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Anuj Kaul sat under the shade of a broad banyan tree in the sprawling green lawns of St. Stephen’s College, Delhi. He was wearing a black graduation robe over his white T-shirt and green cargo trousers. The day had finally come.
The college building with its 1940s red brick work, round colonial arches and a cross mounted on the top looked majestic from a distance. Many considered it to be the most beautiful architecture of Delhi University.
Anuj saw students, friends and even some relatives moving from one side of the college campus to the other. In large or small groups, laughing and chatting non-stop. After all, today was THE long awaited graduation day.
It was July and pre-monsoon season in Delhi. The sun was bright and hot and the breeze—painfully humid. But there was still no trace of any clouds in the sky.
Anuj was hoping for the rains to come soon. But as usual, the monsoon was late. Just like the trains in India. He sensed wetness on his forehead and his chest. His sweat was slowly drenching his T-shirt. Yet he didn’t move.
Anuj was again lost in his thoughts. He could only see a splatter of green in front of him and hear a cacophony of noises in the background. A “bad habit” he had acquired since his childhood. Or at least this is what his school teachers said about him. Oh sorry, complained about him.
In his school days, he was at the receiving end of a lot of screaming and shouting from his teachers for not responding to their questions—even when his name was called!
He hoped he would become better in his adult days—more alert and responsive—but to no avail. His “bad habit” had only worsened.
So what was he thinking about?
His male colleagues were busy choosing which skirt to chase next. His female colleagues talked about the latest Mexican restaurant that had opened in Hauz Khas, in South Delhi. Some deliberated about watching the latest movie. Everyone was excited about what was next after graduation. About the future.
But Anuj was engrossed in thinking—of something that no one in their young adult days ever bothered about.
Ever-lasting love.
His cousin, Nisha Sharma, who was ten years older to him, was a celebrity singer in Mumbai. She was hailed as a cancer survivor. As a beacon of hope to millions of cancer patients.
A few years ago she was diagnosed with Stage IV lung cancer. The doctors had written her off. No one could save her. Yet, she survived.
Hers was considered as one of those very rare cases of spontaneous remission—where a patient heals on her own. A mystery in the scientific world. Believers used her example to prove the existence of God. The rationalists rubbished the claim. They, on the contrary, believed that the power to heal lies within the human body.
But Nisha had a different version of the same story. Anuj was very close to his dear cousin, and she frequently visited him whenever she would come to Delhi. He found her smile radiant and full of compassion. Her eyes used to twinkle with an eerie, out-of-the-world friendliness that he just couldn’t put a finger on. Her long brown hair had a tinge of redness. Very Kashmiri. Just like his.
Nisha had revealed her secret to him. It was neither science nor religion that saved her. It was—her husband Raj’s unstinted love. As she explained:
“I was convinced I was going to die. My condition had kept on worsening. In the beginning I could roam around a little but by the end I was on a wheel chair. Everyone said my time was up—doctors, astrologers, family members, you name them.
But Raj wasn’t convinced. Whenever I talked about dying, he took my hands in his own and always uttered—‘nothing will happen to you. Repeat with me. Nothing will happen to you. My love is so strong that it will never let you go away from me. It’s my promise.’
And whenever he said those words, something happened within me. I felt a strange sensation moving from my hands to my chest and from there to my brain and to other parts of my body. The sensation felt magical and powerful. It made me believe that there was hope. Don’t give-up.
And after one and a half years of suffering, I was told I was cured. Completely. Miraculously. That I had all the time in this world to do whatever I felt like doing. I didn’t believe it the first time I heard it. It sounded too good to be true. But it still happened. And today, here I am, chatting with you.”
Anuj’s eyes had welled up. The story sounded like a fairy tale. Will he ever experience first-hand such a magic of love? That magic which could heal a dying patient? That magic which could make his loved one get back on her feet? That magic that was eternal?
Anuj wondered. He was speechless for a moment not knowing what to say. He then blurted out:
“I was told such a love story only exists in fiction. Reality can be quite humdrum.” His voice sounded hollow to himself.
Nisha had then smiled. She didn’t mind the comment.
“Yes, of course. But love is powerful. When a person feels loved, she also wants to live. And when a person is hopeful, miraculous things happen. Love need not be expressed in words. A person just needs to feel she is being taken care of. All living beings understand love. A rose plant blossoms if it is watered every day with the right amount of water—not too much nor too little. The same applies to love,” Nisha had said.
Anuj was quiet. His mind was contemplating the words Nisha had just spoken.
“Are only a few people lucky enough to experience love?” he asked.
“I am not sure lucky is the right word. But every person has to at least try to find it,” Nisha had said.
