Just the Way You Are

  SANJEEV RANJAN

  Just the Way You Are

  RANDOM HOUSE INDIA

  CONTENTS

  A Note on the Author

  Prologue

  I

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  II

  8

  III

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Follow Random House

  Copyright

  A NOTE ON THE AUTHOR

  Sanjeev Ranjan is an ardent lover of western classical and instrumental music. He enjoys reading and has a keen interest in understanding human behaviour and relationships. He is currently pursuing his MBA from the Indian Institute of Foreign Trade (IIFT), Kolkata. He is the author of It’s No Longer a Dream (2014) and In Course of True Love! (2012). This is his third novel.

  Follow him at www.facebook.com/sanjeev.ranjan91 and www.twitter.com/sanjeevranj or email him at sanjeevranj91@gmail.com.

  To my mom who has always loved me

  but whom I always misunderstood

  The one thing we can never get enough is love.

  And the one thing we never give enough of is love.

  —Henry Miller

  Prologue

  Indira Gandhi International Airport, New Delhi

  IT WAS STILL QUITE EARLY in the morning when I left home for the airport. Spring in Delhi is a blessing: flowers in dazzling colours and lush green leaves greet you wherever you look. Now it was receding and giving way to summer, but the remnants of flowers were scattered on the ground, giving all a joyful outlook. It was slightly nippy for 7.30 am but the weather in Delhi is as erratic as a woman’s moods these days. I smiled at the thought of women and looked out the window to divert my mind. There were only a few cars and buses moving towards their destinations on the empty roads. Instinctively, I lowered the window of the cab and felt the breeze ruffle my hair. The mild sunshine kissed me, and I smiled widely.

  I was as bright as the spring season today. I was excited about going to Switzerland, any young, romantic man’s dream destination. It was also my first trip abroad. Well, I was also smiling at my fate, my destiny. My desires were usually fulfilled, and it seemed to me that the whole universe conspired to fulfil them. But never on time. There was, somehow, a delay—every single time. And probably the habit of getting everything in life after a lot of effort and waiting had made me patient.

  I turned to the driver’s eyes in the rear-view mirror and asked him how much more time it would take to reach the airport.

  He also looked up at the mirror and perhaps at my eyes in it. ‘Sir, just about twenty more minutes if we don’t get any traffic.’

  ‘Traffic? At this hour!’ I exclaimed.

  ‘Generally there is no traffic at this hour, but who knows what one’s destiny has in store,’ he philosophized.

  His spoke in a heavy Punjabi accent, and like a true-blue Punjabi, he had answered a straight question philosophically. Anyhow, who would know the depth of his words more than me, who had been betrayed by destiny more often than not. If destiny were a woman, she would be living with some great vengeance against me. A friend who had once read the tarot cards for me had sealed my fate years back: ‘This Destiny woman would take time to befriend you, leave aside loving and pampering you. At least six years.’ I had nervously laughed it off back then, but experience had taught me this better than tarot. I don’t give up easily, so I was sure I would woo destiny someday in my favour.

  The driver must have interpreted my silence as worry, and quickly pitched in, ‘Arre sir, why are you getting so serious? I will ensure we reach on time.’

  I merely nodded, discouraging him from taking the conversation to some other level. I didn’t want my smile vanishing thanks to a philosophizing Punjabi guy, right at the beginning of a very important day.

  What could I do in the cab? I had played a few games on my smartphone, and the FM stations played really slow, depressing songs in the morning. So I didn’t have a choice but to look out at the city. Myriads of thoughts fought to make themselves heard in my mind, but I chose the easy way. I dug out my earphones and turned on the music in my iPod that my brother had gifted me a few years ago with his first salary.

  The driver gave me an ‘I-told-you-so’ smile when he parked in front of the airport entrance twenty-five minutes later. I paid him the decided amount and he drove off after handing my trolley bag to me. This was the first time I was going to enter the airport. I had been here only once before, and that only to see off my girlfriend, Shagun.

