The Benefit Season Page 10

  I forget how many times we made love that night. But I do remember that our Jaguar chauffer did call up once, around dawn, asking when we were going to get down.

  ‘Tell him to go away’, she said.

  ‘What about your aunt? Won’t she be waiting?’

  ‘No. I told her I won’t be coming home tonight’.

  ‘What do you mean? Where did you say you were sleeping at?’

  ‘She knows I’m spending the night with you. And she can probably guess what I’m doing too’, she laughed, with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. ‘And I knew I’ll have to stay back to do the bed sheets. I was told it would happen the first time. You don’t want your maid scandalized do you?’ She laughed merrily, and nuzzling her head on my chest, promptly went off to sleep.

  Conscience briefly tugs at my sleeve, for having caused the devirginisation of my own bride, but briefly and fleetingly only. I didn’t want to ask her who’d told her the bed sheets would sully the first time. I think I knew, as I slipped an arm under her head and drifted into my dreams.

  We spend the weekend at the apartment itself, drifting in and out of intense lovemaking. Aarti feels threatened by what Lily has told her, about Monal having the glad eye for me, and she’s not able to put these needless fears and suspicions behind her, nor can she talk about them to me, since she thinks it would show her as a jealous, possessive and control freak, which would probably turn me off. Her usual spontaneity and cheer are gone, and a brooding silence and forced smile have taken their place. She forces herself on me all the time, as if someone is going to snatch me away from her, and doesn’t want to return to her aunt’s place. No girl has ever come between us like this, and shaken her confidence this badly. I am hurt that she’s hurt, and that it’s because of an insensitive remark by a friend, and because she won’t discuss it however hard I cajole and beg her. She wants to devour me as if I’m a soldier about to return to the raging front.

  ‘Can I have the old Aarti back’, I ask her, while braiding her hair. We are seated on the floor, and she is sitting between my legs. I learnt braiding from my mom, and Aarti once caught me doing it, and now makes me do it for her all the time.

  ‘I’m still around. I’m not going anywhere even if you tried very hard’.

  I laugh and pass my arms around her tummy, hugging her close, and kiss the hollow of her long neck. ‘Promise?’

  ‘You can take it in writing if you like’.

  ‘Your word is good enough for me’.

  ‘Is it about what Lily said?’

  ‘It’s about what you let others say about you, Arjun. You did not protest’.

  ‘Because she was drunk silly. I’m not supposed to react to office gossip. When you do well, people are bound to pass comments. And I thought you would never stop believing in me. I thought you and I were rock solid together as we’ve always been. It’s a lie about Monal- she’s just someone who pushes people to get her way. There’s nothing more to it. And you should see her husband- he’s a Casanova. Why would she have a roving eye? What is it that I can do to make you stop thinking about it?’

  ‘Nothing’, she says stubbornly,’ because I’m not thinking about it’.

  ‘ Do you want me to quit? Without your happiness all this is meaningless to me’.

  ‘Will you quit if I ask you to?’

  ‘I will quit even if you don’t ask. I cannot bear your hurt’.

  A practical lassie, she ponders for a minute. ‘What will you do then? Where will you stay?’

  ‘I have saved some. I could put up at a B&B till I find a job.’

  ‘And what would papa say? What about the wedding?’

  ‘Your papa will always think I’m not good enough for his prize daughter, no matter what. So let’s forget him. The wedding- now we’re talking. How about right now?’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah. We could fly down to Delhi right now and get married in front of our parents. What say?’

  ‘You mean it?’ she turns around, her face flooded with relief and happiness.

  ‘That’s why I brought you here. To show you how empty this house is without you, darling. The idea was to beg you to fill up my life and home ASAP.’

  She hugs me; all of a tremor, and kisses my unshaven face.

  ‘Dad will want the whole family to attend. He will want proper ceremony- you know that. Will you ask him? And get the folks to fix up the date?’

