Serendipity

Chapter 1

“Independent thinking is mocked in India. There is no support for free voice that raises conceivable but uncomfortable questions. It is a flat social mindset that we have to live with. We, as countrymen, gulp down copious amounts of shit that passes under the tag, traditions or should I say, Sanskriti. It is a flat social mindset that we have to live with. There is no niche one can tap into. To anyone with any grasp of our history, this statement is a wild joke. My knowledge of our traditions is not what we are told. Our traditions are the scriptures written centuries ago in the Puranas, the Vedas, on the walls of temples, and from what I see, they are colourful, exotic, encourage open and broad thinking and spoke openly about ‘acceptance’, Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam, One world family. We knew the power of the universe, we knew the world is round before Galileo, we profess the theory of Evolution before Darwin, and we knew the folly of humanity. We knew virtually everything. I have a feeling that all this has been hidden from me for a reason…”

It was the eve of my departure to the US eight years ago; I was, as usual giving a rhetoric sermon justifying the reason for turning my back on the country, where I was born, to Vinny dada. Then, I was completely overshadowed by unfathomable reality which took seven years in making. I continued with my defensive act.

“We don’t realize what a wealth of information and understanding we are sitting on. We were the creators of free thought. We were the purveyors of alternative thinking. No other country has ever thought with such depth and realization of the mysterious workings of life. There is much to learn from tradition. Our tradition asks us to think completely out of the box.”

"Then why don’t you show some courage and tap into the niche that you are so confident about… then, opting to turn your back. Why don't 'you' take the fuckin shovel and dig into yourself." He continued his blunt carnage, "And, tell me how are you going to learn the 'real traditions' by staying or settling in US." I had tasted the dose of my own medicine. Till today those words, impugn my state of mind, cast doubts on my own actions. Did somewhere, Vinny and I both know then, what I was talking was just because it sounded logical but I lacked depth? In retrospect I think, those impregnating words, coupled with disconfirming fate has brought me back to India.

I, Vishal Sawant, later variously called Vishu, dhampu, piece of work, and worst, AV aka American Vishu, had become heavily embroiled in fate. I will soon be thirty one. In a nutshell, I am hyper skeptic where others, particularly are gullible, and gullible where others seem skeptical. I am skeptical about confirmation – though only when errors are costly. I am about disconfirmation. Having plenty of data will not provide confirmation, but a single instance can dis-confirm. In my story, I had plenty of data, but a single instance or perhaps, one evening, disconfirmed my non-skepticism, hyper optimistic attitude, to hyperskeptic individual. Believe me the errors were costly, expensive that I am still not done paying the dues.

Tomorrow I leave for Boston, and wonder, if I’ll meet Tanu. My Tanu. “I’m prepared to wear the AV label, again?” I’m no more American, but Indian. IV aka Indian Vishu, doesn’t fit me, as the other Vishal is still in India somewhere, and in an own way should be righteously called IV. Today, as I am taking a walk down memory lane, to savor yesterday, and confront the nostalgia - as usual, I miss Tanu, who, has managed to leave a sour, and sweet footprint; yet so unaware of it and yet so successfully. Vinny’s departing words was not the only reason to be in India. But were enough to fuel the buried anxiety. The decision to move on, without Tanu, and to be as far as possible from her life, was I guess the main reason.



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Maturity, money, relationships, success, and growth became relative terms as soon as I landed in US. Freedom, individuality, and sex become over rated terms. The rhetoric were overshadowed by more subtle meaningful words - mellowness, pragmatic thinking, acquiesces, holistic growth, trajectory changes and the obvious, luck, how can I forget. Syracuse came to me as a city without colors. Black and White were the only colors I knew for the first six months in Syracuse. The first six months, I was in denial to accept: I was in a different country; the people and the place tend to look and feel different. I missed Bombay, my family, and friends. To add to the melancholy was the unforgiving winter.

I remember Ankit’s words during a college field trip to New York City, where he was from. “Stop comparing Bombay with Manhattan. You are in a different country. It has to be different; else it would be called India and not US. The sooner you get used to this fact, the sooner you will start loving this country.” Then it was summer of 2002, time for change, time to accept and surrender. I accepted people and situations that I could handle, and surrendered when it was difficult. It took many sleepless nights, panic attacks, with the morbid fear of failure. I realized that, I have to be the change. Summer followed by fall brought the spice back in my life. Friends became family, and studies became dear and not an obligation. Syracuse Downtown was the place to vent out…and suddenly Bombay became ten thousand miles apart, in a country called India, where I had spent twenty two years of my life. Syracuse was home. This harsh really hit me, before I could completely sync in. Krishna and Ganesha became one of gods among the three hundred million gods worshiped in India. I became Vishu, and not Hindu or Indian. Unaware then, that after six years, I will be AV.

