A Forgotten Affair Read online

  5

  The rain in Mumbai is anticipated, talked about and sometimes even betted on. It doesn’t take long though for the much-awaited one to turn into the much cursed one; as slush, muck and flooded streets bring out angry expletives in everyone.

  Dark clouds pregnant with rain had gathered in the afternoon sky – an unusual occurrence considering it was December in Mumbai. Sagarika stood near the window staring out as the doctor walked in.

  ‘Fascinated by the rain, are we?’

  ‘Why do you think I lost my memory?’ she asked him, her eyes blazing.

  ‘What do you mean, why? You met with a terrible accident, and you…’ The doctor couldn’t finish what he meant to say, puzzled by the look on her face – it wasn’t the same blank, lost look he knew. Sagarika looked furious.

  ‘You keep telling me God has taken away my memory. Why? Why do you think God did that? Was I doing something so terrible that God decided to intervene and wipe my mind clean?’

  Dr Sharma sighed, kept her medical files on the table and walked over to her. He sat her down on her bed and seated himself next to her. Holding her hand in his small puffy palms, he gently stroked it and looked deep into her eyes.

  ‘Sometimes you need to forget everything in order to recognize what matters most. God works in strange ways. You must trust Him.’

  Sagarika didn’t understand him fully, and Dr Sharma felt as much. ‘Someday, you will fully realize what really happened to you and why,’ he said. ‘I’m sure of that.’

  At that very moment, as if on cue, the heavens parted, drenching the city in torrential rain. Sagarika went back to the window. As she saw the rain wash away the dust and heat of the city, a lone tear trickled out of her eye. A steady stream of tears followed, the kind that flowed in vain and then stopped of its own will.

  Dr Sharma realized he could only soothe her with words of comfort. The loudest scream is often a silent one. Ultimately we are all alone, fighting our demons and battles, he told himself. But he didn’t want to leave her alone. He wanted to help her fight, help her win.

  He walked to the window, held her and sat her next to him on the bed. They sat together watching the rain for a long time – they were an odd pair, Dr Sharma realized, a tall woman with a bandaged head and a short man in a white coat.

  When she’ll be discharged, whom will I talk to? Patients should leave hospitals to never return again.

  He wished her a speedy recovery but somewhere in his heart, he knew he would miss her. Her big expressive eyes, her fair, now pale skin, strong jaw which sometimes shivered when emotion took over. When the convulsions struck, the excruciating pain in her temples crippled her body and he held on to her hands as she thrashed violently and dug her nails dug into his skin. As it passed and she relaxed, he kept holding her hand. It felt nice to hold her hand. A woman’s hand.

  It wasn’t love or desire he felt. It was just a need to speak with, to be spoken with. To just hold her hand, to have someone hold his hand.

  Sometimes that is all one needs.

  6

  ‘Rishab and you met at an exhibition. In fact, he got interested in art because of you, sis.’

  Deepa was always full of tales about Sagarika’s picture-perfect life with Rishab before the accident.

  ‘You lived in a beautiful house by the sea. Both of you decorated it so well. Everyone complimented you on how well you kept it. I’ve been there so many times. You are so lucky to have a husband like Rishab. Get well soon, dear. You have a beautiful life ahead of you.’

  Sagarika enjoyed her cousin sister’s animated chatter – so much so, she would eagerly look forward to her visits. Externally, she was healing well; her scars had begun to fade. But her memory still showed no signs of returning.

  Then out of the blue two events happened.

  ‘Rika! Meet Shekhar,’ Rishab said one day as he walked in with a young man of medium build, a few silver streaks in a head full of black hair. A smile lit up his face and eyes every time he spoke.

  ‘Shekhar is our very dear friend. I met him in London almost a decade ago when we were both in college. We have been on a number of holidays together with him and his wife.’ Shekhar came forward to hug Sagarika but stopped halfway – he could see that she didn’t exactly reciprocate. An awkward pause followed, which Shekhar diffused by grabbing Sagarika’s hand in his palms and giving it a friendly squeeze.