  ‘I was waiting for you to say that. I’ll speak to him right now’.

  ‘No wait, not while I’m here. Take me back home and then call him properly, and let me know, okay?’

  ‘As you wish, baby’.

  She is once again a bundle of joy, and the merry stars have returned to the twinkling business in her eyes. She flits about the knickknacks in the house telling me what all we need to buy and what all needs to be thrown away. She’s back to her easy, confident ways and the pall of gloom that covered my life lifts and it’s sunny and chirpy again. I call for the cab and drop her home and ring up Khosla senior as soon as I’m back in my room with the L’s.

  ϖ

  The rascal has probably heard bad tidings are his way so he doesn’t answer my calls. Finally after several tries he picks up the phone but doesn’t answer. I can hear his harsh, smoker’s breathing at the other end but he won’t speak up. At long last I am able to evince a faint murmur from him; a low hiss escapes his clenched teeth that sounds like an “hmm”.

  Taking that as a cue for a friendly exchange of ideas, I break the ice with an enlightening,’ hello sir. Can you hear me sir. It’s Arjun sir’.

  ‘Hmm’, he says gruffly, waiting for the inevitable. Given a choice he would keep his precious daughter a virgin maiden all his life; rather than kill his fatlings in the feasts celebrating her marriage unto me.

  ‘Sir, Aarti and I have decided to marry. I think it is the best for everyone. She thought it was a good idea to bung the news to you first and seek your blessings and all. Speak now or hold your peace forever… You know?’

  ‘Hmm’, he goes again, as if his mouth is covered with a muffler. I’d heard somewhere that he was fond of me and that I was mistaken in my opinion that he detested me utterly. But now I’m convinced that if he ever abhorred a walking abomination, it was I.

  ‘Well that’s it I guess. Sorry if I’ve hurt you and all. Hmm…you have nothing much to say? I’ll take that as a yes then. Yeah? Fine?’ I pause a bit. Nothing.

  ‘Aarti wanted you to fix up the dates, if it’s no trouble. But please hurry up, I’m moving into a new apartment of my own and I need her to tidy up a bit and do the ironing. A female touch, you know; can’t handle the maids. Never spoken to one. I’ll be letting my mom know, so don’t bother. How is the weather? I’ll go now…’ I wait for him to hurl an abuse but he appears to be choking on his anger. ‘Well goodbye then’. I switch off and sigh with relief. That was a close call. The man nearly shot me through the phone.

  I’ve seen dads sobbing uncontrollably when sending off their little girls whom they’ve reared and fattened, in marriage. His emotion is understandable. I feel him, yeah. It’ll stay like a bad dream for him all his life probably, but do we have a choice? I guess not, he’ll have to figure out a way of living with it. He could have done far better by his daughter, I know; I am not exactly the kind of son in law one prays to god for, but it’ll have to do for the moment. Life is cruel, nature is harsh, and man is but weak, like putty in the hands of destiny.

  Reading his silence as tacit approval to put the banners out, I call out to my mom for some leaning in. She will tell me I’ll be the best husband any lucky bride can find, and all will be well again. Khosla’s stony stillness and ominous growling has shaken the old confidence a bit and it calls for a little propping up with the tried and tested formula of unconditional motherly love.

  ‘Hello son,’ she sings, her voice lilting above the high trees and the birds at lark.

  ‘Mom! I’ve got great news for you!’ I announce, trying to
make it sound like I’m going for a walk in the park. Excitement is bad for her nerves.

  ‘I know, I know. I’m so happy for you! This is the first good thing you’ve done in your entire life! Aarti is the best girl for you; I always knew. She’ll take good care of my baby. Mr. Khosla is here- he just told me! And we are thrilled! We were so worried; kids these days are quick to make mistakes and grow apart. But you two have answered our prayers! Here speak to him!’ She leaves the receiver before I can protest that I just had a word with the same very rude man.

