“Patience, my dear, all will be explained.”
The lounge is deserted except for an undistinguished-looking man perched on the edge of the sofa by the window. A sickening feeling flutters in my stomach. His jeans, the polo shirt worn with the collar up, the dark glasses and the seriously dandy shoes, flashing the LV logo, all have Vasant Kunj, New Money, New Delhi written all over them. The rest of him belongs to Punjabi Bagh. He isn’t entirely unattractive, you can see him appealing to Emraan Hashmi’s fan base for example. He’s the same height as Hashmi too, I note.
Other than the momentary sense of having my curiosity sated, seeing Guneet there is a 9.5 on the Richter scale of bad surprises. How utterly daft of me to not have seen through Trisha’s plan to get me on board for her affair.
Oh, I’m going to be in so much trouble if this gets out. I dart a nervous look around the room feeling ridiculous as there was only Guneet in it when we entered, and the door hasn’t opened since.
Preparing to shake hands coldly and making a quick escape, with or without Trisha, I see that Guneet is awkward about meeting me too. His voice trembles on introducing himself. I can’t bear to be cold – god, I hate how soft I’m. I not just smile brightly at him but the next thing you know, I’m making conversation.
“Where in Delhi do you live?” I ask, mentally high-fiving myself for my finely tuned skill at matching shoes to postcodes when he confirms my suspicions of Vasant Kunj.
“And how often are you in Bombay?” I ask, only realising after the sentence is out of my mouth that I’m basically asking him how often he bonks Trisha.
“I’d say about once a month, but now after meeting her,” he says, shooting Trisha a meaningful look, “I’ve started coming more frequently.” Then he smiles and Trisha smiles too and I feel unwell.
“And is your work hectic?” I ask, keen to keep to this one topic.
“Well, I’m an exporter, so it depends on the season.”
He apparently has nothing to ask me and I daren’t ask a question to which the answer might somehow be “having sex with Trisha”. So the conversation languishes and is replaced by benign smiles as we sit there looking at the carpet as though it were a Gaitonde painting. What does one talk about under these circumstances anyway? I can’t ask about his family in New Delhi. I can’t tell him what a fine man Nakul is. So, I sit there, annoyed, playing absent-mindedly with my gold chain.
“Trisha speaks very highly of you,” he suddenly says to me, turning towards Trisha to seek acknowledgement from her. She gives him an approving smile, almost like a mother encouraging her child to go on with his poetry recitation in front of her club friends.
“I tell her she is lucky to have a confidante in you,” he adds sincerely.
I smile nervously, really not wanting to inhabit that role.
Tea is served, and though I usually don’t touch caffeine after noon, stirring and sipping at least gives me something to do and is less awkward than just sitting there smiling. After the server leaves, Guneet reaches out for Trisha’s hand and casually caresses her slender manicured fingers with one hand while sipping his coffee with the other. Oh my God, is he going to just mount her right there, in front of me? I gulp a mouthful of tea which is still far too hot and burns the roof of my mouth. He’s sweet enough but let’s face it, he isn’t half the man Nakul is.
Unable to bear their hideous foreplay I start to shuffle my legs as if making a bid to leave. “Oh, you’re leaving already?” Guneet asks weakly, pretending to be disappointed at the prospect. “Aww, you must be wanting to rush back to the kids,” Trisha says in an annoyingly empathetic tone. “See you then Natty,” she waves goodbye, unfazed by the fact that she brought me here but now I have to get an Uber back. No one offers to walk me to the lobby. In fact, I could see them leaning in towards each other before the doors had even slid closed after me.
I had seen Nakul through a break-up before he met Trisha. Soon after I got married, Sheena left Nakul and he had the most terrible time – morose for months, not wanting to be involved in anything. Varun and I encouraged him back to life, really, insisting he join us at social gatherings, even to the cinema. I introduced him to all my single women friends as it was clear he was a great catch but while he went on a couple of dates with them, no one caught his fancy like Trisha.
An interior decorator by profession, Trisha met Nakul while working on his new office site in Delhi. What followed was high-octane drama. They fell in love, and Trisha called off her engagement, leaving her fiancée broken-hearted and suicidal. Her father, a proud Sikh gentleman, was mortified by what his daughter had done and, as expected, he opposed the marriage. Trisha and Nakul waited a year before her father gave in to his beloved daughter’s entreaties and the two were finally married in a quiet ceremony at a friend’s farm not far from Kasauli.
Stepping out of the elevator, I scan the hotel lobby quickly to ascertain that I’m not recognised by somebody I know. Imagine having to exercise caution for someone else’s affair!
When I get home, I find Nakul and Varun at the porch. I almost have a cardiac arrest. What are they doing at home at this hour? And where shall I say I’m returning from in an Uber? It’s unlike me to take a taxi with the cars parked in the compound and the driver neither sick or away. Anxiety is playing havoc with my ability to think of a plausible excuse.
Nakul turns around to greet me immediately with a warm hug with an even warmer intonation of my name. “Natashaaaaaa...I’m so happy to see you.”
Just look at the way he is smiling at me with such warmth. I hate myself.
I will have enough time for self-flagellation later, I tell myself, but right now I must do my best to present a happy and guilt-free face.
“Where have you been, hon?” Varun asks walking into the house. The dogs come running downstairs to greet us.
“Oh, I was just having coffee with Trisha and...me,” I say as I pet our needy dogs turn by turn.
“Oh, that must have been a crowd then, you, Trisha and you,” he pats my back and chuckles. “But why were you using Uber?” Varun says with a hint of surprise.
“Oh, she had to run an errand and I just wanted to be home, for the kids.”
Upstairs, I ask Shambhu to send us coffee on the terrace, it’s cool and breezy for a change.
“Beautiful pendant, Nats!” Nakul says, sitting down and stretching his arms upwards. As if I needed any further confirmation that he was the better of the two men in Trisha’s life.
“I see you wasted no time in putting it on,” Varun says, smiling.
“Did you want me to save it for Ria’s dahej?” I retort with a smile.
“So what’s cooking between you and my wife?” Nakul asks with a grin. “The two of you are meeting all the time, aren’t you? She’s always on the phone with you these days...It’s all rather mysterious to me.”
“Oh, haha, we have been busy planning Varun’s surprise birthday party!” I say, suddenly inspired, my guilt getting the better of me. “And clearly...this isn’t a surprise any longer,” I laugh settling into my chair.
“Really? So early? But my birthday is months away!” says Varun leaning over to place his cup of coffee on the table.
“But it’ll be your fortieth after all Varun, it will need planning. Caterers get booked months ahead, as you know.” Why did I just say that?
“Alright, in that case, I’m very flattered. Thank you Nats,” he smiles and then looks behind me and says, “Ah, you are here early.”
I can hardly believe my eyes as I find a peachy Trisha stepping onto the terrace. Why is she here? Is today Friday the 13th?
“Hello Trisha darling,” Varun says, getting up to hug her. “Why are you here?” I hear myself say.
“Nakul rang me and asked me to come over, and I was
just running errands, so I came directly from there,” she says with a straight face.
“We had work to discuss and we decided we could do it from home so that we can spend some time with our favourite ladies later,” Nakul says.
I lunge towards her to hug her too, which I realise later must have looked strange given that I was supposed to be with her minutes ago. “Trisha, good you could join us, I just told Varun about the party you and I have been planning for him,” I blurt out.
“Party?’ she says blankly as I scream, ‘Trisha, you stupid cow’, inside my head.
Excerpted with permission from Love in the Time of Affluenza, Shunali Khullar Shroff, Bloomsbury.