Falling into Place Read online

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  Tara still didn’t take the hint. Sameen decided it was time to shut up.

  The traffic was heavy that evening, so they got out at the end of the road. Sameen walked home and Tara went off to the dry cleaners, promising to be back in under half an hour.

  Rohan and Tara had met briefly once but hadn’t had an opportunity to exchange more than pleasantries. Seeing the two of them being so formal with each other was a little weird, but Sameen figured that since both were somewhat on the retiring side, it would take a few more meetings for the ice to thaw.

  But at least Rohan was delighted with the samosas and onion kachoris Tara brought. “I was just thinking of making some tea,” he said, trotting off to the kitchen with the brown paper bag stained with oil.

  Sameen set up Rohan’s twenty-one-inch iMac for them to watch The Good Wife on, and they soon settled around the monitor on an assortment of chairs, cradling their cups of tea.

  Halfway through the episode, a screech of microphone feedback and the squawk of discordant music interrupted them. The sound equivalent to running a fingernail down a blackboard.

  “What the eff!” cried Rohan. He lunged forward to pause the video.

  Sameen raced to the window to see what was going on, Tara at her heels.

  “Oh crap,” Tara said. “Looks like a wedding.”

  The back of the house faced the mouth of a lane that was mostly occupied by a large temple. It wasn’t particularly crowded at this time of the evening, but right now, the lane was blocked with a large green-and-red tent. They couldn’t see anything through the cloth walls of the enclosure, but people were milling about. Closer to the beginning of the lane, the caterers had set up their cooking station and were chopping mounds of vegetables and firing up a tandoor for rotis.

  Sameen pulled the window shut, but the wedding party’s loudspeakers were potent.

  “We could take the computer to the other room,” Sameen suggested.

  “There are no convenient plug points,” Rohan pointed out.

  “We could watch on my laptop,” Sameen offered. “But it’s a small one.”

  “I hate leaving something midway,” Rohan said. “Let’s try your laptop.”

  So they set up Sameen’s laptop in the room farthest away from the wedding, transferred the video to it, and rigged up the speakers from the music system to boost the sound.

  “Maybe it’s time we got a TV,” said Sameen to Rohan. “One of those fancy ones you can plug a USB stick into or connect your laptop to.”

  “Yeah, but what would we watch?” Rohan asked. “We do fine on the comp.”

  “That’s true.”

  “You must be the first people I’ve ever met who don’t have a TV,” Tara said. “What do you do for news and stuff?”

  “Duh, internet,” Sameen replied. “And I can’t stand the ads on TV.”

  “What about other stuff?” She pointed to the screen. “Like TV series?”

  “We watch whatever we need online,” Rohan said. “Sameen has a Netflix account and I have an Amazon Prime subscription, and there are torrents for everything else.”

  “Well, you certainly have your bases covered,” Tara said with a laugh.

  “Do you have a big-ass TV?” Sameen asked.

  “Yep. A forty-inch monstrosity that my mother loves more than she loves me.”

  “Ooh, we should go over to yours and watch this, then.”

  “You’ll probably have to sit through some ghastly reality show first,” said Tara, rolling her eyes and helping herself to another samosa.

  Sameen sighed inwardly. This was becoming quite a mystery, Tara’s house.

  Chapter 8

  “You promised not to laugh!” Sameen grabbed the photo album and tucked it behind her, sticking out her lower lip in exaggeration.

  “I’m sorry!” Tara tried to school her face into seriousness, but the laughter bubbled out. “I’m sorry,” she said again, though she wasn’t even a little bit apologetic. “It’s just that I can’t believe you have an album full of your childhood photos.”

  “Well, it’s my parents’,” Sameen said, letting Tara have the album back. “I brought it from Bangalore for a lark. Rohan had a blast with it.”

  “I can see why,” Tara murmured and then immediately held up her hands. “Sorry!” She picked up her mug of coffee and took a sip. “Mm, this is good. It doesn’t taste like this when I make coffee.”