As life continued adapting and adjusting day by day, the bitter winters and the years passed. To my luck, after graduating I got a job in Syracuse. Lovers came and left before my covert mind even got a chance to taste the sanity of falling in love.

I was a stereotypical Indian, leaving an American dream; owning a fancy car, earning big dollars, climbing the ladder of upward growth every year or two. But I was missing a family. I knew it well, as I missed it. I got sucked into the flat social mindset, as it was in India. Only difference was it was not covered under the blanket of traditions, but of pragmatism: paying the bills, car loans, saving for a dream adobe in the suburbs. The discourse was well established – us V/s them, the first world V/s third world. Vinny’s prophecy had come true: How I am going learn ‘real’ traditions staying in the US.



Vinny's departing words faded, once I met you, Tanu. To your credit, my self indulged life, was short lived. Our strange past connection was the catalyst. Your eyes managed to question my actions, your silence challenged my core thinking paradigm.



“Stay with me, move in, quit your job. I will help you find one, here in Boston. I don’t want you to move to New York or any other place in the US, but Boston. We have this house; it is big and comfortable for two. We built this apartment together... It is our house. Always remember. I am tired of running, turning my back on my past.....want you. I want to get up by your side every morning. Watch you sleep with your mouth open. Share my cigarettes with you, as we talk endlessly about the most banal things. This is not an option, Vishu. Period.” You spoke seldom. But whenever you did, I tried to listen carefully. Many-a-times not realizing where, you are coming from. Today, I think "Did I take your words too literally?"

I am in India, earning much more then I was in the US, matter of fact, more than you and I combined in US. Tanu, I have tapped into a niche and have my own empire. As much as I take pride and ownership, I can still smell the void. I still miss you, I still miss my family. I think about that evening, and ask, “What happened?” aware you are not around. “What happened that, we had to part our ways? Why suddenly, we started dwelling into what was wrong, rather than loving what we had?”

Today, I am in a country, on which I had turned my back seven years ago, in a search to fight ‘traditions’ without any depth or understanding; Today, this country has accepted me without any questions, and welcomed me with luck. Today, this country has taught me to think outside the box. All I had to do is to take a look beneath me – there..laid a plethora of wealth, conceivable and achievable wealth. I am in India, ten thousand miles way from the country which gave me you, and the skills to think radically different. And yet, every passing day, with all this success, I still quest to hear your voice.



Chapter 2

It was an unusual call, on a cold New England Friday morning from Vishal's mother while driving to Albany, on business. Frantically, he had pulled over to the shoulder, on Interstate 90E. Whenever his family called at odd hours in India, a sharp uncertain instinct passed his spines. It always reminded him of the day, when he had, picked a call from his brother, who had unconventional conveyed Papa’s demise, due to a heart attack.


“Do you remember the Tendulkars. His daughter is in Boston; Dhampu.” She says in anticipation. “Yes, I do, what about them and can you stop call me Dhampu. Anyways, how are you, and ….”

“We are fine, raja, but listen.” She had continued before he completed. “I want you to call Tanu. Her father Avinash personally called me to ask you to visit her. Maybe she can get your help. She is studying in Boston or something.” He had ignored her instruction, assuming a trick to entice him into arrange marriage. As her expectations had accelerated, since his father's death.

Inculcated by her dad, Tanu, had called Vishal, that evening. Personally; he wanted to pass on her invitation, but lack of social life due to overwhelming work, he accepted her offer to meet her, at her house in Framingham.

She stood outside her house, as his car pulled into her drive way. She has a slender face, pleasingly feline features, spare, straight brows. Bright orange, GAP jumper, blue jean, tightly hugging her slender body, which was shivering in cold. In her long undone hair, eyes carrying delicate rimless frame, he was not sure, if she is the same Tanu he had seen, maybe fifteen years ago. On the phone, he hadn’t bothered to ask what she looked like, assuming he’d recognize her, but now he is no longer sure.

“Tanu” he says, approaching her.

“Hey, Dhampu.” She says, opening her main door. “No, it is Vishal, now.”Nobody in US had ever called him Dhampu and Suddenly he realizes that she knows him from his past. Past he had long forgotten, from a country he no longer associates himself with.

She shared a house with five other Indian FOB housemates, whom she barely knew by name. The melancholy smell of her house, reminded him of the life during the hard three month of unemployment, where he had shared similar house, with seven other Indian graduate students, in Wooster. A town not far, from Framingham. She introduced him as his friend from Bombay, “Guys, this is Vishal - he was once my neighbor in Bombay,” as appose to a Dhampu. They didn’t care to know his name. Sensing the hostility, he proposed a Dinner in Cambridge Square to avoid any acquiesces with her housemates, which he had not planned for.

