Someone to Love Read online

  ‘Yes,’ came the reply.

  ‘If you don’t mind me asking, where do you work?’ Mrs Chandra asked.

  ‘SunSoft. I am taking up the role of senior product manager there.’

  ‘Wow,’ said Mrs Chandra, ‘that is a great post, fabulous company. Well done!’

  The girl smiled and asked, ‘What do you do?’

  ‘I am a professor of marketing at London Business School,’ Mrs Chandra replied.

  ‘LBS!’ The awe in the girl’s voice was unmistakable as she looked at Mrs Chandra admiringly. ‘Maybe some day I’ll do another MBA from that institute.’

  ‘So you already have an MBA?’ Mrs Chandra asked. ‘From where?’

  ‘IIM-Banglore,’ she said.

  ‘That is excellent,’ Mrs Chandra said. ‘I am presuming you have worked for a bit since? SPM is a senior role…’

  ‘I took up a role at SunSoft at campus, and moved up the ladder…’ the girl replied.

  Mrs Chandra, quick at reading young people after all the time she’d spent with students, noted the intelligence in the girl’s eyes.

  ‘And your family?’

  A brief pause.

  ‘Just my father and brother,’ she said finally.

  Mrs Chandra looked at the young girl.

  ‘Losing your mother is a wound that never quite heals,’ said Mrs Chandra, a faraway look in her eyes, thinking of her own mother, who she had lost a decade ago.

  ‘You can’t replace your mother but you can never lose her love,’ the girl replied in a quiet voice.

  Mrs Chandra stared at the young girl – the wisdom and gentleness in her words felt like a soothing balm to her harried soul.

  For some time, neither spoke, both lost in their thoughts.

  Mrs Chandra was thinking. And wondering.

  Wondering why she had taken an instant liking to this stranger? Was it the smile? Or the way she spoke with a soft lilt in her voice? Or the heart-shaped face?

  Mrs Chandra spoke on and off to the girl all through the flight. Something about the girl – and she wondered what the something was – made her fear that the girl had gone through tough times. She had a quiet strength emanating from her, a calmness that could only come from years of weathering one storm after the other.

  Mrs Chandra was collecting her bags at Heathrow’s baggage claim when her thoughts were broken by a cheerful ‘Byeee!’ from across the hall.

  The girl stood there, trolley loaded with two large suitcases, waving at her, ready to leave the airport and vanish into the grey, wet madness of London.

  On an impulse, Mrs Chandra shouted, ‘No, wait!’

  The girl stopped and Mrs Chandra walked swiftly towards her.

  ‘Do you have family in London? Or friends?’ she asked.

  The girl shook her head.

  ‘London is too big a place to not have friends in,’ Mrs Chandra said, smiling. ‘If it’s okay with you, maybe we can exchange numbers and be in touch?’

  ‘Oh yes! That sounds great,’ the girl replied.

  It was only when Mrs Chandra was saving the number on her phone that it struck her.

  ‘So we survived a rather unsteady flight together, jabbered nonstop, but didn’t exchange names.’

  ‘Yes, somehow we didn’t seem to need names,’ the girl mused, smiling, looking a tad surprised herself.

  ‘I am Hema Chandra,’ Mrs Chandra said.

  ‘And I am Koyal Raje,’ the girl said. ‘Nice to meet you.’

  Koyal never really expected to hear from Hema, but she would get a text from her the very next day to which she would reply instantly. And that hesitant text would truly mark the beginning of a friendship that would last them their lifetime.

  God, some say, is not real. Have you seen Him, heard Him, touched Him, they ask.

  God is a superpower, a form of destiny that takes different shapes – of events, places and sometimes people. People you meet in the oddest of circumstances, in an airplane for example, who have the power to shift the course of your life.

  Hema would turn out to be one such person in Koyal’s life.

  Koyal would wonder later how different her life would have been had she never met Hema Chandra on Flight BA 245 from Delhi to Heathrow, London. How very, very different.

  15

  It was only October, but the temperatures had plummeted and at 7 p.m., as she walked from office to her apartment in Bellsize Park, Koyal pulled the collar of her Massimo Dutti coat closer.

