Priyanka Vardharajan
One sunny Sunday in 2019, Hyderabad
If crimes against friendship get catalogued and rated, falling for your best friend’s boyfriend would probably rate among the low-to-medium in intensity. Somewhere in between breaking their favourite coffee mug and running away with their life’s savings. I will never act on my feelings for Faheem, and as long neither he nor Nina suspect, it’s all good. Or so I hope. This sort of half-baked logic was going on in the back of mind as I lay semi awake, trying to justify what was going on in the front of my mind. Which was a graphic fantasy in which Faheem featured prominently, and Nina featured not at all. It was a lazy Sunday morning, and I could stay in bed for hours, swinging between happy daydreams and miserable guilt.
The phone rang, I saw Paati’s name on the screen and groaned aloud. I do not like starting my day with my grandmother. Especially Sundays. She’s a wonderful person and I owe her everything — my mother died a few days after I was born, so my grandmother has taken care of us all our lives. But an ungrateful, sneaky part of my brain thinks that maybe my mother would not have been so strict, and maybe my childhood would have been more fun if I had grown up with parents instead of grandparents. Paati has strong opinions on people who stay in bed until 11 AM. She has strong opinions on everything. It was very fitting that she should call me to interrupt my inappropriate dreams about Faheem. As I picked up the phone, I braced myself for the disapproval that would come as soon as she heard my less than fully awake voice. Nina would find it funny that I can neither ignore the call nor lie and say that I was not in bed. Nina has not met my grandmother.
“Good morning Paati, how are you doing? Have the rains stopped?”
But Paati wasn’t interested in small talk. “I’m very worried, Priyanka. Your father is having an affair with a Muslim lady”
I couldn’t help it, the melodrama of that opening sentence made me giggle. I stifled my laughter, and spluttered — “What? What — I mean what are you saying?”
“I’m speaking English, Priyanka. Please pay attention, please wake up. I know you party on Saturdays and sleep till noon on Sundays. What it will do to your skin and to your mind I cannot even begin to imagine. But this is your life, if you want to waste it sleeping, it is your business. Meghna works 100 hours every week, but she has not missed her Sunday morning swimming even once in the last ten years. She’s your first cousin, you have the same genes, I cannot imagine how you’re so different.”
She stopped to take a breath. None of this was new. She keeps saying my life is my business, but she clearly sees herself as the majority shareholder in the business.
“But that is not why I called you. You have bigger problems now that your father is going to bring a Muslim person into the family. Did you know this?”
I suddenly remembered I had seen a text from my father when I got home last night. This morning actually. “Call me when you can. I have something important I want to talk about. Not to worry, it’ all good. I love you.” I had seen the text and promptly fallen asleep. Things my father considers important can range from an interesting book he wants me to read to an idea for a new mobile application.
“No Paati, I haven’t heard anything from Appa”.
“He called me yesterday evening. All these weeks when he kept extending his Goa stay, I knew something was off. He says he’s writing code for an app for mental health — what does that even mean? I told your grandfather that it sounded very shady, and see I was right. So he called me yesterday to tell me he has met an artist lady, and they have decided to live together. And she had a very muslim sounding name, so I asked him, and he laughed at me! He asked me what shocked me more — that she’s an artist or that she’s a muslim! I’m very broadminded, everyone knows that. I have so many muslim friends. But having them in the family is a whole different thing. Does she even know that we’re pure vegetarian? I asked him, and he just kept laughing over the phone. I’ll ask her, he said.”
“Oh.” It was too much to process, and I had no idea what to say. My father laughing so much sounded unreal. But she didn’t need me to say anything.
“All these years I wanted him to meet girls, and he kept saying he’s too busy. And now suddenly in his old age he wants to talk about love and all that. What is this nonsense? We have to talk about your wedding now, and your brother’s wedding, not your father’s wedding! Every family event that I go to now, that is all that people will want to talk about. At this age I wasn’t expecting to become the source of family gossip. And what does it all mean for you and your brother? If he’s planning a whole new family, what happens to you both? Okay, I have to go, Krishna aunty is calling me. I will call you in the evening to talk about this.”