She’s been living in the suburbs, for almost three months: spending her days, searching for IT jobs, adjusting to the harsh winter and the uncared American life. She had visited Boston only once, and has not heard of Cambridge nor was aware of its proximity to MIT and Harvard.

“The journey is not so much about changing landscapes as about seeing the landscape with new eye. I hope you see the new landscape with a new eye, as I did. Believe me, you will love America, more then the country, the new perceptive. Yes, the journey is difficult, and also accepting the change will be a daunting task, but have the proclivity to change. After all, talli ek hath se nahi bachti, na? Cheers...Welcome to America.”



Vishal quoted, awkwardly glad to be with her, while they were sitting at a bar in Cambridge. To which she replied, “right……whatever,” and chucked her second round of Long island ice tea. She was down with two shorts of Tequila, and had finished her second long island ice tea. For the first time in her life and for the first time in America she was in bar drinking profusely, with a stranger. Well…not exactly a complete stranger. Tanu was in America to get over a broken relationship. While, he was struggling to adjust in America, she was in love with her Vishal in India. He would be soon made aware of: the other Vishal, her Vishal, but not tonight. It was this Vishal’s night with her, to know her, to fall for her. To his despair, he conveniently assumed, that she was in US like other Fresh of the boat IT consultants, to earn thousands, by faking their resume, working for a multinational company, with a desi consultant, who has a fake company either starting with “info” or ending with “soft.”

The night was full of hopes for both. Tanu had never experienced this type of freedom. In India, she was independent, but it always bothered her that even at twenty eight, she had to call her parents to tell them her ware about. At times, she conveniently ignored their call and eventually slept at Vishal’s place, without any remorse, of what might be going through her concern parents. They would frantically call all her close friends, at two in the morning and sleep worried in the early morning hours. Once, after weeks of ignoring their call, her dad called Vishal and spoke to Tanu, who was sleeping right next to him. She had no choice but to answer. Her father demanded Tanu to get back home, and yelled “Enough is enough; you have already crossed all the boundaries. Stop being disrespectful and get hold of your life." Sharp words, mellowed as he continued, "For how many years, Tanu, for many years…..you are going punish me. Please be little more considerate, I am your father, beta.” Without realizing why her dad had yelled, she returned home, and didn’t speak to him for two months nor did she speak to Vishal. When she was in her teens, she had stopped talking to her father for five years. One morning, when she had graduated from college she had started talking to him without giving any explanation. Glad to be father again, to his only daughter, he didn't bother to find causality, in her actions.



Tanu was a little purged by the time the night folded. Home was four hour drive for him. He had a friend in the Boston, where he could crash, but it was too late to call. It was long weekend and nothing on the plate for the next day, but hopes. He was hopeful; Tanu will invite him for a coffee. As the bar closed, they decided to take a walk on the river font, next to MIT campus. As the night was getting chiller, the alcohol was fading out.

Unaccustomed to the weather, she was shivering in dismay. He offered her, his jacket. Their hands briefly met, in the exchange. Both noticed the touch, acknowledge it. The jacket smelled of his cologne, strong but soothing, mixed with smell of leather. Suddenly she felt his warmth, as if he had hugged her. Suddenly her mind wondered, as she felt connected to him; some one who is close to her from her past, in this new world. Her mind pondered, ‘How he smelt,’ as she moved closer to him. Unable to resist a sudden and an overwhelming urge, she holds his cold hand. Felt his rough palms cladding her soft touch. It was the closest she as ever got to any other man, other then her Vishal, willingly. theyAfter a short walk he could see her panting. As briskly walked towards the car, he hugged by her arms. Then, he didn’t know, this serendipitous gesture, would lead into a relationship, he was waiting for seven years.

That night she invited him to her house for coffee, where they passed out after talking till early hours, on the couch. Before reality could hit them, they where dating each other.

In the days that followed, he begins to remember things about Tanu, images that come to him without warning while he is sitting at his desk at work, or during meetings, or while standing in the mornings under the shower. Remembers her at social parties, marriages they had attained, religious gathering. He recollects the way she would randomly walk into his parent’s house spending hours talking to his mother, helping his mother in the kitchen. Every morning he would cross the street across their building with her, for the school bus, while her parent kept a concern eye from the balcony. She would nod and wave back at them, as soon as they reach the curb of other end, ensuring a successful and safe transition. He used to envy her, as his parent never bothered, and found it too trivial to indulge in such over protective parenting gestures. These are scenes he has carried within him, buried but intact, scenes he has never thought about or had reason to conjure up until now. He is grateful that his mind has retained these images of her, please with himself.

