Familiar Strangers Read online

  Deepali was back in the house when Priya came out, ready to leave. It was when she inquired about the chores for the day that Priya noticed Deepali’s tunic. It had once belonged to Priya and instead of discarding it, she had handed it down to Deepali. Priya inspected the beautiful garment from afar and wondered why she’d ever given it away. It looked as good as new. An idea struck her. She hurried back to her room and dug out another section of her cupboard that held Indian wear. She picked out a vibrant parrot-green kurti, confident that it would fit her and it did. She reached over to the lowermost drawer of her dresser and fished out a chunky wooden jewellery box. It creaked as she opened it. Dust had gathered between the silver wires of its contents. She looked for her favourite pair of jhumkas, now darkened with age, and hooked them on either ear. She artfully rolled up her hair and stuck a silver hairpin in the bun. Then she lined her eyes with kohl and rushed out.

  Deepali was surprised to see her madam’s makeover. She was curious to know where Priya was headed because it surely didn’t look like she was off to work.

  * * *

  As Priya parked her car and walked towards her office, she wondered if anyone would notice her. She stole a glance at herself in the elevator mirror, and when the man with her got off, on the third floor, she looked at herself freely. She looked attractive. She felt attractive. When she reached her desk and deposited her things on it, Anupama, who sat next to her, greeted her with a brighter smile than usual.

  ‘Love your earrings, Priya,’ she said, putting her in a good mood for the rest of the day.

  * * *

  After work, Priya headed to the market to stock up on fruits and vegetables. The price of onions had gone up; tomatoes were still the same; she managed to get six lemons for the price of five. The grocery shopping left her too tired to cook. She thought of asking Chirag to go out for dinner but knew better than to expect him to get out of the house after a Friday at work. And the matter, although forgotten for now, was not resolved.

  They would have to order in. The prospect of devouring a pizza loaded with cheese made Priya’s mouth water. It was Aryan’s favourite dinner, the stuffed-crust double cheese pizza. She and Chirag were hooked on it too. But on second thoughts, Priya wanted something spicy and soupy. It had been a while since she had dined at a Chinese or Thai restaurant. There was one in the West, near the bridge, that she and Chirag used to frequent before marriage. The ‘Drunken Chicken’ they served was Priya’s favourite. But now Aryan’s food preferences dictated what his parents ate. He didn’t like Chinese food much—it made his mouth burn, and there was never any cheese.

  As Priya walked into the lobby of her building, conducting an internal debate between pizza and fried rice, her phone beeped. Sakshi again.

  Priya . . . Tell me?? How come u guys r coming????

  She probably knows, thought Priya. She made a plan and hit reply.

  Let’s meet for lunch tomorrow.

  Sakshi replied instantly, agreeing to meet the next day. Her eagerness made it clear to Priya that she was nervous about it too.

  4

  Priya woke up at the alarm’s command. Although it was a holiday, she could afford to wake up only half an hour later than her usual time because Saturdays were packed with classes and tuitions for Aryan. He led a very busy life. He had a keen interest in sports and had recently started training for tennis. His coach said he was picking up quite well.

  After seeing Aryan off in his friend’s car, Priya came back up, still sleepy and tired. Chirag was getting ready for work. Watching him move about the room—first adjusting his tie in front of the mirror, which was still askew when he was done, then sitting on the bed to wear his shoes—Priya wondered why he wasn’t as involved in their son’s life as he used to be. The doting father, who would admire every disfigured alphabet his son would write in junior kindergarten, didn’t have time now to see how beautiful his son’s handwriting had become. Always eager to read out bedtime stories to Aryan in his childhood, Chirag had no inclination to help him with his English lessons any more.

  Priya knew her husband wasn’t out holidaying somewhere. He worked hard and tirelessly. Professionally he had come far from where he had begun, but was it worth missing out on this phase of Aryan’s life?

  Since it was a Saturday, Chirag had the liberty to report to work later than usual, just as Deepali was extended the same courtesy by Priya. At 11 a.m., Priya saw her husband off and got down to business. This was the only time in the week she had the house to herself and was free to do what she liked; she spent her ‘free’ time managing the kitchen, tidying the cupboards and bedrooms, clearing unnecessary clutter that had gathered in the house over the week and doing several other odd jobs that were not apparent to Chirag.

