Many Secrets Between Us

On 13^th April, the day the Indian New Year begins, I came upon a secret that changed my life forever. The Indian new year is based on the Hindu calendar in which astrological positions play a key role. The nation’s renowned astrologers had appeared on television elaborately explaining planetary positions and how they would impact each sun sign. I had opened the newspaper that morning and briefly glanced at what the stars had in store with me. “You are going to come on a secret that will transform your life. One phase of your life is going to come to an end”. I had not paid much attention since astrological predictions are like the Indian weather report that is always off the mark. But this time the astrologer with a prominent caste mark on his forehead was dead right.

Everyone was in a festive mood and wishing one and all “May the new year be auspicious for you”. Everyone was dressed in new clothes as is the custom. Many had planned the festive menu and song and dance evenings to ring in the new year. We never celebrated any festivals because we believed that there was nothing special about festivals or birthdays. I had neither gone shopping for clothes nor for groceries since we did not believe in hosting or attending parties. I came down the steps into the parking lot and was pleasantly surprised to see him waiting there. So, he did remember it was the new year! Barely suppressing my smile, I raced up to meet him. He did not return my smile but said that he wanted to tell me something. I waited for him to speak. Dying to know what he had to tell me, I urged him to cut out the suspense. But he said it could wait till we got home. All kinds of thoughts crossed my mind. Perhaps he has received the job offer he has been waiting for and he was going to give me a surprise. The new year was going to bring us the gifts we had been waiting for. But I was not prepared to hear the secret that was waiting to be told.

I had enviously watched others display their new collection and given them suggestions on what would be appropriate for day wear and evening. But I did not really mind so long as we were together. I could make a special meal for just the two of us and listen to the sound of our hearts. I peeled off my work clothes, changed into something comfortable and got started as soon as we reached home. We could begin with an appetizer of raw mangoes with cottage cheese starters and move on to the main course of chickpeas, puris, aloo dum and pulao and end with a desert of thickened milk with nuts. I put on the chickpeas to simmer and the potatoes to steam while I diced onions, crushed ginger and got the dough ready for the puris and began to set the table. I brought out the crochet place mats and fine china and arranged roses in a vase. All we needed was some candles and music. He looked preoccupied and said he had to complete a poem he had begun that morning. Certain that he was going to serenade me with his new composition, I brought piping hot food to the table and called him softly. In the meanwhile, I changed into a handwoven muslin sari.

He came to the table, his mind still on the poem and pulled a chair. “What’s all this? What is the occasion?”, he inquired looking annoyed, “And why are you all dressed up at home?” “Have you forgotten? May this year be auspicious for us,” I gently murmured. He served himself some food and began to eat in distracted manner. I tried to search for an answer but it was impossible to see the expression on his face in the dim light.  I asked him if the food was all right. He nodded absent mindedly. “You were going to tell me something,” I began preparing myself to hear his good news. “I will. Let’s finish the dinner first,” he responded. We ate our meal in silence. I was glad he couldn’t see the tears that had began to glisten at the corner of my eyes. Perhaps he is in a dilemma because taking up a new job would entail leaving me behind, I reasoned and waited for him to speak. He got up to wash up and took a long time to complete his bedtime rituals. The wait was killing me. I put away the dishes, stacked the leftover food in the fridge and blew out the candle. He was still in his study working on his poem. I showered, brushed my teeth and got into bed. Half an hour later, I found him sliding in beside me. He looked at me to check if I was asleep. I held his hand. “I am moving to the US in a week”, he blurted out. “That’s wonderful! So, you got the job you had applied for. I will need a couple of months to wind up though,” I snuggled up to him. “You don’t need to go anywhere. I will be going alone”, I pulled away hurt by the coldness in his voice and went to sleep. When I woke up the next morning, I wasn’t sure if I had imagined it all. But it was real. He informed me that he needed to travel to the South to get misplaced documents that he would need to apply for a visa and went out to book his tickets. He returned to pack up essentials, a set of clothes and other personal items in a small backpack and left for the railway station.

