Familiar Strangers Read online

  But at that moment, looking outside his window, cupping the phone in his hands, he wished she hadn’t called.

  13

  The news of Karan’s hush-hush engagement to someone who wasn’t Kanika baffled Chirag. It had been a small affair between the two families—two gold rings, a few thick envelopes and a coconut were the only other witnesses.

  Param had told Chirag about it.

  ‘Oh, by the way, Karan is engaged. Some girl called Sakshi. Family friend I believe.’ He had mentioned it in passing. A casual sentence sandwiched between two more casual sentences. One person informing another about a third they were not in touch with—the olden times’ equivalent of discovering a friend’s engagement while scrolling down on Facebook.

  Chirag rang Karan up the same night to congratulate him. A lot was not asked during the conversation. A lot was not answered. But they decided to meet the following day.

  This time the mood between them was not as uncomfortable as it had been the time before. Kanika’s departure from both their lives had lifted a weight off their friendship.

  Where, on one hand, Karan was calm and collected as he had the advantage of knowing what had happened, Chirag came to the café nervous, thinking about the various possibilities of what might have happened. To his relief, Karan came straight to the point within minutes of them talking.

  ‘So . . . I don’t think you’ve heard about what happened between me and Kanika,’ he said, with a smile. It wasn’t a happy smile. It was a self-deprecating smile. An I-don’t-know-how-I-landed-up-here smile.

  The gateway to the discussion was opened and, quelling the little sense of embarrassment that threatened to rise from the pit of his stomach, Chirag allowed his curiosity to take over.

  ‘Actually, I haven’t heard. And to be honest, it didn’t let me sleep last night. I mean . . . didn’t you tell me you two were a . . . a thing. Then what happened?’ Chirag asked.

  Karan sighed, sounding like a deflating balloon. Then he said, ‘Nothing,’ and smiled again.

  ‘Nothing?’

  Karan allowed himself a short laugh. ‘Yeah, exactly. That’s what happened—nothing. I was an idiot, a big dumb idiot to think something was happening between us when nothing really was. She thought of us as friends.’

  An ‘oh’ sounded. An unconvinced ‘oh’.

  In the next twenty minutes, Karan explained what a huge misunderstanding the lack of clear communication had caused in their lives. He filled his friend in on all the details, conveniently leaving out any mention of Kanika’s return with a fiancé.

  Relief ran through Chirag’s body when it sunk in that Karan and Kanika were not going to get married. Although Chirag had managed to wrap his head around the fact that his friend was going to marry his ex-lover, he would have preferred that it didn’t happen. It’s not that he wanted her back. He didn’t even think of her on most days, and yet he was relieved.

  He leaned back in his chair and stretched his legs. He took a sip of his iced latte. It tasted good. It tasted better.

  Karan, on the other side of the table, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He hadn’t laid out the complete picture before Chirag. He considered not telling him about the fiancé but it didn’t seem right. He sipped at his hot coffee. It was too bitter.

  The tab for their table was settled and their discussion came to an end.

  ‘Let’s leave?’ Chirag said, straightening his back. Karan nodded, thinking of a way to say what he had avoided saying so far.

  ‘Karan, brother, you better call me for your wedding. We’ll plan something crazy for your bachelor party.’

  ‘Hundred per cent,’ Karan said. There’s no way to bring it up now.

  Chirag stood up first and offered a high five. Rising from his seat, Karan grasped Chirag’s hand with both his hands, the kind of handshake people offer at weddings and funerals.

  ‘She’s getting married, brother,’ he said.

  * * *

  It was almost time for Aryan’s bus but Priya was still hurriedly buttering his toast. Thoughts of his approaching maths test and his father’s ex-girlfriend didn’t let her sleep very well the night before. She usually woke up at the first sound of the alarm, but hit snooze three times this morning.

