The Secret wish List Read online

  Janie and Nitya are the girls. Janie is engaged and will be getting married soon, and before she does, she wants to learn salsa. Nitya is in college and finds salsa a fun activity to pursue.

  I catch only one guy’s name. He is Pavan and is a techie. He looks fit and is about five feet ten inches. Among the other two whose names I have failed to remember, one is engaged to be married. He is short and balding and has the beginnings of a potbelly. The other guy is about six feet tall and lanky.

  ‘I thought this would be a good place to meet singles like me,’ he says and grins at Nitya and me, revealing perfect teeth.

  I shudder inwardly. I cannot make up my mind whether I like him or not. Maybe he is a nice guy but I don’t like how he has so blatantly announced that he is here scouting around for a girlfriend. Perhaps, this is the accepted norm among people who are single. I have no idea as I have never been in the ‘dating-mating’ game, having proceeded straight to matrimony and later to motherhood, all whilst in college.

  I want to tell him that I am not single and I even have a child, but before I can say anything, Gaurav comes back.

  He claps his hands to get our attention.

  ‘Welcome people. So this is our batch. Looks like we have had some last-minute cancellations, but that’s okay. Seven is a good number. Three of us are your instructors for the day—Varun, Lorraine and me. So that makes us ten in all, and all of us will have a partner. Gentlemen, since there are only four women, we will have to take turns to dance with the ladies. Initially, we will be doing only the basic steps for which you do not need partners,’ he says.

  Then he arranges us in rows. There are end-to-end mirrors in the hall. It is the first time I have been in such an environment and I stare at the multiple reflections, fascinated.

  ‘Now, Lorraine and I will do a quick demo to let you all get a feel of salsa and what you can hope to achieve at the end of sixteen lessons,’ he says.

  Lorraine turns up the volume. The Latino music is infectious and makes one want to dance. Gaurav and Lorraine dance like they are possessed. All of us watch with our jaws dropping. In deft moves and with perfect rhythm, Gaurav has spun Lorraine around, like a top. Then, just as swiftly, he pirouettes her back towards him, drops her down and pulls her back in spring motion. He does some amazing lifts and jumps. They dance as one and when it ends, all of us break into spontaneous applause.

  ‘So this is what you can do with practice,’ he says and we all look at each other and laugh nervously.

  ‘If I manage to do that, you can charge me double,’ says Gagan and everyone burst out laughing.

  ‘Have patience. You have sixteen lessons and also a whole lot of practice sessions. We will be teaching you step by step, but first things first. I must tell you all a few important things and I want your full attention,’ says Gaurav.

  He goes on to tell us that we will be rotating partners. Salsa is a form of dance, he says, fairly new to India, where you dance closely with a partner. Given that fact, he says with a grin, everyone has to be extra careful about body odour and general hygiene. The upshot is, that guys must shave, shower and brush their teeth before class. ‘Sorry to bring this up, guys, but it is very important that you be considerate to your partner, and ensure your hygiene is impeccable. I’ve had guys come to class straight after gymming and I’ve had to actually tell them that they smell atrocious! I don’t want to repeat that experience with you guys,’ he laughs, then adds, ‘Women are usually cleaner by nature and smell good too.’ All of us smile.

  ‘Also, there is this whole thing about rotating partners. Please remember, folks, you are only dancing, not having sex.’ He emphasizes. ‘Okay, at least not in class. What you do outside is your business,’ he adds and winks and everyone chuckles.

  He talks about why it is important to rotate partners and how the guys have to ‘lead the woman’ in salsa. He tell us that there is a certain basic etiquette in salsa, or in any other form of dance, which when followed, makes dancing more pleasurable. He goes on to explain with examples from his previous classes.

  The next forty-five minutes are spent learning the three basic salsa moves.

  Lorrainne and Varun demonstrate and we all follow.

  ‘One two three, back. Five six seven,’ goes the count.

  Gaurav walks up and down and comes to each of us individually to see if we are getting the moves right.

  ‘Do not worry if you do not get it the first time. Do it as slowly as you can and keep at it. You will eventually learn,’ he encourages.