  As I dismissed thoughts of Shagun and started walking towards the entry gate, my mind went blank and I felt like a little kid who had been left at a new place, all alone, not knowing what to do. I called up my brother, who is an avid traveller. The telephone ring went unnoticed, just the way I had not been noticed by many till now. Fair enough, everything must have been messed up at home and the chances of their answering the phone would be slim. So I dialled Rakesh’s number, who is one of my very close friends, but I guess it was too early for anyone to be up and taking calls. Finally, I called Gaurav, my Facebook friend with whom I had come to share a very good relationship over the years. Luckily, he answered the phone.

  ‘Hello, young man. Congratulations!’ he exclaimed in his usual peppy yet relaxed tone.

  ‘Thanks so much, yaar, but I am angry that you didn’t turn up,’ I said jovially.

  ‘Come on, man! I am so sorry for that. My mother suddenly developed some acute pain in her knees and I had to rush back to my hometown and take her to the doctor. Anyway, this is a quick trip. I landed in Bhopal two days back and am flying back to Delhi tomorrow. Then we can sit together for a party again, why worry!’

  ‘I get all that, but the party is postponed for now.’

  ‘Why, you stingy guy? I won’t leave you till you give me a party,’ he said determinedly, laughing at the same time.

  That made me laugh too. ‘Arre, who are you calling stingy! I am going to Switzerland, and that too in the next couple of hours. I am at IGI airport.’

  ‘What, Switzerland? Couple of hours? How? Why?’ He said it all in one breath, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

  ‘Credit Suisse has offered me a job. They called me this morning itself, and even sent me the tickets. I was given an option of taking up the job and flying to Switzerland on urgent basis, or ...’

  ‘Or what? And why today? You got married last night, you fool! And today you are going to Switzerland! Alone! Completely preposterous! I am sure your wife would never take you back in, man. If I were your wife, I wouldn’t have!’ he said glumly, more astonished than happy.

  I was sad to think that I was going alone, but gathered myself quickly and said, ‘Didn’t you see that coming in your tarot cards, pal? Didn’t you tell me my fate is a woman out to kill!’ I snickered, and heard him laugh too.

  ‘That’s true, man,’ he said while snorting. ‘You and women! Either you don’t get one, or can’t stay with one. Stay away from me, lest you pass on your luck with women on to me too.’

  ‘Chuck all that about women, and help me with something. I called you to ask how to proceed further from the entry gate of the airport.’ He chuckled and I quickly added, ‘Yaar, come on! I am travelling by air for the first time and need your help. Tell me!’

  Eventually, he detailed the process for me (not before teasing me no end about being away from my new wife and the way I had gotten scared of the airport itself). We disconnected with warm pleasantries, wishes for his mother’s good health, and his promise to make it to my reception,
whenever and wherever it happened.

  On a parting note, he said, ‘Don’t worry, pal! Things will be fine. I know how difficult it is to choose between two things you have longed for, for years.’ I had nothing to say to him; he was one of the few who understood. And then he smirked, ‘Have loads of Swiss chocolate and women, mate!’

  ‘Oh yes, that is why I am not taking my wife with me, because I would love Swiss chocolate more,’ I shot back.

  I moved in through the main gate and was greeted by a thick, white moustache; there was a tiny, dark face hiding behind it. The security guard’s moustache reminded me of those south Indian actors who can scare you by merely smiling at you. I suppressed a smile and moved in after showing him my tickets and driving license as identity proof. The queue for putting the luggage through the scanning machine was as long as an anaconda. I wondered where all these people were going. I joined in, but was soon lost in thought.

  Yesterday was my wedding day. I am thirty-two. I got married after much ado. Today, I am travelling to Switzerland. Alone. Brilliant!

  I

  1

  MY BAG WAS SAFELY INSIDE the scanner and I was at the mercy of the guard who was frisking men shamelessly. As he ran his hands along the length of my body, I felt strange sensations. I didn’t understand why these people could not use machines to scan people too. The moment I stepped down from the wooden platform after the too-close-forcomfort frisking, I heard the man behind me shouting, ‘Hey, keep your hands off me!’

