Cold Feet Read online

  MEENAKSHI REDDY MADHAVAN

  Cold Feet

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  Contents

  About the Author

  Dedication

  The Bachelorette Party

  1. You are Young and the World is Your Oyster

  2. Fool Me Once

  3. Getting Away from It All

  4. The Flat with the Frog Bidet

  5. Instant Karma

  6. After the Sex, Before You Leave

  7. Like a Mermaid, Minus the Fish

  8. A Siren Sparkling

  9. How Not to Be Needy

  10. Our People

  11. Daddy’s Girl

  12. The Antibiotic Pink Bungalow

  13. All the Old Practised Positions

  14. A Dialogue in One Tone

  15. With a Little Help from History

  16. The Next Song on the Playlist

  17. Friends in Strange Places

  18. Becoming Who You Want to Know

  19. Other People’s Opinions

  20. The Small Confessions of Akshara

  21. Wisdom is as Wisdom Does

  22. Distinctions, Not Differences

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Copyright Page

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  COLD FEET

  Meenakshi Reddy Madhavan is the author of You Are Here and The Life and Times of Layla the Ordinary. She shuttles between New Delhi and Mumbai, two of her favourite cities, and finds things to write about in both.

  This book is for two men I could not do without:

  Kian Ganz

  and

  Samit Basu

  Her mind lives tidily, apart

  From cold and noise and pain,

  And bolts the door against her heart,

  Out wailing in the rain.

  —‘Interior’ by Dorothy Parker

  The Bachelorette Party

  Before every wedding, there is a set of rituals that must be followed, prayers to be said, fires to be walked around, clothes to be bought, jewellery to be held up to your face, and the best bit, the only reason people actually care about whether you get married or not—parties to be thrown. It used to be quite a simple thing to do in the past—just one party for the ring ceremony when you announced your desire to tie the knot. It’s actually called the roka in Punjabi wedding rituals, which translates to ‘stop’, as in, you have stopped the bride and now she can’t marry anyone else.

  Some people have engagement ceremonies, which is like a fancy version of the ring ceremony, and is more of a modern thing, signalling a longer engagement before you get married. Once your wedding dates are upon you, there are at least three different kinds of pre-parties you could have—the YPP (Young People’s Party, for the Young People to get together and make merry without the dulling presence of adults); the sangeet (a song-and-dance affair, where the aforementioned Young People from each side get together and do a little dance performance, and it’s all rather intimate and casual and getting to know you); and the mehendi (which is usually a non-alcoholic afternoon affair where the women get henna on their hands and eat a lot and find it hard to go to the bathroom because they’re wearing really fancy clothes and have henna all over their palms). Then finally there is the wedding.

  This is a basic template for an average Punjabi wedding, but seeing that most Indians usually end up having a lot of fun with these things, these rituals seem to have become universally adopted.

  Amisha, sitting at her dressing table, gazed anxiously at what was threatening to become the world’s largest pimple on her chin. She was less concerned with the traditional Hindu marriage stuff and more about a little Western tradition she had taken to heart—the bachelorette party!

  Because she was marrying an Australian, she figured she was entitled to her ‘hen night’, but she had decided to go for the far sexier sounding ‘bachelorette party’. It didn’t seem fair that guys got to call it a stag do, she thought, blotting the concealer under her eyes. In her mind, a stag do immediately conjured up images of wild animals running and rutting and fighting, while hen night was just so sitting-on-eggs-y. If they had to name it after an animal, then how about lioness night? The lioness did all the work, hunted and provided and looked after the kids … that would be a good animal to have on her last single outing. And, of course, mermaid night, if you weren’t picky. A hen isn’t an animal either, not in the way a stag is, so why couldn’t they be mermaids? They’d braid each other’s hair with pearls and swim through the pounding surf and ride sea horses, and yes, a mermaid night would be far more exciting than a hen night. But no one would have understood that if she had put it on the invitation, so she went with bachelorette. It was a much nicer word than spinster even, throwing images of a woman wearing red shiny heels and a glittery cocktail dress as opposed to the woman who lived in her nightie and only had slippers on.

