Bye the by

Two things happened simultaneously. One, Meera had a new place to
live in and two; she had a new work place.

It took her a long time to get used to the new room, living all by
herself. She had instantly liked the place- by no means large- the only
room on the second floor with a sizable terrace. A white painted door
led to a passage that led to the bare, white washed room- with a plain
bed, a white cupboard, two white painted metal chairs, a coffee table
and a full-length mirror. The room opened into a terrace that had a
small room that was called 'kitchen'. The bathroom was large, with
brass taps, a jaded mirror and a small washbasin.

True, the furniture was shabby (terribly so, if compared with
Neenamasi's) and the windows did not shut properly, yet Meera took it
up mainly for the eucalyptus trees outside and the concrete bench on
the terrace on which she later spent many an evening admiring the
sunset.

For the first few months, every time she entered the room, she would
keep the main door open for sometime while she checked thoroughly every
nook and corner, raising the bed sheet to see if anyone were hiding
underneath. She would quickly cook before it got dark and take the food
inside after firmly shutting the terrace door. Even after the lights
had been put off, she would get up again to check if the doors were
firmly shut. This last act was done groping in darkness, so that the
imaginary voyeur would not realise that she was awake and alert.

Lying in the bed, she could see the stars, planes flying past, the
Eucalyptus trees swaying gently with the breeze. From the window in
front, she could see the terrace of the house in front, where the
servants of that house collected. With the lights of her room shut, she
could see their silhouettes moving with red cigarette tips. Often while
cooking, she felt them standing in the terrace, looking in her
direction, talking aloud, and trying to catch her attention. Their gaze
burned her back and she would hide behind the wall, cowering under the
ventilator and finish cooking with as much speed as she could muster.
Then, with great-feigned confidence, she would carry the plate to her
room, ignoring the conversation going on in the facing terrace and snap
the door shut.

On her return from office, she would buy daily groceries, carefully
handpick vegetables, and carry heavy bags twice her size to her room
late in the evening, tired, drenched in sweat. Joe dropped in often,
whenever he found time from his music rehearsals.

After that scene with Dolly, Meera dared not visit Maya, knowing fully
well that Maya would be terribly upset with her. She never came on
phone, so one weekend Meera decided to visit Maya.

A very sullen Maya opened the door. After inquiring about her new
residence and office, she became silent. Meera braced herself for a
formidable time. No one spoke for some time; finally Meera broke the
silence,

'I had no choice Maya, she made me suffer too much.'

Maya looked blankly at an ant crawling on the floor, her face- cold and
hard gradually broke into a tiny smile, which widened into a demonic
lopsided grin and finally broke into a laugh. Whatever Meera had
prepared against, she never in her wildest dreams imagined that
reaction of Maya. It was odd, to watch Maya laugh thus. Maya laughed,
breaking into peals, her entire personality seemed to shatter into a
million pieces, each fragment of her body shaking violently and
submerging itself into that great pool full of laughter. Finally, when
she could continue no more, and tears began to ooze out of her eyes,
she collapsed into a chair, choking for breath, suddenly quiet.

The silence then took over, pervaded the entire room, freezing all
objects with its touch. Everything became still: the table fan, the
orange sun, the potted plants on the terrace- all motion became
stationary till Meera mustered courage to break the tension and place
her hands on Maya's shoulders.

'What's wrong Maya?'

Maya was trembling, stared vacantly for a long time, then said,

'Do you know what suffering is?'

Clearly, Meera was not expected to answer this, Maya continued as if
talking to herself,

'Suffering is loving a man for fifteen years without knowing whether he
cares for you.'

Maya was in love! Blistering Barnacles!!!!!

'Who is he?' A stunned Meera asked, 'Do I know him? 'Where does he
live?' she was full of questions.

'I'll tell you some other time,' was all that Maya volunteered, before
receding into her shell once again.

Sadness, disappointment seemed to have riddled the air those days.
Neepa returned from Germany- suddenly without informing and dropped in
at Joe's place, only to find Debu going around with - of all the women
in the world- Bella! What was anticipated to be a big surprise (for
Debu) turned out to be a big shock (for Neepa).

