The Secret wish List Read online

  About two hours later, I am armed with a new wardrobe of very smart clothes (two well-fitting pairs of jeans, one T-shirt, two fitted tops, a smart knee-length skirt and a capri). Over the years I have squirrelled away a tidy sum of money in a little box in my wardrobe. It is the leftover of the money that Sandeep doles out from time to time for household expenditure and also from the money his mother gives me each year to buy clothes. I have no idea why I did it, but I am suddenly glad that I did. It has come in handy now and I still have almost half of my stash left.

  I am elated with my shopping spree and my purchases. I have been so engrossed that it is with a jolt I realise that it is nearly two fifteen pm. I haven’t even thought of lunch. My stomach begins to rumble now and I decide to grab a quick bite at an eatery near the mall, as well as get something packed for Abhay who will be reaching home in an hour. There is no time to cook now.

  As I am busy choosing which sandwich to eat, I feel a tap on my shoulder.

  ‘Hey Diksha, what a pleasant surprise,’ says a deep masculine voice. ‘Come, join me for lunch. I am eating over there. I recognised you from the back and came to say hello,’ it drawls.

  I turn around and my heart starts skipping madly. It is Gaurav.

  Thirteen

  SEEING GAURAV HERE IS SO UNANTICIPATED THAT I stare at him for a few seconds before I am able to speak.

  ‘Oh. Hi,’ I say. ‘I didn’t expect you here.’

  ‘Ha ha. Is there any rule on places that salsa instructors are not permitted to go to?’ his eyes twinkle.

  ‘No, No, I did not mean it that way, I meant…’

  ‘Just kidding. Come, let’s sit down and chat and let me get you a drink. Iced mint tea?’ he interrupts me before I can blabber further.

  I nod and he wastes no time in getting the drink. I follow him and, pulling up a wrought-iron chair, sit facing him. This is indeed a nice place with a lot of plants and a casual ‘let’s-chat-over-coffee’ ambience. I had never noticed it before. But now I do. I can also see that he must have been just about to begin his lunch when he spotted me and came over. He offers his fries but I refuse and thank him.

  ‘Don’t tell me you are on a diet,’ he says

  ‘I am not, but as a rule I eat healthy,’ I reply.

  ‘Me too, but hey, sometimes you break rules too. It is fun.’

  ‘Of course, it is. It is forbidden which is why it’s fun,’ I smile.

  ‘So, have you broken any rules?’ he asks as he sips his iced tea, and gazes straight into my eyes.

  His eyes are brown and he is so darn attractive that I find it hard to concentrate on what he is saying. I wonder if he knows the effect he is having on me. I force myself to snap out of the dreamlike state I seem to be entering.

  Stop it Diksha and tell him you have a son who will be home soon, that in your other life you are a conventional housewife, that today is an aberration, for you normally don’t shop at malls and have lunches with men you have just met.

  ‘Hell yes. And I have got into a lot of trouble too,’ I reply and am stunned at my glib reply. Why in the world am I talking like this with Gaurav?

  ‘Oh wow! What kind of trouble? I love to hear stories,’ he says with a wink. He stares into my eyes and takes a sip of his tea.

  I am unable to meet his gaze.

  ‘It’s not what you think,’ I mutter nervously. ‘It is nothing really, and it was a long time ago,’ I plod on, a bit horrified now that I have said more than I intended to. I shut up and look down into my drink.

  ‘I would love to know, nonetheless. Do tell. From the moment you walked into class that day, I knew there was something about you. And, hey, I must say, you look gorgeous in Indian clothes too,’ he says.

  I blush furiously. This is truly one of the dowdiest salwars I possess. I feel stupid to blush in his presence. After all, I am a married woman and a mother at that. He must be chatting up girls far more attractive than me every other day.

  ‘Thank you. Someday I will. But I have to rush today. I have to be home by three thirty,’ I reply.

  ‘Why? What happens if you are late? Will your coach turn into a pumpkin?’ he asks in an amused tone.

  ‘No, my son will have to wait outside the house till I return. He comes from school at three thirty,’ I reply.

  His jaw drops.

  I smile at the effect of my words.