  ‘Bachelorette!’ said the invite in sparkly pink letters. It was only an online invitation, but that meant Amisha could make the letters flash and have little balloons moving around, which she did. And when you clicked on the letters they faded away to give you the information about the party. There was a box you could check immediately underneath to show whether you were attending or not, and out of the twelve invites she had sent, eight people were definitely coming. These were good odds for a Friday evening party in Bombay, where everyone’s calendars were fully booked weeks in advance. There was always something happening more important than you, and most people just ‘swung by’ for a drink and then just as capably ‘swung out’, leaving no trace of their presence except sometimes a cloud of perfume and an empty glass where they had been sitting.

  Amisha had been in Bombay for about two years now. For her, it was a city that inspired terrifically close friendships in a we’re-all-in-this-together sort of way and it came with the caveat that once you were done with the city, you were kind of done with the friendship, too. Sometimes, the friendships lasted, but it was rare for a Bombay friendship to flourish outside of Bombay. But Amisha nurtured a rather traditional school of thought where a friendship grew from a stem to a flower to a tree eventually, and these instant overnight relationships where you came back from a party with two new best friends were beyond her. Still, she was trying. She made an effort. She wouldn’t have called the people coming to her party close friends, but they were the nearest she had. If close friends meant the people you confided in, then they were that, but only by default.

  Sometimes Amisha felt like a fraud, especially when the other girls, drunk, draped their arms around her and made declarations of undying friendship and love and she reciprocated because it would be rude not to. At that moment she would think, ‘Am I the only one who isn’t feeling this?’ Over the years, she had managed to whittle down her circle to people whose company she actually enjoyed. It didn’t matter if they were ‘close friends’ or not; they were intelligent, fun-loving women, and they would be a good choice to have around at a party.

  About twenty minutes away by rickshaw, Ladli and Akshara were doing their usual passive aggressive dance around their flat’s only full-length mirror. Akshara was taller, she could see clearly over Ladli’s head and so Ladli thought it was only fair that she stand in front and let Akshara stand behind her. Akshara complained that it was hard to put on eyeliner when you weren’t close to the mirror. The tiffs continued as the two of them tried to fit their faces in at the same time, but this also led to subtle space-occupying as one scattered her make-up all over the table instead of putting it back on the shelf and the other blocked the mirror while checking out her outfit.

  Ladli, being softer and easier to bully, finally picked up her make-up and went to the bathroom to put it on in front of the cracked mirror there and
Akshara, the one who was the quickest to feel guilty, began to make up for it by showering Ladli with compliments the minute she emerged.

  ‘Nice dress,’ she said, nervously, twisting her fingers round and round.

  ‘Thanks,’ replied Ladli, looking down at herself and smoothing out her skirt.

  This one-word answer sent Akshara into a tailspin of remorse, convincing her that Ladli was really, really mad and she began to drop more compliments. ‘Nice shoes. I like your hair like that. I like your bag. Your lipstick is pretty, is it new?’ Ladli, whose mind was on an entirely different matter—her boyfriend, who had been avoiding her calls recently—just nodded absently at Akshara.

  She was an ‘absent nod’ kind of person; it was something you learned not to take personally after a while. Akshara knew this and yet descended into despair. ‘We’re going to be late,’ she said, mournfully.

  ‘Are we?’ asked Ladli in surprise. ‘Let’s go then.’

  After a quick glance at the mirror, Ladli picked up her bag, drew out her keys and checked her cell phone for messages. Everything was okay everywhere but in her love life. Which meant that nothing was okay. ‘I will not obsess,’ she told herself, thumbing her phone like a worry stone. She tried to be cool, firm and impassive. ‘I. Will. Not. Obsess.’

  ‘I wonder if she’s still mad at me …’ thought Akshara. ‘I’ll let her have the whole mirror next time.’

