Chapter 21
Price of hurt egos
ADITYA
“We agreed!” My voice rises in desperation. I glance around to check if the other patrons in the restaurant have noticed. The hurt on Shalini's face pricks at my heart, refreshing the wounds of the guilt I carry.
We are meeting at a cafe in Rajiv Chowk to get some paperwork done for the house I handed over to her in the divorce. The timing is convenient as the book launch happens today.
“Did you leave me any choice? You decided you are gay and dumped the fact on me one fine morning,” Shalini says through gritted teeth.
She has every right to carry the grudge, but for how long? I squeeze my eyes shut to calm my nerves. Patience. Be patient, I repeat in my mind.
“Sorry, Aditya, but I am not a saint. I went into the marriage with an open heart, but you?” She leaves so much unsaid. The implications hurt, but they are the truth.
“Shalini, I am sorry. I cannot undo what happened between us, and I will carry the guilt all my life, but we must move on at some stage.” I reach out and touch her hand, but she snaps it away.
Right, I have earned this disdain. “Shalini, we were carrying three corpses on our shoulders. You, me, and our marriage. You were wilting away; I was choking. Forget love, the friendship we had forged was slipping out from between our fingers. Now we both have a chance to build something new.”
“What is my fault in all this? I gave my all. My heart, my love, my time. Doing everything to make the marriage work. Whereas you were looking somewhere else.” Shalini's eyes become moist.
“Not fair, Shalini. I never cheated. I respected you and the sanctity of our relationship. But marriage is more than commitment. Divorce gives us a chance to start anew with someone we love.”
“Aditya, we could have fallen in love if you had tried, but you were not present.”
How? Love is spontaneous, not scheduled.
Love is an alien concept in most Indian marriages.
Alliances are arranged based on clan, family, and compatibility.
They last only due to those compulsions, binding two people who meet at the girl's house or in a restaurant for the first time.
They are asked to decide on a brief chat, pledging their lives together.
“Have you found someone?” Shalini asks.
The question catches me off guard. Should I tell her about Jimmy?
What started as an exploration is now more significant than any other relationship in my life.
The journey has been one hell of an adventure.
Where and when did love overtake lust? Over the past few weeks, Jimmy has become more than a romp in bed.
He has warmed his way into my heart. Each moment spent in his company is a cherished memory, whether with his friends or hiking through the forests to find cave paintings.
“Why do you say so?” I glance at Shalini, trying to decipher the meaning behind her question.
She shrugs. “Your vibe” — she waves a finger around my face — “is different.”
“Must be the gym sessions and the fresh mountain air.” I wave off her point, but my nonchalance only goes so far.
“Do you love him?”
Shalini’s question forces me to drop the casualness.
I see traces of sadness on her face. My mind goes on a guilt trip, like the one all those years ago when my parents took me to grandma's house in Gwalior.
I had created a ruckus at the interstate bus terminus, fussing over the scorching June Delhi sun and had earned myself an ice cream – a luxury at the time.
I sat by the window seat, relishing each lick, when a young girl in tatters and grime, with a baby on her hip, called out from the road, asking for food and water.
Her tongue swept her dry, parched lips when I licked my ice cream softy.
All my happiness died at the longing in the girl's eyes.
I gave her my ice cream and watched her run off. What will I give Shalini?
A hand lands on my back, jerking me out of my seat. The collar on my shirt chokes me as I am shoved down to the floor. The chair rattles to the ground. Before I can react, a foot slams into my ribs.
“Papa, stop! Rahul, please, stop!” Shalini pleads with her father and brother.
I curl into a fetal position, bracing my hands to protect my head.
A commotion breaks out. All I hear are shouts.
No words register as more kicks land on my stomach and back.
A scuffle ensues with more shouting before everything becomes silent.
“Sir, are you all right?” A man turns me. He helps me limp up to a chair. I double over in pain. God, I hope the ribs are intact. “Someone call an ambulance!” the man shouts.