He had called his mother, to inquire on her family’s well being, after that night’s brief romantic escapee. The Tendulkar and his family were neighbors in Bombay, for five years. Her family had moved back to Bombay, from Pune. Vishal and Tanu where in the same high school, had a teenage crush on each other, which they never accepted. Tanu's father had inherited large real estate, which translated into millions, from her uncle, since then they had moved to Bandra a lavish, affluent, suburb of Bombay, when Vishal and Tanu where fifteen.

Within a week of their first meeting, Tanu procures a job in Boston DT, thanks to AV. He had recommended her to a close acquiesce, who worked for a start up firm in Boston. For weeks to follow, he plans his weekends with her, stays with her in a studio, which she rents in Downtown Boston, now. Every now and then they talk on the phone. She detailing him on her life in Bombay, and how she misses her family, complains about the weather. But she never mentions, other Vishal on these calls. He talks about his days atwork, the projects he is leading, and explains her in detail NCAA basketball season, and shares how he is hosting a beer party to watch a game, with his office buddies. She has seen this brand of hospitality only on TV in India, American serials broadcasted on Star World and has never imagined the reality of its existence.

It was her first night in the new apartment, when they had first made love, swiftly and efficiently. Over time he realizes that she has blank expression while making love. He is not sure if process is painful or she is just a novice. But he knows she enjoys the cuddling, aftermath. As he watches her pass out on his shoulders, contained and exhausted in the same state. Sex, nap where followed by lazy lunch, usually Chinese take out. Then they walked for hours on the banks of Charles, crossing Mass Bridge, into Cambridge Park. At night, they spoke to their families. Openly talking about how they stay in the same room at nights, spending weekends after weekend with each other; which at time made their families to question their relationship. They had mutually decided to not disclose their relationship to their families, but address it as friends. But, quickly and simultaneously, he falls in love with her, her silence, her way of not confronting and accepting, her stoic expressions while making love. For, to love her, he had to love all her ways. Her unkempt ways, a challenge to his increasingly minimal taste, charmed him.

Form the very beginning she feels effortlessly incorporated into his life. It is a different brand of lifestyle, than what she was used to with her Vishal, the other Vishal. With IV, she was comfortable in sharing trivial details of day. Argued over clothes they wore, the way they walked or spoke to family or friends. At times it was intruding. Contradicting, AV would barely question her actions, dress, and would speak at length on ideas, open perspectives, which she attentively listened to, with out understanding. He gave her, her space and guided her only when asked. She likes it, but times missed IV. She has not yet confronted to him regarding her other Vishal. With whom she still talks, but, even he is not aware about her relationship with this Vishal. This double standard was bothering her, since she had moved into the studio, where she felt alone at times, especially on week days after walking into an empty apartment, finding it overwhelming to adjust to a new landscape. At times, she is worried about her past. She has thought of opening up to AV, but the fear of losing him or getting missed understood, has always stopped her. For years she has lived hiding the reality, and had found comfort in silence and accepting, and now, it is her nature.



After months of dating, Tanu visited Vishal’s house, in Syracuse. One day, Vishal he had reached Boston on a Week day, worked from her house, the following day, and had pleaded her to travel with him to Syracuse. That weekend, the rivals, Syracuse University were playing Boston College at the dome. He had arranged for tickets, a week prior and had planned the whole ordeal weeks in advance. Tanu was pleasantly surprised and excited to watch basketball game, for which her had no liking nor understood the rules. Vishal had the played the game for under-sixteen Bombay team, for couple of years, before he was focused to quit by his father, to focus on IIT entrance. At the game, Tanu enjoyed every moment as she watched Vishal jumping and howling for his team, along with other SU students. To keep up to the traditions, he gave his Orange pullover to her, which boosted Syracuse University in its official blue and orange colors. Initially, she had argued saying, she would like to cheer for Boston College. As she has now started identifying herself as a Boston citizen. Ultimately giving in to his expectations, and the love for team, she proudly flaunted the Orange Men jersey, in the dome. The days experience had left a lasting impression on her mind. That day, he admitted his love for her. She was not surprised, and was expecting it. That evening, she mentioned to him openly about her Vishal, and her relationship in India…to which he didn’t object or feel jealous. Partly because, other Vishal was miles away, and partly because, he knew she loves him.

