Page 93 of 12 Years
‘Why the hell do I have to be in jail? I’ll marry that girl. I’m ready to do a court marriage with her. Right now.’
‘Is she though?’ the inspector said. ‘Is she ready to marry you?’
‘Ignore my friend, sir,’ Mudit said. ‘Is there a way we can leave without having to stay in the lockup?’
‘No. And if you want to leave tomorrow morning, you must promise me something.’
‘What?’ I said, as he was looking at me.
‘You cannot contact her. Or go near her.’
‘Is it illegal to do that?’ I said.
‘Don’t teach me law. I can still file three cases against you. Keep defending yourself in court for years then.’
‘No, sir. It’s fine, sir. We can stay in here tonight,’ Mudit said.
‘Good. At least you have one sensible friend,’ Patil said, signalling to the cops to take us to the lockup.
We were taken to an eight-foot-by-ten-foot cell that we shared with three other men who remained unbothered bythe cramped and dank room. I didn’t know what crimes they were in for. Hell, I didn’t even know what crime I was in for. I used to live in a multi-million-dollar house in Silicon Valley. I had a job in private equity. What the hell was I doing in a jail cell in Ghatkopar?
Mudit fell asleep soon. The man next to me farted in his sleep. It was disgusting on one level, and funny on another. It felt like my own life had become one big dark comedy act.
My mental chatter continued even as I lay on the cold cell floor and tried to sleep: Was Inspector Patil right? Did Payal not want to be with me? How could that be possible? She loved me. She’d told me so a million times. Why didn’t she walk away with me then? Because of her parents? Should I have said something else? Should I have said, ‘Let’s go get married in court right now?’
Well, we couldn’t have gone to a court right away even if she’d agreed. The courts remain closed on weekends. But shouldn’t they keep at least a few courts open so that marriages can be registered on weekends? That’s usually when people decide to get married, isn’t it? Anyway, why was I thinking about judicial reforms?
Payal had not come with me. End of story. She had gone right back inside. And her parents, they probably hated me now. At this point, they would rather their daughter was a lesbian than be with me. Are there Jain lesbians? There ought to be, right?
See, that’s how my brain works. The most random nonsense mixed with some real emotions. Mudit woke up at one point and looked at me.
‘Try to sleep, bro,’ he said.
‘Can’t,’ I replied.
He patted my shoulder and shut his eyes again.
‘Payal will come back to me no, bro? She won’t marry that stupid Parimal, right?’ I said.
Mudit didn’t answer. He only shrugged and went back to sleep.
I thought Payal would call or message me.
Five days—120 hours—had passed since her engagement. I sat on my window ledge in agony, staring at my phone, waiting for her text.
‘Hi baby,’ she would say, followed by ‘Are you okay?’ and ‘I’m so sorry about that day.’ I’d be upset, but I would ultimately forgive her. She would somehow sneak out and come over to my place. We would make love and promise to never leave each other. I would then tell her that my fears about getting married a second time were overblown. I would drive to the family court in the Bandra Kurla Complex right then and make her my wife. That’s it. No Parimal Jain, no Anand Jain or Anyone Jain could come in our way after that.
My phone rang. But it wasn’t her. I picked up Mudit’s call.
‘How are you feeling?’
‘Fucked.’
‘She didn’t message, I guess.’
‘No.’
‘Oh, well.’