  ‘Oh! You are a mother?! You don’t even look married,’ he says.

  I laugh heartily. ‘Thank you! I don’t hear that often, but it is good to know,’ I say.

  Which is the truth. I have never even thought of whether or not I look like a mother till I joined the salsa class.

  ‘Really? I would have thought you hear it all the time. Meet me here for lunch tomorrow? I really want to get to know you. You are fascinating,’ he says.

  I am stunned by his directness. He is a fast operator. I am unable to think of an excuse quick enough and, before I realise what is happening, I have agreed to meet him at the same place for lunch. He says he eats here often as it is just walking distance from the dance studio. Come to think of it, it actually is, when one takes the back road.

  ‘How have you come? Do you have a car?’ he asks

  ‘No, I took an auto. Don’t worry. I live close by. I will get plenty that will take me home.’

  Gaurav insists on dropping me but I refuse. I tell him that I will manage just fine. Coming on a secret shopping spree is bad enough, if someone sees me with a drop-dead gorgeous guy like Gaurav, it will definitely cause a stir in my quiet neighbourhood. Of course, I do not explain all this to him. He insists on seeing me off till the auto-stand.

  ‘So, we’ll meet here tomorrow then? Same time?’ he asks as I get into the auto.

  ‘Yeah, see you,’ I say with a bravado that I am not feeling.

  As I make my way home, I wonder why in the world did I agree to meet him tomorrow. Why in the world didn’t I just refuse? What was I thinking?

  Actually I wasn’t thinking at all, and that is how I, a much married mother of a child, is going on a date with a great-looking salsa instructor who says he finds me fascinating and wants to know all about me. I can’t stop smiling all the way home and I can’t wait to tell Vibha.

  I do not get a chance till late at night as Abhay reaches just seconds after I enter the house. I rush to hide my new purchases at the bottom shelf of my cupboard and greet him as usual.

  Abhay gives a whoop of delight and a bear hug when he sees the burger I’ve got for him. It is so easy to please a nine-year-old. My evening flies as I supervise Abhay’s studies. He has a geography test the next day and also has to make a collage of famous English authors for his English class.

  Abhay has already read Charles Dickens, Oscar Wilde, R L Stevenson and Mark Twain. I search for their photos on the Internet and print them out. He looks up information about them and condenses it. Then, very neatly, he writes out their life histories next to their pictures. He is such a clever boy, my son. He winds up making a very professional-looking chart full of fascinating details. Abhay loves doing this kind of work and thoroughly enjoys this particular assignment. Most children his age would groan at such a task but he revels in it.

  Sandeep does not even notice me as I take his briefcase and give him his customary cup of tea. But, for the first time in ages, I am actually glad about his indifference. Abhay brings his chart proudly and shows it to Sandeep and even Sandeep cannot help but admire Abhay’s handiwork.

  ‘Well done, son. But see these lines here, they should have been written a bit straight. They are a little crooked,’ he says.

  I squirm as I see Abhay’s face fall. I clench my fists under the garden table. I really feel like slapping Sandeep. Can’t he be a bit more forthcoming with praise and go easy on the criticism?

  ‘Come on, Sandeep, He is only nine. I think it is a wonderful effort for his age,’ I defend Abhay.

  ‘Age is no excuse, Diksha. What’s true is true,’ Sandeep pronounces sanctimonious
ly.

  I feel like emptying my tea on his head. But instead grit my teeth in silence.

  Then I ask Abhay to pack up the chart carefully and to prepare his school bag for the next day.

  ‘I might have to travel to Korea,’ announces Sandeep after Abhay leaves.‘The project I am handling seems to be gathering momentum,’ he says.

  ‘Oh. When are you going and for how long?’ I ask.

  ‘Nothing is fixed yet. It is all very fluid right now.’

  ‘And for how many days will you be gone?’

  ‘Don’t know yet. It will be for a week initially. But I might have to go back there often. I am spearheading this whole thing. The senior management doesn’t want to take any chance, you see,’ he says and I can almost see his chest puffing up with pride.

  I am not really interested in his work. I have tried to understand it in the past but, truth is, Sandeep discloses very little. Once he gets back from work, all he wants to do is have his tea, his meal and plonk himself in front of the television till he is ready to drop off. I know better than to interrupt his TV time.

