I Too Had A Love Story Part 11

I held her hand in my hand. We were both scared of what her mother's reaction would be.

And Khushi told me, after the call, that, surprisingly, her mother relaxed when she heard the truth. Maybe she thought that her daughter was with someone she thought she could trust. The city was not safe for women, especially at night, when the savages of the city came out of their dens and did all manner of ill. So, maybe, her mother felt some comfort knowing I was with Khushi.

But the *truth' we told her on the phone was still a half-truth.

When asked where we had been till then, Khushi told her what she told Neeru, *Mumma ... we went to watch a movie. And when we came out, it had rained so much, there was water everywhere, and then the traffic jam ...'

While she was convincing her mom, she stole a moment to whisper in my ears, *We had been to see Munnabhai, all right?'

And I loved her for this very reason. The way she had the guts to take all sorts of risks to make me feel happy, to make me enjoy that day of my life with her, and to endure scoldings from her family for that ... I felt blessed to have her in my life.

Once that confession-call ended, we felt relaxed, as if we had got a weight off our hearts.

We had just taken a left turn to enter her street when our cab suddenly tilted to the left. The three of us slid down towards our left and our hands grabbed our seats, trying to keep our bodies upright. More water rushed in. There was now about half a foot of water in the cab. Our shoes were floating somewhere inside.

Our tilted cab failed to move ahead, no matter how much the driver accelerated. The left front-wheel seemed to be stuck in a pothole. In order to move ahead, the driver asked me to push the cab from behind. So I jumped out into the puddle. It felt just like jumping into the shallow end of a swimming pool except, in a swimming pool, the water is not so dirty and you are not in your jeans and shirt.

I stood barefoot in that puddle. My feet touched small stones with sharp edges and some bushy stuff which might have been weeds or some small, watery insects. It was a little scary. The water came up to my thighs. Even rolling up the jeans to my knees did not serve any purpose. I went behind the cab. The driver was still accelerating hard and Khushi kept saying, *Shona ... Sambhaal ke ... Dhyaanse.'

I pushed the cab hard, but nothing happened.

*Sahib aur jor se ...' shouted the driver from inside.

Of course, he was shouting and talking to me. But I was lost in my thoughts ...

I was supposed to catch my flight in six hours. I should have been back in my hotel room in Delhi, taking a nap so that I could wake up by 4 a.m. and go to the airport. But I was far away, stuck on a road in a different city, in wet jeans, a wet shirt and, perhaps, wet innerwear too, standing in a never-ending dirty pond, pushing a cab to take my girlfriend back to her home.

To be honest, I had no hopes of making it to the airport in the morning. Of course the trip to the States was important and, for that, catching the flight a few hours from now was important, and for that returning to the hotel in Delhi was important but, above all, to get her home was the most important.

*Sahib aur jor se ...' shouted the driver one more time.

Finally, we were successful in getting the cab out. I observed Khushi, who had turned around in her seat and was looking at me, breathing a sigh of relief.

The depth of water on the street ahead was terrifying. Going on in that small cab did not look like a good decision at all. After a little brainstorming we concluded that rest of the distance could only be crossed by rickshaw. Because of its big wheels a rickshaw seemed to be the only viable option. So I walked down the road, still barefoot, to find a rickshaw. And I happened to find one, with much difficulty, but the rickshaw-walla did not agree to drive on that flooded street. When he finally did agree, it was because I paid him ten times the normal fare and, that too, in advance. My necessity was his opportunity.

I sat on the rickshaw and got back to the cab. I noticed blood on my right foot-I had a cut on my right toe. But there were other things to worry about. Back at the cab, I asked the driver to wait for me till I came back after dropping her home. I took his cell number and gave him mine.