  Routine conversation followed: about the weather, the view from the hospital room, none of which mattered to Sagarika. But she could sense he was trying to be normal with her. He placed a few books, magazines and some DVDs on the bedside table. ‘I think you will like these, Sagarika,’ he said. ‘The movies are light-hearted romcoms. And the books are by P.G. Wodehouse. Amazing sense of humour.’

  Sagarika did not know what to say, but she didn’t mind his company. Since Deepa had said she wouldn’t be able to make it that day, she was glad to have someone to chat with. She hated being alone in the hospital room.

  The day nurse arrived and gave Sagarika a glass of fresh orange juice. Sagarika took a sip and made a face. It was bitter.

  ‘You want some cheeni?’ Shekhar said, after seeing her face.

  Cheeni.

  Sagarika just froze. Everything else, every other sound just switched off. All she could hear was the word Cheeni. Somewhere deep in her mind something stirred. Cheeni … it sounded familiar. For the first time in all these months, she had heard something which had awakened a distant memory. She was sure she had heard that word before.

  Meri Cheeni. Morning, Cheeni. Hi, Cheeni.

  Sagarika’s ears were suddenly abuzz with a voice. A man’s voice. She didn’t know who. Her eyes closed. The noise was getting louder … as though someone was calling. Again and again.

  ‘Where have I heard it? Where…’ Her mind was banging hard on the walls, desperate to find an opening. Cheeni – one word innocuously handed out to her like a lifejacket and Sagarika desperately held on it, forcing her mind to think as she stayed afloat in a sea of emptiness. ‘Where? Who?’ she was muttering to herself. She pressed her temples hard, trying to force her mind to think. The throbbing inside her head would turn into full-body convulsions any moment.

  ‘Rika! RIKA!’ someone was calling out and gently shaking her shoulders. Her eyes fluttered open just a bit. It was Rishab. He looked very worried.

  ‘What happened? Are you okay?’

  Sagarika’s eyes were closing shut. If only she could silence the voice in her head.

  Cheeni. Where have I heard it? I’ve definitely heard it before … a long time ago … where … who is calling out…

  She looked past Rishab and saw a concerned Shekhar standing behind him. They both looked tense. Sagarika could barely speak. ‘Cheeni,’ she mumbled feebly and then clutched her head and screamed. She howled, gasped for air and then fainted. Dr Sharma and a couple of nurses arrived on hearing Rishab yelling.

  ‘Cheeni. Sugar?’ Rishab asked the doctor. ‘Sugar triggered this?’ He looked perplexed. ‘Do you think she is reacting adversely to sugar?’

  Dr Sharma had no answer. The neurosurgeon who had also been summoned checked her vitals and declared her stable.

  ‘The mind wakes up in strange ways,’ he told Rishab. ‘Maybe she likes sugar. Or it could be some incident related to sugar. This will happen a lot. Her memory will come back in spurts. It will respond to strange, unrelated words, images, sounds and smells. She may even react violently. You have to be prepared for such occurrences till her memory returns fully.’ He instructed Dr Sharma to keep her under close observation. The fact that she passed out was cause for worry but the neurosurgeon didn’t want Rishab to get more worked up.

  Dr Sharma knew instinctually that Sagarika’s reaction had nothing to do with sugar. ‘It’s something else. The word “cheeni” has triggered a very strong memory deep inside,’ he told himself. ‘Could Cheeni be someone’s name? Maybe she called someone by that name or someone else addressed her … whatever it
is, it’s possible she has a deep and strong connect with that word.’

  Soon, however, Sagarika and the others forgot the incident. But it would come back to haunt her again. A few months later.

  7

  On the doctor’s orders, Sagarika walked in the lobby twice a day, with the nurse next to her for support. Although her legs and lower back ached whenever she walked, it gave her the opportunity to peep into other rooms and see some new faces. Except for Deepa who visited her every alternate day and chatted for an hour, Sagarika didn’t have any other visitor. Work and travel kept Rishab away most of the time.

  Hope Memorial was one of the most sought-after hospitals in Mumbai and the visiting hours, in the evening, saw plenty of friends and families of the patients in the premises. Sagarika was on the super-deluxe floor; patients had individual rooms here. With its gleaming Italian marble flooring, anyone would be forgiven for thinking this was the lobby of a five-star hotel. Beautiful paintings adorned the walls and the end of the corridor had a gigantic mural with a soft waterfall cascading over it. At the other end was a small temple room. Replete with thick carpeting from one wall to another, there were large cushions scattered all around in addition to some antique-style chairs. The uber rich preferred to recover and pray in isolation and luxury.