So many tears, wasted in vain: all because one cannot foresee the
future.

Neepa was too shocked to believe her own eyes; her face went pale, she
grabbed her bag and ran out with Debu chasing her. Bella began giggling
and left as Debu did not return. She cried hopelessly for days and
refused to meet anyone, even Meera.

One month later, she fell in love again, but not before creating an
ugly scene with Debu a week later on Joe's birthday.

That evening, Meera found the room to be thick with cigarette smoke;
people seated on the floor- Neepa, Debu, Bella and a few other Mizo
friends of Joe. Neepa was not sure she wanted to attend and mulled over
it for days, finally said, 'what the hell, its Joe's birthday, not
Debu's.' Meera was pleased to see her look attractive in a dark blue
batik wrap around skirt and crisp white top. The Rolling Stones' were
playing at a full blast amidst sounds of incessant laughter. A friend
of Joe was just back from California after finishing his Master's
degree. Everyone surrounded him, wanting to know what life in
California was like. Neepa's skirt that kept unfolding itself whenever
she rolled off the floor laughing. Bella chain smoked, and looked
uncomfortable. She sat very close to Debu, not leaving him even for a
moment. Debu seemed normal, but laughed more gaily than usual.

Joe's friend who was just back from California suggested playing
'Consequences', a game in which there are a few questions and answer
papers on which every one writes a line in turn. He said it was very
popular in Californian parties.

The game started. He posed a set of questions:

Describe him. Everybody wrote a line describing Him.
Describe her. Everyone described her.
What was his name?
What was her name?
Where did they meet?
What did he say?
What did she say?
What did the world say?

There were seven people gathered and so they had seven different sets
of consequences. One of the consequences had six feet tall, dashing
dark horse Debu meeting short, luscious Neepa in once upon a lifetime
and telling her that he could not lay off his eyes from her face. This
embarrassed both of them and Bella, who had turned quite pale, began
crying. Debu tried to pacify her, got up and began moving out of the
room. As they passed Neepa, who was now lying flat on the floor, struck
her foot out, making Bella fall headlong on to the floor. Bella began
howling, loudly as Debu led her out, asking them to get on with the
party. They did not come back.

Neepa sat frozen, erect, not looking at anyone, then, in a highly
inebriated state began to laugh and cry alternately. As her hysteria
rose, she called Debu a bastard and later a fucker, and began cursing
all men in general.

'All you fucking men are bastards!' When Joe tried to console her, she
yelled at him and called him 'a bloody pagan' and passed out
unconscious, thereby giving the party, which had begun in good spirits,
a dismal end. As Meera tried to shake Neepa back to consciousness,
gently patting her back, Neepa kept muttering foul words about men and
kept falling back to unconsciousness. It took Meera half an hour to
finally restore her to stable sleep.

Joe stood outside in the balcony, smoking, staring at the sky lost in
thoughts. Meera went close to him and put her hands on his shoulders.
Joe turned. The night was very calm. She remembered seeing the early
morning stars as they shone brilliantly just before the dawn. His face
came closer to hers, so close that it seemed to belong to someone else.
He brought his arms around her and held her tight. Then a cloud came
over, engulfing them in its isolation.
* * *

Kercy's office comprised of two rooms in the backyard of his house. One
was the studio overlooking an aviary with a tree and a pool inside and
facing it was a smaller room, his personal office. There was a
draftsman working there as well, on a long medical leave. Two young
boys, who had run away from their village homes in Bihar, took care of
the domestic chores.

Meera geared herself for the amount of endless corporate meetings she
had to attend for the project, most of which she had to do on her own.
She eagerly discussed with Joe as to what she should wear for the
meetings. Joe suggested a sari since 'it is graceful and you are forced
to walk elegantly as the folds limit the pace of the wearer'.

'And what if I have to walk fast,' Meera queried, 'in case it
rains?'

'Lift it!' They both laughed as they pictured Meera pacing the
traffic-infested streets of Delhi in a sari with rain pouring all over
her.

'Joe, don't you think it odd that Kercy sends me instead of going
himself?' Joe wondered too, but did not know why.

