A Lot Like Love & Other Short Stories

A Lot Like Love

The stifling traffic made her pounding heart even more panicky. She was still hallucinating the past when she had suddenly opted out of this place, a place that was so dear to her! Sitting vexed within the jammed doors of the hired cab, she could literally feel his breathe touching her slender neck, softly and slowly. Looking outside the window didn’t ease her tension due to the choice that she had made five years back. But she was not the only one to be blamed!

It was the month of November and a heart-wrenching chill had set in New Delhi. Nihar had got used to its cold waves and its Sunless days some years ago. She was all prepared for it since she had seen the worst of winters at Charlotte, North Carolina. Working there for a few years had accustomed her to the cold in America.

She felt drowsy in exhaustion after the long flight from America. The twenty-hour journey in the not-so-helpful reclining aircraft chair had caused certain numbness to her spine. Sitting in that cab, she still twisted and rotated her neck, flexing her back many a times to feel fresh and energetic. It had been useless to have reached here in the break of dawn. She was still stuck at the unmanageable chaos of the highly acclaimed Delhi’s International Airport premises. The cab driver had yawned a thousand times; some problem at the exit of the airport seemed to halt the smooth flow of the traffic.

Yawning, especially if one has been restless and sleepy is very natural and frequent. But yawning is also contagious. They both had yawned in the sunup on several occasions — at Nihar’s cousin’s sudden party one night, at their first game of cards together, at their first Hindi movie experience and after the most cherished moment of feeling together.

Mandy, that’s what Nihar had nicknamed Mandar, after they had clicked as friends, actually more than friends, some winters ago. He was a gentleman and she would always compliment him to be a compassionate and generous man. She loved the charming dimple on his right cheek and the well-defined, non-showy tattoo on his left arm, though she had never told him that. His height was almost five feet eleven inches, and Nihar used to grin when she matched her own height whenever they met. Slightly on the fairer side was Mandar’s complexion, mostly matching the dusky tone of Nihar’s skin. Nihar’s eyes were elaborately expressive and doe-type when it came to the melancholy deep-set eyes of Mandar. But Nihar used to envy Mandar’s long eyelashes that she thought hid many secrets of his unspoken nonchalant heart.

She remembered the first attire that he had worn to their blind date at PVR Saket, particularly in the summer of April. They had accidentally met online prior to that, without any of their personal pictures on display. Few greetings of courtesy messages were exchanged and they decided to try on a blind date — very first of its kind for both of them. She was on the verge of regularizing her days with the traumatic past relationship experiences that she had. And hence, though not very convincingly, she had agreed to the idea of blind-dating Mandar. They had not exchanged mobile numbers since Nihar thought it would be too much before meeting and knowing him in person. Even Mandar showed his respectable side by not being lecherous and flirtatious in his remarks to Nihar through online ever!

Olive-green, body sized T-shirt with an addition of white at the edges of the half-sleeves and the collar with a loosely fitted denim pants had been described on the online message by Mandar. He had also mentioned that he would be standing bang opposite the mithai shop in the Malviya Market on a bike. Nihar thought the description detailed on the social medium to be enough to recognize him. She had replied just with a ‘yes’ to it since she was still undecided on the kind of attire she would wear for her first blind date ever. She was both baffled and nervous, since she had no idea about her on-going with yet another faceless guy in Delhi.

Her one bedroom flat at Malviya Nagar in the DDA complex was nothing much luxurious, but she had made it a point to keep the house clean and well-organized. The flat was shared with a roommate who was a travel journalist and ordinarily kept out for her erratic work schedule. Hence, most of the time, she was in need of company and friends. Friends were a blessing for her, since after the completion of Masters in Business Administration; she was hardly able to keep in touch with her batchmates. Most of them were placed in different cities and the ones placed in Delhi didn’t find time to meet her. She led a solitary life and missed somebody close, a lover or her family to be with.

The destined time to meet was kept at eight in the evening, since both of them were working. It was around quarter to seven that Nihar made her way to her place. Undecided and impulsive, she was still rummaging with the clothes that she had neatly arranged in the huge, wooden wardrobe. Finally, she chose a pair of jeans and a pink sleeveless top, since the weather outside seemed sunny. Freshening up, she combed her hair hastily, as it was already thirty minutes to seven. After her make-up was done, she now felt confused for the accessory that would go with the get-up. The clock ticked at five minutes to eight and she left her jewellery box as it is and rushed for the mithai shop.