Khushi got out of the cab and sat on the rickshaw. She was so shocked by everything that was happening that she forgot to get her sandals and it took me a few minutes to find them. (Searching for your girlfriend's footwear in the back of a car, your hands dipped in a dirty pool of water ... Who says love is always a pleasant experience!) The water level on this street was the highest and I warned the rickshaw-walla, *Bhaiya yahaan par jaraa dhyaan se ...' The wheels of the rickshaw were almost submerged in the water and, at times, the water was splashing at our feet. The rickshaw puller's thighs moved in and out of the water on the road as he paddled strenuously. But we were making progress and, in another five minutes, our journey was going to end.

And with that would end our being together, so close to each other for so long that day. In the next few minutes I was going to see her for the last time, before I left the country. All this was running through our minds.

And that instant turned into an emotional, romantic moment.

Other than our rickshaw, there was no vehicle in that deserted street filled with water. Submerged, the entire street appeared so desolate. A different kind of silence prevailed and the loudest noise was the churning of the water from the wheels of our rickshaw. The moon in the sky above saw us together, in that hard time, attempting to get out of it, our care for each other. She was resting her head on my shoulder, her hands were in my lap. With my right arm around her shoulder I was supporting her as the rickshaw made its way on the uneven road. And in my other hand I was holding her sandals.

Taking her sandals from my hand and dropping them on the footrest of the rickshaw, she held my hand and said, *Shona! Our love story is so different ... Isn't it?'

*Hmm ...'I smiled.

*The way we found each other,' she said.

*The way we kept talking on the phone and chatting for the past few months,' I added.

*The coincidences.'

*The way we fell in love without even seeing each other.'

*The way we finally met and spent the entire day.'

*And the way we are now.'

Indeed, everything was so different about our love story.

*Can I say something, Khushi?'

*Yes,' she said with such warmth.

*I am glad that such a night came in our life. You know why? After our marriage, sitting together on our terrace on beautiful nights, we will recall this hard time so many times ... I feel so good that I am able to get you back to your place,' I said.

She pulled my hand towards her and kissed it.

*Now, can I say something?' she asked me.

*Hmm ... Yes.'

*I am so fortunate to have you in my life. The way you take care of me, protect me, love me ... I know our relationship does not need words like *thank you' and 'sorry' but there is one thing which you did today and won my heart, for which I can't help thanking you.' She paused for a while and then said, *Shall I tell you what it was?'

*Hmm.'

*I really wanted to thank you for those beautiful words you whispered in my ear, in your room. That you wouldn't do anything our conscience did not permit. You won my heart one more time when you promised me that there would be nothing that I did not like, nothing that I'd regret later. For a girl, those words mean a lot and I am glad you said them. I love you so much but, more than that, I respect you for what you are.'

She opened her heart to me. In that moonlight, sitting beside her on that rickshaw, sailing in that pool of water, I realized how happy she was. Maybe that's why her eyes got wet and happiness dropped off her eyelashes.

*I love you Shona ... Always be with me in good times and in bad, just the way you are now,' she said.

*I promise,' I said, wiping her tears.

Our romantic, moonlight safari ended when we reached her home. At the gate were Neeru and her mother who, after breathing a sigh of relief on seeing her daughter, walked back inside showing her motherly anger.

We got down and I asked the rickshaw-walla to wait for five minutes.

At the gate I asked Neeru, *What's her mood?'

*Till now she was worried, but now it's time for her to show anger. But she won't say much because you're here,' Neeru replied, smiling.

*Chal, I'll take care of that. But hey! Thank you soooooooo much for helping us so far.'

And the three of us marched in, with me in front.

I saw Mumma sitting in the drawing room. Without caring that my wet jeans were spoiling their carpet, I went to her. Just like any mother in this world would have felt, she too was angry. Without saying a word to her, I kneeled down in front of her. Yes, I was on my knees in front of my future mother-in-law, looking in her eyes.

Very politely I told her, *Khushi ki koi galti nahi hai is mein. Ye saara plan mera tha. And you can punish me for that.' (And I said to myself, *Please do it fast, I have to catch my plane in a few hours.') Standing at the door, both the sisters looked at me. I don't know what they thought. Was I brave or stupid? I did not want Khushi to keep answering her mother's questions after my departure so I tried to sort things out, as far as possible, while I was present. I did what I felt would safeguard her.

