Making babies with Mike was never top of the agenda, but Mike knew; he had to know. He was beautiful, I was smart and intelligent. A perfect calculation would have yielded a perfect offspring. The union that sprouts and awards could not happen. Why had he kept from me this deep, dark secret of his?
“M, I can’t have babies, because I don’t really like babies.”
“Right. We’ve been together for four long years Mike…surely you knew this day would come.” He doesn’t like babies. Is that reasonable? He had to have known. I am devastated. He tacitly observes. He is distant and obscure. He is a nice man, but this unexpected monologue renders me doubtful and mean. I lash out. I run. On my windy balcony attempting to light my nth cigarette, I contemplate upon my reaction. What disturbs me is the lack of faith. I would love him anyway I believe. But only when he was ready for us to part, he shared. Or perhaps only when he wished for an end, a way out. His need to remain a bachelor is stronger than his need of me. I didn’t know he harboured any thoughts at all. All mine I suppose, that’s what I heard. What do I know anyway? So I have smoked over 10 Marlboroughs today. Big deal. What if I were pregnant, which of course I am not. Maybe India will quell all this agitation, and this anger, and restore my sanity. Malini’s family is warm and welcoming. India is bursting with people; I could lose myself to the crowds. It’s also sunny and joyful. I shall be relished, and pampered. It’s what I need now, at this moment in time. I will be able to shed Mike, whose persona I have unwittingly borne time and again. I do that. I take on personalities. I am that kind of person. Then maybe I am not, it is I who shed some of mine. Doesn’t really matter, does it!
New Delhi, India
Steaming cups of tea with fritters, Malini and her garrulous nature, Mohan, her chubby mate and father to their two young children—I’m on a long balcony facing their little fishpond, sinewy bamboo and murmuring greens. I hear the crows, and other birds I fail to identify. Externally, so much is happening, internally I am in the here and now. This is greatly satisfying and terribly addictive. Haven’t smoked since I got here; so perhaps I might even give up and prepare for a baby, whosoever’s. Let me first finish my fourth cup of masala chai, and get my fill of these delectable onion and cheese fritters. This is heaven.
I’m glad Mike did not come to see me off at the airport. I’d rather imagine him a kind, loving man who chose a future separate from mine. Yet I feel I’ve been had. No more thoughts of Mikey and his ‘goodness’. Mmmmm, the aroma of jasmine is taking over my senses. It’s already past 7.00 pm
and I’ve been invited to a dinner party with the Guptas.
It is the month of March, and Delhi is at its prettiest—fragrant rose gardens, smartly bedecked buildings and lushly carpeted parks. Last evening, on the promenade at Lodhi Gardens, it was balmy; so tonight I shall wear my long, black dress. It’s elegant enough, I’ve been told in the past.
Here we are at the Bhawani home, and what an exquisite home it is! Driving through a tree-lined avenue we arrive and I am presented as a close family friend.
I am all snug inside. The middle-aged couple is obviously very well to do, and eminently house proud. Every corner of their mid-sized house spells detailed care as much as comfort. Crystal ware against the Gothic lampshades, bronze statues of Gods and Goddesses in welcoming posture, or dancing, pose sinuously by the doorway. There’s an air of sophistication unlike at the Gupta’s, where the lived-in look has its own allure.
I am instantly taken.
“Miriam, we’d like to introduce you to the chef extraordinaire, our son Uday,” the hostess, holding a young man’s arm speaks, injecting a real person into my reverie.
“Uday, this is Miriam, our special guest tonight.”
Uday is an exceptionally good-looking bloke. I observe his shock of curly brown hair, and his rather perky mouth. Taller than most Indian men I’ve met so far, in a well-tailored pair of trousers and a very white shirt. Am I sensing an instant attraction for this man? My eyes betray a definite flicker of excitement. Ah well, doesn’t really, matter does it? He is young and taken undoubtedly. So am I, it appears.
“Hello Miriam, how do you do?”
Such a formal greeting! Indians are always so correct, but I do so appreciate his firm handshake. His clasp is just right.
“Fine thank you, Udaai, is that the right pronunciation?”
“Yes indeed. Welcome to our home. Your first trip out here?”
“No, not really. Been here at least four times already. Isn’t that right Malini?” seeking an escape from those dark brown eyes.
“Miriam, this is in fact your fourth foray into our country,” Malini beams back. Is she giving me that look—careful dear, this is India?
