Borderline Page 5

  It was time for Papa to leave. Some people who knew him got together to give him a farewell. My state of mind was terrible; I was sitting quietly while a lavish tea party was going on. As he was leaving, Papa said to me: ‘Goodbye, Bungua, now be good and study hard. My flight is in three hours and I’d rather you stayed here than come to the airport.’ But I insisted on accompanying him to the airport.

  At the John F. Kennedy airport, Papa said, ‘Smile. It is for your own good that I am leaving you here.’ Tears were rolling down from my bloodshot eyes. I did not want to say ‘goodbye’ to Papa. His departure made me realise that I had to live in New York now, all alone, and make it my new home.

  Chapter 5

  NEW WORLD, NEW LOVE

  A dash of love sometimes can do the trick,

  to make the heart in a new world stick;

  It is a secret we all ignore;

  we do want someone to answer the door.

  It took me a long time to settle down in America. I needed to build some connections, and make some friends. I started by exploring the neighborhood and the NYU campus. I was living on 14th Street, Union Square, which was a vibrant, playful and extremely busy neighbourhood. I went to eat at a restaurant called Candella. It was named thus because there was no electrical lighting there; it was only lit up with candles in chandeliers. The maitre’d of the restaurant was a man named Hafez, who was polite and courteous, and he personally seated me at the chef ’s table as I was dining alone. He even took me to meet the chef, and after a meal of sautéed vegetables and gnocchi tart, not only was I satisfied with the food, but I was also in love with the warmth and ambiance of the place.

  When his shift ended, Hafez came and sat next to me and we talked under the magical flames of the candles. He was Guyanese, and was pursuing a Major in mathematics. He was a senior student at Lehman college in the Bronx, part of the City University of New York (CUNY). His full name was Imran Hafez-ud-din. He wasn’t really handsome, but he was very different. I was attracted to him, and just when I was about to ask him to walk me home, a girl came along and sat with us.

  That day, I learned that most Guyanese are originally Indian. When the British ruled India, they took bonded labour from India to Guyana and made a colony there. Talking of Indians taking root in foreign lands, I told the girl how hard it was for me to live in New York. She acted cocky and told me that it was my fault for not taking the plunge and giving the city a chance!

  The following day, I went back to the restaurant, hoping to meet Hafez. It was empty, so I sat on the couch and started reading my book. Minutes later, he walked in through the door. We started chatting, and I told him a little bit about my life, about my parents and their divorce, about Sati and where she was studying. He told me he had two brothers and his dad owned an upholstery business. He also said that he had recently broken up with a girl, the one I had met yesterday. She was also at Lehman, and her name was Aira. He told me they had a bad and ‘abrupt’ break-up.

  I noticed that he kept looking at my bindi. He said it made me look even better. It was then and there that I decided to date him.

  The next few days, we ate together and talked on the phone a lot. It gave me a rush of adrenaline, waiting in anticipation of when he might ask me out on a date. I was savouring this feeling, and was very excited. Finally, one day he called to ask me to go out for a movie with him. However, he made it clear that he didn’t want to date me as he had just broken up with someone. I had taken a liking to him; in my mind, I was adamant about being in a relationship with him. I said ‘yes’ to the movie. Before we went to watch it, we briefly went to meet his grandmother.

  We went to see How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days, and enjoyed sharing popcorn and getting cozy. I decided to use reverse psychology on him. I was going to tell him that I was only his friend, and would encourage him to get back together with Aira. Naturally, he would want to be with me. So, I played the friend card for a week; after talking for hours every day after college, and many coffees later, he fell for my plot and finally, on 4 April 2003, he asked me out. I became his girlfriend.

  When news reached Aira, she confronted me. I told her it was nobody else’s business except Hafez’s and mine.

  Hafez and I held hands and took a long walk. He told me the reason Aira had been so upset was because they had broken up right after having sex for the first time. I told him I understood her point of view; I also told him that I was a virgin.

  I had never felt so deeply for someone before. Haff, that was the pet name I gave him, helped me feel so much more comfortable in New York. I now had someone to go to with my problems; someone who made me feel safe and wanted. Things were truly beginning to look up and suddenly, New York and Hafez became home for me.