  After organizing Aryan’s books in his room, Priya entered the kitchen, relieved that she didn’t have to cook. She was going out for lunch with Sakshi.

  5

  Priya’s initial relief gave way to excitement. She would go out and have a good time, put on a pair of heels maybe, do something just for herself. Catching up with a friend over lunch was not something she indulged in often. But then her excitement was overshadowed by a slight nervousness. This lunch date was not going to be the usual catching up that entailed complaining—about work, husbands, children and housekeepers, about becoming fat. This meeting had a different purpose—an unspoken, yet mutually understood agenda.

  * * *

  Priya and Sakshi were not the ‘so-what-did-you-eat-for-lunch?’ kind of friends. Nor were they the ‘so-how-was-your-week?’ kind of friends. The kind they were was the ‘it’s-so-good-to-see-you-why-don’t-we-meet-more-often?’

  They had become acquainted because of their husbands but remained friends of their own accord.

  Karan and Chirag went to college together. They were part of a group of five guys until each brought his wife into the circle; some wives getting along better with each other than the others.

  Additions and subtractions had been made from time to time. Akhil was now divorced. Shlok had moved to Australia. Param had moved to Dubai with his wife. He had been instrumental in getting Priya and Chirag married; had it not been for him, they might not have got married at all.

  * * *

  As Priya got dressed, she wondered how it would be to discuss this with Sakshi. Their friendship was limited to exchanging recipes and occasionally bitching about Akhil’s ex-wife. And they hardly met more than once in a few months.

  Deepali had been asked to empty both her madam’s cupboards. From the mess, Priya picked out a few options. She managed to squeeze into an old, brown pencil skirt. The back zip of the skirt didn’t go up all the way despite the tugging and pulling but she was determined to wear it. She put on a shirt that was long enough to cover the undone end of her skirt, brushed her hair once more, stepped into a pair of heels and left.

  * * *

  Priya drove back in a trance-like state, her meeting with Sakshi playing in her mind—the clearing of throats, the shifting in seats, the hesitations of familiar people stepping into unfamiliar territory. It reminded her of something else. Something her mother had said a long time ago, when Priya was younger, much younger. Something about time and people. It was a phrase she had remembered for many years, but over time it had faded into oblivion, lost in the recesses of her mind.

  The rude honk of the car behind made Priya realize she had reached home. It brought her back to her senses. She parked. She turned off the engine but didn’t get out. Why are we always in such a hurry to do things? Of course, Aryan’s age did not allow him to have any patience, so he got out of the car and raced towards the lobby. Priya smiled and followed him to the elevators.

  Chirag was back from work when they arrived. Priya was surprised to find him home at 4 p.m. on a working Saturday. Chirag was surprised to see her too. He wanted to say, ‘You look so nice in that skirt,’ but instead, asked, ‘Had you gone out somewhere?’

  ‘Yep. Just met Sakshi for lunch. She want
ed some help planning the party,’ Priya said cautiously.

  The mention of the party caught Chirag’s attention. It was odd for Priya to be helping Sakshi. As far as he knew, they were not attending it. However, he didn’t want to broach that line of conversation; it was like playing with fire.

  Aryan was all sweaty and muddy from the day, and Priya instructed him to go wash up immediately. She then got rid of her heels. They weren’t as comfortable as they used to be or maybe she wasn’t used to them any more. She walked up to the refrigerator, where Chirag was, and poured herself a glass of cold water.

  ‘Let’s go out for dinner tonight?’ she asked. Chirag let out a long sigh and gave her a look she knew too well. Sighing was always a polite no.

  ‘I don’t want to cook tonight. And I am not eating pizza at home again.’

  ‘We’ll order something else.’

  ‘No,’ Priya said, in a childlike tone. ‘We haven’t gone out in so long. I’m dying to go out.’

  ‘You just came from lunch,’ Chirag said, his hand reflexively gesturing towards the door, unintentionally offending Priya.