  I can’t wait for Sandeep to go to bed, so that I can tell Vibha all about my shopping expedition and this ‘date’ with Gaurav. I do not want to say anything in front of him.

  I wait till Sandeep’s breathing is even and I wait till he begins to snore. Then I take out my phone and text Vibha:

  ‘Can’t talk. Can you come online?’

  ‘Twenty minutes, babe. Monu very restless today. Just not sleeping,’ she texts back.

  ‘Okay. I’m online. Ping me when you come online,’ I reply as I slowly sneak into the guest bedroom where the computer is kept.

  When I log in, I automatically check my emails first. I usually get nothing interesting apart from newsletters from an art forum I had joined a long back. Mostly I get mails from our residents’ welfare association regarding various issues. I also get forwards sent by the mothers I meet at the bus stop. I read them all and chuckle at a few. But today, one mail takes me by utter and total surprise.

  Diksha!!

  Is it really you? Where have you been, girl? I couldn’t believe it when I found your name in Blast from the Past. Have you changed your surname after marriage?

  It’s been eighteen years since we last spoke. Eighteen whole years! What the fuck happened to time?!

  I live in Gurgaon now, but am moving to Bangalore soon. Yeah! To your city ☺

  Give me your contact details the moment you read this mail.

  You will never believe who I managed to track down!

  Call now!

  Tanu

  I cannot believe that it is actually Tanu. Tanu whom I last saw when my parents unceremoniously pulled me out of school and sent me to Kerala to stay with my grandmother and aunt.

  I can see from the mail that she now works with an investment bank and is Group Vice President. I have no idea what that means, but the logo of the bank, her designation, the address with her phone and fax numbers, as well as the website, intimidate as well as impress me.

  I cannot believe this is ‘my Tanu’.

  This is too much excitement to handle in one day. First, being asked on a lunch date by Gaurav and then, getting a mail from my closest friend with whom I have had no contact for eighteen long years! These events have suddenly dropped into my life like bitten hand-grenades waiting to explode.

  If Tanu has managed to track down someone and is saying that I will never believe it, it has to be one person. Ankit.

  The very mention of his name makes my heart beats go crazy. Oh my God. This truly cannot be happening. I glance at the clock and it is nearly eleven fifteen. It is definitely too late to call Tanu.

  I want to text her immediately. I want to know who it is she has managed to track down. I want to know all about her—is she married, single. Divorced? Nah, she cannot be divorced, I think to myself. I wonder how she looks now. I am dying of curiosity and decide that I will risk calling her anyway.

  Just as I pick up the phone, it buzzes and it is a text from Vibha.

  ‘Online, babes. Log in,’ it reads.

  I log in immediately to the instant messenger and ping Vibha:

  Me: Hey! Too much happening. I so want to talk to you.

  Vibha: What? What happened? Do one thing. Go to your garden and let’s talk on the phone.

  Me: At this time?

  Vibha: So what? Sandeep is asleep, isn’t he?

  Me: Yeah. He is snoring away for Bharat Mata.

  Vibha: Ha, ha. Then what’s the problem?

  Me: Okay. Going. Will call you.

  I walk softly into the garden like a thief. It is the first time I have been outside my home this late in the night. I call Vibha and talk in whispers to her, afraid of waking up Sandeep. It terrifies me to think of what he will say if he finds me outside the house, sneaking calls to Vibha in the middle of the night.

  I tell Vibha about Gaurav asking me out for lunch.

  ‘Oh my God. What fun. Lucky girl. Go meet him!’ she says.

  ‘This is definitely cheating, Vibha. How can I meet him without telling Sandeep?’

  ‘What cheating Diksha? Are you planning to sleep with him?’

  ‘Shut up! Though I must admit the prospect is attractive,’ I giggle in the darkness.

  ‘Hey. Why do you even have this tiny little iota of guilt? Doesn’t Sandeep go out on lunches with his female colleagues ever?’

  ‘Yeah, he does. But that is work-related, right?’