  ***

  Raw and intense emotions bottling up inside,

  Cloaked in feelings that brought out false pride;

  This is a trap of the mind …

  Creating problems when things seem to be fine.

  Everything was going well and yet, it wasn’t. My mind began to trick me; a hidden anxiety kicked in and I let my mind ruin all the good that was happening to me. My emotions got the better of me and I became a slave to my feelings, and lost my grip on reason and logic.

  The first casualty of this emotional instability was my studies. Haff and I had been enjoying every moment we spent with each other; we were in a bubble, untouched by things around us. We spent a lot of time doing almost everything together—going to college, eating, watching movies, hanging out at Barnes & Noble for hours talking, reading and drinking coffee. Though Haff was a Muslim, he had recently stopped eating meat, and this suited me fine since I didn’t eat meat myself. He was experimenting with self-control and was reading about the health and environmental benefits of being a vegetarian. Since I was living with Indians, in their home, and they reported back to my father, I never spent the night at Hafez’s place. But we were together throughout the day.

  I also became very fond of his family. His mother, who I called Aunty Baby, was a very caring, nice woman. She welcomed me into her home and we would cook together. It turned out that Guyanese cuisine was quite similar to Indian cuisine. Their curries, dal and roti had a spicy burst of flavour that I enjoyed very much.

  He had two brothers and an adopted sister. Haff ’s father was a very warm-hearted man, just like his wife, and they took me into their hearts, becoming stand-ins for my own parents. It was always fun at Hafez’s house as he had so many cousins and uncles and aunts. His elder brother, Faoud, was about to get married to his Spanish girlfriend. The middle brother, Shiraz, was extremely handsome. Since I found Shiraz good-looking, I had the feeling that Haff was insecure about it.

  But the really insecure person was me. Even though I felt that Hafez would not find a better person than me, I was still scared that he would leave me. These were the first signs of a complexity that was embedded in me, waiting to claw its way out—a complicated feeling of inferiority and superiority at the same time.

  It is said that there are seven sins; rather, human attributes—greed, lust, gluttony, pride, envy, wrath and sloth. I had a bit of all, but wrath and envy were my biggest enemies. I was possessive and jealous about my men. In fact, right from childhood, I was a jealous person.

  One day, when he came to pick me up to go for a movie, I told him that unless he stopped talking to all the women who had liked him, I would break up with him. After an hour’s debate, and his repeated refusals at my ridiculous request, I got out of the car and left. He came after me to talk and sort out things, but I didn’t want to listen. Finally, he agreed to my terms, but something in our relationship broke that day. I knew this simply by looking into his eyes. He seemed unhappy and emotionally exhausted. Was I becoming overbearing? In retrospect, I really did not care whether Haff spoke to other women or not. For me, it was a matter of controlling Hafez; I wanted him to submit to me and do exactly as I said.

  I was also changing and becoming someone else. Hafez alw
ays said he loved me for my intelligence and independence. But I had started missing classes. I would tell him that I was in class while I would actually be at home, getting dressed up for our date. For months, I would arrive at college just in time for the class to end.

  My classmates started questioning me on my absence from college. I avoided them, and made up some flimsy excuses each time. Once, I even tore up my clothes and went to campus crying, claiming I had been mugged. I’m not sure whether I made up this story because I felt guilty about missing class or because I was addicted to being melodramatic.

  I was so caught up in Hafez that I completely neglected myself and academics. The feeling of inadequacy dictated my every move, and I became a desperate, needy and a dependent person.

  Chapter 6

  THE FIRST TIME

  They say make love not war …

  When I made love for the first time, I wanted more.

  These battles … these fights … the world needs to ignore,

  Go on and make love, go on and adore.

  It was June 2003, and the warm air was made fragrant with the smell of wet grass. Hafez’s brother’s wedding was approaching, and he was busy with making arrangements. He hardly had time for me; I was feeling left out, and very upset. To make matters worse, his mother had invited Aira to the wedding, which made me furious. I was also very nervous about the bachelors’ party, but I let that one go.