Walking past the tiny Hanumanji shrine, she took a minute to pray and ask God to bestow her with good luck and perseverance. She folded her hands and prayed to God, after which she speedily walked to the mithai shop. Her steel ‘Guess’ wristwatch reflected that she was seven minutes late to the venue. The wristwatch was her most precious possession after the MBA degree in Delhi. She had accumulated funds after painfully saving her salary. Generally, she was not a brand-crazy person, but for once she was unable to keep her eyes off that watch in that ‘Guess’ showroom at Ansal Plaza last year. It was divine for her; she had promised to gift herself the same with her own money.

All she could see were the guys with green T-shirts without any bike, or guys with bike but no green T-shirt. After a while she became flustered, and as it was very humid, she got irritated too. Not allowing Mandar to have her mobile number proved to be a loophole on their date. Unable to find him, she stood next to the shop patiently.

‘Nihar, I guess it is!’ said a voice from the other side of the narrow lane.

She turned around and there he was! Her blind date was eventually revealed to her. He wore an olive-green, body-fitting T-shirt, white design at the edges and had a cute dimpled smile on his face.

‘Yes, I am Nihar,’ she had said joyfully since she finally found her date attractive!

Suggesting hiring an autorickshaw, Nihar was perplexed when she saw Mandar asking her to walk along to the main road. He was carrying some key and no sooner inserted it into a Hyundai Santro car. She gaped at him and he returned her a cute smile. He played a prank when he had asked her to look for a guy on a bike. Eventually, Nihar had laughed it out on their way to Saket PVR Complex. That day, the weather had turned from uneasy to affable and breezy.

The window-glass shields were rolled down and a radio station that played soft music was tuned into. Both of them were relieved from the fact that either of them were good-looking and had a decent sense of style. Mandar’s eyes were on the road and on the steering of the car, but sometimes he steals a look at Nihar’s gorgeous straight hair. He thought for a while that he generally liked woman with long tresses. Thankfully, Nihar had passed that first impression threshold from his perspective. He wanted to look at her incessantly for some time while she spoke about her hobbies and life. But guys are considered to be efficient drivers, since they are unable to focus on too many things as girls can, while driving.

Nihar turned to look around the car, the tidiness, the maintenance, etc. She couldn’t help but notice a small brown paper bag on the back seat that indicated food eaten in a rush. However, she continued talking about her folks in Cuttack and narrated how deeply she missed her best friend, who was now in Kolkata. It was well known to her that Mandar was too a resident of Odisha from Bhubaneswar. Originally, his parents were in Rourkela, since his father was a civil engineer at a state government enterprise, but after his younger sister was born, they moved to Bhubaneswar. They both had enjoyed the Odiya connection between them when Mandar had spoken about it online.

Grinning with satisfaction, Nihar suddenly requested Mandar to increase the volume of the music system that played a ghazal by Jagjit Singh: ‘Tera chehra kitna suhana lagta hai.’ She started humming the song, inaudible to Mandar. It was exciting for both of them to know that they shared a same taste for music by Jagjit Singh. Mandar mentioned that he turns radically poignant when he listens to some of his ghazals, his heart-wrenching ghazals. To which Nihar had instantly agreed as it was the similar case with her. The drive to Saket took longer than usual because of the heavy traffic, which was persistent in this time of the evening.

Finally, they reached Saket, which was brimming with young people and fresh air. It seemed that the month of April had turned into that of February. It amazed Nihar when she had found out about another similarity between them — their business school connection! Mandar was senior to her batch (the class of 2003– 2005). It made her extremely joyful that they had yet another thing in common.

The loud honking of the taxi awakened her, transporting her from the breezy Saket to the noisy airport exit, where every car was trying to get out at the same time. This unneeded competition among the car drivers irked her. She thought that nothing much had changed in the attitude of this place, except that it had become more affluent and superficial. Letting go had never been in their daily dictionary of courtesy. It had to be unhealthy clashes like this!

