Knotted … part II

She looked up from the pages of ‘The Little Red Book’ and stared blankly at him. He stood at the balcony, his silhouette highlighted by the fading glow of the setting sun. Her sapphire blue chiffon sari draped over her slender body, as she rolled over the bed with the book in her hand. His white kurta fell unshamefully over his bare legs as he stood, smoking a pipe, the smoke clouding him like a silvery throng of bees out to attack its victim.

‘It’s tough to agree with all of it,’ she volleyed from bed.

‘You don’t need to agree,’ he replied without looking back, ‘it’s about his perception and ideologies.’

She pursed her lips. ‘Hmmm… true.’

‘And in any case,’ he turned back at his lady love, ‘he is long dead to argue with you.’

Was he joking or was he being sarcastic? As he turned back and smoked his pipe, she realised she had again failed to understand him. Perhaps the same way, he had failed to interpret her over and over again. But, whom has she really decoded? The man she legally stays with or the man who accompanies her illicitly. Neither. Quite like they never managed to know her fully. Yet, she loved them. Both of them. Each for his own reasons. But what was the outcome in both the cases? She sighed, for there was no answer.

Love always rides a boat that’s never meant to reach the shore.

***

‘I don’t know how to react,’ Anshuman sat on the waiting lodge sofa facing the other man in his wife’s life, ‘hit you for what you are or thank you for bringing her here.’

‘Neither,’ Siddharth looked back straight, ‘because your feelings were never a part of our relation.’

‘Quite understandable,’ Anshuman nodded his head and smiled, ‘your relation was never worth it.’ He looked up, ‘Because had you been me, I wouldn’t have ever been you.’

‘You couldn’t have been me.’

***

‘This is Kashish,’ a common friend introduced, ‘one of the most good-looking journalists of the nation. She should have been in modelling na?’

The man Kashish was being introduced to, looked at her and smiled. Without a doubt, she was the most exquisite looking lady at the party that night. Her off-white zardosi sari was pinned on the narrow strap of same coloured blouse, and flowed over her body. Her make-up was subtly done, to make her eyes prominent with the right amount of kohl, cheeks bone highlighted with a faded rust tinge and her lips shine in a natural colour.

He nodded. ‘Very true.’

‘And this Siddharth,’ the common friend went on, ‘one of the most popular fashion photographers around.’ She patted Kashish on the upper arm, ‘Getting a compliment from him is a big thing girl. You shouldn’t have got married so early.’

Kashish smiled at her friend, a little embarrassed, and then looked at the man.

‘So, you do Page 3?’ Siddharth sipped from his glass from Signature.

‘Yes,’ she smiled mischievously, ‘my duty is to ensure you all get coverage.’

Impressive. He smiled and nodded.

‘I’ll be back,’ Kashish excused herself as she was beckoned from another corner of the party floor.

‘Sure.’

As she turned and walked towards her caller, he noticed her in amazement. Her blouse knotted at the back revealed her shapely back and waist which had the right curves leading on to her butt which had the sari wrapped around it neatly. No wonder Hussain paints her ladies in saris.

‘Ms. Kashish,’ he shouted to draw her attention despite the chaos around.

She turned.

‘Would you do a photo session with me?’

***

‘She was the most intelligent woman I had ever met,’ Anshuman said.

‘And the prettiest I had ever seen,’ Siddharth added.

‘Physical beauty doesn’t bother me,’ Anshuman waved off the other line, ‘it’s God’s creation.’

‘Why?’ Siddharth argued back, ‘You made your own brain?’

The Doctor walked into the room, interrupting their conversation. She was one of the most prestigious general surgeons in town and her tensed face cannot signal something favourable.

‘I have a bad news to disclose,’ she looked at Anshuman.

‘What?’ they stood up.

‘We just realised she was a month’s pregnant,’ the doc explained ‘tough luck.’

Both men looked at each other.

***

The sky behind them was slowly turning purple. It was past sunset and the darkness was slowly glooming upon them.

‘A month over and she didn’t tell me,’ Siddharth looked blankly.

‘Perhaps she never knew,’ Anshuman paused while his counter-part looked at him, ‘who the father was?’

Siddharth looked back at the horizon ahead.

‘What do you think,’ Anshuman’s voice gave way for his scepticism, ‘is the cause that made her cling to you?’

***

‘You make me feel beautiful,’ Kashish looked up at Siddharth, ‘And I like that feeling.’

They lay together, naked, covered only in a bed-sheet. Siddharth played with her hair and ran his fingers softly through her back as she rested her head on his chest and kissed his nipples.

‘I don’t need to,’ Siddharth laughed from the tickle sensation, ‘you are the prettiest woman I have ever seen.’

She lifted her face and looked at him.

‘Do we think we love each other?’ she said, ‘Or it’s just lust that keeps us together.’

‘There’s as often as lust as there is love,’ he ran his nail through her head, ‘so, neither of them is unnatural. We are not guilty of that.’

‘Then what are we guilty of?’ she looked puzzled.

‘Feigning to be mere acquaintances in public,’ he looked at her.

He had hit her where it hurt the most.

***

Anshuman chuckled to himself.

‘Well, it’s an art to pretend normally in public,’ he looked at Siddharth, ‘this is not her fault. Marriage teaches this lesson to everyone.’

It was now evening dark all around. The street lights were coming out. The skyline of Mumbai glowed up and a light breeze started blowing all around.

‘You want to have tea in the cafeteria?’ Anshuman asked.

‘I don’t have tea,’ Siddharth shook his head.

‘You can have coffee as well,’ Anshuman shrugged, ‘I don’t have coffee, that’s why I said tea.’

‘You know,’ Siddharth smiled, ‘she makes the best coffee I have ever had.’

‘Kashish?’ Anshuman looked in amazement, ‘But she never had coffee at home. She likes having tea.’

‘Kashish doesn’t like tea,’ Siddharth frowned, ‘she takes coffee with me. And she loves it.’

They looked at each other for a while, realising that the other is right.

‘I am sure there are many such things where her choices varied like this,’ Siddharth looked away in disbelief, ‘We never knew her, did we?’

‘Perhaps we never tried to know her,’ Anshuman sighed, ‘we just interpreted her, the way we wanted to, and fell in love with our own interpretations.’

To be continued…