  The teachers break down the moves into easy bits and I pick up the basics very easily.

  ‘Excellent, Diksha. You are getting it fine,’ Gaurav says as he stands next to me and watches me do the steps.

  I glow with pride.

  I know then that I want to join the course. This experience has been such a high that I want more of it.

  I want to dance with these people. I want to learn all the moves. I feel really wonderful here in this studio. In fact, I feel young, vibrant and carefree—something I have never felt before, at least not for a long, long time now.

  After the demo session, Gaurav asks how many of us want to enrol.

  All of us do. There is not a single drop-out. Gaurav smiles in satisfaction, but isn’t surprised.

  He tells us that the sessions will be held twice a week—Fridays and Tuesdays. He asks what time best suits all of us. The majority votes for one thirty pm as that’s the lunch hour. Most of the guys are on flexi-time. Both the girls are free as they have their semester break.

  The afternoon time-slot, as well as the classes being on weekdays, suits me perfectly too as then Abhay is at school and Sandeep at work.

  I feel light-headed as I make my way back home. It is as though I am walking on air. All my apprehensions about whether or not I should learn salsa and whether I would enjoy it have vanished. I know that I badly want to learn it.

  There is only one problem.

  I do not know how to break it to Sandeep.

  Twelve

  VIBHA CALLS ME UP THE NEXT MORNING BUT Sandeep is still at home. Whenever Sandeep is around I know better than to talk on the phone. Talking on the phone without any specific reason is another of his peeves, topping the list of activities he considers a waste of time. I have never heard Sandeep talk on the phone for more than what is absolutely necessary.

  In the early years of marriage, it had surprised me.

  ‘Don’t you have friends you want to chat with?’ I had asked

  ‘Chat? We are not in college anymore. I have work to do,’ he had said and dismissed it.

  Sandeep disapproved of smoking, drinking, western clothes, pubs, socialising—in other words any of the activities that most normal young people would enjoy and find relaxing.

  He played golf on weekends in the morning and the evenings were always spent at his mother’s. He liked routine and hated any kind of change. I had, in the initial years, tried suggesting that we could perhaps go to a movie or eat out, both of which I loved to do.

  ‘The noise in the cinema hall gives me a headache and do you know how unhygienic the food at most restaurants is?’ he had asked.

  I was so taken aback that I had nothing to say. How can a person not enjoy movies and eating out?! Soon after, I had got pregnant with Abhay and then there had been no question of going to the movies or eating out anyway. Sandeep’s mother had narrated in great detail about a friend’s daughter who had eaten out during pregnancy and contracted jaundice, as a result of which the baby that she was carrying had been affected and was now mentally challenged. She had mentioned it so many times till I finally assured her that I had no intentions of eating food from outside.

  ‘Who called?’ asks Sandeep as he waits for his breakfast.

  I hurry to serve him dosas and chutney as he does not like waiting and gets annoyed if I take too long. His manner reminds me of a feudal lord’s and most times I feel like a chambermaid scurrying around as I wait upon him. I w
onder if this has ever occurred to him. It has crossed my mind many times, but now I kind of accept it in the name of ‘adjustments married people make’. After all, it is not like he does it deliberately, I try and justify to myself, suppressing anything else that I feel.

  ‘Vibha,’ I reply, answering his question.

  ‘And what did she want?’ he asks in a demanding tone as though to say ‘what-the-hell-does-she-want-now-don’t tell-me-you-are going-away-to be-with-her-again.’

  I find his question gratingly annoying. I control my irritation and say, ‘Nothing. She doesn’t want anything.’

  ‘Why did she call then? What are you hiding from me? What is so private that you cannot talk in front of me?’ he asks

  His words sting and smart. He is insensitive, my husband, the father of my child. No matter how many excuses I make for him, this is the stark truth and it is staring me in the face now.

  ‘Nothing. I am not hiding anything from you. She just wants to talk,’ I answer.

  ‘Hmph, talking never got anyone anywhere. You have to take action, not talk,’ he says.

