The Secret wish List Page 8

  I smile back at her, thankful for having such an understanding person in my life.

  ‘And how is Vibha coping?’ she asks.

  ‘She is being brave. She is holding up remarkably well. But this has come as such a sudden shock. She now wants to take a sabbatical from work and spend more time with Monu,’ I answer.

  ‘And rightfully too. These moments with children, they never come back,’ she says.

  On the way back home, Abhay quizzes me about my trip. I tell him that Mohan Mama has gone to heaven. We talk about death. He is at an age where the adult world doesn’t completely make sense, but he is beginning to understand that certain things are irreversible. I feel a bit awkward, so I change the topic deftly and ask him to tell me all about his school and his stay with his grandmother. He is still not old enough to realise when the topic is being changed. He happily chatters about all the delicious food that his granny fed him, the new friends he made, and how he even took a free swimming lesson at the apartment pool without the coach realising.

  ‘Oh my God! How did you manage that?’ I ask in surprise.

  ‘He doesn’t even know who the students are, Mummy. He should know better. Else he will get cheated of his money,’ shrugs Abhay.

  I smile inwardly but nevertheless do my motherly duty and tell him not to do it again.

  When Sandeep returns in the evening, it does not occur to him to ask me about Vibha. He merely hands over his briefcase (like always) and waits for his customary cup of tea.

  I long to talk to Sandeep all about it. To tell him how difficult it has been for me to be the strong one and cushion Vibha’s shock. To describe how I sorted out the finances and what a big difference my being there has made to Vibha. My eyes beg him silently to ask me how it all went. My heart begs him to show a little concern. I want some conversation, some understanding from his end. I do need him—can’t he see that?

  But he is so immersed in his BlackBerry, furiously replying to mails or whatever it is that he does on his phone, that he hears neither my heart’s whispers nor notice the plea in my eyes.

  We continue to sit and sip our respective cups of tea and even though we are sitting close together in a serene beautiful garden, we are a million miles away from each other.

  It hits me with a sudden pang of realisation that I have never ever felt lonelier in my marriage of fifteen years.

  I feel like lashing out at Sandeep, telling him we need to talk, or rather I need to talk and I want him to listen. But, remembering the last showdown I had, I say nothing and I continue sitting there and watch him fiddle with his phone, increasingly resentful of my relationship with the man I married and the path that my life seems to have taken.

  The next day, I wait for Abhay to leave for school and for Sandeep to leave for work. I desperately want to talk to Vibha and find out how she is coping.

  I call her as soon as the house is empty.

  Her phone keeps ringing but there is no answer.

  After a few seconds, I get a text from her:

  With neighbours. Check mail.

  I rush to the computer and log in to my email account. There is a long mail from Vibha.

  Hey, my lovely sis,

  Just want to give you a huge big thank-you for being around when I needed you most. I am deeply grateful. I know how it must have been for you to leave Sandeep and Abhay behind and stay on for so many days. You have no idea how much it meant to me.

  I wouldn’t be lying if I said I couldn’t have coped without you.

  My decision to take a sabbatical has left me with copious amounts of time. My home is in perfect running order, as I had organised everything in clockwork precision to cope with my absence from it due to the demands of my career.

  Diksha, I am so used to being busy all the time that I am finding this sudden change a little strange. Of course, I do not regret it, but it just struck me that I am actually writing a personal email after ages! I have written nothing but work-related mails.

  I spend every waking hour with Monu when she is around. But when she goes to playschool, I find time hanging heavy on my hands. It is still so hard to accept that Mohan is gone. I have discovered that the best way to pull myself out of the grief mode is to immerse myself completely in something or the other. I try to switch off, Diksha, and try to think of other things.

  Ever since you left, I have been thinking of your wish list. Just do it, girl! Don’t dwell too much on it. I am going to make it my personal mission to see that everything you wrote on it is ticked off. Every single thing. Okay, not the last one. I do not approve of extramarital affairs, but everything else on that list is doable. Life is indeed so short. Consider it my way of saying a thank-you to you for all that you have done for me.

  And before I forget, I took the liberty of registering you at this really cool site I discovered called ‘Blast from the Past.’ An office colleague had recommended it to me. It lets you list all the places you have worked at, lived in, studied at and helps you find common friends. You would have got a confirmatory email in your inbox. Check it out please, and if you do not want to, you need not accept. But do look.

  And hey, let’s video-chat soon.

  Love you, my beautiful sis. I feel so lucky to have you in my life.

  Stay blessed and beautiful,

  Vibha

  I read her mail one more time and feel ridiculously happy. She does sound like she is coping. I am happy to help her in whatever way I can. I am glad that she is ticking off stuff on her wish list, stuff that matters to her most, like spending time with Monu.

  I take out my wish list from my bag and look at it again.

  All my wishes seem outrageously impossible given my current circumstances. How will I go alone on a vacation, do snorkelling, wear a bikini? Yet here is Vibha urging me to complete them. And to top it, she says she will make it her life’s mission!

  I check the mail and, sure enough, as Vibha said, there is an email from the site asking me to click on a link and confirm my email id.