“I guess I'm AV then, aka American Vishu, and he is IV for me, aka – Indian Vishu.” Vishal had coined the terms IV and AV, which over time turned into his irony. “All I expect is, trust, the foundation of any relationship. After all, talli ek hath se nahi bachti, na?” He had ended, their awkward talk, with a serious note. It was a mental block, and opening out, she felt relieved of a burden she was carrying, since they had met; half in an attempt to get closer to AV, half in an attempt to forget IV. But IV was not the only reason for her state of denial and silence.

A week after the game in Syracuse, she had demanded Vishal to move in with her to Boston, and had insisted him on leaving Syracuse. The town he had considered home. Before reality could hit him, he was planning to move in with Tanu, who he had unknowingly caught on a rebound. Before reality could hit her, she was planning to live with a person, whom she was dating to get over the other Vishal, IV, and her past. A past much darker than her incomplete relationship with IV, a past AV, was not yet made aware of.

Within three months he has his clothes at her apartment, their toothbrushes, crossing, in a shape of X in her bathroom. There was a unique subtleness to it, serendipity, paths crossing after years. He works from Boston on Fridays and Mondays. Catches flight from Logan airport whenever he had to travel on business. He has informed his supervisor on his intentions of leaving, for personal reasons. Who initially was hesitant, but had given in, and allowed him find a new job in two months. He was savoring the change, a welcomed new life, as he got acquainted to her daily chores. Fights triggered form time to time, due to violations of house keeping rules. He learns, she gets furious, whenever he kept the toilet seats up, and fells disgusted by the seeing droplets of his pee, splattered all over the WC. She always dries the sink after every use. She learns that he sleeps, always with his mouth partially open, hands folded like a baby, tucking his head into his shoulders. He is porn to snoring, ever so faintly, sounding like a pressure cooker vessel when the lentils are completely boiled. He sees her for entire week without makeup, sees her with gray shadows under her eyes, while working. She is shy during her periods, as he watches her hiding the used tampons behind the toilet, and disposing them, as soon as she is done taking bath. He is extra caring during that time of the month, spends time watching movies on couch, not planning any outings. Cooks delicious cuisines, and packs her lunches. At night she sleeps using his right hand as a pillow, while placing his left on the breast, expecting him to gently massage them, awaiting to fall asleep. It is in these moments, these glimpses; they believe they had known no greater intimacy, making them closer. Every now and then she ignores calls, emails from IV. At times, she openly compares both Vishals', making AV jealous. Openly pointing out to AV, how incompetent he is when it comes to caring. While making love, sometimes, he is uncertain if she is calling IV in excitement, or AV, as she softly whispers, “Oh..Vishu.” as she comes.

They talk endlessly about how they know and do not know each other. Summers spend with each other as teenagers, secrets they shared, crushes they had in high school. The summers they had spend, in the same villages, not knowing their presence. She effortless imagines his life, after he had moved to US. As she was adapting to the changes, first hand. She is glad, and feels lucky to have met him. Now-a-days, while, talking to IV on the phone, she realizes a gap between them, her changed-open outlook, and finds it difficult to associate with him, and the time they had spend while dating in India.

As time was taking its natural course, one day, Tanu received an email from IV, it was his marriage invitation. She doesn't share the information with AV. But in the days to follow she has grown away from AV, spoke seldom to him. She was not sure of her actions, as she gets easily irritated, feels used, feels ignored and betrayed. She yells at AV for no apparent reason. Factually the news was good, a news that should put closure to her incomplete relationship in India. AV, fails to notice these subtle changes in her behavior as he was busy wrapping up in Syracuse, traveling four hours every second day from Boston to Central NY. Also, off late he was complaining regarding an acute muscular pain in his left arm, near his shoulders. While driving to Syracuse he had once pulled into a rest area, and had rested for three hours in his car, due to the unbearable pain, which had made his heart flutter faster then usual. Tanu had fought for hours, with him, as he had not shared this happening and had found in passing, through a mutual friend.

