Wedding Cancelled and Other Stories Read online

  Wedding Cancelled and

  Other Stories

  Lockdown Liaisons

  Book 3

  Shobhaa Dé

  Wedding Cancelled and

  Other Stories

  Lockdown Liaisons

  A NOTE FROM THE PUBLISHER

  June 2020

  Cocooned in our small little worlds yet living through the most precarious and awful times – this has got to be a first in the collective memory of the whole wide world. Untouched by the footsteps of migrant workers in the hot sun we rave and rant on social media. And as always what helps us to retain our sanity in moments like this are words. Our own words and words from loved ones but even more than that, words from gifted writers who spin stories out of universal experiences, from thoughts and ideas half-formed in our minds.

  Simon & Schuster India is happy to bring to you short stories by the inimitable Shobhaa De as she captures the fragile zeitgeist of the pandemic in her own unique way – through stories that don’t provide an escape into la la land but rather stories of love that will make you sometimes smile, sometimes frown but at all times understand the subterranean world of shifting human emotions. The author, and her stories, don’t shy away from the tremulous uncertainties of the world as we know but rather help us to confront and understand it all, just a little bit better.

  In this little collection of diverse stories you will meet tired but spunky women who refuse to accept unsatisfactory relationships during lockdown. Then there is the travails of the man who is stuck with a woman he has been casually dating because of the suddenness of the lockdown. And in one other story we see how the uncertainties unspooled by the lockdown impact the wedding plans of a couple planning their destination wedding.

  I hope all of you enjoy reading the stories in this anthology and remember in these difficult times to be kind to yourselves, to the people you meet in the pages of this book and to those in your life and in the world outside.

  VODKA… AND NO TONIC

  I hate this lockdown nonsense, okay? As it is we were having problems in our marriage - his work, my work… usual story. Then came this bloody, fucking lockdown! And after 20 days, I was ready to die of corona virus rather than spend one more day and night with this awful man. The thing is, I did not know he was awful! Till the lockdown happened. In fact, I thought I had married a nice chappie.

  We knew each other from before getting hitched and all that. Not as if one fine day our parents came up with a rishta and we said ‘yes’. Nor was it one of those bakwas dating sites… or an NRI type of kahani. We lived in the same colony! We were both fauji bachchas. We understood each other’s lifestyles. Our schooling was similar. We worked hard, you know? Did MBA and all that - separately, of course. So hard work was not some new concept - arrey, we were not Ambanis, Birlas and Tatas. Solid middle class values! But we had big dreams - why lie? We wanted to make it big in the world. Travel from Tokyo to Paris. Do fun stuff together. Set up an amazing home. Paarty-shaarty with friends - typical.

  Our wedding was too much fun, yaar. All the events put together by a wedding planner so nicely - just the other day, I was watching the videos on my laptop and thinking, ‘Yaar… look at these! How happy we look! And I toh looked super hot, especially during the bikini shoot in Phuket, where we went with four other couples for our youngsters’ party.

  Watching those videos during the lockdown added to my depression. It was all past tense. Our lives had changed forever. And I knew, no matter how hard we both tried, our marriage would never be the same again. Vicky has changed - that much is pucca. He says I have changed - lies! I am still the same Manju - ask my friends! We chat and have Zoom parties every other evening - just to remind ourselves we are alive. Vicky finds all this stupid and refuses to join us. He locks himself in the bedroom and creates a racket, just to disturb my fun. Of course, I drink during these virtual parties. Why not, yaar! It’s not a crime! What else does he expect me to do! Japo a mala?

  Just because he has zero friends, he is jealous of mine. I am friendly and sociable, okay? He also used to be like that. We had common friends. Then he slowly changed - which he denies. How can he deny this? Why blame everything on the lockdown? I told him not to give me excuses and keep running away from the real issues. The truth is, we no longer sleep together. I admit it was my decision to give sex a break - it was getting too much for me! I worked in Gurugram, and he in Noida. We were both doing brilliantly - the money and perks were good. But the hours were long, and we both had to travel a lot. Naturally, this would lead to fatigue - all my girlfriends told me the same thing. So, my group decided to get off this whole ‘sex-ka-chakkar’ for a while.

