Chapter 7: Oops!

Sunday. Instead of teeing off on the greens or dozing at home, Sameer was driving to work. London headquarters and their dumb deadlines. Driving through the Chirag Delhi intersection, he waved to Imran. Imran cheerfully pointed to his feet. He wore gleaming white sneakers.

Unlike weekdays, parking was a breezethe lot was almost empty. In the elevator, the digital clock on top of the door told him it was almost ten. He should try to get out by two in the afternoon. He needed some down time. The TV in the elevator played a tourism ad for Bali. Turquoise sea, white sand beaches, colorful corrals, comely women with flowers behind their ears. That's where his next vacation was going to be.

He remembered the family vacations of his childhood. Kashmir was his father's favorite destination and they headed to the hills almost every summer. The place was enchanting then. The serene rides in a shikara on Dal Lake with the boat gliding on the glassy waters, the walks in the flower strewn meadows of Gulmarg. The air as crisp and fresh as the dark red apples that grew there. Even the food tasted better. The Punjabi dhabas they used to eat in his father never developed a taste for Kashmiri food with the sweet earthy smell of tandoor in the mountain air, served great daal roti.

His first air travel was also to Kashmir. Nandita and he flew from Jammu to Srinagar a reward from Dad for doing well in school that year. He had made it to the top three in his class and Nandita had managed to stay out of trouble. Substantial accomplishments for both. They had been thrilled by the prospect of flying. The window seat created a conflict. Finally, they agreed to share it for nine minutes each for the eighteen-minute flight. Soaring in the sky, watching the toy cars and doll houses disappear beneath a layer of clouds had been an unforgettable experience. Nandita had to shove him out of his seat when her turn came.

And then guns had taken over the valley. For the last twenty years Kashmir had seen much bloodshed; too many lives had been lost. Now that the security situation had improved, maybe he should visit once more. Kavita and the kids had never been there.

But Bali first.

The security guard at the reception was slumped in his chair, half asleep. Lucky guy. Sameer wished he had his job. No stress, no deadlines. Startled by the sound of elevator door, the guard got up, toppling in the process, the plastic cup on his desk. Pens, pencils, sharpeners, staple pins scattered across the floor. "Good morning sir."

Sameer nodded, bending to pick up a Stonewell pen that had rolled his way.

Besides the soft lights glowing on Stonewell products displayed at the reception, it was dark in the corridors and cubicles all around. Complete silence. No one was in. He felt even worse.

By one in the afternoon, he hadn't made much headway on the monthly financing estimates Kartik had prepared for his review. The report was due for submission to London, but he had a few questions. He called Kartik, but his phone was switched off. He tried checking into the system, but then technology wasn't quite his thing.

He remembered the conversation he had with Arjun earlier in the week. The office hunk chiseled face, biceps and six pack abs Arjun handled the resource allocation work in his team.

"Did you call Steven to check the budget forecast?" Sameer had asked.

"I am skyping him this evening."

"What?"

"I am skyping him this evening." Arjun had enunciated each word, as if talking to a child, straightening the perfectly tied knot of his necktie.

Kartik and Neha looked up from their desks. Apparently, only Sameer hadn't understood what Arjun said. He glanced at Neha. She used to be his protégé but was now fully ensconced in Kartik's camp. That was his team. Kartik, Arjun, Neha and Neena, the zombie. Team!

He thought of giving it up and letting the goras in London tear their hair, but there had been a few strikes against his name and he couldn't afford another. So, he trudged along, taking his time, looking for other data sources.

Stepping out of his room, he stretched and walked towards the photocopy room to collect a print out. In the little natural light that made it to the tiny room, bent over the water dispenser, with her back to him, was Ritu. He liked her hair. She almost always wore it open with a large hair clip holding it together at the back of her head. Long, black, dense.

He was surprised to see her. She wasn't the weekend working type. She had an autistic son to care for.

"Hi," he said, approaching her lightly.

She jumped, turning around.

"You scared me!" she said, one hand on her heart, water spilling out of her cup.

"Sorry, didn't mean to," he said, his palms held in front of him in apology, "You here on a Sunday? What's the world coming to?"

She smiled. She wore a white sleeveless cotton blouse, a striped knee length skirt and flat canvas shoes. On office days, she dressed more conservatively. Sarees mostly. There was an understated beauty about her; she looked pretty without having to try. Flawless coffee cream skin, intelligent eyes and thick lashes, a black bindi between her arched eyebrows, slender neck. She was tall and had a well-toned body for a woman in her mid-thirties.

"Catching up with work." She shrugged. "You?"

He looked at her face; eyes pink tinged, eyeliner smudged, the redness of the bruise on her cheek. "Umm London office deadline."

"Are you okay?" he asked, trying not to look at the bruise.

She nodded, looking away.

He took a step towards where she stood and his hand went to her wet cheek involuntarily. "Do you want to talk?"

She shook her head, but a sob escaped from her lips. Her head was on his shoulder and her body wracked with spasms as she let go. He felt bad for her. She didn't have to suffer like this. She was a good person; she deserved better.

Later on, when he would recall that moment, and he would recall it often, he wouldn't be able to recollect exactly when it happened.

He would recall while stroking her back, he had lingered for a few unnecessary seconds. He remembered her holding him tighter. She smelled of lavender and cinnamon. Her eyes were closed and wet with tears, but she no longer cried. He felt tenderness for her in that moment. When her lips brushed against his for the first time, they felt soft and spongy. Full of promise. Despite his surprise, he felt himself responding wordlessly.

Their lips separated then. For a few startled moments, he realized the gravity of what he had done. Perhaps, she did too. But then just as suddenly, their lips joined again, pushing harder, seeking more. He noticed the quickening of her breath, his pulse. His hands were all over, feeling the softness of her breasts, the smooth skin at the back of her knees, the swell of her hips, the dip of her waist. When he felt her hand seeking him, he opened his eyes to find hers shut. He shut his too.

The next thing he remembered was her bent over the photocopier with her back to him. She let out a soft moan as he entered her. He remembered how her hand with the solitary gold bangle accidently pushed the button on the photocopier. Then it was like the photocopier was in tandem with them. Stroke by stroke, man and machine in perfect harmony.

Afterwards, he shut off the photocopier. But she didn't make any effort to move. Staying still. Bent over the photocopier, her face hidden from him. He stood there a few moments, unsure of what to do. Perhaps, she wanted to be alone. He left, walking back to his room.

He recalled those moments clearly and precisely. It was just that he couldn't recall the exact moment when it all began. It had lasted a few minutes. But those few minutes had changed his life.

As he flopped down on his chair, the enormity of the moment hit him. What had he been thinking? How could he have done this to Ritu? And to Kavita. He had been married eighteen years. Not one indiscretion. It had been suicidal too. Anybody could have walked in. It was the office, for God's sake.

It was a blunder and he had to set it right. He should apologize to Ritu. He got up from his chair, but a wave of inertia gripped him and he sat back down. He felt safe in the cocoon of his own room, as if by staying there, he could shut himself out from what had happened.

He didn't remember how long he sat there. When he finally got up and walked to her cubicle, the lights were switched off and she was gone.