  And then she hopped on to the pavement.

  Hopped.

  Just like that.

  Koyal paused, mildly surprised. She couldn’t recall the last time she had done this.

  London.

  Leicester Square. Tayyabs. Greenwich. Oxford Circus. South Bank. Camden Town. Thames.

  The double-decker buses and the black cabs. The overcrowded pubs and fish and chips takeaways. The lamps and lights.

  London had captivated Koyal’s heart the moment she set foot on its soil seven months ago – she loved everything about the city. But what she loved above all else was the air of London.

  It made her feel as light as cotton, as soft as a snowflake and as gentle as a yellow lamp.

  It smelled of freedom.

  The freedom that comes from knowing that things are falling into place after years of seeing them fall apart.

  Koyal walked the rest of distance home, smiling. She was about to open her door when her phone rang again.

  ‘Scott?’ she said without looking at the screen.

  ‘Who’s Scott?’ Hema asked in a mock suspicious voice.

  ‘That silly guy from work who keeps asking me out,’ she said, laughing.

  ‘Is there anything you want to tell me?’

  ‘No, gosh no!’ Koyal exclaimed.

  ‘Come on,’ Hema chided her friend. How badly, desperately even, she wanted this girl to be happy. ‘Anyway, the reason I called,’ Hema continued, ‘is that you are coming to Kent for the weekend. I am throwing a big party for Akki’s sixtieth and some of our friends are coming over. I know it’s all last minute but it would mean a lot to us if you can make it.’

  ‘Please come, please come!’ Koyal heard Akki, Hema’s husband, holler in the background.

  ‘Is that Akki shouting?’

  ‘Yes,’ Hema laughed. ‘His invitation is a lot less formal.’

  Koyal laughed. She had met Akki a couple of times and was getting very fond of him. ‘Yes! Of course I will come.’

  ‘My son, Arjun, will be there too. I really want you to meet him, I’ve spoken so much about you to him! Many of his friends are also coming, so there’ll be lots of young people to keep you company.’

  ‘Hema Aunty,’ Koyal interjected, ‘I love, love, love coming over to your country home. It is my happy place in the UK. I would happily come even if there were no young people, just you old fogeys.’

  ‘KOYAL.’ Hema’s voice was laden with mock threat. ‘You are more of an old fogey than I am.’

  Koyal dissolved into giggles.

  ‘I love it when you giggle like that,’ Hema said.

  Koyal smiled. ‘I feel happy these days, Hema Aunty,’ she said. ‘Almost like I’m getting my life back.’

  I have spent too long hating, Hema Aunty, Koyal said silently to her older friend, ten years is a very long time to hate with such fervor. I am done with the hate. I am done with my past.

  ‘Don’t ever become prisoner of your past again,’ Hema warned. Hema knew very little of Koyal’s past – only that there was a past, a horrible one, that included a divorce.

  ‘I won’t,’ Koyal said, her voice full of determination.

  As Koyal stepped into her flat, she told herself that the past can’t be changed but you could learn priceless lessons from it. And she knew she had.

  Letting go of someone you love is hard, but holding on to something that was never meant to be yours is harder.

  Hating anyone is hard, but fighting with yourself to keep on hating a person
you hate to hate is exhausting.

  So, Koyal had let go. Finally, let go.

  Let go of the love, let go of the hate.

  Koyal Hansini Raje, Senior Product Manager at one of the largest companies of the world, working in one of the biggest cities in the world, had turned her life around and was finally, finally, beginning to feel happy.

  ‘Well done, you,’ mumbled Koyal to herself as she switched on the light, blissfully unaware of what life was about to throw at her next.

  16

  Happiness, Koyal had realized, is neither our birthright nor does it come with the big things you would imagine it does. It has to be pursued, relentlessly pursued, and is usually found in the smaller things. Playing with babies, dancing to bad songs, laughing nonstop with a friend.

  Hema’s house was, to put it mildly, a madhouse. And it delighted Koyal. She revelled in the madness.

  A day before she had passed away, Ma had looked at Koyal sitting by her side and smiled. ‘Do you know what I wish someone had told me?’ Ma had asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘That we all have very little time.’

