Page 78 of 12 Years
‘He’s not!’ Payal screamed.
‘Look at her, she’s a kid,’ Payal’s mother continued. ‘How old are you?’
Damn, did she have to ask me this now?And what was I supposed to do? Lie and say twenty-eight? No, lying, on top of getting caught like this, would be a terrible idea. I chose to remain quiet instead.
‘Answer her. How old are you?’ Anand said.
‘I’m thirty-four,’ I said.
‘What? Did you say thirty-four?’
‘Yes, Uncle,’ I said, my head lowered as if I’d admitted to something shameful. I wanted to add that I had fifteen per cent body fat and could bench 150 kilos. I don’t think he’d care.
‘She’s twenty-two,’ Anand said. ‘Do you realize that?’
‘I do, Uncle. But—’
‘But what?’ Anand said in a stern voice. ‘Is this what you do? Trap young girls and use them?’
‘No, Uncle. Not at all. I love your daughter. Too much. I’ve never loved anyone in my life as much as I love her,’ I said.
From the corner of my eyes, I saw Payal secretly make a heart symbol by bringing her hands together and making the tips of her fingers touch. ‘I love you,’ she mouthed silently.
I don’t know why, but I broke down in tears. How did this even happen? This was supposed to be the meeting where I impressed her parents. I had wanted to knock their socks off. Instead, they’d caught me wearing nothingbutsocks. I kicked myself for making this stupid, impulsive plan to sneak into Payal’s house earlier.
‘You don’t love her. This is pure lust,’ Anand said.
‘He does,’ Payal said, in tears herself.
Payal’s mother gave her a tissue and held her hand. ‘No, beta, don’t cry,’ she said. ‘Young age is like that. We all make mistakes. That’s why we get our children married at an early age.’
‘It’s not a mistake, Aunty,’ I said. ‘We’ve been in a relationship for a long time now.’
‘How long?’ Anand said.
‘Almost a year,’ I said. ‘I’m self-sufficient and well-qualified. I’m from a good family. I can take care of your daughter well. This is not what you think. We were stupid today, yes. But this is not all there is to us.’
‘What family? Where are you from?’ Payal’s mother said.
‘My parents live in Chandigarh,’ I said.
‘And they didn’t get you married?’ Yashodha said. ‘Why aren’t you married till now?’
Payal and I looked at each other. I decided I couldn’t lie anymore. ‘I was married,’ I said.
Payal’s parents gasped.
‘Meaning?’ Payal’s mother said.
‘I’m divorced now. We separated four years ago.’
Payal’s mother rolled her eyes at her husband, cueing him to react with appropriate disgust and anger.
‘Divorcee? You’re a divorcee,’ Anand said, as if I’d carried an infectious disease into their house. He stood up and began pacing around the living room. Like all Indian husbands, he decided the best response was to blame his wife.
‘Yashodha, this is all because of you. You’ve not been able to give good values to our children,’ Anand said.
‘And you? The one who said, “My daughter is so bright, she will go to Sheperd”?’