  I click on it and it opens to a site which shows some people smiling happily apparently in the company of long-lost friends. There are testimonials and success stories of how people found friends they had lost in touch with forever.

  There is a profile form to fill.

  I look at it and think for a minute. Then I decide to fill it. After all, what do I have to lose?

  I complete it fairly quickly, filling in all the details, listing the school I studied in, the college I went to. I wonder if anyone from school will even remember me now. Eighteen years is a long time. I highly doubt the possibility of someone actually contacting me. I have never worked anywhere and so that entire section is blank. I list my hobbies as ‘art’ even though it has been ages since I have held a paintbrush or painted.

  Then I click ‘register’ and an icon pops up, thanking me for registering and asking me to wait by my mail box.

  ‘You never know who will get in touch with you,’ it says.

  I smile and close the site and then I compose a mail to Vibha.

  Hey Vibha,

  I love you too! Deeply. But you are mad!

  You have way too much time on your hands, woman! What is this? You are making it your life’s MISSION to see that I achieve my wish list which I wrote on a lark and because you forced me to!

  You are hereby certified MAD.

  And by the way, I did register at the site you asked me to. It cheekily said, ‘You never know who is going to get back into my life.’

  Yeah! Right! Like my life is going to change because someone from my past gets in touch.

  I am really glad that your sabbatical is going well and that you are enjoying having time with Monu. I do know I want something more from life, Vibha. But I am not sure what.

  It gave me great pleasure to help you look after Monu, and likewise to have been of use in sorting out Mohan’s financials. I felt needed for the first time in years and I must admit, it was a great feeling.

 
You’re holding up awesome, girl. I am so proud of you and the way you are coping,

  We will video-chat soon.

  Love,

  Diksha

  I think about Vibha and how remarkably well she seems to be holding up. I think about how she is pushing me to achieve my wish list. Maybe she does have a point. Life is indeed short. Even thinking about the things on the wish list fills me with joy. Is it because it seems like a forbidden fruit bringing some excitement to my otherwise dull and mundane life?

  Or, is it because I have finally listed what I want, as opposed to what my parents, or my son, or my husband want for me. But whatever it is, even if I acknowledge that I do want to do all the things on the wish list, how in the world is Vibha going to help me achieve it?

  She did sound determined and sure in the mail.

  And even before I log off, her reply to my mail pops up in my inbox. I realise that she must own a BlackBerry or one of those fancy phones which allow you to access your mail instantly.

  Diksha!

  You say you want something out of life. And you do not know what!

  Well, I know. You just need to find yourself. It is not some new-age women’s lib mumbo-jumbo I am feeding you.

  You need to do the things YOU want, Diksha. When was the last time you did that?

  Now open your wish list and go!

  Do it, girl!

  Live your life. Take it from someone who really knows.

  Will call you soon.

  Lots of love,

  Vibha

  Is it really possible? I read my wish list again.

  The easiest item on it is, of course, to learn salsa. I can do it without leaving town. I can do it without anyone’s help.

  I have no idea how Sandeep will react if I express my desire to learn dancing to him.

  On an impulse I google ‘salsa classes in Bangalore’ and I am stunned at the options it throws up. There are at least more than twenty options. There is Salsa, Jive, Cha-cha, Fox Trot, party dancing, Bollywood dancing.

  One of the classes is very close to my home.

  I stare at it like a child who has been shown a room full of candies and sweets. All these years there was a class happening so very close to where I live and I had no clue at all! How could I have been existing in such a cocoon?

  On an impulse I pick up my mobile and dial the number of the dance studio.

  Eleven

  THE PERSON AT THE OTHER END INTRODUCES himself as Gaurav and he is one of the instructors. He sounds friendly and welcoming. He says that a new batch is starting in eight days and I can come for a free demo session before that, provided I confirm to him and register for the same. The demo session is on Friday. I tell him that I am not sure if I want to join at all. I merely wanted to gather some information as I live in the neighbourhood.

  ‘Oh that is perfectly fine. Most people do that. There is no obligation at all to join after the demo class. You can try it out and see if this is your thing,’ he says.

  ‘That suits me,’ I reply. ‘I would like to register.’

  He sounds suave and sophisticated on the phone, like one of those radio jockeys with perfect diction, and knows exactly what to say. I wonder how he will look in person. I already like how he sounds.

  He notes down my name, address and phone number and tells me to come for the demo session on Friday at eleven am. He says that, if for some reason, I am cancelling my attendance, could I please let him know as they can then allot the place to someone else. He stresses that they take only ten people at a time.

  All he has said so far sounds promising. I also learn that theirs is one of the oldest dance studios in Bangalore. He says that it is a dedicated dance studio unlike other places which are primarily fitness centres offering dance classes.

  I think, ever since I got married, I haven’t felt this excited about anything. This is the first time I am doing something in secret. I debate whether or not I should tell Sandeep and ultimately decide against it. I am not sure how he will react if I announce a sudden interest in salsa, after all these years.

  Also, I am a little apprehensive. I may not like it and decide against joining at all. So I do not see any point in telling him about it. I also wonder whether or not I should inform Vibha about my little salsa expedition. In the end I decide not to. She might just insist that I join and force me to enrol. And I want it to be my decision, not hers.

