‘Can I ask you a question, Brahmi?’
She nodded.
‘Did you think you will marry the boy you cut your wrists for?’
‘Both of them.’
‘You cut yourself twice for love?’
‘Isn’t love death by a thousand cuts? I’m glad I am through with two. Why are you looking at me like that?’
‘What did the second boy do?’
‘I didn’t cut myself for him but for how stupid I was to keep lying to myself that he will change, that he really loved me, to believe in every lie he told me. I was punishing myself.’
What I felt at that moment was a lot of jealousy mixed with a feeling of incompetence. I was a relationship novice and had no advice to share or similar anecdotes to bond over. The only girl I have ever liked—before Brahmi—never knew I liked her and that was five years ago.
Once they arrived and we settled down, Dada leant away from us and towards the man on the other table who was listening to the commentary of the first World Cup match. England–Sri Lanka.
Next to Dada, Zubeida sat in her distracting and flowing black burqa. Only her round face was visible through it, like it had been framed.
It looked suffocating but her smile betrayed no such emotion. She looked at Brahmi and me, still smiling warmly, her brown eyes devoid of any malice. Her burqa screamed ‘Them! Those people!’ but her eyes said‘Us. We.’
‘You’re so beautiful,’ said Brahmi.
‘That’s so sweet of you. You’re very cute yourself,’ said Zubeida and touched Brahmi’s hand lightly.
‘Thank you,’ said Brahmi and smiled.
‘You’re so quiet, Raghu. You wanted to see me. Your Dada told me you have some questions for me. Don’t you?’
‘I have three questions,’ I said.
‘Raghu? I can’t believe you’re going to do this—’ Dada started to say.
Zubeida interrupted him. ‘Let him ask.’
‘How did you meet my brother?’ I asked.
‘Oh. I thought you had some tough ones for me. This one is easy. Your brother and I were in IIT Delhi. Though we never talked in college. It was when we started going to the same office that we started to talk. So I met him way before I first talked to him. Phew. What is the next one?’ she asked and looked at Brahmi who smiled back.
‘Why did you fall in love with him?’
‘Raghu? That’s rude,’ said Dada and kicked me under the table.
‘It’s not, Anirban. It’s only fair he has questions,’ she said and looked at me. Not even a single hair peeked out of her burqa. She continued, ‘Umm . . . well . . . your Dada is the most intelligent, kind man I have ever met. The choice, if you put it like that, was obvious. I understand your reservations, Raghu. My family would react the same way if they come to know. Before Dada I hadn’t even been friends with a boy. Love was never an option for me.’
‘My last question. Why didn’t you fall in love with someone from your own community? A Musalman boy? We could have avoided all of this.’
‘You can’t choose whom you love. Did you choose to be friends with your gorgeous friend here?’ said Zubeida.
‘Of course I did. She was the most intelligent girl in my class. The choice was obvious, unlike yours. Weren’t there Musalman boys in IIT or at your office?’ I asked irritably.
Zubeida laughed. ‘There were but I never talked to them.’
‘Then why did the two of you do this when you knew how your parents would react? It’s just wrong, isn’t it, that you should decide to hurt them like this? When you had choices, why didn’t you choose otherwise? It’s not as if you wouldn’t have found anyone else! They are billions of Hindus and Muslims alike. Then why?’
‘Raghu. You shouldn’t talk to her like this,’ Dada said angrily.
