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  I decided to say ‘yes’ to Raj, since I had a plan. I wanted Gill to know I wasn’t going to sit around and wait for him. I was sure he would get to know about my date, and even if it didn’t make him envious, I was sure he wouldn’t be happy about it. I was thoroughly bored in Raj’s company, yet I kept smiling and playing along.

  Later on, I called my old friend Puneet, who I fondly called Puns, and told her that Gill had ended things with me; that he had sent the message across through a friend, and that I had a date with that very friend. Puns was familiar with me and my theatrics, and warned me to be careful, telling me that Chandigarh was a small town and it could be cruel.

  She advised me against staying back in Chandigarh for a guy who had already dumped me. Since my parents were moving to New Delhi, she also suggested I should go and live under their protection. I tried to explain to her that I had fallen for Gill so bad that I no longer wanted to return to New York, something I was desperate to do until a month ago. I told her I felt like an outsider in Rana Uncle’s and Mamma’s home. Sati has moved on in life, and was happy in America. I, too, needed some incentive, someone with who I could make a life of my own.

  Puns hit the nail right on its head. ‘Amrita, don’t you think you should make a career first? Sati is doing the right thing by studying. She may be in a serious, committed relationship, but she is also focusing on her career. If you try to make up for the loss of your father by means of getting a husband, it will do you absolutely no good.’

  Puns ended her monologue by telling me that people in this town would think of me as a prostitute, since I was no longer a powerful and respectable officer’s daughter. Sadly, all her logic and advice was wasted on me. I always had to learn things the hard way.

  After my date with Raj, Gill called me a number of times, but I did not answer the phone for quite a while. Finally, when I did, he expressed his desire to meet me. I agreed to go with him. He took me to his farmhouse where we lay on the grass, talking. He told me that he had gotten really jealous when he heard of my date. It was unbearable to him that I had gone out with his friend. I was thrilled! He apologised and said he would like me to be his girlfriend. I smiled and kissed him.

  Things were fine for six months. We had a great time and an even greater physical bond. We enjoyed and heightened each other’s sexual appetite. He enjoyed the physical part of the relationship more than the emotional, while I indulged heavily in both. The more sex I had with him, the more emotionally involved I became, but I knew that his attention wandered to other women. To prevent him from straying, I made myself more available to him, sexually. I believed that my insecurity indicated love.

  It was also becoming increasingly difficult for me to stay in Chandigarh, as I didn’t have a house or that much money. I was living off my father’s pension, and constantly moving from one guest house to another, living like a nomad for Gill. My parents kept telling me to come back, but I wouldn’t heed their advice.

  Finally, around September, Gill told me it was over. I had known it was coming, but I did not want to believe it. He ended things with me and I did exactly what I had done with Hafez—I begged Gill, I stalked him, I continued sleeping with him and being used by him in the hope of getting him back. When I overstayed my welcome at one guest house, I would shift to another. With this came more than a fair share of problems—a ruined reputation, and unwanted attention from men. None of my father’s friends came forward to help me; they were like rats who had abandoned a sinking ship.

  Finally, my mother’s divorced cousin, who was living with her kids in Chandigarh, helped me rent a flat in her apartment building. This, too, was short-lived, owing to the horrible gossip going around town about me. Returning from a party in the wee hours of the morning, I saw to my horror that all my luggage and furniture had been thrown out on the street.

  I cursed myself as to where life had brought me. I used to live in this city with such respect and honour, and now I was stranded on the streets in that very same city. As always, in my moment of crisis, I called Uncle and broke down. He advised me to come to Delhi. ‘You have a home here with us,’ he told me in the kindest manner. ‘You must leave everything and come here,’ his gentle voice reassured me.

  Uncle’s wisdom and support did make me feel better, but then again, I was fighting a whole city for the sake of one man, a man who did not appreciate me at all. Instead, he wanted me to leave him alone. It killed me to see him with other women, and sometimes I would have a fit and call him nearly fifty to a hundred times a day. When he finally picked up, he would yell at me and treat me horribly by calling me a whore. Worse, he would summon me to his house on the pretext of having a drink, and then we would get into bed. His affections for me oscillated; sometimes he would shout at me and abuse me, and in the same night, he would have sex with me, which in my mind absolved all the fights. From time to time, he would not talk to me, ignoring me at parties and flirting with other women.

  I was like a remote control, first in the hands of Hafez, and now Gill. Anytime they wished, they could press a button and I would do as they pleased and demanded. I had made my life a living hell, a drama, myself.

  My being dejected led to a feeling to deep emptiness; call it depression, or melancholy, or a cage of sadness . . . it became a constant companion. No friendly words or support could release me from its depraved clutches. Only I could unchain myself from it, but sadly, at that point in time, I neither had the will nor the understanding to do so.

  I needed a safe haven, and I could think of only one place: My mother and Uncle’s house. I finally moved to Delhi. I wanted peace for both Gill and myself, so, in the end, I sent him a bouquet of white lilies, representing peace.

