Page 110 of 12 Years
‘Payal Jain,’ I said. ‘And it doesn’t matter. She’s married now. The wedding happened last week,’ I said.
‘What?’ both my parents said in unison.
For the next half an hour, I gave my parents a summary of whatever had transpired between Payal and me, minus the super-intimate bits.
‘When she left, I felt pain. I drank to ease the pain, until … you know what happened.’ I finished my story. I waited for my parents to react. Nobody said or did anything for a minute.
Finally, my mother stood up. ‘I made gajar ka halwa as well. I’ll get it from the kitchen,’ she said and left.
A Punjabi mother’s best response to any crisis is an extremely high-calorie dessert.
My father remained silent until my mother returned from the kitchen. The beautiful aroma of ghee and caramelized sugar filled the room. I took a bowl full of the halwa and began eating. It tasted delicious. If there was a Nobel Prize for gajar ka halwa, my mother would get it, hands down.
‘There’s no shortage of girls for you. Even now,’ my mother said.
‘Evennow, is it?’ I said, blowing air on a spoonful of halwa to cool it.
‘You’re young, handsome, educated. An only child. No kids. I still get rishtas for you.’
‘Please, Mummy. No more rishtas. I hate this rishta business.’
‘If you’re lonely, just accept it, beta. You’re still young. You can marry again,’ my father said.
‘No, Dad. I don’t want to get married. Don’t worry, I’ll get over Payal.’
‘Saket, beta, don’t drink so much,’ my mother said, genuine concern in her voice.
‘Yes, I’ll be careful’ I said. ‘I promise you. But you must also promise not to pity me. Or go on a mission to find another girl for me. Payal happened I don’t know how. I’ll never let myself go emotionally like that again with any other girl.’
‘You have a long life ahead of you. Don’t think like that,’ my father said.
‘I tried marriage, and failed. Tried love, failed again. All this isn’t for me.’
‘What is for you then?’ my mother said.
‘My work. My workouts. My fitness. My friends. My parents. There’s a lot more to life than having a partner or a wife or whatever,’ I said and stood up.
‘Where are you going?’ my mother said.
‘I’m going for a long run. I haven’t exercised in a month.’
‘Wow, look who’s back in town,’ Mudit said, giving me a long hug.
After spending two weeks in Chandigarh, I took an evening flight back to Mumbai, and came straight to the club from the airport.
‘Thank you for saving my life,’ I said.
‘You think I would’ve let you get away so easy?’
‘I love you,’ I said.
‘How are you, bro?’ Mudit said.
‘Surviving,’ I said.
‘You’ll be fine. My suggestion is that you sink yourself in work. Let’s line up an act for you. How about the coming weekend?’
‘Give me some time. Before doing stand-up again, I just want to get back to a normal life in Mumbai. I want to hit the gym hard.’
