You Are All I Need Read online

  Reading this page, tears rolled down my cheeks. Again, I went back to my memories.

  Siddarth visited me whenever he came to Kolkata and we had a lot of fun roaming the city, trying out its different cuisines. The way he always took time out of his busy schedule for me increased my respect for him. I didn’t realize when I started falling for him. It was in 2010 that Uncle and I decided to tell him about our marriage. I remember I was so happy that I could be with him forever. But I wanted to tell him this news once he was settled properly, so that he wouldn’t have any distraction. That’s why we had to wait. But then I didn’t know that destiny was playing a game with us. That very day, when we decided to tell him, I got a call from him. He sounded excited.

  ‘Hey, Ananya, you know what? I am so happy I finally proposed to her!’

  I was shocked, but composing myself, I asked, ‘Who? Who is this girl, Siddarth?’

  ‘You know her too, Anu. She was your classmate in school . . . Do you remember Sakshi?’

  ‘Oh, Sakshi . . . Of course . . . She was the one with the curly hair, right?’ I tried to sound normal.

  ‘Yes, the same beauty with brains. When I went to Mumbai for a tournament a few months back, I met her in the hotel where the team was staying. She was . . .’

  He was telling me about Sakshi, but nothing was registering. I was lost in my world of disbelief and confusion. Should I be happy or sad? Finally, I found my voice.

  ‘Congratulations, Siddarth! I am so happy for you. I will talk to Aunty and Uncle about her today. Come home soon. Bye!’ Saying this, I disconnected the call. And for the first time in all these years, I felt a void in my life.

  Though my brain was telling me to be selfish and not help him, my heart wouldn’t do it, so immediately after composing myself, I went to my uncle to speak about it. I knew it wouldn’t be easy to convince him, but I knew I had to do this for Siddarth’s happiness. He should not suffer for something that had happened even without his knowledge.

  ‘Uncle, he loves her,’ I said after explaining what had happened. ‘Most importantly, he will be happy with her. Please try to understand. Don’t ruin the life of two souls for one promise you had made to my mother. Even she wouldn’t be happy if her children were unhappy.’

  ‘Then what about you? Don’t you want him in your life?’ asked Gayathri, as she was the only one who knew that I loved Siddarth.

  ‘I will be happier to just see him smile, even if it is with someone else. I won’t think twice before giving him what he wants. If I tell him about my love or our marriage, he will surely leave her and come to me. Then I will just be his wife and nothing else. I don’t want to be that. I want to be in his heart and be the reason for that smile whenever he remembers me,’ I told her with a heavy heart.

  They were against it in the beginning, but later, seeing my stubbornness, they agreed. As our marriage had not been registered, I felt there was no need for Siddarth to know about it.

  I turned the pages of my diary where I had pasted many pictures of Siddarth. The last picture I remembered sticking was his marriage photo. But I was surprised to find the remaining pages of my diary filled by someone else. It was all written beautifully. It was all about Siddarth and his special moments, both professionally and personally. I was so happy to read all of it that I decided to speak to Sakshi about it. So I went looking for her. I found her sitting in the lawn playing with the dogs and watching Ria play with her friends. I sat down beside her.

  ‘Hey, Sakshi. In the morning Ria gave me my diary and told me that you had asked her to give it to me. I was surprised to find all this,’ I said, showing her the photographs that had not been pasted by me.

  ‘Why? You didn’t like them?’ Sakshi asked with a smile.

  ‘No, no . . . They are awesome! I . . . ’ I couldn’t continue, as realization dawned.

  ‘Relax, I was the one who continued to write in your diary.’

  I looked at her with so many emotions roiling inside me, tears welling up in my eyes. She held my hand.

  ‘Ananya, I found it near your bed in your room after you left us eight years ago. Maybe because you left in a hurry, it got misplaced. I found it and read it. I know I shouldn’t have—it is your personal diary. But that was when I got this idea to continue writing in it and thought would gift it to you when you returned. So I am not regretting or apologizing for it,’ said Sakshi. I smiled at her, letting her know that I didn’t mind.

  There, we sat in silence for a while. We were both lost in our own thoughts.

  I recalled how I’d left for the US after their wedding to complete my master’s and then settled there. I never wanted to return as I was afraid that in some weak moment or the other, I would end up making Siddarth feel guilty for something he didn’t even know anything about. But a message from Sakshi had brought me back to India last week.

  A few days back I got a message from her saying that my uncle’s condition was serious and that he wanted to see me. I came to know it was a prank to get me back to India. Though I was angry with them initially, I couldn’t stay angry for too long after seeing Siddarth’s cute little daughter, Ria.

  I was shaken out of my thoughts by Siddarth’s voice, ‘Hey, come in. Let’s have lunch. I am feeling hungry. By the way, what is this you are holding in your hand?’ He took the notebook from me.

  Before I could stop him, he was turning the pages. ‘Wow, it is more like my album. Who did this?’

  I looked at Sakshi in panic. She calmly smiled and said, ‘We both did it—only for you, Siddarth.’

  Siddarth exclaimed ‘Great! This is amazing! By the way, girls, where is my birthday gift?’

