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‘Everyone errs, Anu, even our parents. You know my mum, don’t you, how she sometimes does the wonkiest of things but whatever she does, she does with the best intentions. All we need to do is convince Ahya and Govind that Pitajee is the best for you. They really do want you to be happy,’ I said, grabbing hold of Anu’s hands.
Anu shook her head. ‘Mom called me today…’
‘And what did Ahya say?’
‘That Dad has a weak heart. He has gone for various tests over the last couple of months…’
‘Oh, come on,’ I groaned. ‘So you should just marry whichever guy they want you to? Else dad will have a heart attack?’ I asked, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
Anu did not reply.
‘Anu, this is nonsense. Govind is one of the sturdiest men I know. He eats like a healthy stallion,’ I said, recalling, with a shudder, the seven paranthas our cook had made for him the last time
he had come to visit his daughter. Suffice it to say, thanks to my recent interactions with Anju Aunty and the subsequent cooking classes, anything vaguely related to paranthas was prone to make me shudder.
Anu gave me a stern look. ‘His heart, Kas…’
‘Oh, come on, Anu! This is just a cheap trick Ahya is playing on you.’
‘Whatever you say, Kas. I know I won’t be able to fight this…’
‘Which is why Ahya has come up with this master plan. To silence you!’ I said, feeling anger surge inside me.
‘You know, Kasturi, I never understood what love was…’ said Anu, a faraway look on her face. ‘I probably still don’t. But I feel physical pain if I think of a situation where Amay is not with me. I see murder if I imagine Amay with someone else. I … I just … love him,’ she said, looking helplessly at me.
‘Why do you love him, Anu?’ I asked her, more out of curiosity than anything else.
‘I just do, Kas. I don’t have one reason, I don’t have many reasons, I don’t have any reasons … I only know that I love him and I love him with all my soul,’ she said, shrugging at me.
Stupidly, I shrugged in return. I got her.
There was silence for the next few minutes as the two of us sat on Anu’s bed, lost in our own thoughts.
‘My dad cried when I left for engineering college,’ she said quietly.
I patted her hand and tried hard to get rid of the deeply disturbing image of the stallion-like Govind Goswami crying.
‘He used to teach me history, a subject I truly hated, for hours before my exams.’
That, to me, sounded a lot like torture, but well, Anu seemed to think differently, so I let it be and nodded my head sympathetically.
‘He would take me to ballet class … Bharatanatyam class …. oh my,’ she said, getting teary-eyed now.
He would drag you to dance class, I said to myself but patted her back nevertheless.
‘Why should I have to choose one over the other?’ she asked me.
‘I know it won’t come to that, Anu,’ I said firmly, a familiar surge of anger rising in my chest.
‘I know it will come to that, Kasturi,’ Anu said, equally firmly.
Pitajee and Anu are the world’s goofiest, cutest couple. They have to, have to, have to be together.
I will stop believing in love if their relationship does not work out.
5.00 a.m.
Talking to Anu has stirred something inside me … something that I had hoped I had buried deep. Memories from more than two years ago have been plaguing me for the last hour, as I lie in my bed, staring at the whale on the ceiling.