  I am so thrilled about it that I can’t seem to contain my feelings. I desperately wait for Friday. My whole face seems to reflect my excitement and happiness. So much so that next day at the bus stop, when I am dropping off Abhay, the other mothers comment on it.

  ‘Hey, what’s up, Diksha? Did you join a new workout or something? You are really glowing today!’ says Jyoti whose daughter is a year younger than Abhay.

  ‘Or are you in love? Some secret chakkar, some extra-marital spice?’ asks Rachna whose son is in grade two.

  ‘Ha ha, nothing like that. I lead a boring life,’ I reply.

  I am grateful when the bus arrives as it means I can dodge their questions.

  When I return home, I quickly glance at myself in the bathroom mirror to see if I am that obvious. There is indeed a strange kind of eager anticipation in my eyes. They seem to be blazing. It is like I am hugging a great secret to myself. I am, but I did not expect to be this transparent.

  I think a lot about what to wear for my first salsa class. I have stopped wearing skirts after marriage. I mostly have only salwar kameezes. I own just two pairs of jeans and one pair of tights. Sandeep hates any kind of ‘modern fancy clothes’ as he calls them and so my wardrobe is mostly limited to slightly subdued salwar kameezes and churidars.

  Finally, I settle for my sole pair of tights and a loose flowing white cotton shirt, and I tie my hair back in a ponytail. It has been ages since I wore this outfit and, as I glance into the mirror, I am surprised to see how it seems to have taken ten years off me. Always on the slimmer side, I have fortunately not put on weight over the years. Whatever I gained after my pregnancy isn’t too much. I realise that in this outfit and hairstyle, I don’t even look like a mother anymore. I can easily pass off as someone on the threshold of a career.

  I feel good to see how smart I look. It surprises me to discover what a huge difference clothes can actually make to the way you view yourself.

  As I take an auto rickshaw from home to the salsa class, for some strange reason the words that Neil Armstrong said when he landed on the moon come to my mind: ‘That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.’

  I feel as though the distance between my home and the salsa class is very little, yet I seemed to have crossed a huge barrier.

  Stop it, Diksha—do not over dramatize. You are here just for a demo class, that’s all.

  I try to calm my jittery nerves which seem to have a life of their own. I have half a mind to call this off, get down from the auto and run back to the safety of my home. But I don’t. I force myself to act normal.

  I reach the dance studio and climb the stairs to the first floor where our class is to take place. From the outside it looks quite unimpressive, but the moment I enter, it is a different world altogether. There is some really catchy Latino music playing. It is something I have never heard before. The studio is fairly large, about four thousand square feet easily with a wooden flooring throughout. Just outside the large hall with a glass door, which let you see what is going on inside, is the reception area done up entirely in white. This is where Gaurav greets me.

  Gaurav is muscular and tall and very good-looking. He can easily pass off for a model. I am mesmerised by his looks. My mind does a ‘wooo-hoo’ inside my head and I ask it to shut up and behave itself. He has a confident manner about him and he extends his hand, ‘Hey there! I am Gaurav, and you are...?’ he asks

  ‘Diksha,’ I reply as I shake his hand. I get a whiff of cologne and it adds to his sex-appeal.

  ‘Oh, Gorgeous. Charmed to meet you,’ he says and I
cannot help smiling a rather large grin at the words he has chosen.

  He then ticks off my name and takes me inside where there are about six students, four guys and two girls.

  ‘Diksha, these are the others who will be in the demo class with you. We will wait for about ten more minutes. A few others are yet to arrive.’

  I nod. Then I see a petite woman dancing by herself in the corner. I am amazed at her movements and grace.

  ‘Hey, Lorraine,’ calls out Gaurav and she turns towards us, waves and continues dancing.

  ‘Diksha, that is Lorraine, one of our senior instructors. We will have a mix of experienced people and beginners for this class. Varun, our other instructor will also be joining us shortly. Now feel at home and we will start in fifteen minutes,’ he says as he leaves me in the studio.

  The other six look as lost as me. It is clearly their first time and we all stare in fascination at Lorraine who seems to be oblivious to us, as she sways her hips and practises the most complicated moves with ease and panache.

  I am not sure what conversation to make with these people and so I keep quiet.

  One of the guys approaches me and extends his hand.

  ‘Gagan,’ he says.

  ‘Diksha,’ I offer and realise as I shake his hands that they are clammy with sweat. I do not like it at all.

  ‘First time?’ he asks

  ‘Yes,’ I reply, trying to avoid conversation.

  ‘Me too. What do you do, Diksha? Nice name by the way,’ he smiles.

  I do not want to be drawn into a conversation with Gagan—the clammy-pawed-man (as I have named him in my head).

  ‘I am in between jobs,’ I lie and am surprised at how easily it comes to me.

  ‘Ah ha! Laid off, eh?’ he asks.

  ‘Between projects, actually. Thinking of switching and weighing my options.’

  The lies easily roll of my tongue and I wonder where in the world they are coming from. This seems to be a new avatar of me and I barely know myself anymore.

  By now, the others too have gathered around us and we all introduce ourselves to each other.