  Priya wiped her oily fingers on her nightgown. Aryan was standing right outside the kitchen—school bag slung across his shoulders, water bottle around his neck—waiting for her instructions. Deepali had been sent to the bus stop to make the bus wait. Chirag had left for work. Priya had no time to drop Aryan to school. As if in a relay match, she handed him two tissue-wrapped butter toasts and cheered, ‘Go go go.’

  * * *

  Both men, standing in the coffee shop, ready to leave, froze to their spots when Karan said what he said. Their handshake had gone on for too long. They retracted their hands awkwardly.

  ‘Who? What?’ Chirag asked.

  ‘Kanika, Chirag. She’s getting married.’

  It had been a while since their names had sounded together, next to each other.

  ‘When? To whom?’

  ‘Uh . . . Uh . . .’ Karan was suffering a moment of speechlessness. They were still standing.

  ‘Karan, bhai, tell me. Who have they found for Kanika?’

  ‘They didn’t, actually. She found the guy herself.’

  Chirag felt like he had been kicked in the groin when he heard this. Several tabs popped up in his mind’s computer—tabs he thought he had closed but hadn’t. A swarm of random memories wrestled for his attention. Memories he thought he had overcome but hadn’t: That one time they had cooked inedible dinner at his place when his parents were away and enjoyed it; the second time they had had sex, which was actually their first time, technically speaking. And the time he had carried her from one side of the road to the other, outside his college, only because she had asked him to. And the time she had said, ‘But it’s all happening too fast, Chirag,’ over the phone, over the distance of many continents. It all happened in a fraction of a second. Feelings of memories, rather than images, bubbled up inside him to make a soup of emotions he didn’t like the taste of.

  He didn’t respond immediately, but his face contorted to such an expression that Karan felt compelled to elaborate.

  ‘She met him at the university. He is Indian but born and brought up in America,’ he said.

  ‘Are you serious?’

  If we’re going to do this we might as well sit down, thought Karan but didn’t move.

  ‘Yep. They studied together. They’d been seeing each other on and off, until of course . . .’

  ‘Wow! I had no idea. For all these months . . . This is big news,’ Chirag said, remembering he had legs. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other.

  Karan shrugged. Now what? What was the protocol to end such a conversation?

  ‘Anyway. Good for her, I guess. And you too, man. Can’t believe so many people are getting married already,’ Chirag said.

  ‘Yeah, true. I hope you’re next.’

  ‘Me?’ Chirag said, with an ironic smile. ‘Not for a long time, man. Anyway . . . it was good catching up. Thanks brother . . . for . . . this. I hope you’re coming next month for the reunion.’

  ‘Most probably. Take care, buddy’

  ‘You too. You’ve got a ride?’

  ‘Yes, got my bike today.’

  ‘Ah. I want to take it for a spin sometime.’

  ‘Anytime, man.’

  ‘See you.’

  ‘See you.’

  And see each other they would.

  14

  As Priya stood in front of the mirror—a black bobby pin between her lips—her phone beeped. She threw a glance at the illuminated screen as she tucked the pin into her hair. It was a message from Sakshi. Priya sat on the bed and unlocked her phone.

  ‘Hi. A reminder for our anniversary party this weekend. Please try to be there by 4 p.m. on Friday. And don’t forget your swimming costumes. I’ll send the exact location on Google Maps once I rea
ch. See you all.’

  Karan and Sakshi’s anniversary was on a long weekend—Monday was a bank holiday—so they had decided to deck up their recently acquired holiday home and celebrate the occasion over three days, hosting close friends and family. There was another reason behind the extravagance—a far cry from their usual anniversary dinners at nearby restaurants—and that was Karan’s exceptional success in the last two years. They could afford to step out of their modesty for a weekend. Or fifty.

  Priya was impressed that the farmhouse had a pool. She remembered a time when Sakshi had decided to not buy a shoe after seeing its price on the heel. Shopping malls had sprouted in Mumbai that year like pimples on a teenager’s face.