  Shayna hated to be the first to arrive. Usually, she timed it so that she was comfortably in the middle of arrivals when people were already there, conversations had already started, and she’d ring the bell, standing in the doorway for an extra second, both to gauge the party inside and to make an entrance. This wasn’t something she did on purpose, nothing that she had consciously decided, it just came from the fact that she loved to be the centre of attention. If you told her this, she would narrow her eyes at you, but there was something pure and innocent in her need to be the focus of a room. She was like a little girl, a precocious little girl, who comes into the room at her parents’ dinner party in her pyjamas, and proceeds to charm all the guests. Look, here I am, notice me! But for Amisha’s party, she had made the mistake of assuming, since Amisha was old and boring and about to get married, that everyone else would be old and boring and arrive on time. At fifteen minutes past the stipulated time on her e-invite, she left the house, leisurely, but there was absolutely no traffic that night, and she reached seven minutes after. She walked up the stairs, crossing her fingers behind her back for loud music, voices, stray laughter, anything to indicate the party had already started and was in full swing. Instead, when she pressed her ear against the front door, there was complete silence. She contemplated going home and coming back again but then dismissed that idea as stupid and rang the bell.

  ‘Shayna!’ said Amisha, throwing the door wide open almost instantly, which made Shayna wonder if Amisha had been lurking behind the door all the while. ‘Come in! You’re the first guest.’ Soft jazz was playing in the background and a low coffee table was set with some hors d’oeuvres. This was such a grown-up party, thought Shayna. She was used to banging music, something from the latest charts, and chips packets and a take-out and a large stack of paper cups in a corner. Come to think of it, what was she doing at this party anyway? She barely knew Amisha, she must have met her once or twice at a common friend’s house. Derek, Amisha’s fiancé, had briefly flirted with Shayna once, but when she had let on that she wasn’t interested, he had taken a no-hard-feelings attitude and continued to be her friend. She had liked Derek, the couple of times she had met him. He listened to you with all his face, not just his face turned towards you and his eyes skittering around looking for other people above your shoulder. Derek had asked her to dinner quite regularly, maybe once a month. And she had always enjoyed those dinners, not only because he asked her to a nice restaurant and paid for everything, but also because he made her feel special. Even when they were talking about him. Derek had introduced her to Amisha first by bringing up Amisha in a conversation and saying how lovely she was, how smart, how fun, but she had only just moved to Bombay and didn’t have very many friends. Pause. Meaningful glance directed at his beer. Shayna, a bit hesitatingly, had finally agreed to take her out. It was as vague an invitation as she could manage, but Derek had looked thrilled and said Amisha would be in touch.

  Which she had been.

  She had dragged Shayna to this hideously boring art show, and Shayna knew it was popular and cool to look at art but the paintings didn’t do anything. They didn’t move about or entertain or even look like anything beyond colourful blobs. Some people, among them a man in a gold dhoti with a large bindi on his forehead, were circulating and talking about how great the art was. Amisha had made Shayna join them. She was bored in five minutes flat. Despite this dismal first meeting, her friendship with Amisha had somehow sustained. Every now and then she’d get an email from Amisha talking about a new play or show and asking Shayna along. It was like after signing up for that first art show Amisha couldn’t hang out with her without something ‘cultural’ serving as a backdrop. Mostly, Shayna declined, nicely, but declined all the same, but every now and then, especially if there was free wine, she went along. The last time they had met at a fashion show, which Shayna thought might be a fun thing to do, since she liked clothes. But the clothes were horrid and it was Fashion For A Cause, which everyone knew was never the good stuff the designers had—just some stuff they threw together at the last minute to look good for charity. There had been pink champagne though. That was nice. Oddly, after that last dinner with Derek, she had never heard from him again. It was like Amisha had co-opted her, and her friendship with Derek was gone forever. It was too bad. She’d rather have been at his bachelor party.