  ‘Ma…’

  ‘No, not just me, but everyone. And even lesser time during which we are young and healthy. No one realizes how precious youth and health are till they no longer have them. So, Koyal, I want you to not just exist, but live. Shout, dance, sing, dress well, put on red lipstick, go for your dreams … Live, don’t just exist.’

  Live, don’t just exist.

  At the party, Koyal laughed and ate and drank. She played with the little kids and gossiped about Bollywood stars with the aunties. And when the party broke into a dance, it was Koyal who pulled Akki Uncle on to the dance floor. As Koyal danced, she knew, somewhere up there, Ma was smiling her widest.

  And probably shaking a leg too.

  The Chandras insisted Koyal stay back for the night and Koyal happily agreed. Dinner was going to be a quiet, family affair, but Akki was more excited about it than he had been for the party. Arjun, their son, who couldn’t reach Kent in time for the party, was expected to arrive soon with some of his friends.

  They trooped into the conservatory, easily Koyal’s favourite part of the house. Koyal and Akki started a game of chess and she settled in with a contented sigh. The Chandras had a happy home and it was, Koyal realized, easier to breathe in happy homes.

  The doorbell pierced through the peace and, in an instant, all hell broke lose.

  The dog began barking excitedly. Akki guffawed and then beamed around. Hema dropped the cushion she had been fluffing and rushed to the door to welcome her son.

  ‘Your turn,’ Akki said, grinning at Koyal, pointing to the chessboard, and then turned to stare expectantly at the doorway.

  Koyal sat there, staring at the board, trying and failing to concentrate. Faint sounds from the doorway were already reaching her, distracting her. She had heard too much about Arjun that evening to not be curious.

  Hema’s excited voice. Laughter. Someone saying something. More laughter. The dog’s barks. A man’s voice. Another distinct, lower voice.

  And another voice…

  Koyal’s heart skipped a beat. The third voice – no, it was not familiar, no, it could not be familiar … she did not know it … it was too muffled … it was a voice she had heard before … it was possibly like a voice she had heard before…

  Koyal sat still, her hands and feet turning ice cold in an instant.

  Stop this nonsense this moment, she rebuked herself silently, wondering why her body was reacting in the manner it was.

  And then she heard Hema say that name.

  No, she told herself furiously, she had misheard.

  Staring hard at the chessboard, but not really seeing anything any more, Koyal strained her ears, her heart thumping, every cell in her body now focused on the sounds reaching her.

  These sounds were becoming louder. The party, very jovial, was beginning to troop in.

  A voice. The voice. Slightly different from when she had heard it last.

  Deeper than before. Richer than before, the edges mellowed. A touch of an American accent. A whiff of the British.

  It was different but it was the same. It was a voice that was, even with all these changes, after all these years, more familiar to her than her own.

  Koyal realized she was not breathing.

  ‘Akki, happy, happy birthday,’ the voice shouted happily, joining the other voices yelling birthday wishes as the troop bounded into the conservatory.

  ‘Thank you, thank you!’ Akki Uncle shot up from his seat and lunged forward to greet the gang.

  Koyal sat, her back to the voice, frozen, her eyes pooling, her heart throbbing, her mind numb.

  ‘Koyal, stop thinking about chess now and meet the boys!’ Hema said, coming closer to her and placing a warm hand on her shoulder.

  Koyal got up, slowly.

  She turned around.

  And stared.

  The world disappeared. The conservatory vanished. The sounds stopped.

  A tall, broad man in his mid-thirties stood in front of her.

  A crisp white shirt peaked from beneath a black sweater. His hair was slightly wet and he was smiling a smile that had just begun to fade. Handsome, no doubt, in a slightly unconventional way. Beautiful brown skin complemented by black eyes. Eyes that were full of life. Eyes that were used to laughing, but that in the moment, were turning red with shock. Success clung to him yet he looked kind. Very kind. For the moment, his face had frozen and he was staring at her as if he had seen a ghost.