  “Ha, don’t try to win me over with flattery,” Sameen said. “It’s filter coffee, not the instant filth you guys are always drinking. I get it from Bangalore. Like any self-respecting south Indian, coffee is the one thing I can make.”

  “So who’s that?” Tara pointed to a photo of a toothy teenage boy sitting on a bench with a young Sameen in a park.

  “That’s Milind. He’s one of my closest friends. His family used to live upstairs when we were kids. I’m quite keen for you to meet him.”

  “He lives in Delhi?”

  “Yup. Not far, he’s in Green Park. But he’s been flying a lot lately; he’s a commercial pilot.”

  “You looked so different as a kid,” Tara said, turning the yellowing pages of the photo album.

  “Yeah, I did, didn’t I? Lots of people say that to me. I wonder what changed.”

  Tara studied her face carefully, then looked at a photograph of a teenage Sameen. It was the same cheerful face, laughing brown eyes, frizzy hair that refused to be schooled, a wide, infectious smile. Except now those eyes that were looking back at her had a definite sensual quality. For a moment Tara was mesmerized, before she found her voice again.

  “Something about your face, I think. It sort of filled out. And, of course, the braces.”

  Sameen grimaced. “I always hated them.”

  “It must be the braces—see, you look so different here.”

  “That’s in college. Yeah, the braces were gone by then.”

  Tara picked up a photo of a group of young people standing by a cottage on a hillside. “Where’s this?”

  “Madikeri. Second-year college trip.”

  “Hey, Milind again, right?”

  “Yep, that’s him.”

  “It’s nice that you guys have been friends for so long.” Tara turned the page and stopped at another photo. “Who are these two?”

  Sameen leaned forward to see. “That’s Puja. She was my second-best friend at that time. And the guy is Daniel. We were,” she coughed, “pretty close.”

  Tara’s eyebrows went up. “Uh-huh?”

  Sameen scrunched her eyes in thought. “As far as I recall, it all started in our first year of college, but he turned out to be such a loser eventually. In second year, a month or so after the trip, I caught him holding hands with Puja by the storage area behind the canteen.”

  “Ouch,” said Tara. “Holding hands and all?”

  “Yeah.” Sameen made a face. “I know. But still. I broke up with both of them.”

  “Did you have any other boyfriends?” asked Tara. “Before Rohan, I mean.”

  “Oh yeah. When I was doing my master’s degree, there was this guy, Farhan—the son of some family friends. He was nice, but a bit boring. After a couple of months, we realized our families were trying to set us up and we decided to part ways amicably. My mother was heartbroken.”

  Tara smiled. “Sounds familiar.”

  “And after that, a few years before I met Rohan, there was this fellow.” Sameen leafed through the album in front of her. “I don’t think I have a photo of him. I was so smitten with him, but now I can’t even remember his name—Anish, Avinash…something like that.”

  “What happened?”

  Sameen sighed. “He came to the office one day with a stack of invitation cards—to his wedding.”

  That made Tara laugh. “Poor you.”<
br />
  “Of course, all this is not counting the heartbreaks suffered over cricketers and movie stars.”

  “Of course.”

  Under normal circumstances, Tara would never have steered the conversation here, but her curiosity about Sameen’s past had ushered her down this dangerous path. And yet, when it led to the inevitable question, it still caught her off guard.

  “And what about you?” Sameen asked. “Tell me about your deep, dark past. You have no life, so I’m assuming you’re currently unattached.”

  “Hey, I have a life.” She tried to look outraged. But her heart was suddenly thumping out of her chest.

  “Don’t derail the subject,” Sameen said firmly. “Do you have a secret beau stuffed away somewhere?”

  Tara shook her head, smiling. “Secret beau? No, no, nothing like that.” She sat up and tucked her legs underneath her. This is it, I have to tell her now. She stared at her hands. “It’s not quite like that.”

  “Then what is it like? Oh my god, you’re already married in secret?”

  Tara burst out laughing. “No, of course not.”

