Cheaters Read online

  I tried talking to my best friend from school about all this; she said I was being unrealistic. And selfish. She said some people just can’t digest too much goodness. And that’s what was happening to me. I agree there are people having a far worse time than me. But is that a reason to brush away this feeling that is gnawing at me? I think women are placed right at the centre of their family’s equilibrium. Any unsanctioned, untoward act of theirs can disturb that equilibrium. And nobody is not ready for that. Sometimes we ourselves aren’t ready for a change. But for the last three months, I have been readying myself for something. It won’t disturb any equilibrium but will allow me to experience life in a different way.

  Today when the alarm rang, I was already wide awake. I hadn’t slept. Today I need to inform my husband (who will then inform everyone else) about my vacation. I’m leaving for New Delhi to visit a college friend, who is on her deathbed. Other friends of mine are also visiting her. I will be travelling alone for the first time since I got married. I will tell my family that I’m going there for two days, but will eventually extend the trip to seven days. I’ve rehearsed my lines a thousand times in my mind. The conviction with which I deliver them is what will make or break my plan. I can’t afford the latter because it might break my life no end. I will be lying to him for the first time in twelve years. It’s a big risk, I know. But just as the consequences of getting caught scares me, the sheer fact that I can possibly pull it all off excites me no end. After sending Mini to school and just before breakfast, when my husband is getting ready to go to work, I will inform him about the trip. I have a funny feeling in my stomach. It’s not a normal vacation after all. It is a sexual vacation that I’m headed for. I take a deep breath, hold it for a few seconds and then exhale. I get up.

  * * *

  Alarm two: 10.30 p.m.

  I cannot quite believe that I did it. My husband fell for my story hook, line, and sinker. He explained the situation to his parents and even they bought it. And now I’m on my way to New Delhi. My husband and daughter saw me off at the airport. My eyes were moist as I kissed Mini goodbye. I hoped that one day when she was a grown up and got to know the reason behind this vacation, she wouldn’t quite comprehend it. As understanding it would mean that she too had undergone what I had. And I cannot wish such a future for my daughter even at the cost of being misunderstood by her.

  This chain of events was set into motion the day I accepted the friend request of a man named Atulit on Facebook. There’s nothing fancy about him. He is twenty-five; he was an engineer and is now taking a break to prepare for the civils. Last year he managed to crack the prelims but couldn’t clear the mains. This year he is confident of cracking both. He hails from a small town in Bihar and lives alone in a spacious two-bedroom apartment in Gurugram. The house actually belongs to his uncle, who stays with his family in the US.

  I don’t know why we started chatting on Facebook messenger, exchanged numbers—I had to save his number under a woman’s name—or why I decided to spend a week with him. Atulit is the real reason why I’m going to New Delhi. But maybe that’s only partially true. The reason I’m on this flight is me.

  As I drag my suitcase out of the arrivals gate, I nervously scan the crowd in front of me for Atulit. Although I had told him to not come pick me up, he had insisted. I find it weird to meet someone for the first time at an airport. I had gone to the washroom immediately after landing to make sure that I was looking my best. It doesn’t take long to spot him. My heart is pounding. He waves at me. I had always assumed that I looked different from my pictures, but seeing that he recognized me almost immediately makes me feel that perhaps I was wrong. I wave back.

  Although we had chatted about hugging each other, when we meet, it feels a little awkward. We settle for a handshake. My courage resurfaces in his car. A housewife who had lied to her in-laws and husband to travel to New Delhi to meet a man much younger than her. The thought itself gives me goose pimples. I pinch myself to believe that it is all real.

  Atulit gently puts his hand on mine as we stop at a traffic signal. This touch is different from our handshake. It feels too good to be true. We entwine our fingers together. But soon have to let go as the signal turns green. My husband calls. I tell him I’ve taken a cab and am on my way to my friend’s house. I share an awkward smile with Atulit after the call ends.

  As he unlocks the door of his apartment, I feel a knot in my stomach. I know what is going to happen inside this house for the next seven days. I know there won’t be any turning back once I step inside. My fantasy is slowly turning into reality.

  Atulit is waiting for me to come in. So I step in hurriedly. I don’t look around the place much. He asks me to sit on the sofa and goes to fetch me a glass of water. I take a deep breath. I suddenly long for my husband, my daughter, my in-laws, my comfort zone. Am I really doing something wrong? Ask anyone and the answer will be a vehement yes.

  ‘You must be tired. Why don’t you sleep tonight? The other bedroom is for you. Let us talk tomorrow morning,’ he says. I’m glad that he is turning out to be the same person that he sounded like in our chats. I nod and go to the bedroom. It is nicely done but looks as if nobody has lived in it for a long time. I change in the washroom, lock the bedroom door and try to sleep. I think of calling my husband when my phone’s alarm rings. It is 10.30 p.m. It is time for my father-in-law to take his blood sugar medicine. I’m the one who reminds him about it every day.

  * * *

  Alarm three: 9 a.m.