  Screw this, she thought. She wanted to tell him that she wasn’t dying to just go out—she was dying to go out with him. But she didn’t say anything. She pouted sulkily at him and went to the bedroom to change.

  Inside, she sat down on Chirag’s side of the bed and reflected on her afternoon again. Lunch with Sakshi hadn’t really helped matters and yet in a way it had. Although she didn’t know if going for the elaborate weekend party was a good idea for her and Chirag, she was sure they would go for it. For the sake of her own dignity and integrity she would go. No one is allowed to make me feel threatened and insecure, she thought; even though that was exactly what she was feeling.

  Outside, Chirag had finished eating a bowl of mango and was waiting to use the bathroom. He found it strange that Priya had shut the door behind her. She always used the bathroom to change her clothes and their bedroom was accessible at all times. Just as Priya started to unzip her skirt, Chirag walked up to the threshold of the room. For some inexplicable reason, he felt awkward. Feeling like an outsider, he knocked.

  ‘Priya, what are you doing?’ he said. Why is this so weird?

  On hearing his voice, Priya snapped out of her ruminations. She thought of going into the bathroom but then stayed put.

  ‘The door’s open, Chirag,’ she said casually. As she got rid of her skirt, she wondered if Chirag had noticed her outfit.

  When he walked in, he was embarrassed to find Priya without her bottoms. One part of him thought she looked incredibly sexy in just her long white shirt, the other worried at her strange behaviour. Was this really his secretly celibate, constantly worried, permanently tired wife? Had she just turned him on on a hot afternoon? It didn’t add up. He was probably hallucinating.

  Ignoring his wife as if she weren’t present in the room, Chirag walked to his cupboard, picked out a pair of home clothes and hurried to the bathroom. Priya was mortified; her suspicions strengthened. She got into one of her usual weekend kaftans; when Chirag saw her in what he suspected was their old bed sheet, he felt like order had been restored in the universe.

  6

  A Few Hours Earlier . . .

  ‘Hi!’ Priya said loudly as soon as she spotted Sakshi.

  ‘Priya. Hi madam! It’s been so long!’

  ‘I swear. How’ve you been? You’ve lost weight, haan. Seriously,’ Priya said.

  ‘No ya, where! I hope by next weekend I get into all the clothes I’ve bought for the party.’

  ‘Okay, first things first. Where do you want to sit? I’m super hungry.’

  ‘Let’s sit by the window. I like the corner table. By the way, I love your skirt,’ Sakshi said.

  ‘Thank you,’ Priya replied brightly, straightening her skirt before sitting down on the fiddleback chair.

  They went through the first course of their meal making banal small talk.

  ‘How’s the candle-making going?’ Priya asked.

  ‘Good ya, it has picked up now. This marketing guy we’ve hired for the website is awesome. He’s charging a bomb, but I think it’s worth it, especially because he’s so damn handsome.’

  Both of them laughed.

  ‘You’re a pervert, Sakshi, you know that, right?’

  ‘Just kidding, ya. And tell me, how’s little Aryan doing? I saw some pictures Chirag had uploaded recently. Your son is growing taller by the day.’

  It was only when they were halfway through their second course that they got down to discussing the real reason they’d met up for. It was Sakshi who brought it up.

  ‘So,’ she began, ‘Will you finally answer my question?’

  Priya bobbed her head as if to say, ‘What question?’ The greasy pasta had eaten up bits of her orange lipstick.

  ‘How come you’re coming to Karjat? You said it won’t be possible when I asked you earlier.’

  Priya realized it was high time they addressed the elephant in the room. She sighed audibly.

  ‘I was excited to come from the very beginning. I was sure we weren’t going to do anything interesting on the long weekend, and when I got your invite, I started planning the trip right away.’

  Sakshi didn’t say anything but gestured her friend to go on.

  ‘Chirag said no. He’s not interested in doing anything or going anywhere these days; always tired and lazy. He said he’d probably have to work on that weekend. His office doesn’t give him half the bank holidays anyway. What do you even say to that? It was pointless to argue. That’s why I said no first.’