The next moment, Mumma helped me get up and said, *Ise itna pyaar karti hu naa, isliye itni chinta hoti hai iski. Thodey dino mein chale jaana hai isne yahaa se aapke ghar ...' She melted inside, thinking about her beloved daughter. All mothers are so emotional, even mine was.

She further said that we could have told her the truth and then left in the evening. She wouldn't have said no. (*Of course, she would not have said no for Munnabhai, but what about Delhi?' I was still talking to myself.) Well, that's how I handled the situation back at her place. When I checked my watch next, it was midnight and I had to leave for Delhi, crossing the same pool of water, the same brawls and the same border, in the same watery car. Time was still running out and, if everything went well, I would be at Indira Gandhi International Airport in another five hours.

The atmosphere at her place was much better now. I walked down to the bathroom, badly needing to pee. Of course, being in those wet jeans for almost two hours and surrounded by water and more water, it was only natural.

A little later, back at the main gate, all the three ladies waved me goodbye. But I waved to the one standing ahead of everybody. I felt so different again. I was waving to the girl with whom I spent the longest day of my life, the girl with whom I enjoyed the best hour of my life. And I kept looking at her till my rickshaw took a left turn and she slipped out of my field of vision and I from hers.

In a short while, I was back in the cab. The water level on road had gone down and the conditions were better now. We didn't have too many problems going back. The traffic was negligible by then, though I still saw a few dead vehicles on either side of the road.

Every fifteenatwenty minutes, Khushi kept calling me on my mobile to check if everything was fine. She told me she was out of her wet attire and was lying in her cute night dress on her cosy bed. I loved it when she said that. It felt like being with her again. We couldn't talk too long though, as my cellphone's battery was dying.

I asked the driver to switch on the radio, wanting to celebrate the victory of the day or, probably, one of the memorable victories of my life. Sitting beside the driver I pulled back my seat to stretch my aching, wet legs. Tapping my feet (and the injured toe) gently to the music. I looked in the rearview mirror, on my left and I saw a reflection ...

A reflection of the lights, of those vehicles struggling in the water, a reflection of the moment when she was resting her head on my shoulder in the rickshaw, a reflection of the time I was pushing the cab, of the calls from her home which we were too scared to pick up. A reflection of that perfect kiss in Room No. 301, that evening.

And, watching those reflections, I smiled and closed my eyes.

*Oh! Mumma ... Sheisso perfect!'

I was at the airport, the last person in the long queue heading towards the British Airways terminal. I was struggling with the laptop hanging on my shoulder, pushing the trolley with the same hand and talking to my mom and dad on my cell. Outside, it was still dawn. The sun would rise in a few minutes. And I was d.a.m.n sleepy. But the cold shower in the hotel helped me wake up. And to push me into the shower was Khushi, who woke me up at 4 a.m. sharp.

Back in my hometown, mom and dad were anxious to know what happened. Dad seemed to be enjoying my anecdotes much better than his morning news, otherwise he'd never ask mom to put my call on the speaker while he had his morning tea. How is her family? How is her Mumma? What did everyone say? What is their house like? And the craziest question was my mom's: What did you have for lunch there?

(G.o.d! Lunch?) *Her family is really nice. I met her mother, her elder sister Ami di and Ami di's husband Pushkar. Her younger sister Neeru was also there. Her mom is just like you. I liked each one of them. Khushi is a very nice girl, Mumma ... And I am very happy,' I said after which Mumma said, *If you are happy, we are happy.'

And the happier they were, the more they questioned me. It took me almost half an hour to answer all their queries before I bade them goodbye and they wished me a happy journey.

After a little while, I felt like calling her. Though I knew she would be sleeping. While I slept in peace for three hours in my hotel room, she was checking her cell's clock every now and then so that she could wake me up on time. Now it was her turn to sleep in peace. Still, I dialed her number. Because in another couple of hours, I wouldn't be able to call her up.