  Evenings were no less than a fashion parade on the floor and the rising clickety-clack of stilettoes on the marble announced the arrival of visitors. Women, impeccably dressed in flowing chiffons, some in starched cotton, sashayed across to meet their ailing families and friends. While some liked to dress perfectly with everything well-coordinated, there were some who preferred to remain understated. Sitting on a bench in the lobby, on her walks, Sagarika enjoyed watching these visitors – their attire, their flashy handbags, shiny watches and immaculately done makeup. But what stayed with Sagarika was the lingering smell of perfume they left behind.

  Why do people need to dress up so glamorously when they’re visiting someone in a hospital? Or maybe I’m being unreasonable. Have I become cranky and irritable? Or was I always like this?

  Suddenly a hand held her elbow.

  ‘Reeks!’

  She turned around to a petite young woman wearing green-framed spectacles. Her straight wispy hair, reaching just below her ears, was cut very short on one side and longer on the other. It looked like an experiment gone wrong but lent a soft and comical look to the face; she seemed friendly. Lots of coloured beads jingled around the woman’s wrist. Intricate patterns of tattoos covered the arms. Huge earrings dangled, almost touching her shoulders. She was dressed in a bright floral tee with skinny trousers. Before Sagarika could respond, the woman engulfed her in a hug and started weeping.

  ‘I should have been there for you,’ she cried. ‘You called me so many times. I was so stupid. Thank God…’

  Feeling uncomfortable, Sagarika pushed the woman away instinctively and moved towards the nurse.

  ‘Madam, please,’ the nurse said. ‘The patient has no memory. Please, let her be.’

  Something about the sobbing woman stayed with Sagarika though – the way she seemed so broken, desolate and hurt. Though she had initially recoiled away from the woman, something about her made her stand still and look deep into her eyes.

  ‘Reeks,’ the woman said. ‘It’s me, yaar! How can you forget me, babe?’

  The woman held Sagarika’s hand and stared back, her tears now unstoppable. Gently touching her bandaged head she said, ‘How badly hurt are you? You need to get well soon, okay? We will go to Britannia and have your favourite berry pulao. Or wait . . . shall we go to Gajalee? Just you and me. Let’s do that … Like the good old days. Everything will be all right. Don’t you worry.’ She took Sagarika’s hand in her palm, kissed it gently and smiled.

  ‘What’s all this rubbish I’m hearing about memory loss!’ she said, cupping Sagarika’s face gently.

  This time Sagarika didn’t jerk back or withdraw. She continued looking at her eyes: somewhere deep within, a memory was coming back to life. Sagarika could feel the woman’s grief, but the more she tried to force her mind to remember, the more her temple began throbbing. She wanted to talk to her and ask her all about their past. She wanted to trust the sobbing woman. When she held Sagarika’s hand and cupped her face, the touch didn’t feel strange – it felt familiar.

  I don’t remember. Anything. If only…if only I could remember.

  ‘WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING HERE?’

  It was Rishab, striding furiously towards them. ‘Take madam back to her room. Right now!’ he hissed at the nurse.

  ‘I want to talk to her,’ Sagarika said, the pain in her head now making her dizzy all over again. ‘I … um … I think I know her. I want to…’

  ‘Please go to your room, Sagarika. Please!’

  Dr Sharma appeared in the lobby just at that moment and saw the scene. One look at Sagarika and he knew her headache was back.

  ‘Mrs Mehta, you need to lie down and rest. Now,’ he said, hastily walking towards them.

  For once Rishab acknowledged Dr Sharma’s presence. ‘Please take her to the room, doctor,’ he said, glaring at him. ‘The nurses here clearly pay no heed to my instructions.’ Rishab shot an angry look at the nurse who was shivering out of fear – Rishab’s imposing figure and grey-green eyes terrified her and he had left strict instructions: absolutely no one was to meet Sagarika without his approval.