  That is precisely the reason I am taking a salsa class. See, I am taking action. And not talking about it.

  ‘Will you have another dosa?’ I ask, hoping to distract him, and it works.

  Some days, I really hate Sandeep. Actually, of late, I hate him most days. Being with him increasingly seems like a huge burden. His boorishness, insensitivity and lack of interest in what really matters to me have only increased over the years. I have kept putting up with it, pretending it does not exist and forgiving him (after all I have my faults too), but these days it is becoming harder.

  As soon as he leaves, I call up Vibha. She asks me to log in to the computer so that we can video-chat. It is new to me and though I know the option exists, I have never video-chatted before. It takes only a few minutes to set up. She guides me through the process and when I finally see her face on the screen, I feel like reaching out and hugging her. She has obviously been crying. She is all teary-eyed. Her eyes are red and swollen. I hate to see Vibha like this. She tells me how hard it is to cope with everything and she sobs.

  I listen to her patiently. She talks about Mohan and how much she misses him. She talks about how much she regrets not spending time with him. Even though she is repeating herself (she has mentioned this to me so many times before), I do not interrupt her, knowing instinctively that all she wants is to get it out off her chest.

  Sure enough, she calms down after she has vented and wipes her tears.

  ‘So sorry, Diksha. I did not mean to cry. Thank you for listening to me patiently,’ she says.

  ‘Hey it’s fine, Vibha. You don’t have to thank me. I know you are always there for me and, trust me, this is the least I can do.’

  ‘You have done so much already. Anyway, that is enough talk about me. You tell me about yourself,’ she says.

  I have actually been really dying to tell her all about my salsa demo class but had controlled myself, knowing she needed to talk and not sure if it was the right time to tell her.

  Now that she has asked, I say, ‘You’ll never guess what happened, Vibha. I am so happy about it.’

  ‘What is it? Say! Is it something in Abhay’s school? Has he won something?’

  ‘No. This is about me. I went for a salsa class!’

  ‘What?! Oh my God! Wow! So my words do have an impact on you. This is great, Diksha. Now tell me all the details,’ she says eager to listen.

  I tell her about how I called them up on a whim and how I attended the demo class. I tell her about Gaurav and Lorainne and the others in the class. I tell her how eager and excited I am. I tell her how good I felt dressing up in clothes that made me look smarter and younger. I also tell her that I have not told Sandeep about it yet.

  ‘Hmmm. I really don’t think you should mention any of this to Sandeep,’ says Vibha finally.

  ‘How can I not, Vibha? He is bound to find out at some point, right?’

  ‘Not if we are careful. Your class timings are in any case while he is at work.’

  ‘Yes, but how can I hide such a big thing from him?’

  ‘You should learn to. Don’t tell him. If you do, he might forbid you from going. You know how he is. When you know his nature, why do you want to risk it? Besides he does not have to know everything.’

  Vibha definitely has a point. If I tell Sandeep about it, there is no saying what his reaction will be. It is easier to just not tell him a thing. But there is a small problem. The fees (which amount to nearly a thousand rupees per session) have to be paid in advance. It isn’t really a small sum. Sandeep would definitely come to know if I withdraw this amount from the bank.

  ‘I too don’t want to risk it. But the thing is, I will anyway have to withdraw money for the fees. How can I justify such a huge amount as household expense? And you know how he tracks every penny.’

  ‘Sweetheart, what am I here for? I will pay your salsa fees. Just get the bank details of the institute and I will transfer the money immediately. It is really not a problem for me, Diksha and, to be honest, I have earned so much, it really isn’t that a big a sum either. Just consider this a gift from me.’

  For a few seconds I am unable to speak. My eyes have filled with tears at the sweetness of Vibha’s gesture. I really do not know what to say and so I am quiet.

  ‘Are you going to say something or are you just going to sit there?’ says Vibha, trying to make me feel less emotional and overwhelmed.

  ‘But how can I take it just like that, Vibha?’

  ‘Why can’t you? Come on, Diksha, don’t keep track like that. Didn’t you help me when I needed you most?’

