Socialite Evenings Page 26

  “I think you are clever enough to know. I don’t think there’s any point in continuing this farce. I’ve been thinking about it. We’d better call it off.”

  “Call what off?”

  “Our marriage.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Of course, I’m serious. I’ve discussed it with my mother.”

  “Before even talking to me?”

  “Why should I consult you, my dear? Did you expect me to seek your permission?You didn’t ‘consult’ me when you jumped into bed with Krish. Fair and square.”

  “But this involves our lives, our future—where does your mother come into it? How could you talk about this with her before telling me?”

  “I don’t owe you any explanations. I mean, look, did you really believe you could have your little tryst in Venice and come back like nothing had happened? Do you know what I did the moment I reached Bombay? I saw a lawyer. I wanted to check on the legal position. Let me tell you a few things—you don’t stand a chance in hell. I’d suggest you go along with my plan. Let’s file for divorce by mutual consent. That way we’ll save a lot of time, money and headaches. My lawyer has briefed me on this. I’m not interested in prolonging the proceedings and going through a bitter court battle. In any case, there’s nothing to contest.”

  I stared dully at him. All this was happening with frightening speed and I didn’t know what to do, think, say next.

  I knew the finality of what he was saying—that had registered all right. I also knew he didn’t generally say things for effect. This was something he had worked out systematically and in consultation with his mother.

  Slowly my mind got into gear. I began worrying about the implications—where I’d live, and how I’d break the news to my parents. I didn’t want to live with them. And I didn’t want to move in with anyone else like Anjali. Would the husband grant me enough time to find alternative accommodation? And did I want to hang around his house till I found it? How badly timed the whole thing was! That’s what I couldn’t get over. Why had I been so dense as to not have seen the signs earlier? Had I really been so sure of myself that I’d thought I could pull it off? I think not. I’d been full of a fool’s optimism and played ostrich. I’d indulged in some wild, wishful thinking in hoping that finally we’d arrived at a workable equation.

  The husband had stopped talking. He paced around for a while and left abruptly. I thought the appropriate thing to do was to pack a few belongings and move out.That’s what women in my position did in the movies. But I was not in the movies, and my concerns were more mundane—I didn’t have any money. I couldn’t possibly ask him to bail me out. Nor could I seek a loan—not from him. I hated the thought of touching my parents for money. They had more than their share of problems, including an invalid child to care for. I really didn’t have much of a choice. Reluctantly I picked up the phone and called Anjali.

  Her car came for me an hour later. I was feeling dead. Mechanically I dumped a few essentials into a small suitcase—my first Samsonite. I thought it would be too movielike to leave some silly goodbye note. I didn’t want to face the servants either. What was I going to say to them anyway—“Guess what, folks. I’ve been thrown out of the house—so goodbye guys. It was great knowing you.” It was hard to decide what to take with me. I wasn’t going on a weekend trip to the beach. What did one take on these occasions? What constituted “essentials”? Toothbrushes and dressing gowns? Face cleansers and lipsticks? Bras? Panties? Sanitary towels? Oh God—I was so confused. What did Ritu take with her when she left the house? If I knew her, it must have been all her jewelry. I didn’t want to touch any of mine (“Foolish,” Anjali scolded later. “Now you’ll never get it back!”) Shoes? Chappalls? Watches? Or was one supposed to leave all the things the husband had paid for behind? In which case I’d have had to walk out stark naked. When Anjali saw my small bag her first reaction was, “Is that all—where’s the rest of your stuff?” I sheepishly told her that I’d left it all behind and that I preferred it that way. “This is not the time for false dignity and pride, woman,” she advised. “Don’t be a fool.You are entitled to your things.”

  “I feel like a thief. I don’t want to sneak out of the house with things. I don’t want to be accused by anyone. Tomorrow his mother might turn around and say that I ransacked the place.”

  “She’s going to say it anyway.”

  “What did you expect me to do?” I said flaring up. “Get in carpenters to strip the place clean? Unhook the chandeliers? Unscrew other fittings? Take down the paintings? Roll up the carpets? Pack up family heirlooms? Pack up all the crystal and silver? I couldn’t do that. I don’t care how stupid that makes me.That’s just not my style. I’d hate myself.”