  I went to Delhi after living for a year in Chandigarh. I made a promise to myself: No matter what, I would never, ever, fall in love again.

  Renouncing love was all that I could do to protect myself from the anguish that it brewed. Another’s love for me always ended up not being true.

  The characters I loved had painted me blue. In life there is a

  lesson, that lesson is to forget those who don’t want you.

  Once you are healed, revisit the painting and you will then see no

  blue, for when you are strong and love yourself the painting will

  look and feel right, the painting will ask you to look at yourself

  with strength and carry on painting with mighty hues.

  Chapter 14

  BLACK AND WHITE MOODS AND VIEWS

  A split mind shaded black and sometimes shaded white,

  No variance of colors, no room for grey areas,

  just a monochrome with no respite.

  This dangerous thinking puts people like me in a terrible plight,

  Where we will indefinitely get abandoned

  because we cling on so tight.

  Ever since I was a little girl, I had been experiencing change. It was not the slow change that one gradually transitions into, but was always drastic and extreme—growing up in London and then moving back to India, my parents’ divorce and my subsequent living without my mother, then leaving Chandigarh and moving to New York, my father’s death, leaving New York and coming back to India, the change from Hafez to Gill, and now the change from Chandigarh to Delhi. As a result, I feared it instead of welcoming change.

  When I moved from Chandigarh to Delhi, in September 2006, it wasn’t easy for me. My mind kept going back to Chandigarh, where everyone knew me. Even salon and club staff were acquainted to me, and I had developed a sense of belonging to that place. Coming to Delhi, I felt like an alien in a new city. Would I be able to build lasting relationships here, especially with my family?

  I was especially worried about this because my mother and I had very different personalities. When we clashed, our arguments got out of hand and ruined the atmosphere of the house. This was one of the reasons why I did not want to move in with her and Uncle. I had accepted her marriage, and the fact that she had a whole new
family now, and knew that they were her priority. Still, it bothered me to a point where each time that we had an argument, I would go to the balcony and smoke a cigarette to counter the stress. I had picked up the habit in Chandigarh, thanks to Gill, and I was now at a stage where I was smoking one packet of cigarettes every day. I was also addicted to coffee, and while the combination of cigarettes and coffee soothed my nervous disposition, it also led to complications like severe acidity and insomnia. I had always been driven by an impulse and excess of everything.

  I didn’t make many friends in Delhi, and was mostly confined to my home. I went out a couple of times and made some acquaintances, who asked me to go club hopping with them, but I never really developed a connection with them. My heart was still in Chandigarh. The few friends I spoke to told me that Gill was seeing a girl named Kiran. It upset me so much that I took a knife and cut my wrist. While the cut was not so deep that I needed stitches, still, it was enough to make my wrist bleed quite a lot. Physical self-destruction became a form of emotional release for me.

  It was Diwali time, and a friend’s sister was getting married in Chandigarh. I went to attend the wedding, and also to meet Gill, who was very keen on having sex with me even though he was seeing someone else. After a few days, I came back to Delhi feeling shattered and directionless, and with no self-respect. I wanted to become invisible. Negativity was growing on me like a cancerous cell. I began to see myself as a failed daughter, a failed girlfriend, and a failed student.

  Uncle counselled me every day and told me that the past was over and gone. He encouraged me to pick myself up and create a productive present so that I could have a better future.

  Finally, one day I woke up and realised that I had been given the opportunity to begin a new life in a new city. So I took the opportunity to do something new and useful with my life. I changed my phone number, took some money from my parents, and joined a gym. I was hoping to make new friends and have a social life.

  I went from one extreme to another; from deep sorrow and pity to an even more dangerous life of decadence. Since I had completely lost focus, instead of making a life and building a career, I plunged into what I now call my frivolous partying years.

  ***

  For great grief can give birth to great lust;

  It can act as a balm on wounds and temporarily sterilize the rust.

  Forsaking love for now was a must;

  But one should know that even decadence is full of faux stardust.

  I wanted to have nothing to do with love, or even the thought of it. I made a few friends, but no one who I allowed to get very close to me. These were simply people I would party with quite regularly, because that way, I could pretend to be happy; at least I would get out of the house. But instead of drowning my sorrows, all I managed to do was create a superficial, empty life for myself.

  It was New Year’s eve, the time of the year when I would mourn the death of my Papa the most, since this was the date that he died on. However, this eve, I wanted to get away from home. So I decided to gatecrash a mega event which was to inaugurate an exclusive club.

  Called The Batman, the club building was in the shape of batman. The body of the building was made of black glass and steel and the top was that of Batman’s head. I was told the building had three levels, and the topmost was the ultra VIP room called the Bruce Wayne room. I was dreading going to the entrance where the floor was adorned with a red carpet and separated for the different levels. I was told each level had its own VIP status but the Bruce Wayne room was for the truly elite. I used to hate this sort of separation of people, putting people into classes, and somehow making them feel less of themselves. I bumped into my friend Vicky at the door and he had an invitation so he took me inside along with him.