  The last time I woke up at nine in the morning was when I used to be in college. I feel happy; I’m living in the moment after a long time. I have lived as a wife, a mother, a daughter-in-law, but never for myself, in the moment. Every morning so far I have woken up and worried about breakfast. Once that is done, the daily chores have to be taken care of, then lunch, Mini’s homework, snacks for my in-laws during tea in the evenings, and finally dinner. And mind you, this is not a one-day thing. This is my schedule seven days a week and for 365 days a year. So much so that I have become so used to planning ahead that right now I am finding it difficult to be in the moment. In the moment . . . in Gurugram, in Atulit’s apartment . . . in a strange bed far from my own . . . Am I really here?

  I pick up my phone. There is no call or message from my husband. I’d told him that I would be staying with my friends and would keep him updated. He hadn’t asked any questions. Either he trusts me a little too much or he thinks he knows me a bit too much. Or maybe he takes me so much for granted that he finds the idea of my cheating on him ludicrous and impossible. He used to be possessive of me after our marriage. But after Mini was born, his possessiveness dimmed. Maybe he let his guard down as he felt I could no longer be attractive to anyone any more? As if being a wife robs a woman of her desires and being a mother robs her of her will. A husband demands your absolute sacrifice. A child needs your absolute surrender. Between the two, so many thousand desires die a silent death.

  I hear a knock. I get out of bed and open the door.

  ‘Good morning.’ Atulit has a tray in his hand. He has brought breakfast: sausages, poached eggs, bacon and a pot of coffee. I remember telling him how much I love an English breakfast. He remembered. I suddenly feel wanted.

  ‘Did you sleep well, Sayesha?’ he asks as he places the tray on the side table.

  I am Sayesha Sen on Facebook. Although my profile picture has my photo, I deliberately chose a different name. My family, my husband’s family, cousins, colleagues, everyone is there on Facebook. I wanted to break free from the people I already knew in my life and connect to strangers by being myself. Had I not had this urge, I would never have met Atulit. I don’t correct him. I prefer the lie to stay a lie. I intend to deactivate my Facebook account once I go back home, change my phone number and erase my digital footprints, almost as good as never existing.

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘This is for you,’ he says with a heart-warming smile.

  ‘I don’t have a
nything before brushing my teeth,’ I tell him with an amused smile.

  He keeps looking at me for some time and his smile grows wider. ‘Remember?’

  I know what he has on his mind. He’d told me that he had a thing for morning smooches. The raw, stale-breath smooch. I’d told him I didn’t have any such fascination. Now standing in front of him, I realize I had told him so because whatever we had chatted—or rather sexted, as it is called—was done assuming that none of it would come true. Atulit comes closer. He is a good five inches taller than me. He is lean, but feels strong when he holds my arm with both his hands. I gulp nervously. I feel like a prey. And within the four walls of this room, where nobody knows we are there, that feeling has a disturbing arousal associated with it.

  ‘I’m sure you won’t mind changing your rules for once,’ he whispers as he leans forward to kiss me. We kiss till my jaws ache. What happens in the next two hours is still a daze for me. I do everything most unlikely of me. I bite, scratch, moan loudly, allow myself to be taken in positions I’ve never been in before. I feel liberated, aware of my body, of myself. It is when I finally collapse beside him after riding him for the longest time that I understand why this is so unlike me. Not because I’d never imagined myself doing all this but because I had never done them before. After all these years, I’ve realized that I was never sexually content with my husband. I always feared his reaction if I moaned a little louder, if I told him I enjoyed dirty sex? I could never be thoroughly honest with him. I understood that when you live with someone every day, exposing your dirty side to that person is not always easy. Unless there is an assurance that he won’t see you only in that light. In my case there has been no such assurance to date.

  * * *

  Alarm four: 4 p.m.

  It struck me last morning when Atulit and I had prolonged toe-curling, stomach-churning and emotionally draining sex. I had an arranged marriage. I didn’t know my husband well enough before getting into bed with him. There was an undeniable restraint in me, which he negated with a subtle force from his side. I think it was necessary else I wouldn’t have been able to do anything at all. Was I comfortable? That’s a different story. Although unknowingly, but it happened differently with Atulit. We chatted and at times talked over the phone. By the time I met him, I felt that I knew him. This knowledge produced a certain comfort during our sexual tryst the previous morning.

  We always judge people on the basis of their sexual preferences and practices in spite of knowing that emotions are all that matters. I didn’t fly to Gurugram for sex. If it was only about sex, I could have done it in Kolkata itself and nobody would’ve ever known. This vacation was intended for other purposes: to believe that I can still be desired by someone other than my husband, that there is more to life than my family, that I’m not a victim of nuptial attachments, that I can live a different life without upsetting the equilibrium associated with my roles as a wife, mother, daughter-in-law.

  I managed to help Mini complete her homework via a video call. I updated my husband last night about my fake friend’s health status, asked him about everyone at home. Even though I lied, I didn’t compromise my duties. And I feel good about it. Honestly, I had my doubts about Atulit. Had he come across as predatory, I would have left immediately. But thankfully he wasn’t anything like that.