  ‘Let’s detox sexually,’ we said. And laughed a lot. I was relieved I wasn’t the only woman sick of sex. But Vicky took it very personally. He thought I was rejecting him! I said there is a difference between rejecting sex and rejecting him. He didn’t get it and stopped talking to me.

  Two days after this happened, lockdown also happened. We were stuck. And my life got fucked!

  Our apartment is not small, but it is not spacious-spacious either. We have a balcony and all that. Ha ha ha, the same balcony from which I feel like jumping off, these days, when things get too much. Then, I look at my plants, which I love, and say to myself, ‘I can’t do such a terrible thing to them! After all, what have they done? And if I die, they will also die, since Vicky will not water them.’ He refuses to!

  Once, when I was busy on my work call and requested him to just water them, since they looked thirsty, he flatly refused, saying rudely, ‘It is not my job.’ I was hurt. As if watering plants is a ‘job’. Those plants are my real babies - since we don’t have a baby together. And this is his reaction?

  What if we had had a kid in this situation! A kid without a maid, and the two of us trying to cope. I would have definitely jumped out - with the kid. Because I know Vicky would not have helped take care of our baby either. He said watering the plants was ‘not his job’. Then what is his job? I forgot to mention, he has been laid off. So, he doesn’t have any other job. Maybe he is jealous that I still have mine. But that he won’t admit. The house is in my name. Why? Because the loan is also in my name. Of course, we both shared the EMIs, but even then, I paid more than he did, since I earn more.

  This was never a problem - till the lockdown. We used to even joke about it, and he would tell friends, ‘Aren’t I lucky? I am a kept man - Manju keeps us in style!’

  I would think, ‘Wow! Vicky is so confident, unlike other husbands. He doesn’t have any ego hassles admitting I am more successful. He is so secure!’ Now look at him! Growling and sulking all day. Cribbing about every little thing!

  It’s difficult to sleep on the same bed night after night without accidentally touching one another. I mean - bodies shift at night, na? He flips out if my hand or leg fall over any part of him. As if I am doing it on purpose. And then a whole drama follows - he angrily switches on all the lights and switches off the air-conditioner, just to spite me. Even though it is April, and it is close to 40 degrees outside.

  ‘I am so hot!’ I complained and he laughed, ‘Oh really? You… and hot? Dream on!’ I would have kept quiet, but I am paying the electricity bills! So I let him have it!

  He picked up his phone (the latest, most expensive model I had given him for his birthday, just before the lockdown), and started to video record my outburst, saying, ‘Let your WhatsApp chat groups see you like this. Then they will know why I don’t want to live with you.’ This was the first time he had uttered those words, without actually saying, ‘Divorce’.

  So, naturally I screamed, ‘You coward - why can’t you just say you want to divorce me?�
� This was exactly what he wanted to hear! I had used the ‘D-Word’ - not him. He was armed with ‘evidence’.

  He waved the phone at me triumphantly, ‘Oh ho… now let the fun begin!’ He thought of divorce as ‘fun’? Our divorce? Had he gone totally mad?

  I called my best friend Shanti - the calm and mature one from the group. She was ‘just a housewife’ she would say at parties, and I would kick her ankle. Her advice was simple and sensible, ‘See Manju it is because of the lockdown. People are going crazy across the world. Vicky did not mean it. He must have felt you were provoking him - all this going on in the middle of the night. You keep quiet and mind your own business. Stay out of his path. Everything will be okay after the lockdown is lifted.’

  I felt better, as I made coffee for myself - he had stopped drinking ‘my’ coffee a week or so ago. I went to my work desk and logged in. There were dozens of mails pending - the usual mid-week chaos. My mind was very disturbed, and I felt a vodka tonic would help me get through the long day.