I heard her complete ring, but did not get to hear her voice.

Disappointed, I slipped my phone back in my pocket and moved ahead. People were shoving their trolleys with one hand, their pa.s.sport and tickets in the other. Some were enjoying the music flowing out of their iPods. Indian faces, non-Indian faces. The white kids stood silently in the queue, holding their parents' hands. The rest of the little ones running here and there, shouting, playing, were all Indian.

I was at the X-ray scanner, waiting for my baggage to slide out, when I heard my cell ringing. It was her.

*Uth gaya mela baby ...?'

*Hmm ...' And in her warm, sleepy, heavy voice she was kissing me, probably with her eyes half-open, still tired. Hearing the sweetness of her voice, I imagined waking up next to her, on the same bed, some morning.

Clearing her throat, she then started talking to me.

My queue kept moving and we kept talking.

At the baggage check-in section, she was still with me.

At the immigration desk, she was still with me.

At the security check gateway, the officials separated her from me. They asked me to switch off the cellphone before the check. But the moment I was through with it, she was with me again. I badly wanted to talk to her, I badly needed her and I wanted to run away from the airport straight back to her. Actually, I felt like marrying her then and there. I was so much with her for those one and half hours that I didn't even notice the third and final announcement, meant for me. The last words were: *... Boarding Flight No. BA182 to New York, please report at gate no. 2.'

I know my next statement will be hard to believe, but this is true. Miles away from me, lying on her bed in a different city, she heard my name being announced (which I had missed, though the speaker box was right above me), through my cellphone. Unbelievable, isn't it?

*Shona, I think it's for you,' she panicked.

*What?'

*That announcement. I think it's for you,' she shouted in haste.

*Just a second.'

I patted the back of a white-skinned man in front of me. He had a US flag on his T-shirt. *Wudgyaa mind tellin me whom they were caallin for?' I don't know why but talking to goras tends to change my accent.

*Oh, you mean the last call?'

*Yeah.'

*Some Ravin to New York. For f.u.c.k's sake, why are people not on time at the airport?'

And I kept looking into his eyes with anger but didn't say anything. Of course, the fault was mine.

*That's me,' I said firmly, getting closer to his face. *But you know, hey ... Thanks for letting me know that it was me.'

His face was something to be seen. Pale. Maybe, for a second, he remembered that he wasn't on his land but mine. But before he could start apologizing, I rushed to gate no. 2.

On the call, Khushi was still waiting for my response.

But, what happened next at the gate was surprising.

*Khushi, I'll call you back in a while,' I said and disconnected the call still trying to understand what happened.

The security lady at the door had taken my boarding pa.s.s, swiped it through a gadget which punched a single word, in bold red letters, on it. INVALID. She then returned it to me with a smile on her face. I looked at the pa.s.s and then at her face and wondered-Now what the h.e.l.l was this? Then, she s.n.a.t.c.hed it back from me and tore it into two pieces, stylishly, and dropped them into the dustbin beside her desk.

I was completely puzzled. Did they find some drugs in my baggage? Or some smuggled diamonds? Or may be a hand-grenade? Jesus! I don't even know what grenades look like.

Seeing the restlessness on my face the lady finally revealed what was going on.

*Congratulations, sir! You are our lucky pa.s.senger. You won't be traveling in Economy, but in the Business cla.s.s.'

With a smile, she handed me a Business cla.s.s boarding-pa.s.s and asked me to move ahead to the plane. The rest of the population, the poor economy cla.s.s one's who were made to wait just because of me, were then allowed to follow.

What a surprise!

Moments later, I was in the plane and Khushi was with me again. I told her about my good luck and she promptly said, *Because I'm in your life, only good things will happen to you.'

While talking to her I saw the same pa.s.senger pa.s.sing by-the one with the US flag on his T-shirt. I waved to him sarcastically and he moved ahead to economy cla.s.s as if he hadn't seen me. But I knew he had.