While the four friends are getting busy with their natter, Uday is very chatty. I am fascinated to discover that this 38-year-old gentleman still lives with his parents. Hmmm, hasn’t launched yet then. Not so uncommon in India, I suppose. I am certain he has women eating out of his hands and has faced difficulty choosing the right mate. It wasn’t easy for me. There were so many before my four-year run with Mike. Stay in the moment, I tell myself. Uday is saying something about running his office from the second floor of the house. I am an art curator, I hear myself say. I want to know more about his metier and then we are gushing about global fine arts and the origins of his love of art. We are at ease. The wine is excellent, in accordance with the company. The evening bears promise. Uday’s culinary skills are evident when we are called upon to dine on their superbly laid out pine table. Aromatic fare—every dish tickles my palate. I have never tasted anything so delicately tempered, artistically garnished and tastefully displayed. It is like participating in a gourmet food show, and being asked to judge the best dish. I would completely fail, unable to find flaw in any. Post-dinner, Uday’s parents encourage him to seek my opinion on matters of art, while continuing to engage with their friends.
I discover that Uday and I have much in common, and he asks me to visit his second floor office/home. I have nothing to fear, since I am in the safe company of a very educated Indian. It is heady and exhilarating. I follow Uday to his studio after the glorious dinner. We are in his studio. The apartment is like him, neat and aesthetic. Not quite Spartan; yet one instantly knows it is a bachelor’s den. A divan lies at one end, lined with uni-coloured cushions, a walnut desk with a straight-backed chair at the other. Art canvasses line the walls. One large teakwood frame encasing a family portrait hangs delicately just outside a functional kitchenette. It’s very still, and it’s a perfect getaway.
The ambience of the place is wrapping itself around my open senses, and I savour every minute. Uday’s easy and familiar manners, after the formal introduction, are a pleasant reversal. But of course, it’s the wine that makes him less watchful. He takes me by the hand and proudly shows off his collection, while I further sum him up. It is an impressive collection without a doubt, but I am into him. He seems lightly flirtatious and exceedingly attentive. I am flattered. His speech has slowed down. Am I intelligible? He takes me out to the terrace with a vermouth in his hand, and offers me a sip. He says, “It’s the best ‘Vermut de Grifo’”…Vermouth on tap. Oh boy! A connoisseur of liqueur too. Where does this go from here, or how does it get better than this? Uday is gentle. I am sipping the vermouth, allowing it to coat my tongue and am seized by the impulse, waiting to explode, to kiss his mouth. He is regarding me with indulgence.
“So? Good stuff eh!”
“Oh yes!” I gulp.
There is a light moon shedding silver streaks on the terrace. This is the height of a romantic evening. Surely I am not alone in imagining it so. This is when I am supposed to look coy, and the man would look deep into my gaze and tell me that I am very beautiful. The silence is pregnant with the suspense of desire.
And then I hear him ask, “So when do you return home Miriam?” The suspense broken, I watch him looking, not at me, but out into the semi-dark sky.
My face is flushed, “In two days actually,” sagging tones lining my voice.
“Ah well, so maybe I could then try and see you in London. You do live in London proper, don’t you?”
“I do. Swiss Cottage. You are coming to London?” I instantly perk up.
“I am, around mid-May. I have two days work, and then…”
“And where would you be staying?” I betray some excitement now.
“A motel in Knightsbridge.” Uday smiles.
“I would absolutely love to Uday, I would love to see you.”
“May I Miriam?” and he plants a kiss on both my warm, glowing cheeks. His breath is heavy with the mixed scent of wine and Vermouth, his closeness, perfumed and arousing. I am not quite myself, or at least not the lady who stepped into this home a few hours back. Mike hovers quietly in the background of my life. It doesn’t really matter, does it?
On my return to England, a rejuvenated woman, Uday and I exchange many intimate emails. It is quite thrilling and we decide to take a trip to Scotland together to further discover one another. I now understand that it’s best to flow along the current. I was never very adept at flowing, being more of a driver. Letting myself go came naturally in India. I am letting go, allowing myself to live in the moment and breathe freely. I feel positive, I feel nourished. It’s not something I felt often enough before my trip to India.
Mike and I remain good friends. I’ve shared Indian tales with him omitting what needs no telling. Everyone doesn’t need to know everything, not even an old lover. If Mike sensed a change, he discreetly made no mention of it. I realise how mismatched our lives were. I was too much in the relationship to allow him to be anyone other than a co-passenger, and a very meek one. Perhaps I was unfair to expect him to take to fatherhood.
I should have known too.
I have started Tango lessons. It helps me give of myself. I have to be in complete harmony with my partner and the energy exchange between the pair can be no less than just right. The purpose matches my willingness to both take and give. It’s beautiful.
My eyes light up at the thought of India.
It is still very cold here in London. It’s the last day of April. I can’t wait to see Uday again. I feel warm and grateful. I am thinking that it would definitely be worth giving Uday a shot at driving me up to Scotland. I don’t doubt that he will prove to be a more balanced driver than I would ever be. It doesn’t really matter, because it’s all about equilibrium, isn’t it?
- Kamalini Natesan