  “Screw all that darling.You need money. I wasn’t suggesting you rob the guy. But you are entitled to compensation.You have invested all these many years in this marriage—don’t you think it’s your right to claim something? If I know that family, they’ll cut you off without a dime. That’s not fair either. I call that exploitation. And don’t you dare go on a guilt trip. I don’t want to know what you’ve been up to. But whatever it is—just shut up about it.You’ll weaken your position by opening your mouth. I’ll talk to K’s lawyers, they’ll be able to advise us. Don’t take any calls and for heaven’s sake don’t incriminate yourself with any stupid ‘confessions.’ Do you understand? Now just relax. I’ll talk to my gynae and let’s see what can be done about the other problem. Get some sleep.You have to look your best tonight—we’re having a big party—it’s our anniversary today.”

  I nearly groaned when I heard that. A party! That’s all I needed right now. But Anjali was being sweet and well-meaning. I know she was trying to distract me and really help. But I wasn’t in the mood to meet anyone—not even her. She gave me a pill to pop and told me to sleep it off. I was thankful for the privacy. She’d put my things in one of her fancy guest rooms, away from the main house. It was a tranquil room done up in quiet colors. I switched on the a/c and fell instantly asleep.

  I didn’t hear the loud and steady knocking on the door. Anjali told me later that they were thinking of breaking open the door as she was nervous I’d done something drastic like slash my wrists. “No such luck,” I laughed weakly, as she sat by my side on the bed, running her fingers through my hair. She was dressed in some floaty white thing—and looked like an angel or a nurse. Was I tripping? Was it really her? She’d go in and out of focus, and I thought I saw a halo around her head.Was I going mad? I tried to raise myself up—I couldn’t. Maybe I was dead, I thought with relief.

  The party was just an hour away but I didn’t have the energy to do anything. There were no tears, they seemed to have been absorbed into my body making it seem bloated. Or maybe it was just my imagination. I did what I had been putting off: I called my parents. My misfortune hadn’t stopped—Father picked up the phone. I asked for Mother but was told she was having a bath. I should have put the phone down then, but I wasn’t thinking, I just told him the whole story—expecting what—sympathy, I guess. All he said was: “What you’ve done is unacceptable, totally unacceptable. Nobody in our family has done it before, nobody will do it in the future.You’ve made the mistake, now you pay the price. We’re old people and we cannot help you.You were the one who wanted to marry your husband, it was your decision. Now we don’t want to get involved. We have only a few years left to us, let us live them as peacefully as we can.” Having said this, he put the phone down. If I’d been alone I’m sure this would have prompted me to do something pretty drastic. But with Anjali around this was not to be. Thinking about it now, I suppose I owe Anjali a lot more than she will ever know. Anyway she bustled around and fussed over me, and eventually I found myself in the middle of the party. It was the usual circus with plenty of high jinks but I went through it in a daze, moving from room to room, place to place every time someone tried to include me in the festivities. I do not remember a single conversation or incident that took place th
at night except my meeting with Ritu. And it tells you something about the change in her, that it even penetrated my own misery. When she walked in with Gul and a few of his lackeys, it took me a moment to recognize her. In less than six months, she had bloated to an unbelievable size. She looked puffy and unwell. I watched her waddle across the pebbles. Even her walk was unsteady—but I thought she’d probably had one too many. She was dressed in a garish, sequined chiffon—the sort Dubai or Abu Dhabi Sheikhs present to their harems for Id. Her beautiful hair was permed and cut in an unflattering, shaggy style.Yes, she was loaded with jewelry, but it was hideous. Overrouged, overweight and overdressed, she looked pathetic. She saw me and attempted to sneak away but I stopped her. Gul looked on indifferently, his eyes were already scanning the room and had found their prey—a starlet in a bubble dress. As he walked away Ritu hugged and kissed me warmly and I thought I saw tears in her eyes. “I am so-o-o-o tired,” she said, “let’s sit down somewhere and talk.”