  ‘It’s not that comfortable,’ Sakshi said, dismissing the black stiletto. But Priya recognized the sacrifice of a middle-class wife behind that decision. She had heard about Karan’s business not doing that well from Chirag. And she knew Sakshi was not too rich from being a full-time mother and an occasional painter.

  Sitting on the bed, Priya felt happy for her friend. But she was not looking forward to the weekend. Every time she thought about it, her stomach churned—the same feeling Aryan had when he thought about his upcoming maths test. She felt a surge of irritation. That message on Chirag’s phone had wreaked havoc in her life.

  * * *

  For a long time after hearing about Kanika’s wedding, Chirag found it hard to forget about her. Again. It was not her wedding but the fact that she had fallen in love that kept him up most nights. Did she meet the American before she left him? Was he the reason she left him? No, it couldn’t be. They parted ways because she did not see herself with him. She was not ready yet. Then how was she ready now, with him? The same few questions swam in Chirag’s head in dizzying circles. On two occasions he woke up to bad dreams in the middle of the night.

  He didn’t try to find out her wedding date, although he was curious, but her wedding date eventually found him. It made its way to his ears, bouncing off several talkative mouths, climbing thin grapevine branches. And once he had learnt it, he could not unlearn it.

  He wanted to desperately forget about her, to stop counting the days till her wedding but he couldn’t. He wanted to hate her, to curse her, to abuse her, but he couldn’t. That was the thing about Kanika. She had a way with people, offering comforting hugs and warm smiles, leaving them with happy memories of her glorious laughter. Even people who didn’t want to like her liked her. Even if she hurt you, you could never hurt her. She simply didn’t give you the power.

  The week of her wedding, Chirag spent all his free time with Param—playing squash, eating junk food and watching movies at his house. He couldn’t bear to spend any time alone.

  On the day of the wedding, he convinced Param to drive him to the venue.

  ‘What is the point of doing this, Chirag?’ Param tried to dissuade him, not for the first time.

  ‘Does everything has to have a point?’

  ‘You know this will only hurt you more. And anyway we can’t just show up like that. This is not some Bollywood movie where you can just show up at the last minute and steal the girl away.’

  ‘And I don’t want to either. Just drive.’

  For over an hour the two friends sat in the car, which was parked outside the banquet hall, watching suited men and well-dressed women come and go from a safe distance. Then they ate idli sambhar from a nearby stall.

  * * *

  When Sakshi first invited Priya and Chirag for a three-day stay over a long weekend, Priya was thrilled. It had been a while since she had stepped out of the city—more than a year in fact. They had taken Aryan to Gir National Park the year before. They saw vultures and pythons. Aryan got sick twice. And slept a lot. Chirag watched a different TV set with the same enthusiasm. Priya had sipped many cups of coffee alone in the balcony of their room.

  She was looking forward to this short getaway—not having to clean cupboards and buy groceries, nor having to worry about Aryan’s reaction to dinner and Chirag’s acidity after it. It would be a welcome change. So naturally, when Chirag told her to turn down the invitation, because he would have to work over the long weekend, she was disappointed. She felt a surge of frustration from the pit of her stomach to the top of her head. But it didn’t metamorphose into angry words. She simply turned off the light even though Chirag was reading some documents. Then she turned to her side and went to sleep.

  In the morning she typed out a courteous message to Sakshi, excusing themselves from the party. The day went by normally. They went to work. They had dinner. They went to bed. The next afternoon Priya received a message from Sakshi.

  FYI. Kanika from US. She’s coming for the party.

  It took Priya a moment to comprehend what her friend had just said. She almost didn’t remember the name Kanika; but when it dawned on her, she realized that no matter how many years went by, Kanika was a name she could never forget.

  Priya had never met her; only heard about her. She had seen some photographs of her—with Chirag, with Chirag and Karan, with Chirag and some other friends. Even Param was in one of them. They were casual photos, taken at public places, in front of a car, at a beach, at a party. Chirag was very young in those photos.