  “Then?”

  She looked up at Sameen, who rocked forward, all ears. Tara felt calm all of a sudden. She thought of the time she had gone white-water rafting with her friends, the sudden stillness after the rush of the rapids.

  This wasn’t something she necessarily shared about herself. She didn’t think it was anyone else’s business. But she did have an instinct that told her when it was safe to talk about, and right now she felt safe.

  “There isn’t much to tell. Only that I’m gay.”

  Tara could be inscrutable at the best of times, but this was something different. Sameen could tell she was waiting for a response. And the wrong one, or one that took too long to come, would be a disaster.

  “I’m sorry,” Sameen heard herself say. “I thought I heard you say you’re gay.”

  “That’s exactly what I said,” Tara replied, her voice calm, but her fingers tapped the album.

  Sameen stared at her, wide-eyed. “No. Really?”

  Ugh. Why were her brain and her mouth not connected?

  “Yep. Really.”

  “Oh wow.” It still felt ridiculous and inadequate as a response, but Sameen felt like all the air had gone out of her at Tara’s confession. “I…I’d never have guessed. Since when?”

  Tara looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “Um…since always.”

  “No, no,” Sameen hastened to elaborate. “I meant…I don’t know what I meant. You just took me by surprise.”

  She rested her head against the wall, studying Tara. The photo album lay forgotten on her lap. “You know, knowing Milind all these years has honed my gaydar to almost one hundred per cent accuracy. I can’t believe it missed picking you up.”

  Tara gave a crooked smile and shook her head. “We-ell, I’ve had many years of practice hiding it.”

  Sameen nodded in understanding. “Let me rephrase my earlier question, then,” she said with a glint in her eyes. “Do you have a secret girlfriend tucked away somewhere?”

  Tara crossed her arms. “Not for many years.”

  “How come?”

  “I just wasn’t interested, I guess.”

  “What do you mean?” Sameen was getting increasingly more puzzled by Tara’s replies.

  “It means I don’t ever want to be in a relationship.”

  Okay, that was the most curious thing Sameen had ever heard. “What? Why?”

  “In this country? It’s pointless.”

  Pointless. That took Sameen aback. She’d never heard it described that way, not even when she’d stood by Milind during all the ups and downs in his life. She’d seen him come to terms with his sexuality, fall in love, and get his heart broken. She’d been devastated for him because of the hostility he’d faced from his family, and terrified because the law was not on his side. But he’d never said anything about it being pointless. Ever.

  Not even when his family had more or less disowned him after he’d told them they should stop dropping hints about suitable women for him to marry. He’d never actually come out to them in a straightforward manner, but he had implied it. Neither had they officially cut him off. They’d just implied back that it would be better for them all if he kept his distance.

  Yet Milind hadn’t given up living his life on his terms. He’d been with Ashish for five years now. They seemed so perfect for each other—though there was a tiny possibility Sameen was biased—and they seemed contented. All their friends knew about them. Even Sameen’s parents seemed to have some inkling, given the veiled questions her mother often asked about whether Milind was “happy”.

  She didn’t want to make Tara uncomfortable, so she kept her mouth shut. But there was something else she was curious to know.

  “Why did you tell me about this? Not that I’m complaining.”

  “Apart from Barkha, you’re my only friend and I wanted you to know. I guess I would’ve told you eventually, because even though I ignore it and have no need for it, it is still a part of me.”

  “Of course you would’ve told me. You’re an open book, waiting to pour your heart out at the slightest opportunity.”

  Tara smacked Sameen’s arm with the photo album. “And you are very rude.”

  Sameen scrunched her nose. “This is so funny.”

  “What?”

  “That both my best friends are gay.”

  Tara’s eyes narrowed in mock disapproval. “Are you now going to ask me if we know each other?”

  Sameen poked her with her toe. “You don’t?” she said, batting her eyes in mock wonder. “How come?”

  Tara shook her head. She didn’t seem upset, so Sameen relaxed. “Can I ask you another question?”