  Meanwhile, the family I was living with had started resenting my taking up space in their house, and they had finally asked me to move out. I told them I would, once I found a place, but they went ahead and found one for me. There was an elderly Indian woman who had an apartment. She lived in the living room and wanted to rent out the bedroom. This suited me fine, as I was going to have space of my own. My Papa, of course, was worried about the new situation, and sent his friend’s daughter to help me pack up and settle in my new place. Papa needn’t have worried. My new landlady was warm and welcoming and kept the place neat and clean. I made her talk to my father, and they seemed to be comfortable with each other. I would tell Papa that aunty cooked delicious Indian food, and I got a nice, hot meal every evening when I came back from college. Papa began trusting her, and told her he would bring Benarasi sarees for her when he came to visit me.

  Aunty and I became friends, and I told her about Hafez and the upcoming wedding. She gave me her blessings for staying over at his place, and promised she would not tell Papa about it.

  On the day of the wedding, I was excited and nervous. This was the day I was going to sleep over at Hafez’s house for the first time, and we had decided to make love that night. I prepared myself and took care of my body in anticipation. I bought a very expensive gown that I could hardly afford, but it was so beautiful that I just had to possess it. It was a rose-dust pink and gold silk affair, with a patterned and sequined front. The back was a criss-cross of satin lace. When I looked at myself in the mirror after wearing the dress, putting on make-up and leaving my long light brown hair open and hanging loose, I was pleased with what the mirror reflected.

  Since Hafez was at the wedding party, he could not come to pick me up. This was cause for a major argument between us. I didn’t want to take the train and ruin my dress. In a fit of pride, I took a black town car to the venue, even though it was incredibly expensive. But you see, I wanted to arrive in style! And when I did, it embarrassed me to realise that people were staring at me; everyone except Hafez, of course, who was away somewhere with his brother.

  I was seated at table seven, with his cousin Shelley, and some other people. As soon as the ceremony got over, I met Hafez at the bar. He looked at me and smiled, and we had champagne together. After the celebrations got over, we all drove back to Hafez’s house.

  Once at his house, he and I went to Haff ’s room, and I realised that I was indeed madly in love with him. He locked the door and slowly started kissing my neck. Soon we were kissing passionately and I was lying on the bed under him. I felt a sudden, sweet kind of pain and I knew that he was now trying to penetrate me, thrusting slowly but firmly. There we were, making love in his room, and my initial nervousness was taken over by exhilaration and desire. As he went deeper inside me, I moaned with pleasure and pain while keeping the rhythm of our two bodies moving as one. After a while, the look on his face intensified and he pulled me in closer towards him. I could no longer see his face; all I could feel was his warm body gently moving over mine, and his lips brushing against my neck. A few moments later, he had an orgasm. He kissed me again, this time on my forehead, and I smiled while he wrapped his arms around me and cuddled me. Making love with Hafez was a tender feeling; I realised this when he wrapped his arms around me and we cuddled after making love. I never let anyone cuddle me, but Haff was an exception.

  So between the hours of 11 p.m. to midnight, in between the 28th and the 29th of June, I was no longer a little girl, but a woman who had just made love for the first time.

  When I woke up the following morning, I was feeling shy about meeting his parents as they knew that we had slept in the same room. I stayed over at his place for the whole weekend, and this became a routine. I would spend my weekends at his house, making love with him, watching movies and becoming a part of his household. I got so used to that life and so protective about it that I was willing to destroy anything that might threaten it, including my own career.

  I got a letter from the college stating that I had failed in all my subjects for the first semester. I had missed so many classes that this was not a surprise. I was now on academic probation, and if I didn’t do well in the next semester, I would be kicked out. I hid this information from Papa. I got my act together, and in the fall semester, I got an A grade in all my classes, thereby saving myself.

  By this time, my reasons for staying in America had become clear to me: It wasn’t to do well in college, or study hard; it was to stay with Hafez. I was madly in love, and this emotion was on the borderline of becoming something sinister. I had told my mother about Hafez. Each time I spoke to her on the phone, she would say that Papa had found out about my affair, and when I would go back home in the December vacation, he might not let me return to New York. I was dreading this. However, nothing could have prepared me for what happened next.

