The final approach to the Big Buddha is on foot, up a flight of steps that lead directly to the base of the statue. People are crowding about, trying to fit the huge statue and themselves in the picture frames. A couple is making a dance video. A guy is shooting himself in a deep meditative pose. I take my phone out and click a few pictures myself. It’s impressive. I try to not rate it in my head, like others have on Google reviews. The drive was nice, and that’s what matters.
It’s calm here, and the view breathtaking, and I can see the entire island stretching out below. Its beaches, towns and forests, and I understand the lure of coming here. I send my pictures to Amruta. I have just looked up when I spot her in the viewfinder. I click the picture. Of her. Standing with her back towards me.
Aanchal.
She turns just as I’m about to move away. And she spots me.
‘Send me the pictures, too,’ she says with a smile.
10.
Daksh Dey
‘Where are your friends?’ I ask Aanchal as she digs into the plate of noodles we have ordered from the restaurant stationed near the Big Buddha to rip off tourists.
‘You know, he’s not my friend.’
‘What’s his name?’
‘Saket.’
‘That’s a generic name,’ I say.
‘Daksh is a generic name, too. So is Aanchal,’ she counters. ‘Would you rather have me be with someone named Aaryan?’
‘You would have to date someone half your age, then.’
She slurps her noodles. ‘We aren’t dating though,’ she says. ‘We are planning to get married.’
Something twists in my chest. I try not to show it.
‘Gaurav told me you were on some matrimonial websites. Is that where you found him?’
She nods. She tells me he’s leaving his job to have a queer little start-up where he will produce machines to help with tennis coaching. I want to laugh but thank God I don’t, and I Google it instead.
‘This is impressive. He has a quote from Nick Kyrgios. That’s... something.’
She catches my gaze. ‘You don’t have to be fake-impressed.’
I point to my phone screen. ‘This is genuinely something,’ Isay, but I know she’s not convinced.
‘Are you going to order something else?’ she asks as I dig into her plate of noodles. ‘Because I’m too hungry.’
‘Let’s get one more of these.’
She waves to the waiter and asks him to get us another plate of the same.
‘I thought you would be married by now,’ she tells me. It’s a statement and a taunt rolled into one. ‘So does everyone who listens to your podcast.’
I knew this question would come. After Amruta asked me out, and we announced it on our podcast, the question gets raised quite frequently. It’s one of the most asked questions whenever we do a Q&A or bump into a listener somewhere. We skirt it a few times, we tell people we are too busy to plan a wedding and we don’t want to do just a court thing.
She holds my gaze firmly and says, ‘You better get married before I do. It’s only fair.’
‘We are as good as married,’ I explain. ‘We work together, Rabbani and her boys go to the same school. She stays over, I stay over at her place. It’s like we’re married.’
Who am I fooling? We aren’t married. Being married and being something like married are two entirely different things. Say what you will, but signing that piece of paper, walking around the sacred fire—it’s not nothing.
She catches me, like she always used to. ‘It’s not the same, Daksh, you know that. And I’m warning you, get married, okay?’
