PART 3 #11
The next fifteen seconds are spent in frantically dressing up inside the car even as our bodies are far from recovering from what we have just experienced.
He leans towards me and gives me a gentle kiss on the forehead, his lips lingering for a few brief seconds.
He looks into my eyes and says with a slight smirk, ‘We should do this again.’
‘We should do this all the time.’
‘We should do it all our lives.’
14.
Daksh Dey
Aanchal and I find ourselves in a basement again.
This time it’s the dimly-lit, damp basement parking of a mall in Paschim Vihar that doesn’t have a lot of takers.
A hundred rupees to the parking lot attendant and he has agreed to look the other way.
I argued that my car is cleaner than an OYO and that using a nice hotel for a few hours when you have paid for a day is a wasteful overkill.
It’s of course a lie. The real reason is that there’s a risk and a thrill in taking her wherever and whenever I want her.
To hear her say yes every time I suggest a new place I want to fuck her is a huge turn-on.
And so it is for her, and that just makes it so much better.
Today we finished quicker; with every time we are gaining intimate knowledge about each other’s bodies, but it felt like it lasted longer.
And so now we are wrapped in a blanket she thoughtfully brought and we are watching an episode of Tarak Mehta Ka Ooltah Chashma as background noise.
‘Just a few more days,’ she whispers into my chest. ‘. . . for the holiday of our lifetime.’
‘Still feels surreal,’ I respond. ‘Like we skipped all those years between Mumbai and now.’
Aanchal and I have been up for nights in a row, sneaking out of our homes, going to the roof of our building and researching about our trip—all the countries we will cover, coffee shops in Paris to visit, tourist landmarks in Italy to check off the list, places to party in Barcelona that are open till the morning.
We can’t wait to leave. It’s the beginning of the rest of our lives.
‘Did Gaurav say anything about this to you?’
‘You know he worships you,’ she says. ‘Anyway, Gaurav’s been working too hard to care about all this.’
‘Tejal told me they are looking for tournaments that would take him,’ I say. ‘It’s been hard.’
‘But he’s trying, that’s what matters. His fingers are sore, he’s up at all times of the day and night,’ she says.
We have all taken a collective sigh of relief seeing Gaurav find his purpose again.
She continues, ‘But about you and me, he thinks we are perfect.’
‘We are far from it. We are the opposite of perfect.’
‘That’s the best part about us. We have seen the worst,’ she says and plants a kiss on my shoulder. ‘So things can only get better.’
I hold her close.
‘I don’t want to ever let go of you.’
‘You have to be crazy to think I’m letting you go.’
‘I have imagined us together so many times that this too sometimes feels like a figment of my imagination. As if I dreamt this up too.’
‘This is real,’ she says with a sense of finality. ‘I’m here to stay.’
She looks up and kisses me. Our kiss is punctuated by the ringing of my phone. It’s Baba. Reluctantly and with a sigh, I pick up the call. It must be another of those calls to tell me about a new running record he set.
‘Where are you? WE HAVE BEEN TRYING TO CALL YOU!’ Baba says frantically.
‘I was in . . . no network—’
‘Come to Ahuja Hospital quickly!’ he commands.
‘But what happened?’ I say, my heart pounding in my chest.
‘Just come—’
‘Is it Rabbani—’
I can hear the wailing of an ambulance in the background. ‘Is it Rabbani . . .?’ I stammer.
The line goes dead.
I try calling Baba again, but there’s no answer. Then I call Rabbani and she answers immediately. Listening to her voice fills me with relief. In the background, I can still hear the sirens of the ambulance.
‘It’s Tejal,’ she says. ‘Come quickly, Dada. Please come quickly. She’s hurt.’
‘What happened to her?’ Aanchal yells into the phone.
‘She’s okay, but come,’ says Rabbani. ‘Please come, now.’
I speed to the address Google gives us.
‘What could have happened?’ asks Aanchal, her voice barely a whisper.
She tries to call Gaurav, but he doesn’t pick up.
I can sense what might have happened, but I don’t want to believe it.
No, I’m overthinking it. She must have been in an accident.
Tripped. Fallen down the stairs. Maybe it’s nothing .
. . maybe it’s nothing . . . I keep praying it’s nothing.
Aanchal and I hop out of the car and sprint towards the reception desk, giving Tejal’s name to the nurse there.
‘Is she okay?’ Aanchal inquires and fires a bunch of questions. ‘What happened to her? Is there a doctor we can talk to? Which floor?’
The nurse sees the panic in our eyes so she says, ‘The doctor would tell you better. But she’s doing okay.’
We’re told to go to the second floor but when the lift doesn’t arrive soon enough, we take the stairs instead.
‘Do you think Gaurav—’
I cut her because I don’t want it to be true. ‘It will be okay,’ I falsely reassure Aanchal.
As we reach the second floor, we spot two men sprinting angrily towards us. I recognize them immediately. I have seen them on Tejal’s Instagram. They are Randhir and Ramit, Tejal’s brothers. They are heaving and panting, their eyes bloodshot, fists clenched when they reach us.