I had an entire week to put the jigsaw puzzle together. Snatches of conversation, images, expressions flashed before my eyes bringing revelation. I had missed all the clues. We were getting ready to go to the neighbourhood bazaar to pick up a few things. I loved going out anywhere with him. I wore a block printed blue salwar kameez, lined my eyes with kajal and added a long sticker bindi on my forehead. I looked at the mirror and was quite happy with my appearance. “Take that off. You look like a small-town girl”, he remonstrated. Eager to please him, I removed it immediately and threw it in the garbage bin. We walked silently past the flower seller with his garlands of marigold and jasmines spread out on a sack on the pavement. The flower seller beckoned him, “Take some, I will give you a deal.” He pretended he had not heard the vendor.  I caught our reflection in the mirror as he sat down to try on a pair of flipflops and found an unfashionable, uncool, housewifely behenji staring back at me. ‘High time I overhauled my wardrobe”, I told myself. Living in the parochial small town had indeed turned me into a small-town ‘behenji’ who is always clad in a salwar kameez or sari and wears her hair long in a braid or a loose bun. I made a mental checklist of all the things I needed to do on my next visit to the metro city and a haircut at the Chinese hairdresser in the city centre was on top of my list.

I was overjoyed when he asked me to accompany him on his visit to the metro city the following week and even offered to take me shopping. We were riding in a taxi to the white town where colonial buildings dating back to the 19^th century, or even earlier, were dwarfed by ugly high rises. We stopped in front of a newly opened western casualwear chain and got in to check out their latest collection. He wanted me to try out a pair of jeans with a clinging T shirt. I had not dressed in westerns since my undergraduate years. After moving to the small town, I had found that dressing in ethnic wear was a good strategy to attract the least attention. A young saleswoman pulled out a pair of blue jeans, a white T-shirt and escorted me to the trial room. I slipped on the pair of jeans and they fitted perfectly. There is nothing like a white T-shirt that displays your curves to advantage. I had been hiding my curves all these years in baggy salwar kameezes. I was quite pleased with what I saw in the mirror and shyly invited him to help me decide. He stared at me as if he was seeing me for the first time. “Oh, my god! You look fabulous. Take all of them. And remain in the one you have on”. The saleswomen, pleased with the commission they were going to make, fussed about me, “Are you going to go abroad? Where would you be going?” I was not surprised that they mistook me for a traditional behenji who metamorphosed into a modern woman only at the departure gate of the international airport.

Laden with shopping bags, we tried to hail a taxi when it began to pour. The wide road was flooded within a few minutes. At last a taxi stopped and the driver opened the door asking us to get in. However, one needed to wade through a puddle to get in the taxi. As I was trying to figure out how to get in the taxi without wetting my new pair of sandals, I found myself being lifted into the taxi. I was one cloud nine. What had come over him? The romance was long gone out of our lives ever since we had begun to worry about how to pay the next utilities bill. His grand gesture of asking the driver to drop us at a swanky restaurant a few blocks away appeared to be disproportionate to our small eating out budget. But today he had decided to throw all caution to the winds and enjoy the moment. He escorted me as chivalrously into the coffee shop as it was too early for lunch and pointed to the sumptuous salad bar. I noticed many heads turn as I entered in my transformed avatar. “They have excellent salads should you choose to go in for those”, he suggested. The thought how he knew about the quality of their salads did cross my mind but I ignored it soaking in the ambience of the coffee shop. This was the life I would have liked. I broke into an animated conversation as I tend to do when I am very happy. He watched me wordlessly with a smile. I tried not to peer into the cheque that was discreetly hidden in a leather cover wondering how many weeks groceries we would have to forego for this extravagant treat. He paid the bill leaving a hefty tip. I didn’t want our lunch date to come to an end. But he had work to do he said and ushered me in a waiting cab. I remained in dreamlike state all the way to our hotel and got out of my reverie when the cabdriver announced that we had arrived at our destination. I absently handed him the fare and let myself in the apartment.