  ‘Koyal, meet Atharv,’ said Hema, beaming, entirely oblivious of how the world had just shifted on its axis for the two, ‘and Atharv, meet Koyal.’

  Koyal, meet Atharv.

  Atharv, meet Koyal.

  Hema Aunty was saying something about Atharv being Arjun’s best buddy and then she started chattering about how she met Koyal on a flight, but these words did not quite reach the two. The world had ceased to matter and the universe had melted into oblivion. It was just the two of them staring unblinkingly at one another, unable to breathe, unable to not breathe, unable to look at each other, unable to look away.

  Ten years.

  Ten long years.

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ Atharv said curtly, his eyes giving nothing away.

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ Koyal said mechanically at the same time, her heart thumping in her chest.

  Neither smiled.

  Koyal, meet Atharv.

  Atharv, meet Koyal.

  17

  How beautiful it is when strangers become best friends.

  How heartbreaking it is when best friends become strangers.

  ‘Is everything okay?’ Hema asked, looking at Koyal’s pale face. ‘You haven’t spoken a word since we started dinner.’

  Hema saw Koyal shake her head listlessly and wondered where the smiling girl from the party had vanished. Had someone said anything to upset her, she wondered.

  A storm, an angry, violent, destructive storm, was gaining strength inside of Koyal.

  Every bit of her had erupted, evaporated, reappeared and re-erupted repeatedly in the last half an hour since she had come face to face with Atharv.

  Now, sitting at the dining table opposite each other, they hadn’t yet spoken a word to each other.

  Every bit of her wanted to run away. Run away and never come back.

  Yet something in her made her stay.

  A curiosity, perhaps? A sadistic kind of pleasure in putting herself through such misery, perhaps? Koyal didn’t know or care.

  ‘Atharv,’ boomed Akki’s voice from the other end of the table and again the hair on Koyal’s arms stood up – the mere name held so much power over her, ‘how is your daughter?’

  Daughter?

  Koyal stared at her plate, thinking. She had heard that he’d had a baby but had not known the gender of the child. She wondered how the girl looked. Did they have a close relationship? How was Atharv as a father?


  Atharv was staring at his plate, lost in thought, and he looked up, startled, when Akki spoke to him.

  ‘She is okay, um … doing good.’

  ‘Such a charming girl,’ Akki said with a smile. ‘My favourite little girl in the world.’

  Charming girl. Did she look like Atharv? Or like…

  Koyal felt goosebumps. Nili. How hard she had tried to forget all about her. And now, just when Koyal thought she was getting her life back, God was throwing it all in her face.

  ‘Surya?’ Akki continued.

  Surya Aunty!

  ‘She is doing well and is with little Mansha.’ Atharv gave a half smile.

  Mansha … what a beautiful, beautiful name. For some reason it brought to mind an angelic-looking girl dressed in white, as resplendent as the moon.

  Did Atharv think of the name? Possibly not, it must have been her choice, a voice in her head said.

  Her choice.

  Koyal felt an acidic searing in her chest and, suddenly, just like that, the little girl in the white dress vanished and the name ceased to be beautiful.

  Koyal spent the rest of the evening trying hard to not let the tsunami of emotions in her head show. Consumed by the presence of that one man, she tried hard to ignore Atharv, but failed miserably each time.

  It was as though he was tied to her with a rope of emotions that hurt every time it grazed her raw wounds.

  The Chandras insisted Koyal join them for a game of cards to be played in pairs.

  No, no, no, her mind screamed silently in her head – all she wanted to do was to run away from this place, this place that had Atharv in it.

  ‘Koyal … you’ve been so quiet today. And Atharv, so have you! Akki, let’s pair Atharv and Koyal – maybe that way they’ll start talking,’ Hema said and broke into peals of laughter.

  Koyal stared at Hema, her brain frozen.

  ‘I am sorry,’ came Atharv’s voice and for one mad, scary moment, Koyal wondered if Atharv was speaking to her. His face was clouded, his brow furrowed. ‘I need to leave,’ he was saying now.

  Hema’s face fell.

  ‘I’m sorry, Hema, it’s an emergency at work,’ he said with a small strained smile. ‘Doctors!’ He shrugged.