  ‘Please cooperate, sir, there is a terrorist threat at the Delhi airport today and we cannot take any risks.’ The security guard had a strong, dominating voice.

  The man gave in, but the information scared me. I really did not want to look at everyone around me suspiciously, but then who knew who could be a terrorist.

  As I stepped further ahead, there was a series of trolleys loaded with bags and suitcases all around me. I was annoyed at the luggage traffic, to say the least, because people kept bumping them into somebody or the other’s foot.

  ‘Oh god! Why the hell are they carrying their entire home packed in a suitcase with them? Are they smugglers?’ I complained to myself. But the idea sounded pretty weird to me, so I rejected it outright. I am sure Indians have a tendency to pack a lot of food in when they travel. Some vegetarians feel that vegetarian food abroad will not be sacred enough for their consumption, so they carry a suitcase-ful of eatables for ‘emergency use’. It felt no different from a railway station at this corner, where people were ready to run their luggage wheels over anyone’s foot to take a place in the queue for the boarding passes.

  In the meantime, my black bag slid out of the scanner on the conveyer belt and I grabbed it with both hands. It was only when I noticed a couple of people staring at me that I realized that nobody else would have taken it anyway. I made a mental note that I was travelling abroad now and should be calm, lest some security guard with monstrous moustaches get suspicious. I turned my bag over on to its wheels and began rolling it towards the counter. But hold on! The drama didn’t end there.

  As for everything else, life had a different plan for the momentous occasion of my first time travelling by air; it was to be memorable for me in more ways than one. Amidst the shoving and shuffling, I made my way to the end of the queue. That’s when I heard someone say, ‘Excuse me!’

  I didn’t want to turn back; it could have been someone calling someone else. Or had the security guard with the huge moustache found my observing people suspicious? I cursed under my breath, ‘Why the hell did I have to stare at people’s luggage!’ I pretended that the ‘excuse me’ was not meant for me and kept moving. Just then, as if out of thin air, a young lady in her mid-twenties landed right in front of me. I was bewildered and almost shrieked. But as I swallowed my surprise, I also jumped back one step.

  ‘Excuse me? What’s wrong with you?’ I exclaimed.

  ‘I am so sorry about this,’ she stammered, probably embarrassed at my reaction. She pointed at my feet and I looked down immediately, wondering what I had wrongfully stepped on.

  She smiled and said, ‘The trolley bag. It’s mine.’

  I automatically clutched the handle of the bag handle tighter—was she a thief? At an airport! She looked well-dressed. But I still waited for her to speak.

  ‘I guess we have the same black bag. You pounced on my bag so violently and dragged it off the conveyer belt, that I couldn’t stop you in time.’

  When I looked at the bag in her hands, I realized it looked almost the same as mine. Okay, it was mine; I noticed the name tag flashing my initials in bold black letters. The confusion was now clear and I felt sheepish at having grabbed the bag with such gusto. I apologized quickly, not wishing to look like a bigger fool, and exchanged her bag for mine.

  I quickly went to the counter and waited for my turn, still feeling embarrassed about the bag episode. My ears turned red wondering if the woman was standing somewhere behind me and if she thought I was dumb. But when my turn came, I forgot all that and picked up my stamped boarding pass.

  I walked into the plush waiting lounge that looked nothing less than a grand hall, beautifully designed, with several pieces of art as well as restaurants lining the sides. There was still over an hour for boarding to begin. From what Gaurav had told me, a bus would come and drop off the passengers till the aircraft, and that it would be announced. So I did not bother too much about it and relaxed. It had been a long night, a very long night.

  I took the corner seat of the waiting lounge on purpose, so that I would not be disturbed by anyone, even by mistake. In that corner, there would be no mistake with bags, words, or people. Plus, I had to call Mom; she must have become super-restless by now.