  Priya found the situation bizarre. In all these years, Karan had not been in touch with Kanika. She had not been present for the momentous occasions of his life, at least the ones Priya had been at. She felt relieved they had decided not to go. She would ask Sakshi the details whenever they met next.

  * * *

  After leaving the wedding venue, Param drove Chirag back to his house and asked him to stay over. They watched The Godfather on TV and then went to bed. In the middle of the night, Chirag woke up thirsty. He went to the kitchen and found Priya leaning against a counter, stifling her sobs.

  Since befriending Param in college, Chirag had met his younger sister on several occasions—at his house, on birthdays, at parties, at their graduation ceremony . . .

  They would exchange polite ‘hi’s and ‘hello’s but nothing beyond that.

  Chirag felt around for the light switch and turned it on. For a split second, before the tube light flickered on, Priya feared it was her brother. But finding Chirag instead, she dashed towards him, crying. She didn’t hold on to him, her hands were on her face. She just rested her head on his chest, as if she needed support, as if she needed to be hidden while she cried.

  Chirag froze. He didn’t have the time to process what was happening, to think what might have happened. He didn’t even see Priya’s face properly before she buried it in his chest. Partly worried that someone might come into the kitchen and misunderstand the scenario, he held her at an arm’s length and looked at her. Strands of her hair lazily left his T-shirt. She was holding an ice-filled kitchen cloth against her cheek. Tears had left streaks on her face. Her eye was slightly swollen, lashes sticking to one another. She used her sleeve to wipe her dripping nose.

  Before Chirag could ask anything, she spoke. ‘He pushed me . . . Chirag,’ she gasped between sobs. ‘That bastard actually pushed me against the car. We were having din . . . and we got into a fi . . . and . . . then I told him I w . . . go home and he got so angry . . .’ Most of her words were lost in mumbles. But he got the gist of it.

  He first suspected she was drunk. But the more he listened to her and watched her, it became evident that she wasn’t drunk but traumatized. As if attending to a child, Chirag silenced her incessant sobs.

  ‘Shh . . .Shh . . .’ Her shoulders were still in his grasp. Priya took a few deep breaths. She put down the kitchen cloth. The ice had completely melted and it was leaking. Chirag saw the delicate blue mark high up on her cheek, right below her left eye. A little part of her eyelid was also bruised.

  ‘He . . . for no reason . . . he pushed me,’ she said to Chirag in a much clearer voice. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know who Priya was talking about. It didn’t matter that he had nothing to say. All he could do was listen. It wa
s enough because all Priya needed was to be heard.

  ‘It was he who wanted me. He who wanted this! I used to avoid him. He would follow me, send me gifts, pass me messages through my friends. I . . . I didn’t give in to get hit like this.’

  Chirag nodded, his hands off her shoulders now. Priya was speaking softly but he was nervous about someone waking up. He had a faint idea that Priya was involved with someone whom her parents didn’t approve of. Param had not explicitly told him this, but he knew it in the way friends know things without being told, by being at the wrong place at the wrong time, overhearing family matters and gathering what goes on behind closed doors.

  ‘There’s some tension at home,’ Param would say if it was necessary to say something. ‘Parents are having a hard time with my sister.’

  Chirag poured her a glass of water, completely forgetting about his own thirst. She took the glass from his hand and drank it in one gulp. Then he opened the deep freeze and took out an ice tray. A quick twist sounded. The ice was broken.

  * * *

  Chirag returned home from work at 8 p.m. He left his laptop bag on the dining table. He loosened his tie on his way to the room. He sat on the bed and removed his shoes and socks. Then he went to the bathroom and turned on the geyser. He did that sometimes—take a bath after coming home from work, once maybe twice a week, when the day had been too long.

  Priya came into the room to take out some money to pay the washerman.

  ‘Hi,’ he said, picking up his socks.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, opening her cupboard. She wasn’t irritated with him about the weekend any more. She was glad they weren’t going, although he didn’t deserve credit for it.