I had asked myself,Why should it matter?
It was the way we were, putting the other above ourselves. It is the only way I knew us.
I was walking fast, and I swallowed something; it wasn’t spit.
The pace had dropped as I wandered in the direction of the five-star coffee shop that I had frequented with Ravi. The tabebuias were in bloom, pink and yellow. It was three months since I had last been to this end of the city centre.I didn’t miss the coffee, but I was longing for the privacy a monstrous place like this offers. The coffee shop was spread over 1,200 square feet, only marginally smaller than my house.
Xavier, the waiter who sang and danced to Ravi’s every look and nod, was at the door. His white shirt sparkled. It was either freshly laundered or I had been in the sun for too long. He was in conversation with two tall, heavily built men, dressed in black, shirt to shoe. Heavy boots, big belts.
I waved at Xavier, who lifted his hand in response. His expression was strained. I had caught him at a busy time perhaps. He disengaged himself from the boys in black and was standing a foot or two away from me now. Was it shock I saw in his eyes? Or was it confusion? I couldn’t tell.
It must’ve been me; I was sweating profusely. Xavier had never seen me in this state.
‘Ma’am,’ he said, straightening his back. ‘Sir?’ he asked panic-stricken, his gaze shifting to the coffee shop.
I hadn’t factored in the curiosity Ravi’s absence would create when I decided to get myself tepid five-star coffee. There was a fair chance I would run into Xavier if it wasn’t his day off, and he was likely to bring up Ravi.
I missed Ravi, in an organic fashion. Like a scenic sponge painting I may have replaced with a portrait. It was a seamless affiliation. I don’t remember second-guessing Ravi. What would he say? How would he react? I thought there was mutual respect; maybe there was, but it was also about how Ravi saw things – my life and where he fitted in it.
My knight in shining armour. No one had asked me if I needed one of those.
‘I want a coffee; usual, please, Xavier.’ I placed my order and walked towards an empty table.
I should’ve asked Xavier how he was doing; it had been a while since I had seen him. Ravi had never gone beyond the customary, ‘How is your family?’, which, of course, he knew nothing about. Xavier was a middle-aged man, so I assumed with wife and child. I was wary, though, of starting a conversation I would have no control over. I didn’t know what I wanted to say to a virtual stranger like this waiter, who, funnily enough, was one of the few people who knew about us.
I fixed myself on the first available piece of furniture. It was behind a pillar and a fair distance from the spot Ravi and I preferred. I chose not to occupy that table because it was symbolic of a time when I was in a relationship. Sweaty and torn apart but definitely single.
Xavier had my coffee ready in record time, denting the character of a production that functioned in slow motion.
It’s like they pick the Robusta cherries after you call for a cuppa. Xavier had even got my order right. He had brought the brew along with the hot water and milk on the side without prompting. For some reason, the Long Black, as they call it in this hotel – Americano to the world – was much stronger here than in any other place I have it. The pot of hot water was to save my innards.
I sipped my Long Black, which was more long brown now, slowly, allowing the blast from the air conditioning to dry my skin before opening my phone and tapping the Kindle app. I had stalled at 80 per cent of a book on how India had won her freedom. It was a bruising read. I’m not sure if this is what I should’ve been reading now, but there’s no good time for literature of this nature.
I had gone through a couple of pages, sipping my coffee, munching on the complimentary cookie, when I thought I heard Meena’s voice. Was that her? It was a shrill laugh.My head snapped back in recognition; my gaze shifted from the phone. I looked around me. It was all quiet save for a hollow echo. It was her voice unless I was imagining it. Then I heard a murmur; it came from across the room. What if it was her over here? I looked down at my lap. She was the last person in the world I wanted to meet. I contemplated calling Xavier, paying the bill and running out before I ran into her. But was that really her? Was I conjuring it, or did I really hear her?
I hadn’t sighted any other guests on my way in, but I could tell from the rumpus that I wasn’t the only person in the restaurant. There were more people around. I forced myself to read. My eyes went over the lines on my phone, but my mind wasn’t registering what I was reading. I swiped quickly, backwards and forwards, trying to look busy. Salt Satyagraha. I wondered what that was. Who did that? Why? When? I love salt. I feast on savouries. I was eating a cookie. I was panicking. I put the phone down and closed my eyes.
That’s when I caught the strain again, a low, hissing sound this time. It was coming from somewhere behind me. The laugh followed the click of stilettos. I clenched my hands to stop myself from shaking. Then, slowly, the sharp sound of heels on granite faded, as did the scent, which was familiar yet not quite. I inhaled and exhaled quickly.
It was Meena. I could tell even though I hadn’t seen her, and she wasn’t alone. She was with a man. I couldn’t be sure, but the whiff I had caught wasn’t her perfume. It waspour hommeas the French might say. Was she with Andrew? Before I knew it, I had unseated myself and walked out of the restaurant and into the lobby, from where I spotted her and the man she was with. I caught their rears; they werethe same height. She with the advantage of her footwear, and he with his slick formal shoes. He was Ravi Rao.
I took a couple of steps back into the restaurant. That’s when I noticed that the two men dressed in black, who were positioned at the entrance when I had walked in, weren’t there either. I turned and walked back into the lobby. My eyes scouted the place; they were behind Ravi.
I checked to see if I had my phone. I briefly debated if I should go back to the restaurant or simply exit the place. I wasn’t sure I wanted to see Xavier.
That I wasn’t aware of whatever this was that was playing out before me made me anxious. Maybe it’s the reporter in me. I didn’t know that my ex (of a few months) was meeting my one-time friend, dating her even, maybe.
My phone buzzed. Andrew was calling.
‘Hello,’ I said. I had decided I was not returning to the restaurant. I would go back at some point and pay for the coffee.
‘All okay?’
‘I was meeting a source for a story.’
Why did I lie? Why didn’t I want Andrew to know what I had just seen? Who I had seen?
‘Oh, sorry. Do you want me to call you back later?’