  ‘Your gift is standing right in front of you,’ Sakshi said, holding me by my shoulders.

  With a smile, Siddarth took my hands in his. ‘You know what, Anu? When you were leaving for your master’s, I thought no one would tolerate this dumbhead for more than a year. I thought . . . wished . . . they would throw you out of the country and you would come back in a year or two. I never imagined in my wildest dreams that you would take eight long years to make it back. How could you have stayed away from us for so long? You don’t know how much I’ve missed you all these years. Sakshi had to tell a lie to get you here, because you are always making excuses to not come to India.’ Hearing his trembling voice, I hugged him and let my tears flow. After composing myself I broke away, saying, ‘Now no more emotional talk.’

  Taking my diary from him, I called out to his daughter, ‘Okay, now let’s get in. Ria, baby, come on! It’s lunchtime.’

  We celebrated Siddarth’s birthday and, at night, I sat down in my favourite place beside the window and started writing my diary again.

  07.09.2018

  Today after a long time, I enjoyed a lot—that, too, with my favourite person on his birthday. I have met many of your teammates and had a fun time, Siddarth. I can’t forget this day anytime soon. Many, many happy returns of the day. You are getting old, my dumbo!

  With a sigh I closed my diary and lay down on the bed, lost in my thoughts for the final time that day.

  After I left India, I searched for my diary in my bag but couldn’t find it. I had never expected to see it again, but look at life’s irony—now I have again started writing in it and will continue to till I have strength in my hands. Thank god I hadn’t written anything about our marriage in the diary. Now I am more than happy to see Siddarth like this and don’t want anything else in my life.

  You will always have a special place in my heart, Siddarth. It is eternal, and nothing will bring it down to the level of obsession or possessiveness. Maybe this is what is called ‘pure love’.

  Love you, Siddarth, forever and ever . . .

  This was my last thought before I drifted off to sleep.

  13

  Beyond Right and Wrong

  Supreet Kaur

  Somewhere beyond right and wrong, there is a garden. I will meet you there.

  —Rumi

  It was 11
p.m. on a chilly Delhi night. My hands and feet were cold, but one of my cheeks was warm, red, with blood rushing through it. I could hear my ears ringing as a tear rolled down my other cheek, as if trying to sympathize with what had just happened.

  My dad was standing there, his hand still in the air, ashamed of having slapped his twenty-five-year-old daughter, hiding that shame in the form of anger.

  ‘Get out of my house right now!’ With this, he held me by the arm, opened the door and started dragging me out.

  ‘But Dad, listen . . .’ I said through a choked throat.

  I looked at my mom with welled-up eyes for help.

  ‘You were the good one . . . We were so proud of you. What happened?’ She struggled to get the words out amid uncontrollable crying.

  As I struggled to stay indoors, my dad let my arm go, suddenly regretting what he was doing with the daughter he loved so much. He did not utter a word this time, but went back into his room, slamming the door hard, leaving me and my misery behind. Mom, too, walked away.

  Sitting in the doorway, my heartbeat and thoughts raced.

  I had been the most adored daughter of the family, but I’d made just one mistake to change it all. I had fallen in love.

  It had all started with an office trip to Bengaluru a few years back. Scared but excited at this opportunity, I had managed to convince my overprotective parents—and I was finally out of my protected environment.

  Nervous about my first day in office in a new city among new people, I dressed up in all black to give a sleek first impression. I had called one of my colleagues the night before, informing him of my visit and asking him to help me with access formalities. He and I had been working together for a year. I knew him by his voice on official calls and the fact that he was the most helpful person in the team.

  Waiting in the lift lobby, I was looking out of the window of the eighth floor, taking in the views of the city, lost in my own thoughts, when I heard his voice call my name. I turned.

  He was 5’9, dressed casually for a Monday in relaxed-fit jeans, an off-white half-sleeve T-shirt showing off his toned arms and a sleeveless black hoodie on top.

  ‘Welcome to Bangalore.’ He smiled, extending his hand towards me. Staring into his dark brown eyes, I took his hand in mine. His hands were rough and hard, matching his toned arms. My small, soft hands felt protected in that firm, warm handshake. Little did I know in that moment that these hands would be there to stay.

  The days in office flew by with stringent deadlines and tonnes of work, but it was the late evenings and weekends that made me feel lonely. So I started staying back late at the office rather than returning to the guest house. I was tired of eating by myself every night.

  While leaving office around 8 p.m. one day, I saw him working. In dire need of human company, I went to him.

  ‘Do you want to grab dinner?’ I asked.

  ‘Ah, okay,’ he said, but there was hesitation in his voice.

  We went to a nearby dhaba.

  ‘I am missing Punjabi food so much!’ I said, sounding desperate.

  He smiled at me and then pointed to the waiter.

  ‘Bhaiya, one dal makhani and one shahi paneer,’ he said.

  In that moment, he was my knight in shining armour. It was my first satisfying meal in the city.

  The way to a Punjabi’s heart is through the stomach. That night was the start of a new friendship. We started spending more time together. More dinners, weekend movies, harmless flirting, blushing, finding excuses to touch each other’s hands . . .

  The freshness of early infatuation was a magical feeling.