As it was about to be dawn, she could feel the milder streak of Sunrays on the supple skin of her hand, making it look like a new piece of wood. It revealed the small hair outgrowth that had appeared again since the last few months of her waxing in the States. Trying to hide the unsavoury look, she took her satin scarf from the handbag and covered it. The satin scarf was an expensive gift, presented by somebody very easy-going and caring, a friend in North Carolina, also her colleague and swimming partner.

The scarf dissipated a mellifluous smell of the jasmine flowers. She remembered to have sprinkled the new perfume on the scarf ten days back, which she had tied around her neck to the swimmer’s club social; and to have received the wonderful perfume from Chanel. Most of her friends including Jacky had smelled it as if it was some attractive poison. She had laughed ceremoniously to their silly remarks and behaviour.

The teal-and-ink-blue dye on the scarf made it look like some royal attire. It made Nihar overjoyed but at the same time brought her back to the current condition of misery. ‘I need some answers for my restless heart,’ she had said to her friend back in America, to which he had said, ‘I’ll be waiting for you at the threshold!’

With conspicuous mindset and heart-rending difficulty, Nihar had arranged for the address of East Delhi, which she was considerably worried about. Gotten used to the South Delhi lifestyle and locations, it was only once that she was on an East Delhi tour. Six years back, Mandar had forcibly taken her to a new mall that was inaugurated by the DDA Chairperson in Prit Vihar, about which she had ranted to him all the way.

Mandar like an unspoken idiot had heard religiously to each word of complaint that Nihar uttered. Somewhere in the middle of the road, he halted the Santro car, turned his face to his left and gazed at Nihar’s beautiful yet weary eyes. Then she stopped her ranting and exhaled a warm breath. Mandar had then softly smiled and assured her, ‘Trust me Nihar, you are safe with me!’

Those words were as if were a holy book’s sermon for Nihar. She kept silent and fixed her looks on the road. It had happened after a week or so of their blind date at Saket. Nihar had secretively admired his gestures of understanding the concern about her safety that afternoon. She didn’t gaze at Mandar, rather she was composed and looked through the glass window at the regular activities of the people on the sidewalks, footpaths and service lanes.

The cab driver was a Sardarji, pleasant and elderly, but still Nihar maintained her line of friendliness. The Sardarji had popped eyes and animated his gestures a bit while looking at the address. It seemed he was trying to read in-between the lines. ‘Ho jaya ga,’ she said to him in an orderly tone.

The November day was getting clearer; however she was still hesitant about this entire event that she had so scrumptiously planned. Planned would be a wrong word to be voiced . . . she had rather taken a decision in haste, to compose the woeful plight of her heart persisting for the last five years in a foreign land. Neither had she discussed, nor had she confessed it to the concerned person about her uneasy heart and void emotions.

The car crossed the India Gate round about circle road, and there she could see the pillar of knighthood and valour that she had so heartily appreciated once, when she had landed in Delhi many years ago for a promising education and future ahead. She smirked when the monument of truth welcomed her long, tardy journey to that place. She inhaled the misty yet unpolluted morning air with closed eyes, as if she felt for it intensely.

She remembered all of a sudden to inform her parents back at Cuttack about her safe landing. ‘How happy they would be!’ she thought. She hunted for the expensive phablet that was kept inside the handbag very casually. But she was in Delhi now and had decided to be careful and aware of the dubious surroundings, hence she kept the phablet away from the cab driver’s notice.

Her phobias suddenly took her back to September 2007, when she, with one of her MBA batchmate, had shifted to a tacky and distrustful place in the narrow lanes of Savirti Nagar. She had instantly disliked the smell and congested rooms of the P.G. How could she ever forget the dusty bedcovers and florescent wall paint! It was substandard and sore for the eyes. It was the initial days of her work-life and she had put up in that tacky P.G for about a couple of months when a strange little dirty man, probably a burglar had sneaked into the second floor and had tried to break their bedroom’s door. Thankfully with the help of a few alert girls, he was caught off guard, trying to slink away through the terrace.