Soon she discovered that Kercy had no need to work for money. He merely
took up projects for satisfying his creative urges and avoided as many
meetings as he could. The only persons he looked forward to meet were
either Royalty or British. Anyone less than that was not worth wasting
his time.

Kercy took her for the first meeting though. Butterflies flying wildly
in her stomach, she accompanied Kercy to Martin Kline's grand corporate
office at Connaught place, with its double height entrance foyer,
period furniture, and exquisite artworks reflecting the company's
status. The Executive Director was a conservative old man dressed in
light blue shirt and pinstripe tie. In that atmosphere of hushed
whispers and artificial lights, Kercy struck an alien note with his
long curls and diamonds. How much of Kercy's ideas were understood by
the ED was yet unclear, but the feel was almost as if Kercy was doing
them a big favour by talking to them. The ED looked at Kercy as if
studying a species of snake and reserved his comments except when the
subject was finance. The meeting did not last long, soon they were out
and down the stairs that kept unwinding to the eleven floors below as
Kercy blew smoke rings out.

'Oh, these meetings! What a waste of time!' he said.

There were another kind of meeting, with prospective Contractors, which
Kercy absolutely refused to deal with. They took various measures to
impress her, the Contractors did, give her diaries and other office
related gifts, which did not amount to bribe. If the idea had been to
impress Meera, it failed miserably. Efforts made to especially please
her, especially displeased her. (Perhaps that is why she liked Joe; he
never tried to please her.)

Despite the frills and pleasantries, the bottom line was, 'Will we get
the project?'

It gave Meera immense pleasure when she said in a very business like
tone,

'I am afraid, I am not at a liberty to reveal this.'

The fact is, I do not know.

Life became hectic. Drawings had to be made, colour charts had to be
prepared, furniture had to be designed, furnishings had to be chosen.
It was not possible for her to do it alone. The draftsman was still
very ill. Meera suggested they got more people to help out with the
project. Kercy agreed, and advertised in the newspaper.

In response to the advertisement, two fresh architects, Altaf and John
joined the office on project basis; they were to be paid by the hour.
Meera maintained a logbook, diligently noting their working
hours.

Altaf was reserved and hardly spoke, whereas John was chatty and would
not keep his mouth shut. Meera, the senior most of them all often
reprimanded them if they came late or felt disinclined to work. Joe
would drop in sometimes at lunchtime and they would eat cheap South
Indian food. At times, when the funds were low, they went to Meera's
place and cook rice and dal.

One evening, Neepa visited Meera out of the blue. Oddly, that was the
only way Meera knew Neepa, through her sudden visits. Neepa was wearing
an ochre crepe de chine sari and sported a pair of glasses. 'I have
started wearing saris since I feel I look more mature and responsible
in them,' adding, 'the glasses too, are for looking more serious. I
don't wear contact lenses anymore, my eyes itch.'

Neepa disclosed that she had found a new love in her filmmaker boss, a
divorcee living with his sixteen-year-old daughter. He met Neepa met at
a party, got impressed, and offered her a job as a research assistant,
which she promptly accepted. Presently he was going around with a drama
teacher.

'What is the point in seeking a man who loves someone else?' Meera
reasoned, as the two of them sat on the concrete bench, sipping hot
lemon tea.

'Oh, he does not love her, he just likes having sex with her.' Neepa
giggled.
'How do you know?'
'Oh, I know!' Neepa gazed dreamily at the moon shining behind the
eucalyptus trees.

Neepa had this quaint habit of saying 'oh' before every sentence. They
spoke volumes, her 'ohs'. The way she said it depended upon the
context. When surprised, it was a very elongated 'oohh&;#8230;' when
hurt, it was a curt one, and generally, conforming to her impatient
nature, it was a short and sardonic, as if she was shrugging the matter
off with an 'oh'.

'What is the point in seeking a man who has sex without loving someone?
Meera reasoned again.

'What do you mean? He is a man, he has to survive after all.'

Sex for survival! Why not?

'Will it last?' Meera wondered aloud.

'I love this lemon tea.' Neepa said, then, referring to Meera's
question said, 'Oh, I don't know.'

