One Indian Girl(38)

My eyes welled up. I didn’t want to cry in the office. I sucked in my breath.

‘We have lived together for two years. Is it that simple to end it?’ I sent him a message.

‘I should have ended it earlier,’ he said.

I called him. He picked up.

‘I have told you I can’t talk. Stop calling me, please.’

‘Can we talk later?’ I pleaded as my voice began to quiver.

‘I really have to go. Bye,’ he said.

That was that. My face red, I knew I had to leave the office before I disintegrated.

‘I am just going out for a walk,’ I called out to Tricia. ‘Feeling a bit uneasy.’

‘Fresh air will do you good,’ Tricia said.

‘Tell Jonathan to call on my cell if he needs me.’

I stepped out of 85 Broad Street. The sun shone bright, taking away a bit of the chill. It was a beautiful day weather-wise, but it felt like my worst day in New York so far. I felt like calling him again, but resisted the temptation. I kept staring at my phone, hoping he would call me back. He didn’t.

I roamed up and down Wall Street a dozen times. I didn’t have anyone like Debu in New York. Sure, I had some friends at work and outside. However, I couldn’t imagine this city without Debu. Maybe he is just upset, I told myself. But he had seemed so cold and firm when he spoke to me.

I went back to work after an hour. I somehow finished the day. I didn’t eat any lunch. I left the office at 5 in the evening and took the subway back and reached home.

I switched on the lights of the living room. I went to the bathroom. I saw the counter didn’t have Debu’s perfume or his beard trimmer. The clothes-hook in the bathroom did not have any of his clothes. I went to the bedroom, opened the closet—nothing.

I felt like someone had kicked me in the stomach, hard.

No, this is just a nightmare. I didn’t sleep all night so I am imagining all this.

I sat on the bed and stared at the empty closet. Then I cried. And cried. Till my eyes were as empty as Debu’s cupboard.



‘Please, Debu. The house is so empty without you,’ I said.

I held on to the pole in the subway compartment. Debu had left home five days ago. I had called him every day, trying to convince him to come back.

‘It is your house. You stayed there alone before me, right?’ Debu said.

‘Yeah, but now it is our home.’

‘It’s not. It’s rented. Too much rent, if you ask me.’

The train shook as it shifted tracks. I found it tough to balance myself.

‘You know what I mean,’ I said.

‘It’s okay. You will get used to it,’ he said.

‘I can’t. Please, Debu. Don’t you miss me?’ I said. A part of me felt horrible for grovelling before him like this. I teared up in front of everyone in the subway.

‘I am just a habit. Trust me,’ Debu said.

‘My stop has come. I will call you from home,’ I said and hung up. It gave me an excuse to call him again after a while. Maybe he would be convinced this time?

How desperate are you? mini-me said. Yes, so I am a little desperate, but only for love. There’s nothing wrong in being desperate for love, right?

At home I sat on the bed and called him again. He took my call. I heard noises in the background.

‘I’ve come out for drinks. With office people. Can we talk later?’

‘Talk to me for two minutes, please,’ I said. The house felt lonely as hell. I needed him near me, if not in person, then at least on the phone.

‘Come on chat. But only two minutes,’ he said. Of course, like an obedient slave, I agreed to whatever scraps he offered me.

‘Wassup,’ he sent me a message.

‘How was your day?’ I replied.

‘Was fine. Is that what you wanted to say?’

‘I can’t sleep at night.’

‘You should.’

‘I beg you, come back.’

‘Not that again, Radhika. Please. Have told you my decision.’

‘What is my fault? Just tell me. I will change myself.’

‘It’s fine.’

‘You want me to not work? Leave my job? Just say it.’

‘Do whatever. Your life.’

‘Debu, please!’

‘Listen, office people here. Got to go. Bye.’

He didn’t respond after that. I opened the fridge, found a bottle of white wine, poured myself a big glass. Then another and another.

I sent him a message in my drunken state.

‘I love you, Debu.’

He didn’t respond.

‘I will do anything for you. Nothing else matters,’ I sent another one.

‘Love you, Debu. More than anyone else,’ I continued my message barrage, as the wine inside me meant I had no limits anymore. From desperate I had now moved to full-on pathetic. I saw the ‘typing. . .’ notification on WhatsApp. He was going to respond! Joy filled me in anticipation of his response.

‘How do you say “stop bothering me” nicely?’ came his reply.

I poured myself a fourth glass. I needed to pass out and, well, not bother him anymore.





16


A month after Debu left we closed the Luxvision deal. The China factory site did have real-estate potential. With the right local partners, we could see a good profit on the deal in two years. We had closed a complicated deal. Jonathan wanted to celebrate.