  So, I went to the cabinet to look for the bottle of Belvedere we had bought at duty free during our last trip to Bali. It was missing. What the fuck! I stormed into the bedroom and found Vicky fast asleep even though it was eleven in the morning - this had become a regular thing. I asked firmly, ‘Where’s the Belvedere?’

  He opened one eye and laughed into my face, ‘Lipstick in the morning? Pearls? Must be a special video conference - looking for a new catch already?’

  I went and shook him, a little roughly, I admit, and he jumped back, ‘I will call the police and report you for assaulting me.’ I stood motionless and stared at the man I thought I knew so well and had once loved - yes, loved!

  I composed myself and hissed, ‘Just give me the bottle - now!’ He grinned and said, ‘What bottle? It’s not your bottle. It’s mine. I paid for it, remember?’

  I heard myself say, ‘Okay… I will pay you back in cash. Right now! Just give me the fucking bottle.’

  He continued to loll in bed as he mocked me by mimicking my Haryanvi accent. He was from Himachal, and had been to a public school, briefly. I couldn’t take it! I just couldn’t - I knew I was being stupid, but I rushed towards him and lunged. In the bargain, I tripped over the Kashmiri bedside rug, and fell. It was a nasty fall. No blood, no cuts, no scratches. But several bruises and a black eye. I immediately reached for my phone and took a video of myself.

  I acted! I was so convincing! I sobbed and sniffled as I spoke about my husband assaulting me without the slightest provocation. I cut to images of me applying an icepack to my rapidly puffing eye, and cut to Vicky seated on a rumpled bed, looking stupefied.

  Let’s see what the lawyers have to say about this! I can’t wait for the courts to open.

  STUCK

  Boss… here I am stuck inside my Delhi home. My wife and two boys are hundreds of miles away, in our family home. We live in a joint family… but we have enough independence and space for all, including my grandparents. My wife often complains it’s very hard for her to deal with four generations living under one roof. See… she’s a modern girl and enjoys her life. We are a tight group - you know?

  Couples who work together, travel together, party together. There is a comfort level happening, because we know each other’s secrets - who can sneak on whom? Everyone keeps ‘chhup’, but we all know who is having a scene and where. My work brings me to Delhi. In fact, most of what I do as a successful businessman involves being in Delhi. Since I used to spend at least two days of the week in Delhi, my wife and I had decided it made more sense to buy a place here - this lovely bungalow where I am staying right now. I was meant to go back home the next afternoon - and suddenly, a nationwide lockdown was announced and the borders got sealed.

  I admit my first reaction was, ‘Yaaaay! I can spend time here on my own, and not have to deal with the constant “chik-chik” from my wife about who had said what to her during my absence.’ I had trained myself to hear, but not hear, her non-stop grumbling. After she had finished, it would be my mother’s turn to bitch out my wife, followed by my grandmother, who would attack me for being away all the time!

  My boys never troubled me. I enjoyed their company, since they were teenagers now, and we could play gully cricket together. I really missed being back with them. Just them. And let me be perfectly frank - Sweety ( my wife’s pet name) and I had stopped having regular sex a few years ago. I mean - with each other! Hahahaha. I used to freelance during my trips abroad, and Sweety had a thing going with one of the guys from our group. I knew about their affair, but I reasoned after being married for sixteen years, a woman also gets tired of daily daal-chawaal sex - she needs Thai curry. Just as I needed a full murg massalam after eating veggie meals at home.

  My ‘murgis’ were mostly from Delhi - attractive, smart working girls. One particular corporate lawyer was my favourite - she was helping me sort out a messy contract, so naturally we spent many evenings together, going over the fine print. Sometimes, Ronita stayed over and left after breakfast. She had started keeping a change in one of the closets in the guest room.

  My staff was used to my ways, and their lips were sealed. Thank God I had employed three smart Nepali men and one driver from Bihar on a permanent basis. They lived in the servant’s quarters and minded their own business. I was very good to them, so nobody could crib about anything. They were also taken aback by the lockdown but assured me I would be well looked after by them.