  Amisha poured her a glass of wine. ‘We also have Martinis!’ She offered her a snack, which looked like pesto on a circle of white bread.

  ‘Sooo,’ Amisha said, leaning back, ready to be entertained.

  Shayna wanted nothing more than to run, to go home, or even better, text someone else, someone dashing and exciting to go out with, the entire evening spent with pleasant anticipation in their stomachs. What a waste of her sparkly grey cocktail dress! She let out a deep sigh, which was thankfully masked by the doorbell ringing. More boring people, no doubt, who would talk about art and things all night, she thought. She heard Amisha squeal at the door and two new women came in, each with a brightly wrapped present. Were they supposed to bring presents? No one had said. She had never been to a bachelorette party before, how was she supposed to know the rules? In her mind, her own voice came through, rude and clear, ‘None of my friends is old enough to get married. So there.’ Having a rude inner voice was such a blessing sometimes, she thought, watching Amisha open the gifts. One was a bottle of wine (so uninspired!), the other was a black lace nightie with holes where the nipples should be (un-com-fortable! Plus she has saggy tits). The women came in, were introduced, and sat down with their own glasses of wine. Everyone refused the Martinis that Amisha was offering, even though she offered them with greater need each time, like, please drink the Martinis. Shayna downed one glass and was on her second when the doorbell rang again admitting another person, who also brought a gift. Shayna decided to invent a drinking game, every time someone said, ‘Wonderful!’ she was going to take a large gulp of her drink. By the time the gift was opened, she was well on her way to glass number three.

  Amisha was thrilled. It was all going so well, everyone seemed to be getting along, and by nine, the last two guests, Akshara and Ladli had shown up. Almost everyone had brought her a present, well, everyone except Shayna. You could excuse Shayna; she was so young, after all, she thought.

  ‘You look beautiful,’ said Akshara leaning forward and kissing her on the cheek. ‘I’m so sorry we’re late.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Amisha, waving them inside. ‘You’re not late.’

  ‘We’re just the last ones here,’ added Ladli, an old punchline that t
he three of them had used before and as they all giggled, Amisha was filled with warm feelings. Of course they were her real friends, her true friends. She was just being silly before.

  ‘Shouldn’t one of your friends be throwing you this party?’ Derek had asked that morning. It was all very well for him, his friends from around the world were all congregating in Bangkok, where they would have a weekend of wild revelry. Her friends didn’t have the means for that, and even if they did, well, she didn’t want to travel with them anyway.

  ‘I want a very particular kind of party,’ she told him, lying in bed, watching him pack, ‘like, classy and stuff. No penis cakes and all that.’

  ‘Tea and cucumber sandwiches?’ he suggested, raising an eyebrow at her.

  ‘Nooo, not quite,’ she began and then noticed the smile at the corners of his mouth. ‘Oh, go ahead and laugh. It won’t be your Bangkok drunkenness, but it’ll be fun! I’ll make Martinis with that new cocktail shaker we bought.’

  ‘Well, go crazy,’ he said, kissing the top of her head. Derek was really lovely sometimes. The thought made her smile as she flitted about her party, refreshing people’s wine glasses. No one had asked for a Martini yet, and she had made a whole jug. But people would, sooner or later, she thought. The idea that someone should have thrown her this party still nagged at the back of her head, but she swatted it away. Who had the time for that nowadays?

  Akshara heard her phone beep and saw Ladli eagerly reaching for her phone and checking the display. Ladli was embarrassed when she realized it wasn’t her phone. She looked around, hoping no one had noticed and put the phone back in her bag. She seemed a little sad. She took a big sip of her drink before turning to the girl next to her with a smile. Akshara felt kind of bad for her. Obviously, she was waiting for some kind of message from her boyfriend, Ankur, some kind of validation to show that he still loved her. She didn’t know how Ladli put up with it. Ankur had been distant and well, not unkind, but not his usual warm self. She happened to like him, he was a likeable guy, but he clearly wasn’t right for Ladli and the sooner she figured that out, the better.