THE ONE YOU CANNOT HAVE by Preeti Shenoy

spending less and less time with Aman. He wanted me to walk out and get married. How could I? I couldn’t desert my mother. I began having fights with him. It was too much for me to handle. I didn’t know if my mother was going to live or die. Only the first round of chemo was over. I broke off contact with Aman. In between one of the numerous hospital visits, my parents reiterated the importance of family background, of same caste and community in marriage. They said love would grow over a period of time. They said everyone has crushes like the ones I had on Aman, but they don’t last in the long run. They emphasised the difference we would have in language, custom, economic background and how much all of it mattered. Day in and day out, my mother would get teary-eyed and emotional. Finally, I had no strength to stick up for Aman anymore. He wasn’t making it any easier for me either. By then, communication between us had dwindled. I told him I had to break up with him. My parents were delighted. I was happy to see my mother finally relieved. And later, when my mom’s sister brought your alliance, my parents felt it was the perfect fit. When I met you, I liked you. And the rest you know.’
    I have explained everything to Rishabh now. He knows the whole story. There is nothing to hide anymore.
    Aman was history and a part of my past. But now he is a part of my present too. By telling Rishabh about Aman, I have now actually added him to our lives. Mine and Rishabh’s.
    Rishabh is silent for a very long time. He reflects on all that I have said.
    And then he says, ‘Tell me the truth, Shruti. Did you marry me as a consolation prize? Do you even love me?’
    And I stand dumbfounded, unable to meet his eyes or answer the question he has so simply asked.
     
     

 
    Chapte r 10
    Aman
    When I emerge from the plane at Mumbai, the first thing that hits me is the noise. It is funny how quickly one adapts to a new country and integrates so well with it, that the once familiar feels strange again. I have grown up and spent all my life in India and yet, after two years out of the country, I find it extremely noisy in comparison to the UK, where the decibel levels are probably one tenth of the decibel levels in India, by default.
    I have about an hour and a half before my flight to Bangalore and the first thing I do upon landing is call my mother. She is elated to hear my voice.
    ‘ Achha, beta . You just landed? How are you? When are you coming to Gwalior?’ asks my mother even before I have a chance to answer her first question.
    ‘ Haanji, Ma . Just landed. I will come the first chance I get. It hasn’t even been five minutes since I landed,’ I smile at her eagerness and typical ‘mummy-enthusiasm’. You cannot beat Indian mothers when it comes to asking questions about your life. They want to know every single detail.
    ‘How was the flight? You slept well? And what time is your flight to Bangalore?’ she asks.
    ‘In an hour and a half. Yes, the flight wasn’t too bad. When will you visit me?’ I ask her, giving her a taste of her own medicine.
    ‘Look, beta ,’ she sighs. And I know immediately what is coming next. Sure enough, she says, ‘Get married soon. Then I will consider moving base. More proposals have come. Shall I send you the photos?’
    ‘Ma, we have been through this so many times. When I am ready, I will tell you. What can you make out from a photo anyway?’
    ‘As though you can make out anything without a photo. I am only telling you to meet these girls, not marry them. In fact, one of them is Bangalore-based. She is an MBA and she is working in some software company. Very good family.’ My mother does not give up so easily. Ever since that fiasco with Shruti’s parents happened, her one-point objective in life is to see me married. It is almost as though it will be redemption for the insults she suffered at their hands, and her ghosts will finally be laid to rest when I am married. While I