Joe had suddenly become serious about his music career and was working
on an album. 'The Hedonists' had found a Godfather in the form of Alia,
a venture Capitalist. The band would collect at the state of the art
studio provided by Alia and practice till wee hours of the
morning.

'What kind of music will that be Joe?' Meera asked, 'you can hardly
speak Hindi.'

'We'll have Punjabi pop!' Debu, who was their manager and songwriter,
replied laughingly, 'and Meera you can feed in a doze of your balle
balle.' The last remark referring not only to Meera's Punjabi origins,
but also to the fact that most contemporary popular music happened to
be Punjabi pop or old Hindi film remixes. 'The Hedonists', however good
their music, were incapable of producing anything even remotely similar
to that, considering their non-Hindi speaking band members.

'Why don't you go to New York or London? At least there you might get a
more sympathetic audience.' Meera suggested- naively, since the
competition got far tougher internationally. In desperation, they were
also considering changing their name to a more Indian sounding
one.

At this juncture, Alia seemed to be their only hope. He had already
begun their publicity campaign; Joe's interview had been published in
'First City', Delhi's premier magazine, where he had been hailed as
'the promising star' in the music scene, also, 'The Hedonists' were a
must at every Alia party, with their rock star gears and guitars thrown
in. It was to one of these parties that Joe, Debu and Meera had to go,
they chatted as they waited for Kazu, the drummer. He came soon enough,
dressed in leather jeans and dark glasses. Nobody commented and they
left for Alia's eleven-acre farmhouse in Sultanpur.

Alia's farmhouse, designed by a 'hot and happening' Architect, was a
place that coined, defined and expressed the word 'pleasure', taking it
to an unimaginable plain. Buried under a huge mound of dressed earth,
the house opened into a lush palm court, overlooking an artificially
created hill some six stories high. The farm boasted of three swimming
pools: one underground and the other on the court outside the house
that overflowed into yet another vast one, the proportion of which were
closer to that of a small lake and the floor of which (hold your
breath!) was laid with amethysts. The landscape, replete with rocks,
boulders (forced out from the surrounding Aravalli Hills) of various
shapes and sizes, some large enough to seat ten people, was serene yet
shrouded with mystery- quite like Alia himself, who turned out to be a
handsome muscular man, very controlled, very sober, seemingly so, until
one looked into his eyes, wherein burned fires of hell. The word went
around that Alia could single-handedly lift a motorcycle while in
college. Now, at forty, he still could perform feats, if not as
spectacular. Alia shook hands, for that one moment Meera felt a
transfusion of power in her hands, as if some one charged her with 1200
volts.

The party had already begun, beautiful women with diamond rings on all
fingers, men in quietly expensive suits and Artists- all so well
dressed and so sophisticated hung around the palm court and the pool-
that Meera felt out of place and clutched Joe's hand. A woman came
smiling towards them, kissed Joe on his lips and took him away before
he could mutter hello. Meera looked around desperately, Debu and Kazu
had made a beeline to the bar and that is where she found herself,
downing vodka mixed with orange juice (real fresh orange juice),
alcohol always helped relieve nervousness. The young woman whom they
met at the entrance was falling all over Joe. She was Alia's sister,
who ran a fashion magazine. As more champagne flowed, the crowd turned
gayer. Joe was lost to the world. Drunk as he was, he kept grinning
broadly at no one in particular. A girl sat precariously on the tip of
the upper pool as a man stood holding her skirt. What if she fell and
he was left holding her skirt, Meera wondered as she imagined a girl's
body falling down with just a top and no skirt.

What would happen if someone were standing in the lower pool at that
time?

Lost in these thoughts, she did not notice Alia standing next to her.
He seemed to have been standing for a long time.

'Admiring the view?' He asked. The party had settled well, everyone
seemed to have found company.

Silver moonlight shimmered in black pool water as drops of pure silver
fell gently into the pool. Soft music floated in the air, scented with
a thick floral smell. The moon, a pale wisp of a crescent looked on
along with a star at its own watery reflection in the pool.

