please,’ she said, equally sternly. ‘No one calls me P.P. Padma. Call me Padma.’

  I smiled. ‘Padma,’ I began again, with authority this time, ‘you have a pretty face.’

  ‘What utter rubbish!’

  ‘Shut up and listen,’ I said, shocked and pleased with the firmness of my voice.

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘You have a pretty face. You just don’t know how to present yourself.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ asked Padma, intrigued.

  ‘Will you trust me?’ I asked, with a smile on my face.

  ‘I guess so,’ she said, shrugging.

  ‘When are you meeting Tiger next?’

  ‘At eight, tonight.’

  ‘Okay, let’s go,’ I said.

  ‘Go where?’ asked Padma.

  ‘Dolby’s beauty parlour and the shopping mall,’ I said, winking at her.

  Ten minutes later, the peon, who was well aware of our frosty relationship, stared open-mouthed as Padma and I walked out of the office building together, smiling widely.

  8.02 p.m.

  ‘THANK YOU, KAS!’ Padma’s text read.

  I smiled, benignly. A good haircut, proper make-up and nice clothes can solve each and every problem in this world.

  ‘I LOVE YOU! <3,’ was the next message, a few minutes later.

  I smiled further. While there are certain things I cannot do, there are many that I can. One of these is knowing when I have made a new friend. I switched on the television and tried to concentrate on the news piece about a fire that had broken out in a slum in the city.

  I looked at the clock and smiled. Just four more hours.

  Wohoooo.

  13

  2 April 2013, 00.01 a.m.

  It is THE day. It is the birthday.