  “What’s wrong?” I asked her.

  “What isn’t?” she said.

  “You’re still with the guy, aren’t you?”

  “There is nowhere else to go.”

  “What do you do with yourself these days?”

  “Procure.”

  “What!?”

  “That’s right. Organize virgins for him and his friends. It’s a full-time occupation.”

  “Why don’t you opt out?”

  “And do what?”

  “Surely you can do something—come on—how can you allow yourself to become like this? Just look at you—you’ve put on tons of weight. Are you ill?”

  “Not exactly ill. Sick in the head, definitely. But not ill. I just drink too much. And pop too many pills. Without that—I’d be dead.”

  “Have you seen a doctor?”

  “What’s he going to tell me that I don’t already know—don’t drink, don’t smoke, don’t do drugs? It’s too late already. I’m about finished, I can’t go on much longer.”

  I knew I couldn’t go on much longer myself, so excusing myself, I hunted out Anjali and told her I was going back to the room. She nodded and said, “Go and lie down for a bit—I’ll see you later.” It was much, much later when she finally came. It must have been early morning since I’d been fast asleep for a few hours. She looked very distraught.

  “Wasn’t it a successful party?” I asked her sleepily.

  “Oh sure, it was. But something awful happened after you left. Gul got into a fight with Ritu and struck her straight on the face. He also called her some filthy names—in Hindi. And do you know something? Nobody dared interfere. She just lay there on the ground while he kicked her, yanked her hair, spat on her and tore her blouse.”

  “Why? What happened? What did she do?”

  “She attacked that creature—Sonia—remember the starlet in that funny little dress? Well, Ritu thought she was playing up to Gul, so when he went to the loo she walked up to her and threw cold water on her dress—her crotch, actually, saying, ‘That should cool you down even if you are in heat.’ Sonia started screaming—she became hysterical. Gul came out of the loo and saw this. He went straight for Ritu. His first swing itself sent her reeling. It was so terrible. The Princess tried to intervene, but Gul chucked her into the pool. By the time K was alerted, the whole thing was over.”

  We heard about Ritu’s halfhearted suicide attempt the next afternoon. It didn’t surprise either of us. After that scene, she’d been hauled home by one of Gul’s henchmen and dumped in her bedroom. (Gul no longer spent his nights with her unless she’d organized a party for his friends with her “girls.” Otherwise she slept alone, after taking a couple of tranquilizers in a warm glass of milk.) That night, instead of milk, she opted for whisky and a handful of pills. By the time her servants found her and phoned Gul she’d been unconscious for a few hours. They pumped out her stomach and she pulled through—but neither Anjali nor I were sure whether it was a good idea.

  Anjali’s gynaec was a kindly old lady who reminded me of a distant aunt and so I decided to go with her instead of the doctor my sister had recommended. She didn’t ask too many questions and went about efficiently fixing an anaesthetist and operation theater. The same day that I was making these preparations the husband phoned for the first time since I’d left his house. “I knew I’d find you here,” he said, his voice as friendly and casual as in the past. I didn’t feel anything at all—no anger, no hostility. Just the standard indifference that had defined our marriage. I found myself making the sort of small talk I used to in the past, when he made his duty calls from Madras, Delhi, Calcutta, wherever. I even asked about his mother. That surprised him. After ten minutes of this, he came to the point. “Look—let’s be civil about this. I’ve thought over it, and there is no reason to sulk or accuse. My lawyers will be in touch with you next week. We’ve worked out a package. You can have your jewelry and all other personal belongings. In fact, come and pick them up anytime you want to. We’ll figure out where you can live. I’ve identified a flat in Juhu—nothing grand. But you’ll like it—it has a small garden, plus, you’ll be close to your beloved Anjali. My tax consultant is looking into a monthly maintenance scheme.You have your insurance policy, of course, and the income from shares and the other investments we made jointly. I’ll have your portfolio reorganized and give you the details in a month. The only hitch is the car—I’m afraid you’ll have to do without one for some time. Maybe, we’ll be able to lay our hands on a second-hand Maruti. I know it’s small. The driver will be tricky, because I won’t be able to keep him on the company rolls—you understand. But maybe you could take driving lessons, so that you don’t need a driver. It’s better to be independent. How does all this sound?”

