He walks in first. She is late, as usual. The waiter knows him. He smiles, clears their usual table. He sits, gazes at the pool outside. She had chosen this table. She was scared of water, yet loved looking at still waters. Said it made her feel calm. Such a bundle of contradictions, is that why he fell for her. Bcos she hated bright colors but loved red nail polish. Bcos she was a fabulous cook but needed him to make her the perfect cuppa every morning. Bcos she would talk nineteen to the dozen at any given time, yet listen quietly when he really needed Bcos she was blunt to the point of rudeness but soft, oh-so-soft while in bed. He sighed and shook himself out of this stupor. Enough was enough. The whole idea of today was to get it over with once and for all.
One and half hours, still no sign of her. Two cups of tea, lemon, no milk, one Sugar-free tablet. She liked it that way, He had started it liking it way too. She said it would help him lose the extra flab around the waist. Also jogging on the empty road at 5:30 every morning. Fruits and cornflakes for breakfast, Subway for lunch. How hard he had resisted these habits when his mother had insisted, how easy it had been for him to imbibe them when she asked. Even her incessant nagging had failed to cure him of one habit. Proof of that was in the 7 odd cigarette butts that lay fuming in the ashtray. As he lit his 8th cigarette, he remembered the first time she had pulled out a ciggie from his mouth and split it into two. After she did it twice, he had caught her hand and kissed her fingers. The jingle-jangle of her bangles as they hit his watch, he loved the sound. He could hear it even now.
As the sound became louder, he realised that she had arrived. Lemon churidar-kurta, hands full of yellow bangles, silver baalis dangling from her ears, she looked like the wind blowing over a field of daisies. There was something about the perfume she was wearing though. It seemed familiar but not hers. She sat opposite him, she had always insisted on it. He wondered why now, did she always want some distance between them. She smiled, but somehow her smiled seemed brighter than he remembered in the last 6 months. Was she really happier now? Did she never feel this happiness in the last 3 years with him? The waiter got her tea. He put milk in her tea. He was about to ask him not to, but then noticed she did not. So had her taste changed? How did the waiter know? Had she been here without him? After him? With someone else? How did it matter?
She brought out the papers. Silently pushed them towards him. 'Copy of Petitioner 2', it said. So thats all I was in her life now, Petitioner 2. She looked deep into her cup, not uttering a word. Why had she come, if she did not want to speak? Anyone would have delivered the papers to him. He did not even want them. She could have whatever she wanted. He had given him his heart, his life, three years of love, longing, desire, happiness. He had changed his lifestyle, his hairstyle, everything he possibly could. So what is it that she could ask for now, that he could even offer?
She finished her tea. Looked up at him expectantly. Then he remembered the envelope. He gave it to her. She took out the snaps. She found one missing, and looked up questioningly. He could not bring himself to return that pic to her. It was taken on their honeymoon. She in a baby-pink night gown, the morning after, her hair tousled, her eyes sleepy. There was this mix of eroticism and innocence in that pic. Thats how he wanted to remember her. The child-woman that she was. The way she looked and behaved today made her appear way older than her age. He silently pleaded with her not to ask for the pic. She refused to budge. He gave it to her, his eyes misting over. He controlled himself, telling himself that when an entire relationship had fallen apart, a pic was but a small price to pay for it.
She got up to leave. He wanted to talk. He knew there was nothing left to say, but he had so much to ask. To her, it seemed enough to just walk out and never come back. To him, it seemed like his heart would burst open. For 6 months, he had tried to talk to her but she hadnt spoken a word, except the D word. So, here he was, finally giving up. Doing what he knew would make atleast one person happy. She hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. That touch of her hair, that feeling of having her close. How could her let her go? But the perfume she was wearing. Where had he smelled it before? He turned around and watched her go. She stopped at the door. His heart skipped a beat. She has realised its all a mistake. She wants to come back. He would definitely take her back. She opened her purse, took out the envelope he had just given up, tore it into a million pieces and threw them into the dust bin.
That is when he felt the first drop of tear roll down his nose to his palm. More followed. He silently sobbed. He got into his car, where his silent sobs turned into loud wails. He felt all alone in the restaurant full of people. He needed to speak to someone. He thought of M, his best friend. The guy who had seen him through the best and worst of times. He started dialling his number and stopped short.
He remembered the perfume. M had sprayed it in the car for his benefit. M said that he had bought it as a gift for the woman he loved. He dropped M at DLF City. The flat number he said at the gate was Mrs. S. Parekh, Flat 4B, Block II. He had felt very happy for M when he left the society after dropping him. Now he felt sick to the very core of his soul. Hesitantly, sending silent prayers to heavens above, he turned the pages of the affidavit and looked for the address of Petitioner 1. There it was,
Address: C/o Mrs. Savita Parekh Flat 4B, Block II, DLF City