  The first level of the club was called the Poison Ivy lab. It looked like a lab where trees were growing and the walls were covered in flowers. There were creepers hanging all over the walls. The maddening rush, people drinking alcohol from flasks shaped like lab equipment, shining in the fluorescent green lights, partying to the techno music: All of it put me in the mood for a drink. There were waitresses dressed as Poison Ivy serving green martinis in flasks. There was a DJ consul where everybody was dancing to the techno tunes. I wanted to see the next level which was clearly visible if one looked up. It resembled ice and snow.

  Vicky only had an invitation for the first level, but he somehow managed to get us access to the next one. I saw a private glass elevator which was not that big and was guarded by bouncers who were screening the people getting onto it quite carefully. That elevator had access to all the levels, but it was mainly for the ultra VIP guests who were invited to the Bruce Wayne room, the most exclusive part of the club.

  The Ice Man was the second level of the club. There were spiral stairs which were covered in smoke and one had to be very careful to get onto them as one could barely see the steps. This level was made of glass and it resembled frost. The floor was thick glass, there was smoke all over and the walls were made of fibre glass and the ceiling resembled an icy cave where pointy shards were stuck to it, illuminated by sky blue lighting. This level was also quite packed. There was a smoky glass dance floor and frost-like seating areas. All the VIP tables were booked and people were enjoying this lavish and stylish club.

  Vicky was enjoying his drinks and got busy with some friends. I was standing alone, so I went to the bar and sat on a frosted bar chair. Just as I was about to order a drink, I heard a seductive, husky voice say, ‘Can I get you a drink?’ I turned around to see one of the most handsome men I had ever laid eyes on. He was immaculately dressed in a black hand stitched Italian suit with a grey tie and a white crisp shirt. His hand was adorned with a Patek Phillipe watch and his cufflinks were silver. His grip was strong as he took my hand and kissed it. Although there was a lot of smoke, my eyes caught his left hand and saw a Cartier wedding band on his finger. I was frozen by his good looks.

  He gently asked me again, ‘Can I get you anything to drink, some champagne perhaps?’

  ‘I’m Amrita, and yes, champagne would be lovely.’ When I looked at him carefully, I was spellbound. Composing myself, I started fiddling with my hair, while my heart was pounding heavily. The man was so handsome—well-built, and very well groomed, with a perfectly firm body, and short hair that was gelled and styled. He was so fair that he looked almost white. His frame was perfect, and his sparkling eyes were big and daring, somewhere between bright blue and hazel. He had chiseled features, and a fine symmetrical nose in a perfectly crafted face.

  ‘Look, Amrita, it’s almost midnight! Would you like to join me on the balcony of the Bruce Wayne room? At the stroke of midnight, there will be fireworks. We can enjoy them from there.’

  I decided to enjoy his attention, and since he was married, this harmless flirting wouldn’t go anywhere, I thought to myself. ‘Yes, let’s go!’

  He gently helped me off the frosted bar chair and we headed straight for the private elevator which went to the Bruce Wayne room. As soon as we got out of the elevator, there was a black door that wasn’t guarded by any bouncer. It had a lock, and one had to enter the code to open it. The clock was going to strike twelve in about two minutes.

  The Bruce Wayne room was plush, and was lit with warm chandelier lighting. There were glass trolleys full of the best single malts and vodkas available. There was even a small wine cellar housing the most expensive wines. My companion told the butler to open a vintage bottle of Dom Perignon for us and took me straight to the balcony, which was the Batman’s eye. The fireworks started and my companion’s face glowed in their light.

  ‘Are you enjoying the view?’ he asked me.

  ‘Yes, thank you very much.’ By this time, we were both fully in the moment, sipping our champagne and sharing a cigarette.

  ‘What made you ask me to join you?’ I asked him in a surprised tone. ‘You were just at the bar, looking so beautiful with your soft brown hair and black dress which was lovely. Yo
u were so deeply engrossed in your thoughts that I had to find out what it was. So what were you thinking about?’

  ‘Nothing in particular; my mind wanders from time to time,’ I answered in a guarded tone.

  ‘Well, whatever it was, it caught my attention. By the way, do you know that your eyes are shaped like almonds? They are a very light shade of brown, something rare amongst the common dark brown.’

  I was amazed by his attention to detail and how right he was about my eye colour. We flirted for a while in the chill of a Delhi winter night. After the third glass of champagne, continuing our conversation, I found out that he was an industrialist who lived in Mumbai but came to Delhi practically every week for work or pleasure. His mother was French and father Indian. He was married to a senior politician’s daughter and had one child. I told him a little bit about myself and my family, and when it was time to leave, he politely asked me: ‘Can I escort you home?’ ‘No, thanks, I drove myself,’ I told him. He kissed my hand again and I left.

  On the drive home, all I could think about was how smooth and suave he was. He knew how to charm a woman.

  I started the morning with my usual cigarettes and coffee. Still curious about the man I had met the previous night, I needed a release. I decided to hit the gym. As soon as I reached there, my eyes fell on him. ‘Lucky me! We’re meeting twice in one day,’ he said flirtatiously, and I laughed.