  My problem was what to do with Ronita. She was also stuck inside my home and this was getting most awkward. What would she say to her mother in Chandigarh? Or to her seniors who had asked her to WFH? Wouldn’t they wonder whose home? Her friends were cool about all this - I wasn’t her first client-boyfriend, as she herself had assured me. But this situation was too much! The first few days were like an extended honeymoon - we stayed in bed all day and fucked each other’s brains out. We imagined we had fallen in love, and started fantasizing about a life together once the lockdown was lifted. Stupid! As if it works like that.

  Then came the reality check - I was used to Sweety doing everything for me - all my day-to-day comforts were taken care of, even in this home. She would call the staff twenty times a day to give them detailed instructions - what to cook, how to serve my meals, which clothes to keep out on the bed every morning - that way, she was the perfect wife. We never ran out of anything, and I didn’t have to bother about rubbish things like toilet paper rolls and electricity bills. It was done!

  The staff guys loved Sweety, because she looked after them well – sent presents for their wives in Nepal, gave old toys for their children, organised their uniforms (summer and winter - different sets). Now, with Ronita around, the staff did not know whom to obey - the madam in the house, or the missing memsaab. I didn’t want to interfere, so I left it to Ronita to sort this out directly. Sorry to say, she made a complete mess. Her excuse was that she was ‘freaked out’ by the lockdown! Arrey… what nonsense. As if the whole world wasn’t freaking! Then, she said the staff did not listen to her, and only took orders from Sweety.

  But Ronita, who had never run a proper home should have realised that she was plain lousy at it!!! She was more the barsaati type - casual. My beautiful bungalow was a mess! The staff had given up. Plus, the driver, with no work, and nowhere to drive me, was keen to go back to his village, since he didn’t want to ‘die alone’ in Delhi! The Nepali men were also panic-stricken, and not getting it that the borders were sealed! There was nothing I could do to get them to Kathmandu.

  All day, the only talk around the table was Corona Corona Corona. I had stopped watching television completely, and had started to avoid Sweety’s calls. I did not want to facetime the boys either, or engage in zoom conferences and webinars. I was looking terrible, without my weekly grooming sessions with Rashidbhai. My straggly beard and unkempt hair had aged me by ten years.

  As for Ronita - dear God! Her upper lip was worse than mine. She had a proper mooch! Her eyebrows looked like ca
terpillars crawling across her forehead, and the rest of her was hairier and scarier than I could have visualised. Plus, she was seriously greying - ALL over! Which could only mean she had lied to me about her age. But I had also lied about mine! She was also very sloppy around the house - I was used to tidiness, thanks to Sweety’s good, neat habits. Ronita liked eating her meals on the bed. When she dropped achaar on the duvet and stained it I flipped out completely! My duvet was very expensive! Imported! Sweety had sourced it from a London store that specialised in hand-crafted bed linen. Sweety would be furious! Achaar stains never go, and my staff members would definitely report this, for fear of being held responsible for the damage. I am also wondering how I have landed in this situation! She has no business to be here, but there is zero things I can do.

  I tried using my Delhi police contacts to find out if I could send her back somehow. She told me her area falls in the red zone and her neighbours would not let her into the society, without a proper Covid test. I did not ask her ‘Which area is that?’ That was stupid of me. I am equally worried - what if she is an asymptomatic Covid -19 carrier? I don’t want to die like this! I heard her sneezing and sniffling yesterday. She pretended some pepper from the pepper mill was irritating her nose. How come it did not irritate mine? We were eating our eggs together on the same table. Now she wants to smoke a sheesha every evening, saying it relaxes her… and what else can we do to keep ourselves amused, now that my liquor cabinet has been emptied and we can’t score any bottles from our friendly neighbour. Poor chap, even he has finished his last bottle of Hendrick’s and has opened a rare cognac he was saving up for his wedding anniversary.

  I am not a sheesha fan, and it’s too hot to sit outside in any case. But Ronita is one stubborn bitch! She argues too much. I told her to shove the sheesha up her butt - come on, ya! There’s a limit to a guy’s patience. She has also started throwing abuses around and I told her sternly to stop or else.