  “Sounds sweet,” I answered unenthusiastically.

  “Hell! What do you mean ‘sweet,’ I thought you’d be jumping with joy. Not too many husbands, rather to-be ex-husbands, are this generous, let me tell you. And what about the problem—what have you decided to do about it?”

  “Which problem?”

  “You know—the . . . whatchyoumaycallit—pregnancy?”

  “I’m attending to it—the appointment is for next week.”

  “Oh—do you need any money? How are you for cash? Is your check book with you? I’ll send some money across tomorrow. In any case, you can’t go on living in Anjali’s house. My mother wanted me to tell you that if you need anything, you can phone her. She’s not at all angry.You left in too much of a hurry—she would have helped you pack. Anyway no point in talking about all that now. The papers have been prepared. I think we should use the same lawyers. It will make things simpler—and it will be cheaper too. Is that OK with you?”

  “Anything is OK with me. I leave it to you.”

  For a couple of days after his call I actually toyed with the idea of keeping the baby. Maybe it was just spite, maybe I hoped my parents would accept me, maybe I felt it was what I needed—someone to call my own as the cliché goes. But Anjali was quick to dismiss my fantasy when I brought it up with her.

  “Don’t be crazy,” she said. “A baby is a lifelong responsibility—look at Mimi. Are you prepared to tie yourself down for ever? Get a pet puppy or a kitten if you are feeling all that motherly—forget about a kid. Besides, you won’t be able to handle the scene. You aren’t cut out for a single parent situation.You can’t go around with an Orphan Annie-like kid, with no father on the scene. By the way, does Krish know the developments?”

  “I didn’t tell him—what’s the point? He’d probably ask for compensation—or a present to celebrate the news.”

  “You’d better get your act together,” she said, “and stop being flippant about all this.”

  “I’m not being flippant.”

  She ignored the remark and carried on. “I don’t trust that husband of yours. Let him come up with the goodies he has promised. Have you seen this flat he’s supposed to give you? How can you trust him so blindly? The whole thing sounds too good to be
true.”

  “Look, let’s forget all that for a moment shall we? I’m worried about the baby. Suddenly I feel protective and concerned. How can I just kill the poor thing?”

  “Believe me, you’ll be doing it a favor. Now, let’s get on with it.”

  But even the “simple abortion” turned out to be a very complicated affair. While the gynaec was doing her thing, she discovered fibroids in my womb which meant I could never have children. There were masses of the fibroids and she told me later that I nearly bled to death on the table. I don’t remember anything of this. I felt dopey for nearly forty-eight hours after the operation. Anjali said I had to be sedated so that I could get sufficient rest. When I was sufficiently awake and alert the doctor came to see me and suggested I have an immediate hysterectomy to get rid of complication from the fibroids. Anjali agreed. “Get the damn thing out once and for all.What use is it to you?”

  I knew that logically that made perfect sense—what did I need a barren womb for—but for some ridiculous reason I wasn’t in a hurry to part with it. I asked the doctor whether I could postpone the decision. “It’s really up to you—but I wouldn’t advise it. It will mean a great deal of discomfort, besides you could start haemorrhaging anytime without a warning. If you are alone when that happens, you could black out and bleed to death. As it is, your blood pressure is pretty low and you are anemic.” I phoned my trusted London sister. She was of the same mind as well. I didn’t even tell the parents about all this. I’d never felt lonelier in my life. Anjali was being very supportive and playing mother-hen to perfection. But I didn’t feel comfortable imposing on her time and hospitality. She had priorities of her own. Her Babaji was still rotting in the clink and she’d had to send Mimi to a drug rehab center in Switzerland to dry out; despite all this she stuck around loyally.

  We talked on and off about the hysterectomy and one evening I broke down and sobbed. Anjali put an arm around me and I said to her, “Maybe there is something like divine justice. I’ve never been a believer—but now I’m beginning to wonder. I’m being made to pay for my sins.This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t got involved with Krish.”