“No. No ambulance. No police.” I stop them before a bigger scene is caused by involving the authorities.
A glass of water is pushed my way; I gulp it in one go to wet my parched throat.
A hand reaches out and hands me a napkin.
The mental agony of recognising the wedding ring on those slender fingers adds to the physical pain.
“Get away from the scoundrel!” Shalini's brother screams.
I turn towards the voice and find Rahul being restrained by two guards. The restaurant manager is holding Shalini's father.
“Papa, I told you I will deal with Aditya. Why did you come here and cause a scene?” She picks another napkin from the table and presses my bleeding nose.
“Why are you meeting him? I will ruin him for making your life hell!” Shalini's father shouts as he and Rahul are led outside the restaurant.
***
“Aditya, you are in no shape to attend the event.”
Jatin sits beside me in Priya's office. He rushed from Gurgaon when I called him for help.
I did not want to risk going to my place in Paharganj.
Shalini's father and brother have the address.
Priya's office is safer. She arranged for a doctor to examine me.
Thanks to the thick tweed coat and sweater, there are no fractures.
The bruises can be hidden under clothes.
“The bleeding has stopped, and the painkiller will take effect in a while.” I hold the ice pack to the side of my chest.
“Jatin is correct. You should rest. Go to his home or a hotel.” Priya is hovering around me like a mother hen. My arrival at the reception with a bloody nose had shaken her to the core. Until now, she never believed my fears.
“And what will I tell Jimmy? He is anxious. This is the first live talk.”
“I will take care of Jimmy at the book signing along with our marketing team. Moreover, what if Shalini's family lands up there? What if they are stalking you?” Priya expresses her concern.
“You should file charges against those thugs,” Jatin adds his two bits.
“What will we achieve except unnecessary police interference? I have had my fill of the courts during the divorce. Shalini has promised to rein in her brother and father.” I place the ice pack in the tray.
Jatin lets out an exasperated sigh. “This is a holy mess. You gave in to their demands. What more do they want?”
“Retribution for their hurt egos.” I smile to calm Jatin, but we know this is not the last we will hear from Shalini's family.
“Can't your uncle talk some sense into them?” Jatin paces the room, rubbing his temple.
“Huh? No way. None of my family wants anything to do with me. Uncle is more upset at me than Shalini’s father.” I snort at Jatin's suggestion, recollecting my last meeting with my uncle. He threw me out of his house.
“So, what do we do?” Priya asks.
“Nothing. Ignore her family and go about our lives, but with a bit of caution.” I stand and pick up my peach-coloured shirt. “Give me five minutes. I will walk to the book event.”
Priya is still not convinced. “Are you sure? I am worried about you. Hateful people should not cloud your happiness.”
“What else can we do? Till society accepts people like us, our joy will be held at knifepoint.”
The worry lines on Priya’s forehead increase.
“Hey, don't worry. I will take extra precautions.”
Jatin and Priya take my reassurance with scepticism. She walks out, giving me privacy to dress up.
“Aditya, don't push what happened today under the rug. Verbal spats are manageable, but physical violence?” Jatin leaves his main worry unsaid.
“Jatin, they won't kill me.” Or will they stoop to such an extent? I turn away from Jatin, hiding the tremor in my hand as I button my shirt.
***
JIMMY
Where are you?
I stare at the message, willing the app to show me the three dots.
But even after thirty minutes there is no response from Aditya.
His silence is worrying. He should have been here by now after he met with his ex-wife.
The anxiety increases when Priya arrives and sets the book launch event in motion.
She is busy with the marketing team, so I don’t bother her and shoot off another message.
We are starting in another five minutes. Addy, please, please answer.
After another excruciating minute, my phone buzzes.
At the gate.
The message is a relief. I look up and find the man smiling at me from across the crowd.
The nerves twitching inside settle as Aditya walks in and sits at the back.