“I really want to experience the kind of love you talk about. But I’m not sure whether I’ll be able to find it,” Anuj still had doubts.
“Of course, you will. A girl will come into your life one day and will steal your heart. But remember: love is a two-way process. Both partners have to care for each other. No one can expect to be taken care of while not giving anything in return. That is a recipe for disaster. It is always a give and take process,” Nisha had explained with a twinkle in her eyes.
“Where will I find her? How will I know that she is the one?” Anuj was still not sure.
“You’ll never know because it could be anyone. There will be no burst of lightning or clap of thunder. But your heart will know,” Nisha had replied, leaving Anuj puzzled.
And so Anuj had set off to find his elusive other half. He looked at the women in his college and wondered if it could be anyone among them. He soon became friends with Amrita in his first year.
Amrita was a thin looking girl with a fair complexion (from Indian standards) and long hair. Sometimes she kept her hair flowing and sometimes she kept it bundled in an ungainly bun. Anuj preferred long flowing hair, any day.
She wore casual clothes—T-shirt and jeans like a typical college student. Her only flaw in looks were the pimples that erupted once in a while on her face. But okay, nobody is perfect.
You’ll never know because it could be anyone.
Anuj was drawn to her energy. Amrita laughed a lot, and she squealed whenever she laughed—in a manner that made him laugh as well. She talked non-stop and just about anything under the sun. She would change topics randomly and Anuj would simply sit with her on a bench and listen. Amused.
She talked about food a lot. In fact most of the time she sounded hungry.
Her sentences would always start with food and end with a random topic.
“Come, let’s grab a burger.... by the way did I tell you that Preeti is such a bi**h?”
“I have a burning sensation in my stomach—I’m so famished—hey it’s a Friday today—yaaaaaaaaayyyyyyy—I’m looking forward to watching a movie this weekend.”
“Are you in for some Chinese food today?—oh—my birthday’s approaching and I want a gift.”
You get the idea? She was weird but funny. But Amrita also had this amazing ability to put Anuj at ease, especially when he was stressed out. She would just switch topics in the middle of the sentence, making Anuj guffaw, sometimes uncontrollably.
Sure, Amrita was—at times annoying. She had a scatter-gun approach to life. She said something and did something else. She would call Anuj and ask him to meet her and then wouldn’t turn up. Later on, she would tell him she got caught up with something else. She would plan to watch a movie with him but would never arrive saying that she forgot she had to complete her essay. She lacked focus in life as she tried to run in all directions at the same time.
But okay, nobody is perfect.
Anuj once took her out to a Chinese restaurant in Kamla Nagar, or K-Nags as the Delhi University students used to call the place. The restaurant was located in a busy narrow street. The pavements on both side of the road were broken. Cars, bicycles and motor bikes were parked on both side of the street making it difficult for the two of them to even walk! The incessant honking of cars made the experience very unpleasant.
Anuj would always hear a voice screaming inside his head whenever he visited such crowded chaotic places. It would tell him to get out immediately. That drained him of his energy and occasionally made him a little wobbly.
It was a typical hot summer day. When he entered the restaurant through a glass door with Amrita, he felt a cold breeze flowing from the top which was soothing. The place was fortunately air conditioned, and the air conditioners were working alright.
The joint smelled of soy sauce, chillies, garlic, rice vinegar and honey. That was not too bad. Then Anuj heard the sizzling of noodles when they were being fried with eggs and veggies.
The place was dimly lit, and bland. It was a small place, and the meal was affordable at student rates. There were no decorations—the sort you would find in high-brow Chinese restaurants. You know, golden dragons, round Chinese lanterns dangling from the ceiling, etc.
They soon took their seats—Amrita first and then Anuj.
It wasn’t really “dating.” And Anuj hated the word. It sounded so formal and so judgemental. As if the man and the woman were assessing each other—making a point to see the worst in each other.
Amrita shared a few secrets with him. She mentioned the b-word frequently. She told Anuj that she always shopped for expensive brands: Gucci, Armani, Prada and the like. Then she asked him about his favourite brands.
Anuj was clueless. She told him she wanted to marry someone who could buy her everything—all the luxuries of the world. She told him that she wanted to be rich but not necessarily through her own hard work. In fact, she made it clear that she looked down upon hard work, as something NOT suited to her class of human beings. She wanted someone else to do the hard work, yet please her with all the goodies of life.
Amrita wanted to live in a palatial house and ride a Mercedes. She asked Anuj whether he too had similar dreams. Anuj was running short of words.
Just then the food was served. They had ordered momos (a Tibetan version of fluffy dumplings stuffed with mince chicken, similar to a Chinese dim-sum), sweet shredded honey chilli chicken, and fried rice.