‘Baap re, enough is enough! I need safety even if it costly!’ she had said to her batch-mate after the frightful experience at Savitri Nagar and had moved to the distant neighbourhood of Malviya Nagar, into the decently built and conveniently placed DDA apartments with a travel journalist. She had exhaled a deep breathe of relief once she had seen the flat, even though it was a single-bedroom apartment. It had activated her reasonable sense when she found a proper guarding system in the apartment.

Since it was six thirty in the morning, nobody received her phone call; she then decided to call at her father’s mobile. But she restrained herself since she remembered that her father generally got up at seven thirty. She remembered her father’s fruitful advice when she had journeyed from her aspirations at Cuttack to the metropolitan huge capital city temper. ‘Reach for your dreams! Ebe bhalare jaa (go now),’ her father had said, standing at the partially crowded and partly neat railway station of Cuttack. He didn’t cry and neither had Nihar.

The taxi had entered the East Delhi area since the arrangements and the crowd entailed its clarity. She thought that Delhi had outgrown as a city but not as a country capital. Buildings, wide roads and seven-star hotels just depicted a picturesque beauty of the outer layer but the growing case of criminal activities across the city’s heart was harrowing. She remembered reading about the rape cases and incidents of abduction ascending in the city’s mundane life. No doubt she was shocked to find out about these episodes online. Among this severity, she had pondered what it meant to be opulent when the mere worth of life was always compromised. Neither elections nor the elected candidates of the place could bring back the original glory of pride and respect. They all seemed power-obsessed and only succumbed to their hedonistic needs.

However, it was not that Delhi was full of such people only. It sometimes had a heart for good people. People like Mandar too had dreams and aspirations, and assertion of a brighter future in the capital. She blinked her eyes more than once when she again thought about the sincerity that Mandar put in his projects — be it official assignments or just redecorating a piece of his rented apartment at Hauz Khas. The distance between their rented places back then was so achievable and realistic than what the scenario was to this day.

Nihar again looked at her watch that slightly ticked its hands to five minutes past seven. She certainly was restless and unsteady but the willingness to meet somebody so dear in the past held onto her quest. The cab suddenly halted at one of the ill-maintained roads that lead to Phulkit Road. The ‘whatever-named-road’ was so poorly maintained that almost every passer-by, be it cab, private luxury cars, trucks, rickshaws were forced to stand by. Crater would be a smaller degree of reference. It was bigger than any road crater that I had witnessed in the past. There were no such signboards as ‘Work-In-Progress’ or ‘Be Careful, Bad Road Ahead’. ‘Another snarl,’ she grumbled to which the Sardarji had too agreed.

She pondered that the journey to her destination, though getting closer was blurry and jeopardized in some ways. It sank her heart even further since nothing was assured. Only she knew how hard she had tried to be here, physically and emotionally. Anybody listening to her partly broken heart would judge her for simply committing a blunder or being too dim-witted. But somewhere deep down her heart, she had hopes dangling in the periphery. She knew that she had to find the answers for her restless heart. She knew that she had to meet him in person.

She was stuck in the congestion for thirty long minutes when there was gradually the inclusion of the civil guardians to control the traffic. Only one vehicle was allowed to pass through that dangerous crater, very measurably. A tiny pathway was thankfully located and one by one her delayed fate evened out.

‘Bhagwaan ka lakh lakh shukar hai (God is gracious),’ uttered the cab driver. He very confidently, assured Nihar of no more trouble in her journey to her awaited destination. But she didn’t want to believe a mere cab driver who she hardly knew, knowing that her journey has been full of obstacles and predicaments. It was unnecessary to deny the Sardarji’s no-trouble confirmation since she didn’t want arguments of any sort. She just nodded her heavy-weighed head and searched inside her handbag to take a look at the address again.

Though very neatly arranged, she used to always get confused where she had kept what. Inside the branded handbag, she had a money purse, a small coin pouch, a separate clutch like bag for cards and necessary documents like passport, identity cards, etc., a soft bag for her phablet, another pouch for her travel make-up kit, and a smaller fabric pouch for the necessary monthly napkins. Finally, after hunting through these pouches, she found her phablet where she had saved his address. She very consciously, kept the phablet close to her lap, so that the cab driver wouldn’t get to know about it. Tapping her fingers mildly onto the screen of it, she finally looked at it