I understand his request to stay anonymous, considering he is not out to everybody in his circle, but I am no celebrity.
Who will even notice? After the court verdict two months ago, we could at least have held hands and introduced him as my boyfriend.
He shot down the idea outright. Not wanting to dwell on the hurt, I focus on the event today.
Wow. Four years ago, as I hitched a ride on the truck, I never imagined seeing this day. A group of close friends, a decent, respectable life as a gym instructor, and now this. A career as a model and a man of my own by my side.
“Ready for your shot at fame?”
Priya puts a break to my spiralling thoughts.
Here goes. After introducing me and the book, she gives me the mic to read a chapter we had chosen.
Once I finish, there is applause. The crowd is decent, about thirty people, well-dressed and educated by their appearance.
Two photographers hover around, taking snaps from different angles.
The event is being recorded for showing on local networks and Instagram.
My eyes land on Aditya. His beaming face confirms I have passed the first test.
“We will now take questions from the audience, followed by a book signing. Please do stay for the high tea, snacks, and a chance to interact with the author.” Priya lays out the plan for the rest of the event.
The first question comes from a reporter from a Delhi-based newspaper. “The book is set in a small town. How much of your life is reflected in the story?”
“A writer builds imaginary characters and worlds. Their own experiences colour a lot of the world-building. But, in this story, not everything is about me or my life. Akhil, the main protagonist, is not me.” The well-rehearsed answer rattles off my lips.
The reporter takes his seat. The next question is expected, but still silences the buzz in the room.
“Are you gay?” The lady in a magenta silk saree with coiffed white hair asks. Aditya, sitting two rows behind, cringes.
“Why only gay, ma’am? Why not bi, pan, demi or asexual? I can be whatever I want and not owe you or anyone an answer or a label on my head. This story is more than my sexuality.” I play cool, not letting the challenge in the lady's eyebrows faze me.
“So, is this an own voices novel?” She persists, trying to stir up a controversy.
“Oh, thank God, Akhil is not a serial killer.” I pause and give an exaggerated eye roll to add some drama. “Otherwise, you would accuse me of murder.” The response wins a wry smile from the lady. She sits back. A few more questions are taken before Priya moves us to the next phase.
Booklovers line up before the table where I am seated. A few engage in brief chatter, and some even flirt. But, gosh, when is this going to end? My cheeks hurt with the fake smile plastered over my lips since we started.
“Uff. Some people.” Aditya shakes his head at the old lady. “But I loved your response.” He pushes a copy of the novel towards me. He is the last man standing in the queue.
This time, my grin is genuine. “I have great teachers.” I wink at him. He turns his head left and right before giving a smile.
“Excuse me, but we have a party to attend.” Priya interrupts our smiling match.
Aditya flinches when he turns. His feet wobble, forcing him to grab a chair — hell to this stupid drama. I reach out and touch his arm. “Are you okay? Is something wrong?”
“No. Nothing.” He steps aside, out of my grasp, letting my hand fall. He braces himself and turns to me, “I slipped on the stairs in my hurry to reach on time.”
I am not convinced. He is hiding something. I want to take him aside and find out why he is limping. Did something happen at the restaurant?
Priya does not give me a chance. She ushers me into a separate room with large murals of book readers of all ages and posters of some classics plastered on the walls.
The platter of patties, samosas, and assorted pastries doesn't excite my taste buds.
All I want is to talk to the adorable man in tweed.
Aditya follows, but lingers at a distance.
I hate this stranger's act. He should be by my side. I should be taking care of him.
“Stop checking your watch,” Priya admonishes me and pulls me to meet a reporter.
Aditya smiles as I walk past him. A small gift to carry me through the remainder of the evening.
I can't wait to get out of here and join the Delhi Pride parade.
No one will stop me from hugging and touching my man.
Not to forget kissing him silly. We are allowed to kiss in public now without being arrested.
But before the snogging, Aditya and I will have a stern talk about whatever is bothering him.