  Priya was hesitant to speak. In so many years this subject had never come up. It was an insignificant part of a time long gone. Why are we doing this now? she wondered. Why is that woman coming at all?

  ‘When I got to know she was coming, the first thing that came to my mind was, “Lucky that Priya’s not coming!” I am stuck now; I have to host her. And what can I even do? It’s our anniversary party. I didn’t want Karan to think I wasn’t okay with it.

  ‘After so many years it shouldn’t even matter. That’s why I informed you she would be there. I thought you had dodged a bullet. Then when you messaged me saying you were both attending the party, I got really confused,’ Sakshi said.

  There was a short pause after she spoke. Both of them had a lot to discuss but neither knew what to say. This was as awkward as Priya had thought it would be. This time she mustered up the courage to be forthcoming before they lost the momentum.

  ‘Why is she coming anyway? I mean . . . how come? I didn’t know you guys were friends,’ she said, then worried if she was being too nosy and insecure.

  ‘We’re not, at least not me. I barely know her. It’s Karan. They’ve kept in touch on Facebook. He got to know she was coming to Mumbai with her husband, and they got talking about the dates. When Karan found out she was going to be here on the weekend of our anniversary, he invited her, just like that. He didn’t even bother to consult me. And she also accepted. Can you believe the nerve of that woman?’ Sakshi said in a conspiratorial tone, leaning closer to Priya.

  Priya knew in some rational corner of her head that it wasn’t a big deal for someone to accept an invitation, but she couldn’t stop herself from sharing Sakshi’s feelings towards this woman. Her words conveyed to Priya that even after all these years this subject still bothered her. Frankly, if anyone should be bothered, it should be Priya.

  It took a few minutes of awkward long pauses and repeated assertions like ‘not that it matters much’ and ‘not that I really care’ for them to disinhibit themselves enough to discuss the matter openly. Talking to Sakshi and letting out the thoughts that had been holding her so tightly eased Priya, if only briefly—the mental equivalent of the first free breath after a tight skirt is undone.

  They both swore they were stuffed up to their necks but still ordered a dessert each—tiramisu and banoffee pie; two women bonding over their dislike of a third.

  Although th
ey wanted to talk more—especially Priya, who wanted to ask Sakshi several things about Kanika—they had to cut short their meeting at 3:15 p.m. as it was time for Aryan to be picked up. Saturdays were Priya’s turn in the mothers’ carpool.

  7

  At dinner Aryan was adamant to order pizza, willing to compromise only on the toppings. The thought was highly unappetizing to Priya. She had learnt to enjoy Aryan’s choices—pizza over fried rice, Pogo over TLC, gaming arcades over malls, ketchup over mustard sauce, but sometimes she wanted the fried rice, TLC, malls and mustard sauce. How much longer did she have to compromise?

  ‘Aryan only wants to have the cheese burst,’ Chirag told Priya standing outside their room with his phone in his hand, ready to call and order.

  She wanted to protest but there was just one child in their house and that wasn’t her. She nodded unenthusiastically. It was okay. Priya could happily eat pizza. Okay, not happily. But Priya could eat pizza.

  Chirag ordered their usual, just like he had the night before, except for the minor change in toppings that Aryan had ever-so-graciously allowed. After placing the order, Chirag dialled another number.

  ‘I’m calling Chang’s. What do you feel like eating?’ he asked Priya, feeling guilty for his behaviour in the afternoon.

  The gesture came as a surprise to Priya. Instead of giving her order, she sat on the bed smiling at Chirag, happy that he’d read her mind.

  ‘Priya, your order? What are we eating tonight?’ She’s definitely being strange.

  After a long wait, dinner—vegetable fried rice and dry chilli chicken—made its way to Chirag and Priya’s home. Just the smell of Chinese food made Priya’s mouth water. Sportingly, Aryan gave it a taste, a second chance, but found it as disgusting as he had before. With new-found respect for pizza, he went back to it. Priya felt comforted by sharing something with just her husband. It seemed strange how such a trivial matter could make her feel this way. It made her realize how important it was to be just husband and wife sometimes without being parents.