  Magic doesn’t last long, as I soon discovered. It gives you a temporary high but ultimately brings you back to the real world. My magical period of one month was over. It was time to head back home.

  ‘I don’t think we’ll ever meet again . . .’ I said, holding his hands in the office parking.

  ‘We will,’ he replied, looking deep into my eyes. Then he kick-started his bike and left.

  I just stood there, looking at him disappear, with a strange hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach, a lot like Simran in Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge standing at London’s Kings Cross station after she bids adieu to Raj, not knowing what a mess she had stepped into! Coming out of my trance, I got into my cab and left for the airport.

  Back home, I got busy with work, family and friends, but Bengaluru was always in my thoughts and conversations. I felt some part of me had been left behind in the city. Maybe it was him? Was I really missing him? I have had many crushes in the past, but none of those feelings have lasted so long. I was craving to talk to him. But what should I suddenly talk about after so many days? I picked up my phone and forwarded a joke as a conversation starter. He responded with an emoji. There I was—skin in the game!

  As time passed, the jokes changed to good-morning and good-night messages, the chats changed to calls. We started sharing all the details of our day; slowly he earned his place as my 3 a.m. friend and gained top position on my speed dial.

  ‘I am coming to Delhi tomorrow for a day,’ he messaged me one day. I was nervous. I would be meeting him for the first time after Bengaluru. This last year we had come so much closer. But I had also heard of people who had talked a lot over the phone and through messages but had trouble connecting when they finally met. What if that happened to us?

  With hundreds of questions in my head and butterflies in my stomach, I went to the airport to pick him up. My hands were sweaty, my throat dry. While continuously adjusting my hair and my new dress, my eyes were intently scanning everyone coming out of the airport gate.

  There he was, this time more maturely dressed in a green-and-blue check shirt, blue jeans and an army-style haircut. As he came closer, I extended by hand to say hello. Instead, he leaned in and hugged me.

  With his chest against mine, I could smell his intoxicating perfume. I felt an invisible spark run through my body. It was a new feeling, different from everything I had felt before. Love?

  This meeting was the big leap that took our friendship to a new level. We started meeting more often, planning occasional intercity trips.

  Soon we were officially in what the world calls a long-distance relationship. From ‘more than friends’ we became a couple.

  The distance sometimes grew due to our separate international office trips and demanding IT jobs. When travelling abroad, we started putting in more effort into activities that we could do together irrespective of time zones; staying awake late to talk, adjusting our mealtimes to eat together, and enjoying the charm of late-night video calls.

  But no matter how advanced the technology, it still couldn’t replace the warmth of his hug, the taste of his lips, the protectiveness of his hands. Phone calls were no longer enough—I started craving for more. I started missing him all the time. On some days, this feeling was so strong that I wished I could step into the damn laptop and hug him.

  After looking for a job change for a few months, he finally found one in Delhi. This marked a huge step forward in our relationship. We met more often, went on dates more often; our understanding increased, insecurities reduced, and we found comfort and solace in each other.

  Nobody went down on one knee or screamed with excitement. There was no drama—but there was a proposal! And it happened this way:

  ‘Our kids will never misbehave this much,’ I said to him while pointing to a wailing kid at the mall one day.

  ‘All kids are like that—even ours will be the same,’ he replied nonchalantly.

  What?! What the hell had we both just said? Were we already envisioning our kids in the future? Such old-school lovers we were! We both looked at each other as these words came out of our mouths.

  His gaze held mine. It had a question, I could sense it.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, and the deal was sealed.

  I am Sikh, he is a Brahmin from northern India. It is not just a cultural shift—these are two different religions. Our gods, our place
s of worship, our family beliefs are miles apart.

  Only an Indian kid will understand the insurmountable odds in breaking to a conservative family the news that she is in love with someone from a different religion.

  The whole night I kept rehearsing versions of this conversation in my head for the next day’s chat with my parents. Little did I know that that day, my world would change forever!

  That night, with one cheek smarting from my father’s slap and my mom crying in front of my eyes, marked the end of that conversation.

  The slap was still fresh in my mind—the first one of my adult life!

  The next morning, after the family drama, I mustered up the courage to call him.

  ‘I think we should call it off,’ I said, crying. I was traumatized from the events of the night before; I had brought out the worst in my parents.

  He resisted, begged, pursued me to give it another try and to stay positive. He kept assuring me that he would make things right. But I had made up my mind to sacrifice love for my family. Maybe we were never meant to be.

  ‘Maybe I am not strong enough to fight the world. I love you, but I love them too,’ I said. And with this last conversation, I severed all contact with him.

  This self-initiated break-up started taking a toll on my health. I missed his hands in mine, the comfort of his voice, which made me believe the world was still a good place. I was sure he was in the same pain. I couldn’t focus on work. I stopped being happy.

  Months passed. The leaves on the trees started turning yellow. Watching them fall made me cry and reminded me that those leaves would forever be away from their trees—just like I was from him. It was my birthday in two days and I knew it was going to be the worst birthday of my life. I just wished that Earth would revolve a little faster so I could jump directly to the next day, saving myself the pain of having to go through this day without him.