Page 159 of One Indian Girl
‘What will she do?’ I said. I don’t know why I had such concern for his ex-wife.
‘She will figure it out. Financially, she is more than okay. I gave her half of whatever I had. No questions asked. In return, she agreed to co-parenting and mutual consent.’
I couldn’t believe I was discussing a divorce at my wedding venue.
Neel continued, ‘I am sorry, I will skip the details. The point is,’ he said and exhaled, ‘my marriage is over.’
‘I am sorry, Neel,’ I said.
‘It’s okay,’ he said and massaged his temples. ‘It had to happen. Should have happened long ago.’
I checked my phone. I had missed calls from two of my cousins.
‘I hope you are okay. I need to go now. You had something else to say? The third thing?’ I said.
‘Yes. There’s a small plane waiting at the Dabolim airport.’
‘Your chartered flight?’
‘Yeah, Radhika,’ he said and leaned forward to hold my hand. ‘Our flight.’
‘What?’ I said. I didn’t withdraw my hand. I just gave a quick glance to confirm the door was shut.
‘I know this will be a huge mess for you. Your entire family is here. There are huge expenses. But hear me out.’
‘What?’
‘I will cut a cheque right now, at the hotel lobby. I will pay for everything your family or the groom’s side spent for this wedding. So financially, it’s a non-issue. You just come with me, and we fly away on the plane. To Hong Kong. To wherever, actually.’
‘Neel, are you kidding me?’
‘No. I mean it. I have wasted too much time. I have over-analysed, treated our love like it was a financial deal. It doesn’t work like that. You have to do these things from here.’
He touched his chest to indicate his heart.
‘You want me to elope with you?’ I said, still absorbing his proposal-cum-plan.
‘You can talk to your family. I can meet them as well. When we reach Hong Kong we can get married.’
‘What if I don’t want to be in Hong Kong?’
Neel became quiet for a few seconds.
‘It would be nice if we can be there for a while,’ he finally said. ‘My kids are there. But if it bothers you we can move to another city. I will commute. See them from time to time.’
I looked at him searchingly. I knew him well enough to tell he wasn’t lying. Neel Gupta, partner at Goldman Sachs, never uttered a word if he didn’t mean it. I kept my gaze on him for a minute.
‘Say something,’ he said.
‘What am I supposed to say? I have to dance to chittiyan kalaiyan now.’
‘What’s that?’
‘A Bollywood song. For my sangeet.’
‘Wait, that’s Punjabi, right? What does it mean?’
‘Fair-complexioned wrists, white wrists, actually,’ I said.