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There is no one to greet Vishal when he arrives at Logan International Airport, as he is in no rush to complete the immigration formalities. He notices the diversity among the passengers, as he stands patiently in the long immigration line. Some passengers are new to America, excited and confused, as they wonder around the immigration lobby asking for help to fill up the forms, some of them are seasoned immigrates, as he was a year ago, knowing exactly which line to join, forms accurately filled, some, are Americans, or Indian American who willing or unwilling look down, on the line marked: Foreign Aliens (Non American Passport). He remembers his alliance to the Red-white-and-blue, today, questioning it, yet not sure if he has any admiration for the tiranga. India had proved to be lucky for him. He has achieved fame in the country he betrayed eight years ago. In a span of mere months, he was successful, wealthy and owned his own business. The reasons for leaving both the countries where different, and the reason to return to both the countries are different. This time, for the first time at Logan airport he will be questioned, by the immigration officer, “What is the purpose of the visit, and how long you intent to stay in US, sir.” A question he is not familiar with and also not prepared to answer, to a stranger who doesn’t know him, or his past, especially a stranger who looks at him with a suspicious eye. He is used to be questions, “So how was your stay in Mexico, sir?” followed by Visa check, and “Welcome back.” Before this, every entry to America from India, China, Mexico, or Europe, where he traveled occasional on business or pleasure has been on a business visa. But this time, he was traveling on a Travelers visa. As the long migration line progresses, he wonders how he had done it, leaving his family behind – eight years ago, seeing them so seldom, dwelling unconnected, in a perpetual state of expectation, of longing. Seven years staying in America knowing what was missing, with a stamina he fears he does not posses anymore. Mind impregnated with these thoughts he forwards the visa documents to the immigration officer, who after checking says with a convivial smile, “Welcome back, Sir. Hope you enjoy your stay in Boston.”



It had been here in Boston, exactly a year ago, Tanu had broken up with him, just a day before he was planning to pop the question. It was a spring Thursday, his last day at work and in Syracuse. The weather was not too cold, but not warm enough. The sun, was out for a short time, but soon was overshadowed by dark clouds. Vishal had spend the entire morning in meetings, and had luncheons with his department colleagues, when it had started raining. Some of his office buddies were glad and some were sad as the noon was filled with mixed emotions. Tanu was not able to join him, due to a pressing work commitment. By the time he had left the office, he was physically exhausted. They had called movers to help them pack and move, weekend prior and all he had to do that evening was, to drive to Boston with his car and the ring he had bought for Tanu. He was planning on the proposal for weeks. Pop the question, outside the bar in Cambridge where they had first hugged, and felt the connection. On the way back, he had called Tanu, informing her about leaving Syracuse. Tanu, had not returned his call, but had received a messag, when he was almost an hour away from Boston. “Good hun. make yourself comfy.. might be late tnight. Sry. in a mt. luv u :-*”

He was furious, as he had expected her to be home, to receive him – it was a special day, a turning point in his life, as he made this decision for her. The entire journey, he felt ungratified, slighted. He considered spending the night at friends place in the suburbs of Boston, to show his defiance. Physically fatigued he reaches Tanu's the apartment, crowded with unopened boxes. Tanu was not in the house; he called her, but it went to her voicemail. He had stepped out for a smoke, when Tanu entered the apartment, and found the door not locked. She was talking to IV when he entered, completely ignoring his presence. After a while, he could not hold his anger and unleashed the rage on her, yelling, while she was still on the phone with IV. He knew she was talking to IV. In furry, he had kicked one of the unpacked boxes, and hurt his leg. Tanu, had not reacted, but was angry, and at the same time, intimidated. She was shivering, as she locked herself in the toilet, and told him to leave the house. He had stepped out in rage, and returned after an hour, calmer and poised. By the time he returned, she kept all his belonging in the storage, and a note outside her house. “I have packed all your belongings. Please don’t bother to show your face.” He had resorted to his friends’ house that night, returning to Tanu’s apartment, early in the morning. All she said that morning, before clamping her lips obstinately shut. “You are a fake. I don’t care if you live or die.” followed by calling the apartment security who escorted him out of the apartment, and out of her life.

For days, and weeks he called, profusely apologizing for his actions, but she never answered, nor replied. He had moved back to Syracuse, with all his belongings, unpacking bare requirements. There were nights, he felt asleep on the carpet, without deliberation, waking up at two A.M. with the television still on. It is as if a project he had taken responsibility for, done all the ground work, but had failed to start. A vision completely disconnected with the reality. And yet in those days, he couldn’t really blame her. After two months intoxicated in self pity, he had moved to India. A year later, the shock has worn off, but a sense of failure and shame persists, deep and abiding. They had both acted on the same impulse, which was their mistake. They had both sought comfort in each other, and in their shared world, perhaps for the sake of novelty. His time with her seems like a permanent part of him that no longer has any relevance, or currency.

He hears a familiar voice, as he steps out of the immigration room, into the visitor lobby. It was Tanu, wearing bright orange Syracuse University, pullover, waving at him. She looked the same, as he had first seen her, in Framingham, standing on her porch in cold. Slender face, pleasingly feline features, spare, straight brows. Bright orange jumper, blue jeans, tightly hugging her slender body. In her long hair, eyes carrying delicate rimless frame, and this time he was sure, that she is the same Tanu he had known a year ago, same Tanu who he had known for years, the Tanu, who has become a permanent part of his life. Their eyes meet, briefly as his mind wonders questioning the really. Tanu is in tears, as she runs toward him, hugs him, and kisses him. Vishal is still questioning his fate. Soon, he is returning her kisses, hugging her, crying out her name. They stepped out of the airport, Tanu, holding him by his arms, as Vishal still looked contemplated. She directs him towards the parking lot, where she had parked. Vishal was not aware, that she drove or owned a car. Tanu knows this, “Yes, I drive now, I also have a Mass License. Don’t worry, I will drive you safely….” said to clear his inhibitions.

