‘Aanchal, I want precisely that. Every word of what you just said. I want to hear Aditya complain. I want to crib to him about our kids whom we will call Ariana or some fancy-ass name like that. I want to talk about his work, gossip about someone in his office or my friends’ circle, watch a Netflix show and then go to sleep. I want us to plan family trips, and then scream at Aditya for not having packed enough chargers, and listen to him yell at me for letting the kids play in the water for too long. We will grow fat, hate our bodies, then grow thin again. We will give each other love and anxiety and sadness and anger issues. We will want to kill each other but also love each other to death.’
Her idea of her future makes my skin crawl. I always saw Vanita as a globe-trotting, joke-cracking, dance-floor-tearing-up CEO.
‘How can you want that? It sounds like you want to put your hand into a blender because you like the colour red!’
‘How can you want to be a VP in Singapore? Or the US? Or Australia?’ she snaps back. ‘It’s like God gave you 7 billion people and you choose to be alone.’
It’s a faulty argument. I have people for everything—Kanika to go watch movies with, Rajat for general hangouts, Smita for shopping and Arunima for window shopping. Why would I want only one person to do everything with me?
‘You’re going to regret it,’ I warn her. ‘When you’re forty and you realize your kids are spoilt teenagers who never look up from their screens and snap at you for being uncool, when your husband thinks you’re no longer hot, you’re going to want to go back and change everything.’
Vanita looks at me, horrified. ‘You think I won’t be hot at forty? C’mon.’
‘That part I got wrong.’
We have been through this argument before, and it ends exactly where we started. In disagreement. And the changing of topics.
I check the time. ‘Another hour and Gaurav will land. To be honest, I’m way more excited about the clothes he’s getting me than your wedding.’
Vanita’s eyes light up. ‘All of Aditya’s friends will die looking at you!’ chirps Vanita. ‘I can’t believe you’re going to wear better clothes than I will at my wedding. That’s like stabbing me in the back and then twisting the knife for good measure.’
I am wearing Satya Paul, Sabyasachi and Manish Malhotra for the wedding. Gaurav, my stupid but famous brother, made that happen.
‘Why aren’t you my size?’ she complains and exhales deeply. ‘Should have got married to Gaurav, then I would be leveraging his contacts.’
‘I’m surprised he’s even coming to the wedding,’ I confess. ‘That dumbo has watched too many movies and is expecting you to cancel the wedding at the last moment and run away with him. You should have seen how much he cried when you announced the wedding. He cursed me as if it was my job to make you fall in love with him.’
She chuckles. ‘Cute. But well, at least he’s famous. He’s coming alone, right? Daksh is not coming.’
This morning when Gaurav had confirmed that he would arrive solo, a wave of relief washed over me. The mere thought of facing Daksh one more time had filled me with dread, and I had become consumed by the fear that he would somehow ruin my dear friend’s wedding. In my desperation, I resorted to my tried-and-tested coping mechanism. Days ago, I had scrawled ‘Jai Shree Ram’ on to my palm, determined not to let it fade until I received word that he wouldn’t be attending.
‘Thank God he’s not coming,’ I say.
‘He’s much better than that Rajat guy. And don’t give me that nonsense that he’s your best friend or whatever,’ grouses Vanita. ‘Two people who have had sex can never be friends.’
I open the second can of gin. I can sense the beginnings of tipsiness in my body. Vanita can believe that two people who’ve known each other for only six months can get married and spend the next fifty years together, but people can’t be friends after having sex for a sum total of six times.
‘How many times do I have to tell you that Rajat has a girlfriend? Nandini,’ I tell her irritably.
Vanita swats me away like I’m some housefly buzzing around her ears. ‘One has to be blind not to see how much he’s into you. For the last time, Aanchal, one can’t be friends with people they have had sex with.’
‘Rajat’s going to marry Nandini. He’s just looking for the right opportunity to ask her.’
Rajat’s decision is more prudent than Vanita’s. Nandini, already twenty-eight, feels the weight of her parents’ concern as she approaches the dreaded age for Indian women. Both Rajat and Nandini boast of an IIT education and successful careers in software, comfortably situated within the same social sphere. Unlike Vanita, neither of them has to sacrifice their ambitions in the name of matrimony.
Vanita’s not convinced. ‘Even if they find Nandini and Rajat’s skeletons cuddling in their grave centuries from now, I’d still know he’s head over heels in love with you. I bet he’s picturing you when he’s deep inside Nandini.’
‘I think you’re jealous that I have a best friend besides you.’
‘I’m jealous, but I’m also sad for him.’
‘Be sad for yourself. Putting all your eggs in one basket,’ I remark.
‘Technically, he will be putting something of his into a basket of my eggs.’
‘. . .’
‘My uterus, my eggs, he will be putting—’