We made another shopping expedition the following to the metro, this time to pick up some smart casuals for him. “I think I must get some new clothes too”, he said softly. I was overjoyed by the thought of him expressing interest in acquiring a new wardrobe and getting rid of his frayed collars. He agreed to go shopping for summerwear and I was only too happy to accompany him to brand stores helping him find the right size. He looked in my direction to check if we could afford to splurge, “How does this look? Should I get one?”. Apprehensive that he might change his mind any moment, I egged him on to buy all the new shades in the summer collection. We had a wardrobe fit for a student about to enroll for a new programme. Six pairs of trousers and tees in muted shades, socks to match and another pair of sneakers. I couldn’t wait to get home and give away all his worn, faded clothes. The makeover made him a person who I recognized from a long time ago. His posture became upright and he looked like he was ready to take on the world. His movements became purposeful and brisk and he seemed like he was raring to go. He exuded the confidence that had made his bosses believe in his ability to deliver more than a decade ago. He was not intolerant of small talk or lighthearted conversation. He came back from work and narrated amusing incidents about his coworkers. He would find an excuse to visit the metro every weekend and return with some new gifts. Why, he even agreed to attend social events and joked with my friends. Who knows he might be game to go to the movies one of these days? Or even a wedding. I started thinking about which one of my wedding saris I could wear.

He came back late that evening and seemed very excited. He had met this former beauty queen who had become a follower of a guru and would escape every so often from the hullaballoo of the big city to the peace of the guru’s ashram. She still had looks that could kill and a daughter who was a spitting image. “She wants to come here and start a spirituality workshop with me”, he said unable to moderate his enthusiasm. “What about her husband?”, I inquired gingerly. “Oh, the husband is too busy making his millions to spare time for her. Perhaps that’s why she has turned to spirituality”. I thought of the pampered wife of the head honcho of a transnational corporation who didn’t need to prepare a monthly budget for groceries and worry herself to death if she had overshot it. She could indulge in positive thoughts about compassion and meditation. Here was I trying to find out how we would repay the EMI for the refrigerator we had purchased the previous month.  The whiff of the lady’s expensive perfume travelled from her mansion to the pile of dirty dishes waiting to be washed. Swishing her chiffon and diamonds, I could hear her voice her planetary concern. I was jealous but pretended to be excited about her visit, “I would love to meet her when she is here.” I caught him throwing a quick look at me to assess if I could have an audience. “Yes, of course,” he concluded reluctantly, “if her husband would let her visit. They are planning a vacation in Mauritius next week.” We had never gone on a holiday. Maybe we would also be able to go on a holiday sometime.

I spent the following weekend daydreaming. About moving into a spacious apartment and buying custom made furniture with furnishings and curtains in the colour of the sky. I dreamed of driving down to the metropolis in our own car instead of the crowded local trains and public transport. On the next new year, I could buy a handwoven designer sari and some gold jewellery as it was considered auspicious to purchase gold on the new year day. Perhaps we could try out the buffet in the grand restaurant he was talking about, seek the blessings of the family and take in a musical concert later in the evening. I had mentally begun to plan the soiree and the lavish banquet I would host for friends in my garden. I could hear the strains of classical music in my mind and strains of conversation that followed. I could smell the heady scent of jasmine flowers blended with the imported perfume the women wore along with the aroma of the festive cuisine warming in the kitchen. Dressed in a summery ivory sari with and my hair tied in a topknot to show my new gold danglers to advantage, I was handing out mango lassi to guests. It appeared to be a dream from which I would have to wake up soon.

I did not recognize the cold stranger who returned home after a week. He was back with the documents he needed to make his travel plans. These plans did not include me then or ever. But the fool that I was I agree to lend him the few dollars I had received as a gift. He went about ticking off items from his ‘To Do’ list with a clinical efficiency. He counted and packed the new set of clothes we had bought together in a newly acquired trolley bag. He checked and double checked the documents that he might need. He gave away all his personal possessions to those who he thought might be able to make use of them. He gifted his motorbike to the swimming coach and harmonium to the grocer’s daughter. The gardener was grateful for the exotic plants he was asked to nurture. The dog had found a new owner, the neighbour’s son. He left me with nothing but a stack of poems scribbled at the back of discarded paper and a toothbrush that he forgot to pack along. A wedding card fell out of the sheaf of papers. Dated 13^th April twenty years ago, it announced the wedding of the beauty queen with the son of the scion of a wealthy business family.