  ‘Hello son!’ says my tormentor; father to my bride and grandfather to my child to be; with an unusual optimism, and obviously fake enthusiasm. Where did the “son” come from?

  ‘My sister just rang up from Mumbai and gave me the great news! Immediately I rushed over here. I’m so happy I’ve had three drinks already at your mom’s place; thank god she knows her scotch, god bless her soul!’

  But I just spoke to you, didn’t I? And you were so rude as usual, hemming and hawing at the father of your future grandchildren, the progenitor of the imminent Khosla and Pasricha lines.

  ‘Sir, I called up just now at your place’.

  ‘So sorry, the house is locked. Just Attila is at home’. For those that don’t know their neighbors well, Attila is the fierce Pit Bull Terrier Khosla rears at home to keep his demure daughter out of reach of unwanted suitors.

  So, had I been speaking all this while to a mangy dog? Was I seeking the blessings for a marriage to be writ in heavens from a lowly canine? Was a cur fixing my marriage dates?

  I repeat all that I’d said to the Pit Bull Terrier. Khosla listens patiently and promises to revert with the earliest possible dates. I ask him if everything can be arranged over the coming weekend, since I need to bring in the groceries and the firewood. He laughs and tells me the earliest date he can swing with the pundit after matching the stars and planets will be a tentative 10 weeks from now, and hangs up to refill his drink before I can convey my disappointment.

  In the background I’d heard many voices, so I know that the entire neighborhood and friend and family circle has landed up and the drunken festivities are likely to continue over the next few weeks in true Punjabi style and it will be impossible to make them hear the voice of my reason and necessity, and thus I resign myself as putty to the eccentricities of the heavens.

  ϖ

  Chapter 7

  The Runnings

  The betrothal is four weeks from now and the marriage proper another four weeks thence. Till then I must manage with tiffins, and Aarti’s cooking on the weekends. She refuses to come live-in with me, and is all of a sudden shy of touching me beyond a speck on the old jowls or a squeeze of the hand. Thus cruelly abandoned at the mercy of the elements by a fateful promotion, I seek solace in the cold nutrients filched from cartons of milk and yoghurt crammed in the fridge. The empty apartment haunts me, and the comforts of a Morocco Baroque king-size bed, and a kiln-dried hardwood-frame with top-grain Italian leather sofa hardly fail to remind me of the absence of the lively patter and warmth of a soul mate. A chill wind blows over my ex roommates who have been chastised with a snub by my fair lady for their indiscretion at The Zodiac Grill, and who must cross my swanky glass cabin daily on their way to their small partitioned corners in the vast hall where the hoi polloi eke out a living.

  My swanky glass cabin with a view of the shoreline is filled with flowers this morning. I wonder who my benefactor is and what the occasion is. As I gloss over the red Carnations and yellow daisy spray Chrysanthemums there is a knock and Monal sticks her pretty head inside the doorway.

  ‘Hi’, she says and walks over to the edge of my desk and half sits on it, letting me gloat at a polished, muscular leg, over which the skirt has pushed up to the thighs.

  ‘Good morning’, I mumble, feeling like a lost kid in her presence again.

  ‘Congrats’, she says, thrusting a shiny hand at me.

  I take the hand and keep it, giving her a lost look again. I’m not very good with my expressions around her; I am gawky, I mumble and generally am not in good control of my involuntarily acting body parts. For example: I have an embarrassing bulge in my pants and I am still pumping her soft hand and staring at the shiny thigh. Monal, who keeps a sharp lookout for detail, never misses a thing. She slides down from the desk and hugs me, pushing her hips into mine, very briefly but surely: just checking and teasing.

  ‘ So your wedding plans have been finalized, is it?’

  ‘Oh yes, that: certainly. Thanks’. Who told her?

  ‘It’s my business to know what’s happening to my star worker’, she says. ‘So how did she like the house?’

  Which house? Oh, that. But how does she know, again? ‘Swell, she loved it’.

