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Joy. Joy. Joy.
I didn’t have the hands of my parents holding mine. I didn’t have Antonio’s either. He let me lead. Seemingly content to follow me anywhere I went. And I went everywhere that I could.
I found myself falling in love again and again. Every day I found myself with something new to love. New to discover. I dug deep and found myself. Me. Divya. Part of my roots.
In all this, Antonio kept following me, silent. He looked so casual in his linen trousers, crisp white Kurta tops and open-toed leather sandals that I could almost forget his background. Oh, who am I kidding? He could be downed in nothing, and his dark vibes would still pull me in like black on white. But sometimes there was a softness to his dark edges, and he looked like he’d lost something. I didn’t dare to ask what.
All I knew was that he shared my relish of beautiful Indian craftsmanship and went tirelessly with me in the streets of Jaipur, looking for traditional Indian jewellery. He surprised me by placing a set on my prickled skin in one particular shop. A gorgeous, heavy, traditional necklace with matching dangling earrings and bangles. Tears clogged in my throat till he whispered gruffly in my ears, “Promise me you’ll wear them tonight.” What had I expected? I kept my promise and rode him in the night, wearing nothing but the new jewels. Now I had earned my keep.
He made no secret that he found sarees sexy. When we were roaming around on the banks of the river Ganga, he bought me a few of them in Banaras, one of the oldest cities in India. Later on, in the privacy of our room, I showed him how I could drape the nine-yard-long fabric on me without a stitch underneath, only for him to show me how quickly he could undress me with a tug and a twist.
He seemed to take to the country as much as I did. He watched me with a glint in his eyes, listening to the beautiful music. I didn’t need to understand the language to appreciate the beauty of the flowing words. It seemed neither did he.
He joined me in any street side stall I would spring into, trying out all the different types of dosas, paratas, and kottus. Only Cora never got to taste the deliciousness of the local delicacies except for a dry rotti. At least that’s what I thought until I caught Antonio sneaking food into her cute little mouth time after time. I should have known when those small greedy eyes followed the trail of food to my mouth that she’d had a taste before. I let it go. I just loved that she could experience this with me, even though she would never remember it.
There were so many things to try. The little girl in me was awake with all the stories I had ever heard from my dad, but it was the woman I was now that touched, tasted, and enjoyed the India I experienced, even more so with the man at my side and the baby in my arms.
The only true disappointment was that I never truly fit into India, either. In England, I was not fully English, and it turned out that in India, I was not fully Indian, with many people not recognising me as part Indian and, on some rare occasions, when some simply refused to acknowledge me as Indian at all.
I tried to take comfort in Antonio’s words. You’re too special to fit into just one country, mia cara.
I knew that. I knew I was special to not have just one but two cultures in my skin. But I still had a hard time accepting it even though it was the opinion of a few. My father’s family disowning my father and not acknowledging me and my mum had cut deep, leaving sharp wounds. The feeling of never being good enough for anyone except for my parents was something I had a tough time living with.
I woke up early to the hum of the ceiling fan. A heavy humidity hung in the room, rudely sticking to my skin and sucking the air out of my lungs.
I crept out of his arms and got dressed in a short linen dungaree dress. I didn’t bother to add a bra underneath. The maid, who came in the morning to this house in Goa we rented, wasn’t due for another hour, but the heat in the air had me wanting another one of those delicious mango juices to cool me off.
I made my way in our one-floor bungalow towards the kitchen, my bare feet silent on the terracotta floor. It was small and cosy, just the way I liked it. Full of wood, white, and colourful details, like the bright blue coloured shutters on every window. I peeped in on Cora, lying on her belly, naked except for a Pamper. She slept soundly under a mosquito net, hugging her rabbit. This baby could sleep through a storm. I paused at the living room window, looking out towards the beach. Dark clouds were gathering with impending rain, which would explain the suffocating heat floating over the house like a blanket of doom.
Hot. More than usual. My feet stuck to the floor when I pattered to the kitchen. I smacked to a stop. Sneha, our maid, stood in the middle. She was early and already finishing up preparing the meals.
A flush hit my face. I wasn’t decent without a bra.
She looked up. “Good morning, madam,” she said cheerfully.
“Good morning.” I blushed. “How are you today?”
She did a wobble with her head that most Indians did. It was neither a yes nor a no, but more a dance of your head that could mean anything from a yes, no, good, maybe, or anything in between.
“I come early, madam, for rain. I make mango juice, and I go,” she said sweetly in her simple English. “You want try?” she asked, holding up a mango.
Why not?
I always had a tough time cutting one of them, and it was time I learned it before we left back home in a few days’ time.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
ANTONIO
The emptiness of the bed woke me up. Even though it was hot enough to be a fucking oven, a shiver penetrated my body. The corner of my eye caught Divya sneaking out of the room. I resisted the urge to pull her back into bed.
They were rare, the times she was out of bed before me. I liked to keep it that way. Waking up in an empty bed was not something I wanted to familiarise myself with, even though I had spent years doing nothing other than enjoying it. Women were good to fuck, but not to share my bed with. Their long hair in my mouth and cuddle-demanding closeness pissed me off. Another thing she had taken from me.
With a groan, I rolled onto my back, giving up on sleep now that she wasn’t near me. I didn’t understand this constant need for her. What a fool I had been to think having her would resolve everything. She was an addiction in my blood. The more I had her, the more I wanted her. If I couldn’t have her, I wanted her near me in my line of sight.
She pulled me to her with her swaying body and magical eyes. She radiated pure innocence when she was lying on the floor playing with my baby, unaware of her naked belly and visible cleavage. Then she would change into a hot siren riding me wildly, wearing only pieces of jewellery that did nothing to outshine her body.
She was fucking gorgeous. A man’s wet dream. She was mine. Which is exactly why I hadn’t told her. I hadn’t wanted to tell her when I came home a few weeks ago to find her playing with Cora, distracting me with her naked skin and innocent looks. Instead, I had packed them all up and rushed off to India.
