Chapter 28 #2
Hussain was the relief in the chaos Chhaya’s life had become in recent months.
If she was not working, then she was caring for her brother, and the only time she got away from it all was when we met, and we hadn’t met much.
Men were always chasing her, but either the timing wasn’t right or the person was ‘a little off centre’, as she put it. Whose centre, I didn’t ask.
She longed to be young and get knotted in a romance. A careless affair. At the very least, I thought, Hussain would be a worthy spoiler.
‘If this were a movie plot, where would it go?’ My voice was weak. I took a deep breath in a bid to replenish it.
‘I don’t know,’ she said, smiling. ‘It’s just the beginning. For the time being, I just want to enjoy it.’
‘Some beginning it has been! Comprehensive.’
‘Is there any other way to start?’
‘Outside of all bases covered? That would be unprofessional,’ I said, winking. A tear escaped my determined guard, a sob followed. I had held on for too long.
‘What happened?’ Chhaya asked, moving forward in her seat. ‘Why are you crying?’
‘I’ve put in my papers.’
‘At Morning Herald,’ she said. It was not a question.
I apologized to Chhaya. She was finally enjoying a romance and I couldn’t even hear her out. Wait until she had said her piece. Wow!
‘Why?’ she pressed after dismissing my admission of guilt.
‘I can’t work with Andrew any more; I shouldn’t be around him. I need to get away.’
‘Shouldn’t?’
I shook my head.
‘What happened, Myra?’
‘It’s not the same any more.’ I wasn’t going to bring up the messages; they were only a trigger for the decision. Pooja wasn’t the reason.
‘What?’
‘Us?’
She was chewing at her croissant furiously. I heard it.
‘He doesn’t see what his affair has done to me, to us.’
‘But why did you quit Morning Herald?’
‘I wish he’d returned to India with a wife and three sons. It would’ve been a kick in the gut, but I would’ve managed. I’d have recovered.’
‘When exactly did this happen?’
‘A month ago.’
My friend looked at her watch; she was checking the date. She was in Delhi. ‘I assume you have told him.’
I recalled the entire process, from the first texts I had sent out looking for a job to telling Andrew.
She watched me reach for her half-eaten croissant and take a slurpy bite. It was salty.
What we had was special, Andrew and I. I see that now more than ever.
We put the other before I, unconsciously.
We were completely in tune with each other – the pen in the far corner of his left trouser pocket, the unopened bottle of water in my hand, which he reached to open. Not because I couldn’t open the bottle or he didn’t know where his pen was.
We knew each other interminably.
‘And he regrets what he did because of what that cost him and not the two of you.’
It sounded silly when put like that. ‘It’s not like him not to get it, Chhaya. It’s not like the Andrew I know.’
‘Maybe she screwed him so badly in the head.’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t think she has anything to do with it.’
‘What kind of an idiot falls for or has affection for a person like that? Not once but twice. It can be hard to swallow.’
I nodded. No! I told myself. Andrew is no longer my problem.
‘But that is not your problem,’ my bestie said. ‘Somewhere, this line was crossed, and it’s not yours to uncross.’
I exhaled. I couldn’t agree with her more.
‘I don’t want to quit this job, this city, my home, you. But what choice do I have?’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Mumbai.’ I gave a stunned Chhaya the details of my new job.
I slipped into my apartment quietly. I had passed the pages of the weekend edition; it was my last as the boss woman. Like always, I carried the page proofs home with me to read them after sufficient time had elapsed, examine them with refreshed eyes, ensure they were error-free.
Chhaya had chatted with me from the moment I got out of office till I reached home.
In fact, we had spoken so much on the phone these last couple of days, it was more than we had done in all these years.
She was still adjusting to my decision, oscillating between, ‘Think about it,’ and, ‘I’ll stay with you when I come to Mumbai. ’
‘I’ll bring Huss,’ she said, just before I pressed the lift button.