  ‘I guessed she would have, because you guys spent the complete weekend there’.

  Ahem! Does she know everything else too? What we did? This minding the star worker thing is getting weird.

  ‘I spoke to Khosla ji; he seemed beyond himself in ecstasy; or hangover, whatever’.

  I nearly drop the imported red poppy Caithness glass paperweight that I am tossing between one hand and the other. ‘Khosla ji?’ a muted murmur parts from the lips.

  ‘Yeah, I had our Delhi office deliver bouquets to your mom’s and Aarti’s dad’s places this morning. Your mom- she’s a pet’.

  ‘That’s, that’s…’ words fail me.

  ‘Wonderful? I know dear. Spare me the thanks, and the tears; we take special care of our boys.’

  She’s now reaching into my deep, personal spaces. It feels a little nice to be remembered but then this is really unnecessary information for her. Why should she even care? It’s still a close family affair. Who’s been keeping track of my affairs? Is it the L’s? With their big, cavernous mouths they would have extracted considerable mileage and joy out of spilling the beans on me. It’s simple; I hadn’t reached home on the weekend and I had last been seen with the icy Aarti freezing people over with the cold glint in her eye; people that didn’t offer to split bills with decent friends. It doesn’t take reading tealeaves to figure that one out.

  ‘You shouldn’t have…’

  ‘It’s no trouble really. Dismiss the thought. So when you’ve calmed down come over to the office and tell us how much money you’ve made us the last quarter, and how much more you will in the next’, she says; ‘Director’s meeting- they want a feedback from everyone’. She steals a look at my bulge and goes out clucking to herself.

  I wish I didn’t make things so obvious; just imagine if others had been around us. She must think I’m some kind of an easily aroused, oversexed pervert; which I am not- or am I? I need to pour some ice down my pants to calm down.

  Having wet pants is not going to help. I try to sit back and meditate about the rocks and the seas and the cool breeze blowing through the swaying pines. The cool breeze changes to hot air and the rest give in to the compelling image of a swaying Monal with her skirt rolled up to her waist with nothing underneath. Her shirt is open and her shimmering breasts catch the slanting light and like a moth I get hopelessly drawn to the blaze. A buzz on my phone pulls me out of the fire and says I am getting late. I am not getting any calmer here with my mind play, so the only way out seems to be the good old hand action in The Men’s.

  A couple of minutes later, a calm and composed Arjun, his hands smelling of fragrant disinfectant, is ready to regale his bosses with the numbers in the conference hall. Monal casts a fleeting glance at his pants to check if he is presentable, smiles to herself and at his turn beckons him to paint a glowing picture of the bonuses that he has so far richly deserved, and the many more that he is going to earn; enriching the company’s and the partner’s coffers in the process. The others come and go but their figures are but a faint shadow in comparison.

  The meeting done I head for the door. Sweet voice of Monal bids me stop; I tuck in my frame in the doorway as the others file past, looking at me with suspicion.

  ‘Shut
the door and come in’, the sweet voice purrs.

  I stand against the door staring at a point several feet away from her uncrossed legs, my arms crossed behind me. Her swiveling on the chair with childlike glee, restless parting and closing of the olive legs, and chewing of the yellow pencil with swollen red lips peeled off large white teeth fail to evoke any worthwhile emotion in me beyond a faint flutter of the solid heart and an uncontrollable urge to bury the head deep between those luscious thighs.

  ‘Are you a mornings person, or are you’, she asks, her open legs finally coming to rest directly across me. I am invited to gaze upon the fleshy seas that have heaved and parted to show the Promised Land, but I have my own scruples: though a healthy Tom, I shall not be caught peeping.

  She repeats the question, as usual. With effort I bring my eyes to focus on her lips but the gaze keep skidding off to the gasping chasm between the full thighs. If I get a chance to bury my face there you’d have to dig it out with a spoon.