  I dug out my phone from the deep pocket of my brand-new trousers. I wondered how I had acquired so many new clothes around the wedding time, and how all of them had been packed into my luggage, still folded and some still in clear plastic wrap. As I unlocked my phone, a message flashed in bright red: ‘10 Missed Calls’. As I pressed the screen at random places to reach ‘Mom’ in my phonebook, I knew I would get to hear some harsh words. I had not been able to speak with her before leaving home; everything was in a state of chaos when I left. All ten missed calls were from her number. I readied myself with a list of excuses for having missed her calls, and also for the second Mahabharata.

  It had barely started ringing when I heard her sweet voice reach my ears at a screeching volume, piercing the quiet around me.

  Without any hellos, she started off: ‘Why did you not pick up the phone? I have called you so many times. One, you don’t meet your mother and go, then you don’t take her calls. Didn’t you think taking my ashirwaad would make your journey better? You are going to phoren, it’s not a small thing …’

  ‘Mom … breathe!’There was silence for a moment, so I took the cue and rattled off my practised excuses, ‘I was in the cab. You know I was in a hurry. We have been going crazy with the packing and everything, don’t you know? I am not even sure if I have kept all the necessary things.’

  The mother in her woke up, but the disappointment at not having seen me was clear in her voice. As also the mild anger in it. ‘I don’t know. You know well I have never touched your things, nor I ever will. Why should I get bothered by this?’

  ‘Okay, Mom. Forget that, I will manage. I have reached the airport and the formalities are all done. I am waiting for the bus to pick me up. Okay?’

  ‘What? Bus? But you told me you had to go by plane!’ She sounded thunderstruck, my drama-queen mother.

  ‘Oh Mom, the bus will pick me up from the airport and drop me till the plane. It’s quite far away from the waiting room.’ When I heard a ‘Hmm’ of understanding, I asked her, ‘So what do I get for my dear Mom from Switzerland?’

  ‘Swizzarland? Beta, where are you going? Your father was saying that you are going to phoren? I thought it is Amreeka.’

  ‘Mom, it’s Switzerland and it’s in Europe. Trust me, it cou
ld be equally good or even better than America. Oh sorry, Amreeka.’ I smiled at my innocent mother. She had managed to make her children good people, and successful at that. That was her wealth of a lifetime and she was blissfully unaware about things outside the home domain.

  ‘You-rope! What’s this now? I am not even able to say the name properly. Couldn’t you have gone to some place with an easier name?’

  ‘Mom, leave it na. For now, I am going to Europe. And I will bring chocolate for you; Swiss chocolate is famous all across the world.’

  Hearing the word ‘chocolate’, her voice melted a bit, ‘Chocolate! The ones that they show in these fancy ads on TV?’ I assumed she meant dark chocolate and assured her I would get the best ones.

  She seemed happy now, so I asked her, ‘And anything for Dad?’

  ‘Don’t you know him? He never asks for anything. So get whatever you like for him; he will never say no to you.’

  ‘Where is he anyway? I couldn’t talk to him properly. He was quite angry over my decision in the morning. I tried soothing him down but he just rushed out of the room, looking worried and angry. I couldn’t even tell him what going to this company means to me. Bhaiya told me ...’

  ‘Don’t talk about him. You know, last night at the wedding, he spilled dal on his brand-new suit again, right in the front. And with the dal all over the front of his suit, he was roaming around meeting people and dancing. I am really tired of this man. Explain something to him when you talk to him. He is seventy years old and does things like a child.’ She had loved him for too long to not complain of the same things again and again. I knew she loved him for these little things only. She would have been disappointed if he had not spilled something on his clothes.

  ‘Mom, did Dad dance?’ I chuckled, trying to recall when that had happened.

  ‘Oh yes! He was on Cloud Nine. And he ate as if he wouldn’t ever get food after this. Now he has settled in the bathroom since morning. There are so many people around and all he can do is stay in the bathroom. I am sure as and when people wake up, they will break the door down to relieve themselves,’ she sniggered.