‘How’s she?’ I ask.
Randhir turns to Aanchal, eyes burning with anger. ‘What is she doing here?’ he yells at me. ‘Le jaa ise yaha se!’
Aanchal trembles as she speaks, ‘How is Tejal?’
Ramit and Randhir look at each other with fury and astonishment. ‘Aanchal, how dare you come here?’ Randhir commands. ‘You must leave now. Nikal jaa yaha se.’
My head looks for alternative explanations but the truth is so obvious. We are here because of something Gaurav did. Tejal is here because of Gaurav.
I grab Aanchal’s arm and say, ‘Come on, let’s go.’
But Aanchal shakes her head and says stupidly, ‘No, I want to know what happened.’
Randhir and Ramit glance at each other, the fire in their eyes slowly calming.
‘What happened?’ I ask.
They understand that Tejal is not here because of Aanchal, but Gaurav.
‘Fine.’
We trail behind them, my mind racing as I try to make sense of the events that have led us here. With every passing second, I become surer of what has happened to her. I had been on the receiving end of violent outbursts from Gaurav. This is one of those.
‘That bastard . . .’ mumbles Ramit angrily under his breath.
‘Jaan se maar dunga use,’ growls Randhir.
Each step seems harder than the last. I keep mumbling my prayers, cutting deals with God.
Please don’t let it be what I think it is and I will give up everything.
Please. Please. Please. Maybe it’s all a misunderstanding.
Maybe Tejal and Gaurav just had a small argument and she slipped and fell.
Bullshit, my mind calls out. Gaurav relapsed. That’s why we are here.
We step into the room and my heart sinks.
I feel sick immediately. The pale-yellow walls seem to close in.
When I see Tejal, my heart fucking bursts.
No. Tejal is lying on the bed, limp, half-dead.
Her forehead disfigured by deep stitches and her body bound in a blood-soaked brace.
Her face is unrecognizable, swollen and bruised.
The sedation has left her lips slightly parted.
‘What happened?’ Aanchal’s voice trembles with shock.
‘Gaurav,’ Ramit replies grimly, unable to look into her eyes.
Randhir continues, ‘Tejal discovered his drugs in the bathroom. She tried to stop him and Gaurav hit her.’
Tears stream down Ramit’s eyes.
‘The police are on their way to pick him up,’ says Randhir.
Aanchal stumbles back in horror, her face pale with fear. I reach out for her before she collapses.
‘Come on,’ I plead desperately. ‘We have to go.’
Randhir and Ramit stand motionless as we leave.
Behind us, Randhir roars ferociously, ‘We want him in jail! Bohot ho gaya uska! Celebrity hoga saala ghar par!’
In the icy hospital hallway, Aanchal crumbles against me.
I mumble into her ears a feeble lie, ‘It’s going to be all right.’
We leave the hospital in silence, tears streaming down Aanchal’s face.
An eerie silence follows us in the car, a paralysing fear gripping us both.
My selfish thoughts turn to Gaurav and not Tejal, who lies beaten and bruised in that hospital room.
Even then, my mind tries desperately to convince me that it will all blow over, he’ll be all right again soon.
It’s not Gaurav, it’s the drugs, I tell myself.
When we turn into our building, a police van waits at the gate. We take the longest lift ride of our lives before reaching her floor. Aanchal’s neighbours are huddled in front of her door like a horde of vultures and hyenas ready to feast on a fucking tragedy.
‘Gaurav! Gaurav! Open the door, Gaurav!’ We hear Aanchal’s Maa and Papa screaming from the inside.
It’s followed by loud thuds that echo through the hallways.
Aanchal sprints towards her flat. I run after her, not knowing what awaits us behind that door.
Terror courses through my veins. There are five policemen inside.
They are not angry, but concerned. They are staring at Gaurav’s room’s door which is bolted from the inside.
Two of them are outside the door, hitting it and trying to break it down with their shoulders. Aanchal’s Maa is huddled on the floor, her face buried in her hands, a wail escaping her mouth while her Papa kneels next to her, holding her hand and whispering desperately into her ear.
‘GAURAV!’ shouts Aanchal. ‘OPEN THE DOOR! IT’S ME!’
‘GAURAV!’ I shout. ‘IT’S ME! DAKSH! COME OUT! BHAI, KHOL DE DARWAZA!’
I attack the door along with the policemen.
‘JUST COME OUT!’ I shout. ‘NOTHING WILL HAPPEN! I WILL MAKE EVERYTHING ALL RIGHT! BHAI HOON MAI TERA! TU BAS BAHAR AAJA!’
The policemen pull me away. Another one runs in with a door-slammer and hits it at the lock. The policeman stumbles and the door breaks open. I spot the fan first.
It’s turning slowly.
Gaurav hangs from it. With a gut-wrenching cry, Aanchal charges forward and clasps his body tight in her embrace.
The truth stares at us.
Gaurav’s gone.