On the drive back to Boston Downtown, both speak at length, updating each other, on what they were up to, what had changed since that evening. None dwelled over what had gone wrong or who was at fault, none of them broached the topic. Whenever, their conversations lead to that evening, they looked at each other ineptly, and ended the conversation incomplete, perpetually followed by a long pause. He notices subtle changes in Tanu, she was more outspoken, had a faint accent, acted as seasoned immigrant, as she drove confidently on street of Boston downtown. She is selective in her words, thought through before she spoke. She spoke with confidence, confronting, to the point. He notices these changes, surprised to see her evolved.

It was raining, in Boston, as it always did in fall, uncalled, and unwelcome. The rain was heavy now, the sound of it percussive against the body of her Camry. “I don’t have an umbrella. Keep your luggage in the car; we will pick it up later. Let the fuckin rain stop. I can’t wait to show you my apartment, our house, your house Vishu. Get ready to run, and get wet.” a warning, as she parked her car two blocks from her apartment. Vishal, had faint tears, when she said, our house, as he kept is eye locked on her face. He wanted to say, 'Are you sure', but refrained.

They entered her apartment; it was same, as he had last seen it, a year ago. The only difference, is uncluttered, and decorated with flames on the wall…filled with pictures of Boston city, family and him.

She took a step toward him, looking at the shirt that clung coldly to his body, then directly looking into his eyes,

“What, then? What you think. It is same, as you left it. Just the pictures, to fill it up the void." In tears, "Now, listen carefully AV, don’t you ever fuckin leave me.”

The information fill between them, valuable to the year she’d kept it from him, negligible now that she’d tell. Through the window he saw the strangers running to avoiding the rain. He went to the window and pulled down the shade completely, darkening the room. Then he turned back to Tanu, close to her now. He kneeled on the floor and put his arms around her legs, pressing his face against her jeans, eyes filled tears. He felt her hand on top of his head, her long fingers grazing his hair, and instantly, powerfully, he felt an erection. He began to kiss her legs, grasping at her belt loops and pulling her down so that she was knelling on the carpet, too. He put a hand up against the think inseam of her jeans, knowing exactly what it was like to touch her there, the combination of skin and bone and hair. He looked at her and he saw that although her face was turned away, she had relaxed her body, adjusting herself to accommodate his hand. "I missed you... Vishu." she whispered.

He was kissing her neck now, and then her mouth, strong, open-mouthed kisses that she was returning. He took her hand and placed it under his belt. She looked at him then, with slight tenderness, and shook her head. "It has been a long time, AV."

He continued, guiding her hand to his belt buckle while forcing off her clothes, the bright SU pullover, the soft T-Shirt below that. Her hair came undone. He pulled down her jeans, followed by black underwear. They took off their shoes and socks, a mess of wet grass clippings falling onto the carpet, then positioned themselves on the mattress. He couldn't remember the last time they'd done this, in her apartment. Maybe that morning, before their final fight, year ago... it was May, and as usual raining in Boston, as it was raining that evening. He entered her and felt her hands on his back, warming him, her ankles around the backs of his legs, and the shock of her tongue in his ear. She offered to turn over, knowing this was the quickest way. But he wanted to face her. He put his mouth to one of her breasts, tongue circling her nipples. Tanu rolled her eyes, feeling his touch, his weight over her. Her breathing became audible and then she cried out, loudly enough for anyone in the neighboring rooms to know what was taking place. He came inside her, for the first time.

As he moved to side, an acute pain induced and baring it, he kisses her forehead, lying beside her, without making her aware. Their eyes locked, facing each other, for minutes. But after some time, she realized something was hurting him, as his eyes had turned red, and watery. She knew they where not tears of joy or containment but, pain. He was sweating profusely, now. She had realized, the magnitude of what can happen, and hoped that fate did not turn on her, not today, not again. She cried, as she jumped on to his body, pressing both her hands firmly against his chest, “Not now…not now…Vishu, don’t give up.” Continued as the tone fated, “Not now, god, please."