  ‘Yes but…’

  ‘No buts. Just allow me. I will feel so happy to do it for you. Now get the bank account details. And, hey, tell me what you wore to the class.’

  We spend the next ten minutes, chatting about clothes. We talk about how our style of dressing changes after we get married, but how essentially we are the same people.

  ‘Suddenly your in-laws and spouse dictate what you can wear and what you can’t wear and you are expected to conform. It’s just not right,’ I say.

  ‘But, darling, you conformed didn’t you? Why didn’t you speak up? Why did you set the pattern? See, I wear what I like. And, honestly, I do think it is every woman’s right to dress up in the clothes she likes. Not the clothes that her husband or in-laws think are appropriate for her.’

  ‘Vibha, you know how my situation was. I was not even twenty when I got married. And then I got pregnant soon after. Where did I have the time or inclination to think about clothes? And after Abhay was born, I just fell into a pattern. It was different for you.’

  ‘Yeah, babes, that is right. I am sorry. It’s just that sometimes I feel you have been given no freedom, no choice to live your own life. It really feels you are dancing to everyone’s tunes but you have forgotten to listen to the music in your own heart. I feel for you and I deeply care.’

  ‘I know that and I appreciate it. Am glad I have you Vibha,’ I reply and I mean it.

  Vibha says that I need to go shopping for new clothes.

  ‘You can’t possibly go to salsa class wearing your salwars. Well, technically you can, but we don’t want you to, do we?’

  ‘No, of course not. What will Gaurav think?’ I say and smile.

  ‘Click a pic of this guy. I want to see how he looks. Is he really that good-looking?’

  ‘He looks like a model, Vibha. Ooooh, he is gorgeous. All the girls he teaches must be falling for him. What a guy! And he talks so well, too.’

  ‘Look at your face already lighting up at the mention of Gaurav. I wonder if you are learning salsa just because of him?’ teases Vibha.

  ‘Yeah, yeah. The only reason I want to learn salsa is so that I can eventually have sex with him,’ I retort back.

  ‘Bet he will be better than Sandeep in bed. But no extramarital affairs, okay. Behave and control your urges,’ sa
ys Vibha and smiles.

  ‘Shut up! What outrageous things you say!’ I exclaim.

  But I am happy to see Vibha finally smiling after so many days, perhaps the first time after Mohan’s death. I realise then that, for her, the involvement in my life is also partly an escape mechanism to help her cope with the tremendous shock-card that life has dealt her. I am glad that I am there for her, cushioning her blows, making it a little bit easier for her.

  I text Guarav as soon as I finish the call with Vibha.

  ‘Kindly let me know the amount to be transferred for the salsa beginners’ course along with bank account details. Diksha’

  When there is no reply even after ten minutes, I decide to go shopping for new clothes like Vibha suggested. I hurry the house-help and urge her to finish fast.

  Shopping for clothes that I really like, is something I haven’t done in a very long time. Most of my shopping sprees are restricted to twice a year, once invariably on Diwali, and once on the eve of Gokulashtami when Sandeep’s mother has a special pooja and insists on giving me money to buy new clothes. She is not a very traditional mother-in-law, and this is one of the very few rituals she follows. Of course, I don’t mind obliging. On both these occasions, I have naturally shopped only for ethnic clothes. I have not even considered buying westerns. The prospect of actually shopping for some excites me a great deal.

  I take an auto rickshaw to one of Bangalore’s posh malls on Residency Road. Victoria Hotel, which was established in 1845, used to stand here. Sir Winston Churchill, it is said, used to read his morning newspaper here. It was a beautiful ancient structure surrounded by green gardens and the setting definitely transported one back to the Raj. Architecturally I had admired it many a time. I had been saddened to see it pulled down. Each time I used to pass it, and see the new building being constructed, I would wince and lament that it marked the end of an era. In its place now stands this gleaming shining mass of glass and concrete which is where I am headed to shop. Funnily enough, today I don’t even care about Victoria Hotel. It feels liberating to be going out on my own, shopping for clothes of my choice.