  We had dinner at this lovely Burmese restaurant called Burma Burma in Cyber Hub. He is quite chatty, which I like. I know he is trying to impress me. I’ve also distinguished a hint of awe in the way he looks at me; he is chivalrous and gives utmost importance to my comfort. I feel so damn alive. Sometimes I think that a little attention and care are we all need. But I know for sure that if our dalliance stretches beyond a week, Atulit’s adoration will start fading. And he too might turn into my husband. How I wish we can forever remain elusive to our domestic partners. But then I also know that that’s the essence of a domestic relationship: the mundane and the monotonous. We are all emotional explorers deep inside. Some are easy to pacify and some aren’t. For the last twelve years I had been itching for an exploration and I’m happy that I’m having it now.

  We went for a movie and then had lunch at his favourite restaurant in Connaught Place. He wanted to take selfies but when I told him that pictures make me uncomfortable, he didn’t insist. He wanted to shop for me as well but I was strict. I couldn’t allow him to do that. Maybe he doesn’t know that I flew to New Delhi not for him, but for myself. I won’t blame him if he interprets my visit as something that I’m doing for us. By the time this ends he will hate me forever. I know it. And still I am okay. For once I’m being selfish. If that’s the price I have to pay for being myself, for once, I guess I’m okay with it.

  We came back to Gurugram. Atulit wanted to take me to an amusement park. But I reminded him that I’ll have to be at his flat.

  The alarm beeps. It’s time to go on a video call with Mini. I need to finish her homework. I can sense Atulit’s irritation, but he says, ‘After that whatever I say. Okay?’

  I smile and nod.

  I’ll be back to this reality in a few hours, I tell myself.

  * * *

  Alarm five: 9 p.m.

  For over forty hours, we haven’t left the apartment. I’ve been the centre of his attention. It feels so good to mean something to someone, even if it is just for a day or a week. I feel like a word which kept wondering about its existence till it read its meaning in the dictionary. Atulit, for now, is my dictionary, where I read about different meanings of myself. It’s funny how different people help you realize different meanings of yourself. My husband, at the beginning of our marriage, had a completely different meaning, or idea, of me. He was always trying to be mischievous with me. I enjoyed it too. But I don’t know when it simply ebbed away. Nowadays, we go without sex for months without even telling each other, ‘Listen, we should do it. It has been long.’

  Relationships are like a bag full of gifts. The moment we get it we are excited to open it. But after we find out what the gifts are, the excitement fades. My husband and I are past the initial, exciting stage. But with Atulit, I’ve only just started. In between our love making, I look at him and smile to myself. He once asked me to leave my family and be with him. He is so naïve. He really thinks it is that easy to leave everything. He actually thinks I’m with him because I’m done with my family. No! This isn’t a runaway scenario. Nor is it an escapist module. This is just a vacation. And vacations are meant to be temporary. They are meant to rejuvenate you. Perhaps prepare you well so you can take on the monotony of life again. But I don’t tell Atulit anything. I keep nodding whenever he talks about our future. I only make sure I am not misleading him with false hope and fake promises.

  We are sitting on the floor under the shower in his bathroom. He is behind me. We are cuddling. Atulit is saying something. I barely listen to him. I only keep caressing his hand. He is too young. He is yet to understand the importance of silence between two people and the romance behind it. No words, no touch, no sight except for the realization that the person you want to be with is there beside you. I’ve tried to experience it so many times with my husband, but his silence is different. His silence never acknowledges my presence.

  Now, we are on his balcony. He is smoking a cigarette and sipping his beer. I’m happy with my ginger tea. I took three–four days to get used to my new environment. Initially I felt as if I was sleepwalking through everything. Someone would wake me up and I would realize that I was only dreaming. But since last night I’ve slowly become more conscious of my new reality. Maybe because I can sense that the end of the vacation is near. I’m trying to live every moment as much as possible. I only wish that Atulit was a little bit more mature. Not that I would have extended my vacation if he was. But just that when a surfer goes to ride the waves, he doesn’t wish for smaller ones, although riding even those will give him an adrenaline rush, but the bigger ones will become a part of his story. Atulit will never be a part of my story. I know this for a f
act. Since I didn’t really have any expectations from this visit, I’m not disappointed. With every slipping second, I wonder if I will ever again have the guts to pull off a vacation like this in my life. I guess not. So many things need to fall in place for that. I notice that Atulit is looking at me. He is done with his beer.

  He comes close, places his hand around my waist. I’m used to his touch now. He draws me closer and kisses me. It turns into a slurpy smooch. I taste his beer, he tastes my coffee. I’m almost lost when I hear the alarm. They are a part of my story. The greatest gift of my married life: a constant awareness of time. Atulit starts kissing more passionately but I wriggle out of his embrace. After all, it’s time to call my husband. I need to inform him that my friend, who never existed, breathed her last. And I shall be home the day after.