I put the phone down. My head was spinning. The larger part of me was happy for my father, glad that he had met someone he could find happiness with. A part of me was surprised too — how come it had never occurred to me to wonder if my father was lonely? He lost Amma over 20 years ago, and he had never dated until now! He seemed happy enough, enjoying his work, and spending time with us, did he want more? Why had I never thought about this? Part of me was envious too. How come he gets to date someone and have fun and my life is so single and pathetic? Somewhere deep down, I could also feel the anxiety that my grandmother was feeling. What did this mean for my life? My thoughts chased themselves around in circles and I felt so uncomfortable that I jumped out of bed. This needed a chat with Nina. She has this crazy ability to somehow sort and organize my ramblings into logic. I’ve experienced this so many times over the past year. She listens calmly as I speak emotional half-sentences, with her buddha-type expression. Sometimes I think she’s not evening listening properly, but then, when I stop talking, she smiles reassuringly and says “so basically, what you’re saying is -”. And in five sentences, my drama has been articulated so cleanly that I can see the solution in head. It’s like magic. Every single time.
I got out of my room and called her name. “I’m here!” — she called out from the balcony. She was reading something on her kindle and sipping from her massive tea mug. I hated to interrupt this obviously happy personal time. Maybe I could wait, tell her later during the day. She saw the hesitation on my face.
“What’s up Pri? Do you want to talk about something? Don’t worry, I’m at a very intense point in my book, I’m okay to put it down, I need a break. Tell me!” She’s such a good friend, and I’m so grateful to have her in my life. I remembered my daydreams from the morning and felt guilt wash over me again. But then again, I will never act on my crush over her boyfriend, so what’s the guilt for? My brain is so annoying.
“Wow, it must be something serious. You have had five different expressions over your face in the last minute. I also have something I want to tell you, but clearly your news is more intense. Tell me, Chika”
“No, you’re always solving my problems. You can go first this time. Hey, is there some more tea in that pot?”
“No, no, I insist. I want to know what pulled you out of bed at what’s basically dawn for you.” She said, as she poured some more tea into her own cup and gave it to me.
“Very funny, haha. I woke up because Paati called me.”
“Ah. And?” So I told her everything Paati had told me. She had put her kindle away, and listened to me patiently until I had finished.
“Hmm. Help me understand this. If your granny wasn’t panicking about her own impending loss of control over your dad’s life, would you be this stressed? Like, remove your granny from the equation, now tell me how do you feel about this?”
“I don’t know! A brand-new person, a complete stranger is now possibly the most important person in my Appa’s life? What if she doesn’t like me? What if I don’t like her? What if my dad stops loving me? What if I never see him again?”
I saw the ridiculousness of it even as I was talking. My life is not a 1990s TV series, and my father’s girlfriend was not out to steal my father. Nina rolled her eyes, and I smiled sheepishly.
She said, “Good, you do see how silly you’re being. And the part that your grandma was so upset about — about her being muslim — that isn’t troubling you at all I’m guessing? Yeah, I figured. I think Pri, from your perspective, the worst-case scenario is that your father’s girlfriend is a snooty person, who simply does not want to get to know her boyfriend’s family, and that’s not too bad, is it? It shouldn’t change anything significantly in your life. You see your dad, what, 3 times a year now that you’ve left home. Your life isn’t going to change too much I think, even if they get married and all, which might not happen. Although the fact that your father has told your granny means it’s fairly serious.”
“And what’s my best-case scenario?”
“Your best-case scenario might be that she actually is a warm and happy person who you could be friends with? That your father finds lasting love and companionship and you get a cool stepmom who’s an artist in Goa. It might even improve your relationship with you father — he’ll be expecting so much resistance, and he’ll be so grateful to get support from you. You don’t look very happy with the best-case scenario. What’s the matter Pri?”
I couldn’t explain it, even to myself. I didn’t think I was fazed by the stepmother narrative. So why was I so uncomfortable? Was it the fact that she was an artist, and I thought she would be too cool for me? Perhaps it was the idea of the effort ahead, to figure out what the right thing to do was — to get to know someone new, or to just give my father the space he needed. And managing Paati’s fears too. It was too overwhelming. Why can’t things stay the way were? Why did my life had to change?
Nina was watching me silently. And suddenly her she started. “Wait, Priyanka. What’s your father’s name?”
“Mani. Mani Iyer. Why?”
“And how old is he?”
He’s 44. Why? What happened? Where are you running away to? Nina, kya hua?” But she had run away to her room and wasn’t listening.