‘Oh! Huss, is it?’ I asked. For some reason, maybe it was for the relief we needed, both of us chose to laugh at this boogie move.
The house was dark, as it usually is at this time of the night.
It was late enough for my dad to be asleep.
Actually, any hour was good for my father to call it a day once the sun had done its job in this part of the world.
I placed my car keys on my dressing table.
I usually leave it in the key bowl on the dining table, just in case my father needed to use it in the morning.
Not that he’s averse to walking into my room and picking it up from my dresser, so I let it be.
He knew my schedule, and I was aware of his.
I was standing up, poring over the proofs, which I had laid out on the floor.
The position helped with checking the balance.
I usually did this bit in office, when there was still time to shift, cut and correct, but this evening, I grabbed the pages and left in a hurry. I didn’t want to cry in my cabin.
My usual routine included a wash, changing into my pyjamas and pouring myself a glass of white wine, taking not-so-delicate sips as I scanned the pages.
Just as I turned to go to the washroom, I heard a rap on the door. ‘Papa,’ I called. Who else could it be?
My father was looking older than his 60 years.
He dragged his foot, something he never did.
My mother and I own a quick step, but we both dragged our feet when we got out of bed in the morning.
He settled himself in the only single-seater sofa in the room, and I made myself comfortable on the floor opposite him. He wanted to talk.
‘I’m rethinking this decision of ours, going with you for a week.’
It was not a week. We had settled on a few weeks, which I hoped would stretch into months.
It was weighing on him. I could tell by the lines on his face, which were deeper than when I last noticed them.
‘I don’t want to lock the house Amma bought for us, even for a week.’
‘Why, Papa?’
‘This is our temple, Myra. We can’t just leave this and walk away. I know Amma would’ve wanted me to go with you, but somehow, I can’t get myself to do this. I just can’t.’
His eyes were waterlogged. He was torn between this house, our home, and his beloved daughter, whom he would now have to send off on her own. I cursed myself for putting him through this.
‘Can you manage here, Papa?’ What else could I say?
‘Andrew will be here,’ he said, rising to his feet. Had Andrew Brown been standing before me, I’d have pushed my fists through his skull.
As I watched my father leave my room, it occurred to me, I could lay down the gauntlet, tell him I was going, force him to come with me. For a few days, a week, take a chance, but that would be two unhappy people forced to live in a place that wasn’t home. Better that it was just one of us.
I could stay back, too, find a job or a new profession. The bar beckoned. A barmaid?
We spoke again the following morning. He was sure he was not moving.
He gave a fair hearing to everything I had to say – the positives of moving to India’s commercial capital, maybe I could get another job in Bengaluru in a year even – but he was firm.
He didn’t stop me, but he had made up his mind.
My father’s business ideas may have all been wishy-washy, but it wasn’t the result of his heart not being in the right place.
I was raging inside. I had become a pawn in this game I was forced to play.
Andrew, who had screwed me over for my best friend of a distant time of my life – even the act itself was no longer the point of contention – was living his life.
If he wasn’t already executive editor, he would be that and more soon.
He had a great reputation and had made good money.
While I, who was just beginning to make stellar moves as a professional, had to flee not just the job that had given me a platform but also the city of my birth, like those criminals I’ve covered.
I called Chhaya to update her on the situation.
‘I’ll go with you, Bae, for a week, help you find a place. If you’re sure this is what you want to do. We can use our guest house for some.’
I took a deep breath. I didn’t want to cry.
‘To make up, you can sleep on the pavement when I invite Huss over. You can wash the sheets the next morning.’
I’m loving being passed up for a man named Huss! ‘Do your own laundry at least, Chhaya Mehta.’
We giggled.
‘Wednesday breakfasts with Myra! Let’s break with tradition and do Airlines’ dosas tomorrow?’
‘Let’s binge our achy-breaky hearts away. Not yours, sorry, just mine.’
I heard her laugh. She’s manic about laughing.