  Tara shrugged. “I think we’re long past that stage where you need permission.”

  “What happens if you fall in love?”

  “It’s not going to happen. I won’t let it.” Tara’s determination was baffling.

  “You can’t control it, you know. It just happens.”

  “I can,” she said with vehemence.

  Well, what can you say to that?

  She sighed. “Oh Tara, you have no romantic bone in your body.”

  “And you’re full of fluff. I’ve seen all the Mills and Boons you own.” She turned around to look at Sameen’s bookshelf.

  “Hey, if you had to read and edit books by people like Loveleen Bing day in and day out, you would start reading fluff too.”

  “I doubt it. Definitely not fluff about straight people. Yuck!”

  “Fine. Whatever.” Sameen stuck her tongue out at Tara and got up from the sofa. “I’m going to get more coffee. Want?”

  “Sure.”

  At the door, Sameen turned around. Tara’s attention was back on the album. For a moment or two, Sameen watched her, an unexpected warmth filling her. Tara had said Sameen was her only other friend.

  Chapter 9

  “Let’s catch that movie tonight,” Milind said.

  “You just got back last week. Don’t you want to spend time with Ashish?” Sameen asked.

  “Our boyfriends can live without us for one evening.”

  “Rohan left this morning for that Japan thing. You don’t remember anything I tell you. Anyway, I can’t. I promised Tara I’d show her that momo shop that also makes these spiral potato chips.”

  “You and your new BFF,” he said with a sniff. “I go away for a bit and you’ve already replaced me.”

  “Stop it, drama queen. We can go for the movie tomorrow, all three of us. You and Tara can meet each other too.” She felt a little guilty because she and Tara had already discussed watching the movie Milind wanted to see. He was right—she had been ignoring him lately. And he had every right to be upset. He was, after all, a ve
ry dear friend.

  “So, getting free taxi rides these days, huh?” Milind went on. “This Tara is one forgiving girl, I must say, giving lifts to her hijacker.”

  Of course, he could also be very tiresome sometimes.

  “That joke is getting quite old now. And it’s not free. We share.”

  She got off the phone and started getting her things together to leave. Her phone rang once, then stopped. It was a missed call from Tara—their signal that she should come to the gate. Sameen picked up her bag and ran down the stairs. She was hungry—momos would be perfect today.

  Usually, as soon as Rohan left town, she’d start making plans to meet up with all her friends, especially Milind, so she wouldn’t miss Rohan too much. But this morning after he’d left, Sameen hadn’t felt the familiar restlessness. She hadn’t called anyone or made plans to catch up with them. She wondered why that was.

  Deep in thought, she jogged down the steps. It was only a fraction of a second after she was falling that she realized the heel of her shoe—a modest inch-high one at that—had twisted under her. Sameen made a grab for the hand rail, but missed. She fell awkwardly, slipping down the last few steps and tumbling to the landing.

  Winded and bewildered, Sameen lay there. A few seconds could have passed or a few minutes before she gathered her wits and remembered Tara was waiting. With the help of the railing, she pulled herself up. Excruciating pain ripped through her right ankle, and she cried out as she collapsed again, dizzy from the pain.

  Most people in the building had left for the day and the stairwell was empty. Her purse had fallen open, and her pens and phone had slipped out. Music was playing somewhere. Sameen realized it was her phone. She reached for it, seeing Tara’s name on the display. “Tara, I fell,” she managed to gasp. “It really hurts.”

  Tara didn’t offer any platitudes. “Where are you?”

  “Stairs.”

  “Stay there. Don’t move.”

  Even if she’d wanted to, Sameen couldn’t. It hurt too much. Not just her ankle, but also her back. She sat on the landing, propping her elbow on the stairs so she could lean at an angle that was most comfortable. She remembered reading somewhere about patterned breathing, which helped with pain. She closed her eyes and tried to take regular shallow breaths. Then she remembered where she’d read it—a magazine article on how to deal with labour pains.