She was back immediately. “Sorry, I had to go get my phone. This morning I decided to put my phone in the drawer and read at least 4 chapters of Victor Frankl without any distraction. You know, trying to build those deep work habits and all. I’ve decided I won’t switch my phone on until 12 noon on weekends. Let’s see how long I can actually do it. Damn, it’s not getting switched on. I forgot to charge it last night. Wait, let me bring the charger.”
“Does this have anything to do with what I was saying or are you on your own trip?” I was a little irritated. She came back with the charger, put the phone to charge and then turned to me and laughed.
“Okay don’t get all huffy. It does have something to do with you. I got an email from Falak last night and I read it in a half-asleep state and I can’t remember the name she said in her email. Let’s give my phone 5 min to get charge and I’ll show you her email. I’m wondering about that cryptic last bit in her mail now”
I was mystified. What did an email from Falak have to do with our conversation? Falak is our ex-boss. We worked with her for a few months last year. I had a horrible relationship with her in the early months, hating her for the snarky comments she made every time I opened my mouth, but it turned out this was her attempt to break me out of my shyness. It must have worked because I very rarely have doubts about my self-worth at work these days. She became a good friend to me and Nina eventually, and we were both sad that she decided to take an early retirement from Kane consulting and move to Goa because she wanted to write. She published a book this year and is working on her next one. Nina and Falak are close, and stay in touch. Oh. Falak was in Goa. That’s where my father and his girlfriend were.
“Nina, what are you saying?” I asked, but I sort of knew what she was saying.
“Yeah, well, she wrote to say that she’s very happy, and that she’s dating someone. There was a very cute name, but I’ve forgotten what the name was. Shit, my battery is still at 1%. I think I need a new phone. Can you bear the suspense? This is such a dramatic situation — in about 5 minutes time, we will find out if your father and Falak are dating. What do you want the answer to be?”
All this while I had been thinking of the artist that my father was supposed to beseeing. I had been imagining someone with colored hair, dressed in Nicobar dresses, expertly rolling. Someone my age, someone who would look down on me for my dull life choices. I put Falak in that image. Falak is 45, very attractive, full of warmth and fun, and she definitely does not look down on me. It cheered me up.
“I want the answer to be yes. It would be wonderful. Falak is one of the kindest people I know, even Paati would like her.”
Nina giggled. “Remember how much you loathed her when we first joined Kane? Actually, think about it, whoever your father is seeing might turn out to be a lovely person too, when you know her better.”
She’s so annoying when she goes into this baba mode. “Hey, Nina, while we’re waiting for your phone to wake up, do you want to tell me what it was that you wanted to tell me?”
“Oh that. Yeah, okay.” She took a deep breath.
“So Faheem and I broke up last night. Don’t look so shocked! I had been feeling so awful for weeks, realising I just didn’t have feelings for him any more, and feeling terrified about telling him. But it turned out he had been feeling the same way. I’m a little sad, we had two really happy years, but I’m glad no one’s hurt, and we’re still friends. Hey, now you’re smiling! Don’t pretend, missy, I can see you’re suppressing a smile. You saw this coming, huh, is that what you’re thinking?”
Maybe in a few weeks’ time, when I feel sure she’s moved on, I’ll tell her. Meanwhile I can continue to daydream. Without the guilt.
Email from Falak
From: Falaktadvi@tadvimail.com
Subject: Re: news
Hey Nina,
It was great to come home to your email. I got back from Nepal last evening. The trek was both more exciting and more exhausting than I had expected. I’ve come back with another book idea, so that’s another plus. It’s wonderful to trek and to experience the Himalayas, but honestly, if I never leave this gorgeous beach shack of mine again, I wouldn’t mind. I will keep trekking though, because Mani really likes the mountains. Which is my other bit of news. For about 4 months, I’ve been seeing a guy (is that what it’s still called?). I’m afraid to say this out loud but I think I might be in love. His name is Mani Iyer. He writes code, invests in technology, plays the ukulele, and cooks like a dream. He’s unlike anyone I have ever met. This Nepal trek was our attempt to experience our relationship in a different context, and we’ve come back knowing that this is a long-term thing. Last night we decided to tell our families. For me that’s Kabir bhaiya and you, so there you go. I’m equal parts anxious and thrilled. Give my love to Priyanka, tell her I’m looking forward to seeing her here soon. You should come with her.
Love,
Falak.