  ‘As though they talk about work all the time. Surely, they talk of something other than work? Stop feeling so guilty. You are finally doing what you want to do.’

  ‘Yeah, but I am a married woman, Vibha.’

  ‘So? Why are you behaving like you live in the Taliban era. Can’t married women meet men other than their husbands for lunch? Anyway you are hiding the fact that you are learning salsa. How then is hiding this any different?’

  Vibha does have a point.

  Then I tell her about Tanu’s mail. Of course, Vibha remembers Tanu and every single detail of our friendship. Vibha had been my confidante and my main support system during the time I stayed with my grandmother in Kerala. It was Vibha’s support alone that had seen me though those dark days.

  And even when my parents had pressurised me into getting married, it was Vibha who had comforted and consoled me saying things weren’t that bad, and anyway everyone gets married sooner or later. In my case, it just happened to be sooner, so how did it really matter? Vibha was my rock, my pillar of strength. She still is.

  ‘Oh my god, Diksha. Do you think it is Ankit she could be talking about?’ Vibha asks.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say.

  But I am dying to find out.

  Fourteen

  THE NEXT MORNING, I AM SO DARN CHEERFUL that the women in the bus stop once again comment on it.

  ‘Come on. Spill the beans. You really are up to something. What is your secret?’ Jyoti bursts out as though she cannot hold back any longer. I noticed that she had been studying me from the moment she saw me approach.

  ‘Kuchch toh chakkar hai,’ adds Rachna. In my head I name her the ‘chakkar woman’.

  ‘Arre, no chaakar-vakkar. Really, it’s nothing. An old classmate of mine got in touch with me and I am happy. That’s all,’ I say.

  ‘Ah-ha! Guy or girl?’ asks the inquisitive chakkar woman.

  ‘Girl. Best friend,’ I reply.

  ‘Oh,’ she says clearly disappointed as though she was expecting to hear a juicy morsel of gossip and I have let her down badly.

  ‘I saw you coming home in a rick yesterday. I was on my balcony sipping tea. Is there a sale going on? You had shopped right?’ she prods on.

  Both Rachna and Jyoti live in the apartment complex overlooking our home. I am suddenly very glad that I refused Gaurav’s offer of dropping me home. Rachna would surely have wanted to know who he was and how I knew him and why I was getting dropped by him.

  The school bus arrives and
I am saved from answering her questions.

  When I reach home, I find Sandeep standing at the door, instead of in his usual spot in the garden.

  ‘My mother has had a fall. Hurry. We have to rush there,’ he says.

  ‘Oh no. How?’ I ask

  ‘I don’t know. The neighbour called. She slipped in the bathroom. Just hurry and get into the car,’ he says.

  Once in the car, Sandeep says, ‘This is why I don’t want her living alone. See what has happened. Why can’t she live with us?’

  ‘You know how fiercely independent she is, Sandeep. Besides, even if she lived with us, she could still have had the fall. That has nothing to do with her living alone, right? She does have good neighbours and friends there,’ I point out.

  His mother has lived in the apartment for several years, first with her husband and now on her own. She has an active social network, is comfortable and happy. She does not want to live in a large home and even though Sandeep has insisted time and again that she move in with us, especially after his father passed away, she has steadfastly refused.

  In my heart of hearts, I completely empathize with Sandeep’s mother. I too prefer living in an apartment, and not this bungalow. But then I do so enjoy the little garden we have here, an impossibility in an apartment. I really am a bundle of contradictions.

  ‘Yes, it’s a good thing she has friends there to help,’ Sandeep says, breaking my reverie.

  When we reach her place, we find her in great pain. She is unable to walk. She has fallen on her left side and there is a large angry bump on her forehead. She is holding an ice-pack to it with her right hand. She is unable to move her left arm.

  Sandeep and I help her into the car with great difficulty and rush her to the emergency section of Manipal Hospital, one of the best in Bangalore. She is immediately attended to and the doctor advises us to admit her for a day. He wants to keep her under observation, as well as conduct a few tests and X-rays to rule out the possibilities of a fracture or any other problem. Since she has fallen on her head, the doctor wants to monitor her in case of an internal concussion. We have no choice but to agree. Sandeep books a private room for her.