  Pressing her temples to ease the pain which had gone from a throb to a stabbing pain, Sagarika hobbled to her room with them. When she turned back, she saw Rishab pulling the woman in the floral tee harshly towards the exit.

  ‘Let go of me!’ she screamed at Rishab. ‘I want to talk to her! She’s my best friend.’ The woman tried to shake herself free from Rishab’s grip but in vain. Holding her hand firmly, he continued walking towards the elevators. The woman was sobbing by now, and looked like a helpless rag doll.

  Why is he dragging her out like this? Sagarika shuddered at the sight. Dr Sharma and the nurse urged her to walk into her room.

  ‘I want … I want to talk to her. Why is Rishab being so mean to her?’ she asked him.

  ‘Now isn’t the time, Sagarika,’ Dr Sharma said, fearing she would have another convulsion. ‘You need to lie down.’

  Meanwhile, Rishab was trying to control his anger the best he could.

  ‘I don’t want you to come near Rika, Amrita. Leave us alone. I have got back my wife,’ he said, pushing her out of the lobby.

  ‘Don’t say that, Rishab! I can help. You know that.’

  ‘With what? Your idiotic psycho-babble? It’s bullshit which led to this.’ Rishab was almost ready to punch her. ‘Get out of our lives and stay away.’

  Their altercation attracted the attention of onlookers. People were beginning to stand by and stare. Her tattooed arms, asymmetrical haircut, floral tee, dangling earrings … her entire demeanour disgusted Rishab and what annoyed him more was that he had to stand in full public view and converse with her. Everyone loves a spectacle and it embarrassed him to be the source of it.

  ‘I’m saying this for the last time, Amrita! Leave the hospital right now, or I will be compelled to call security. I’m Rika’s husband and I will take care of her, goddammit!’

  Amrita realized there was nothing more she could do. She wiped her eyes, humiliated at being thrown out – from the hospital, and from her best friend’s life – like garbage. But she knew Rishab long and well enough. She got into the elevator and made her way out.

  Rishab walked back to Sagarika as soon the elevator doors closed.

  ‘Who was she? Why was she crying?’ Sagarika asked him as soon he entered her room.

  ‘Rika,’ he said calmly, ‘I don’t want you to think about anything else other than recovering soon.’ Bundling her in his arms, Rishab signalled to both the attending nurse and Dr Sharma to leave.

  ‘Why did you get so angry?’ Sagarika asked, as soon as the two left. ‘Why did you drag her away like that? She … she had come
to see me.’

  ‘Rika, my love, you don’t know what I’ve been through. I … I just want you to get better. I want us to go back to our life just the way we were … happy and together.’ Rishab kissed her hands, and let them caress his face.

  ‘But how would my meeting her … how would it stop me from getting well?’

  ‘I almost lost you, Rika. I just want you to get better. I want to take you home and make a fresh start.’

  Rishab was barely audible, holding her palms in his hand. He was breathing deeply and it was difficult to say if he was controlling anger or anguish.

  ‘You take rest, my dear. Don’t worry about anything. I want to see you get better.’

  Sagarika couldn’t stop thinking about the woman though. She lay in bed, closed her eyes.

  Who is she? I think I know her. If only Rishab allowed us to talk for a while. She had only come to see me. The way he dragged her away … gripping her arm like that.

  Sagarika dozed off for a bit and woke up on hearing strains of a conversation just outside her door.

  ‘Haven’t I made myself clear? What part of my instruction did you and your staff not understand?

  ‘Sorry, sir. It will never happen again.’

  ‘Why did it happen today? No one, I repeat, no one is to be allowed entry without my permission. Is that clear?’

  There was no mistaking the threat in Rishab’s voice. He wasn’t screaming; he didn’t need to. He could intimidate anyone just with the controlled pitch of his words and the piercing glare.

  Sagarika clutched the edge of the pillow, digging her fingers deep into it, her forehead lined with worry.

  Why should no one be allowed to meet me? Why is his permission required? Why is he treating the hospital staff this way?

  She shut her eyes and pretended to fall asleep. On entering the room, Rishab saw his wife sleeping. He immediately began typing a text message on his cellphone.