Alia was the eldest son of a Business tycoon, and that Elder brother
stamp was distinctly marked all over him. He supported his family and a
younger sister who, while not marrying a genius, dabbled in various
hobbies, mostly expensive ones, as an aftermath of a discovery that the
genius was a fraud. She had married four times, the last divorce
happened just a month back. Meera spotted her laughing wildly at
something that Joe said. A not very socially savvy Meera stood
tongue-tied staring in front of her. Alia broke the ice by talking
about Joe, his music, his dedication and the hopes Alia's had from
Joe's album. From his point of view it was a risk, not too big to
indulge in.

'You have a very interesting face,' he said,' are you an Anglo
Indian?'
Meera replied in the negative.

There was no mixed blood in either side of her family. Papa was a
hardcore conservative, disapproving even inter caste marriages. He had
led a very tough life, what with his own father's failing health and
disintegrating business. Added to that, there were seven unwed sisters
sitting in the house. At sixteen, an age when most young men of his age
discussed politics and drank tea, Meera's father, a brilliant student
gave up his studies and took up a job, studied in a night college, sent
all his sisters to college and got them married at an appropriate age.
He married late, at the age of thirty after having effectuated all his
father's responsibilities. Meera's mother, daughter of a rich
restaurateur in Calcutta, moved to Ambala, a small town in Punjab. One
year later, at the age of twenty, she delivered a baby girl on a
pleasant spring evening. Meera's grandmother started weeping,

'Yet another girl is born in the family!' she cried.

Alia was passionate about cars and flying, it was his dream to buy a
Lear jet. Alia's eyes were dreamy, soft, as he spoke about himself, his
parents, his ambitions, he spoke about the nightmares he had to go
throughwhile getting the house built, his insecurities about the final
product, his faith in the Architect, and ultimately his relief when the
house was ready. He was quite proud of his house and offered to show
her around- his eyes turned dreamy as he looked at it and hardened.
Meera looked in that direction and noticed a tall woman in a red tank
top and black skirt approaching them. Alia excused himself saying,
'I'll be back in a minute,' and went towards her. In that one moment he
looked ten years older. The woman in red kissed him briefly and walked
away holding hands.

The Hedonists were in their element, the party in full swing. A very
drunk Joe sang one of his own songs, his voice slurred.

&;#8230;&;#8230;&;#8230;&;#8230;.I am sitting
alone&;#8230;&;#8230;.. in a room
alone in a rrrrooooooooooom
a rrrrrooooooooom

Kazu drummed sonorously, as the audience surrounded them, some fallen
on the floor.

I am sitting alone in a roooooom&;#8230;.
Screaminnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnng&;#8230;
Feeeeeeeeeling&;#8230;&;#8230;.
Alooonnnne&;#8230;

Alia sat in a corner, watching from a distance, the woman in red
sitting on his lap.

The vodka had begun to take effect. Meera could hardly keep her eyes
focussed. It was difficult to stand and she felt her head whirling.
Every thing was moving in circles: the people, their glasses, the
pools, the moon, the stars, Joe with his guitar, Debu, Kazu, the drums,
Alia minus his friend who was lying atop a rock, the palm trees. The
night was very still- yet full of noise and movement.

Alia materialised from nowhere and held her as she tried hard not to
pass out, making her sit on a chair. 'I need to go to the toilet', she
said and continued to sit in the same place, focussing hard on the feet
of a man dancing to the music. After some time, she gathered strength
and dragged herself to the toilet that seemed full of black bottles
with money plants. She vomited in the pot and sat down for a while.
When she washed her face it looked pink and strange as she wiped
it.

Alia stood outside, holding a glass.

'Here drink this lemon juice, you'll feel much better.' Indeed, Meera
felt much better as she swallowed the liquid.

'Feeling better?' he asked, smiling.

'Yes,' she said, adding after a while, 'I want to leave.'

'Would you like me to drop you?'

She nodded her head in assent, since Joe was still entertaining his
audience.

In the car Meera tried hard to keep awake. The cool fresh night air
revived her spirits; she noticed that Alia drove very fast. On reaching
her place he said,

'Take care, and don't drink too much. It doesn't suit you.' He wished
her good night and drove off; the sound of his car could be heard for a
long time in the silence.