Amrita served herself some momos and shredded chicken on her plate. Anuj followed. The momos were quite tasteless. The shredded chicken was soulless, pretty much like Anuj’s love life.
And then Anuj’s mouth was set on fire. To compensate for freshness and taste, both dishes had an overdose of chillies. Anuj quickly poured some water in his glass and downed it in one gulp.
Anuj cursed the restaurant cooks secretly. Their food didn’t have any taste except for the chillies. Why? Did the cooks think that this is how they could make the dishes taste better and somewhat “Indianised?”
One thing was clear to Anuj. The food lacked sophistication. Just like Amrita. The chillies were not adding any value to anything. The more he tried to eat, the more he was put off. Ultimately he was filling his stomach only by drinking water.
Meanwhile Amrita was grumbling about her two-month old shoes.
“Look at my shoes, the shine is gone.”
“Aren’t these the ones you’d bought a couple of months back?” Anuj tried to sound sympathetic.
“Yeah, I know,” said Amrita. And there was a pause after that.
Anuj knew what was coming. She wanted another gift.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah, go ahead,” said Anuj.
“Do you like me?”
Anuj stared at her. Alarm bells were ringing inside his head. His intuition was saying something wasn’t right.
“Of course, I do.”
“Really? If you like me, make me feel special.”
Anuj was quiet.
“Buy me a nice pair of Jimmy Choo high heels, pleeeeease. I love that brand.”
Anuj’s mouth was still burning. He needed more water.
Was there anything wrong with Amrita’s wish, rather demand? It did sound shameless to Anuj but well, everyone is different. He knew that Jimmy Choo was outside his student budget. But should he still try to make her feel special by busting his bank, if necessary.
Then he remembered something.
Love is a two-way process. Both partners have to care for each other.
Nisha had told him how Raj, her husband, used to buy her fancy hats to make her feel loved, especially when her hair had fallen off due to chemotherapy.
“Sure. But my birthday too is approaching. What would you like to gift me?” asked Anuj.
He saw Amrita’s face falling. She didn’t expect that one coming.
“You didn’t answer my question. Remember ladies first?” said Amrita.
Anuj saw through the game plan. Amrita was just diverting his question. She was only interested in taking but never in giving.
He was quiet. She started reading his expressions.
“Alright. What gift would you like to have for your birthday?” she asked finally.
She sounded hollow to Anuj. He knew she was not wishing to sound selfish. But she wasn’t serious either.
“Anything. I’m not hung up,” said Anuj.
Amrita looked puzzled. Then she continued:
“Well, in my experience, men love shirts and tie. How about I gift you a shirt? Do you have any particular brand in mind?”
“No. No brand,” Anuj could muster only this much.
Amrita looked confused.
“Are you serious? You don’t have any brand in mind,” said Amrita.
“No. Not at all,” said Anuj.
“Okay. What’s your size? 40?” asked Amrita.
Anuj knew 40 size was a bit big for him. He was quite lean.
“No, 38 or 39 fits me better,” said Anuj.
“Can’t be? Are you serious?”
“Yes. I am,” said Anuj.
Both became quiet for a while. Just then, the bill arrived that Anuj paid up. Both languorously got up from their seats and left.
Something wasn’t right about Amrita, Anuj sensed. But what was it? Was thinking of growing rich one day wrong? No.
And the expectation that your future husband should take care of you. Completely. Was that wrong? No.
Was there something wrong with loving Jimmy Choo? No. It’s a matter of taste after all.
Anuj didn’t want to consider Amrita selfish and self-centred. But in his bones he knew there was something that wasn’t clicking with her. She just couldn’t share his values.
They were as apart as the Atlantic and the Pacific Ocean. Two different worlds. Did he judge Amrita too harshly? Maybe.
Maybe she wasn’t as shallow as he thought. Maybe she genuinely wanted to buy him an expensive shirt. And maybe she was serious about their relationship.
Maybe she would find what she was looking for—all the riches of life. Together they may live in a palatial house one day and drive a swanky Mercedes SUV. She may have all the money in the world to indulge in her favourite brands.
But what if—things went wrong? What if the money suddenly disappeared? Or Anuj became sick? Too sick to go to work and earn? Would she still love him?
Anuj wasn’t sure.
Because for Anuj love couldn’t be bothered with brands. Or, buying each other expensive gifts. It had to be about sharing the joys and sorrows of life. To give each other comfort in times of adversity.
That he had learnt from Nisha. And that was the least he expected from a girl like Amrita.
Anuj was glad that he didn’t break his bank trying to buy that Jimmy Choo.
And there was no chance of him getting a shirt or even a handkerchief on his birthday.
Anuj knew that very well.