Chapter 3:

I had seen you too many times to count, but a farewell that your family threw for mine, at your house, in Sagar Vihar, is when I begin to recall your presence in my life. My dad had inherited lots of wealth, after his brother died in a fatal accident. From an ordinary middle class family, where my dad barely earned enough to support our household, we had turned into millionaire overnight. It was the day, when our ways had decided to part, without our consent. That day, as a teenager, I was determined not to cross your path …ever. My brother, Samir and I had made a pack, “We would never talk to Vishu.” SSC results where announced a day prior, and you, Vishu, single handily had stole our thunder. Entire building, including my parents where talking about your achievement. As expected you had surpassed by a landmark. I envied you toughly. My dad considered you a golden child, a piece of work, “Good in sports, good in studies, smart personality, well mannered. Tanu, look at him, he knows what he wants in life.” My family had decided to move to Bandra, abandoning the middle class life for a life I had not signed up for. But my scar past had nothing to do with our broken paths.

I become what I am today, at age of sixteen, on an overcast rainy day, of `93. I remember the precise moment, lying helpless in pain, blindly staring at ceiling. It is wrong what they say about that past that, how you can bury it. I have learn, the past manages to claws its way back. Looking back on it, I’ve realized that I was blindly staring at life, for the last fifteen years.

We had moved to Bandra, adjusting to the new life, without any difficulties. Material comfort was not a need, but a want. It was easy for me and Samir to fit in, as money did most of the talking. We enjoyed the attention and comfort – didn’t envy what we missed in Thane. I had no recollection of our life in Thane, till I met you, in Boston. Money, is power, and can make people blind, in our country. As much as it is a cliché, it is the hard really. Who better then me to know, a victim at sixteen?

It was Thursday evening, summer was over, and the heavy rain had managed to drown the shockwaves of Bombay blast. I was studying for HSC exam in our house, and my parents and Samir had gone on an extended vacation in Ratnagiri. The place was quarantine after the blast; and we had canceled our summer vacation earlier that year. I had enough people to look after me in Bombay. Relatives who sprouted from no where, claiming the relationship, after our wealth acquisition. Basically friends, extended families, along with maids, and servants, brought by sheer power of money.

I was too young to understand the best and worst of man, too naive to understand, the grossest act, architect by men in the Bombay blast, which had made no significant impact on my life. But I was not naive, to sense extend a man to go to quench his physical desires. I could see it in his eye, his intentions the moment he had stepped into my room, the moment he had unleashed, his male dominance, with a forceful blow. It was Pradeep kaka, a close cousin of my dad, who owned half the share of the property, my late uncle had pasted on. Before I could even fell the pain, it was over leaving blood stain on my jean, and dark scar on my mind, craved so skillfully, that even today after years, it hurts.

At times, when we made love, a raster image of that moment hovered, in my mind. But the warmth of your body always managed to provide the comfort, and assurance, before the image could amplify.

When I told my dad, he was furious, but felt helpless. Breaking the relationship meant, leaving all the wealth. Wealth we had acquired not through perseverance but through luck, over someone's dead body !!!. Breaking the relationship meant, returning to Thane, to simple life, with no money, but just hopes. Money had made my parents blind, they had grown quickly accustomed to a lavish life, ironically, it precisely the same life they had abandoned and despised, when they had eloped and got married, years ago, breaking all the ties with their families.

The only thing my father managed to do, was never mention Pradeep kaka’s name in front of me, and kept him away from our house and my sight. Vishu, it was that day, I resorted to silence, never questioned, or confronted, to anything. Bear it if possible or turn your back and run, was my mantra. For me silence was acceptance, and not conforting, was a deal I had signed with my past.

The evening, when you were moving to Boston, was a turning point in my life. I was ready for a luxurious life filled with possibilities and welcomed difficulties. That day I had decided to bury my past, take charge with your support, with a new eye. Earlier that day, I had told my parent about our relationship. “Papa, I have finally decided to take the plunge. After all -talli ek hath se nahi bachi, na.” I was on the phone with IV, and was telling him, "I am moving on." when you, came down on me – I saw the same rage in your eyes, as I had witness, in Pradeep kaka’s. I was scared, Vishu, I was terrified. I couldn’t believe you would react, violently. I was petrified.

When I found that you where coming to Boston, through Samir, and learnt about your achievement - I knew I had to talk to you, explain to you. I pulled myself to together, to confront you, to tell you, “Not that you didn’t care, but just didn’t know. I am sorry.” But today, you will never know....

Vishu, today, I don't know if I’v won the battle with my past...but you will never know.

You will never know that IV and I were never lovers.....

You will never know that I had managed to pack all your belongings, but could not part with your SU jersey, because it had your smell.

You will never know, today, I gave birth to our golden child - Vishal.