  Chapter 7

  THE PAIN THAT WILL ALWAYS REMAIN

  The Pain will never change, it will pierce it will damage

  and it will make one forever deranged,

  This feeling is so awful, so powerful,

  it comes for no reason and it is always strange,

  Who knew that I would have to live with it for good

  This Pain that shall remain…

  I am running as fast as possible from something dark and menacing that’s chasing me. Across the valley, I can see my family, waiting for me, calling my name, telling me to come to them. I want to jump, but I’m scared of heights. I want to scream, but my teeth are falling out, one by one, and I can’t seem to form the words. Whatever’s chasing me is gaining ground, and panicking, I decide to take the leap and I fall … While I’m falling, I look back to see a figure draped in white and orange; he is bald and he looks wicked and his smile is cruel … He wants me, but my Papa makes me jump. He loses me; he gives me that look to say that I have seen him years ago and I have exposed his fraud to Rana Uncle and Papa …

  I would scream when waking up from this recurring nightmare. It was ten in the morning on 28 December 2003. I woke up with a sinking feeling after the nightmare, and tried to placate myself. I was uneasy about going back to India. I told Haff that I didn’t want to go; what if my father didn’t let me come back from India.

  ***

  28 December, 11 p.m., India

  ‘I just have to go to the bathroom. I am fine, I just need some alone time,’ Papa tells his boss who has come over for dinner.

  ‘RS, just send the driver and Pratibha to pick up Amrita; you rest!’

  ‘Sir, she is coming only for twenty days, and I have
not seen her in almost a year. I have to go and pick her up …’

  ***

  I am the Mirror in the bathroom in the office of the Punjab Police headquarters. I see senior officers come in to freshen up and use me to look at their reflections. I listen to their chit-chat … their banter about work and women, and sometimes about actual deals and serious orders to arrest someone. I have been witness to secrets and flow of police information. I have seen sin, and I know too much. Then I see R.S. Srivastava come in. He looks at me with his light brown eyes; he looks at me as if he knows me. He is a good man, trapped in the vicious cycle of loneliness and heartbreak. Honest officer that he is, sometimes I want to bring him into my realm and make him a part of me. I want him to become the mirror on the wall that has seen and heard sin; that has forsaken its own pleasures to become the reflection of others. I see this man, Ram Swarup Srivastava, as a reflection of me: He is bound to see all, bound to want to correct all …

  ***

  Haff took me to the airport to see me off. I got my boarding pass, and before I left, I kissed him and confessed my fears once again. I was supposed to come back on 20 January 2004. My father had made arrangements for me to be upgraded to business class so I would have a comfortable journey. But none of this made me feel any better, and it was with a heavy heart and a deep sense of anxiety that I boarded the plane.

  It was a torturous flight, and to make matters worse, our plane was re-routed to Mumbai due to the heavy fog in Delhi. I did not sleep at all on the way. All the while, there was an ugly image in my mind of the bald man I once saw begging my father for help. He was a self-proclaimed guru in Punjab. Once a barber, he chanced upon black magic and tantra, and started exploiting people by saying that he was a healer and an avatar of Shiva himself. To my astonishment, people believed him. Mrs Bhati was a follower of his and she, too, was deep into black magic. I could see through the bald man’s dark aura; I was far from being a follower of his, but I worried for my gullible Papa. This guru was becoming more and more popular. He was a distant cousin of Rana Uncle, who knew him to be a fraud. When Uncle and Papa were friends, he had warned Papa to be careful with this guru who would look at women with apparent lust in his eyes. Aunty Pratibha told me that a month ago, Mrs Bhati had come to our house and sprinkled a black and red powder all over, saying it was an offering from her guru, for the protection of the house. But ever since, whenever I talked to Papa or Aunty Pratibha, all I learnt was that Papa was becoming weak and he often skipped his meditation and yoga. As if some dark force or spell had bound him and cursed the well-being of my already troubled house. One of the things I wanted to do on this trip was to expose Mrs Bhati and this guru to Papa.