Chapter 11: Pyar Ke Side Effects

Sameer was an idiot of epic proportions. That much was clear. Married for eighteen years with two grown up kids, and he had jeopardized everything for an affair. When he thought with his head, as he was doing now, the lunacy of his actions was obvious. But then he had hardly been thinking these days. Not with his head anyway.

He thought back to the first time he met with Ritu after that crazy afternoon in the office. He had resolved to put an end to the madness. He invited her to lunch to talk things over.

The familiar soya-vinegar smell of Berco's greeted them, as a waiter reeking of cheap cigarettes, guided them to a table towards the back. It was mostly office crowd, small groups of executives in twos and threes. Ritu looked radiant in a pale pink saree with a black border. He knew what he had to say and wanted to say it quickly.

"I'm really sorry for what happened," he started without a preamble, as soon as they placed their orders, fidgeting with his table settings.

She seemed surprised at the suddenness. "You don't have to—"

"I need to apologize."

He went on, when she didn't intervene the second time. "Crossed a line I shouldn't have. It was wrong. I was wrong." The thumb and forefinger of his right hand pressed the little finger of his left hand hard, "Perhaps we can move on. Pretend it never happened."

Ritu took a long sip from her fresh lime soda. "You think you have the sole responsibility of what happened?"

"I"

"Or are you being the gentleman here? Because I don't recall being raped. I remember having sex, yes. But not being raped."

Sameer gulped on his iced tea, unsure of where this was headed. She seemed to enjoy the effect her plain speaking was having on him.

"You don't have to be sorry. I'm not," It was disconcerting the way she looked into his eyes directly. An unflinching, unwavering, unblinking gaze.

"But it shouldn't have happened..."

"I believe everything happens for a reason. Though I can't claim to understand the reason. Yet." She took another sip of her drink.

"We are both married—"

"So, I've noticed."

There was a cackle of laughter from the private dining area curtained off from the main restaurant. A hen party.

She played with the straw in her drink, bending and straightening it in turns. "How can we pretend it never happened? It did. We can't press the delete button on a moment.

The waiter arrived with their food and they stopped talking. It hadn't quite gone the way Sameer had expected it to. It was supposed to be over. She was supposed to accept his apology and agree to move on. We should be discussing weather by now.

Her fork toying with chow mein, she said, "It's clear you feel terrible about it. So doesn't have to happen again."

Relieved to find the conversation finally where he wanted it to be, he said, "I don't know what to say." He really didn't.

They had broken up. Or so he thought.

They ate in silence. The chilly chicken tasted like cardboard in his mouth. Twice he made an attempt at small talk but Ritu's response, though civil, wasn't overly exuberant and he accepted the silence.

The car ride back was awkward. R.D. Burman blared on his radio,

'Monica oh my darling.'

At some point, he realized the incongruity of the song to the situation and turned it off.

When he parked the car in the basement of the office building, she leant on his side, meaning to kiss him. He flinched. She pulled back, embarrassed, and turned to open the door on her side. It was then he pulled her to him. He kissed her on the cheek, but when she turned her face towards him, their lips met. She kissed him a second time, her lips encircling, sucking his lower lip, as she felt him grow hard under her searching hand.

A little later they were in her bed.

What did that make him? A Mr Ants-in-the-pants, with zero character, no self-control.

The driver club hitting the ball makes a sweet rippling sound as he looks at it fly in his follow-through.

"Nice shot," Behl concedes, as they start walking towards the hole. Behl wears a golf cap that shadows his face; only his lips and chin shine in the sun. He should get one too, Sameer thinks.

The sex was good. Terrific. Ritu had a beautifully sculpted body. Contours and curves, he couldn't get enough of. She had few inhibitions and an appetite that amazed him. He drew his passion from her and she from him.

He hits a good chip shot that bring him tantalizingly close to the hole. He should get it in his next putt.

They had their first weekend together at Neemrana, the fort-hotel nestled on a hill on the Delhi-Jaipur highway. Corporate retreat, they told their respective spouses.

It felt liberating not to be under the pressure of the clock, to take the time to explore, to become intimate with each other's bodies, desires. Kissing passionately in the seclusion of their room's balcony overlooking the hanging gardens. Making love as the lights were lit in the night and it was Diwali for the hill.

He noticed small things about her. How her lips never fully met; there was always a tiny space in the middle. How she tilted her head slightly to the right when she concentrated on something. How the delicate light brown mole on her neck breathed when kissed.

He plucks a blade of grass and holds it in the air to gauge the direction of the breeze. He concentrates on the putt. The putter nudges the ball. It makes the distance. Hole. Behl whistles. Sameer is two strokes ahead of him.

He loves the Delhi Golf Club. There is an aura of history here unlike the new golf courses that have come up in Gurgaon or Noida.Here lie relics of mighty empires, ruins which bear testimony to an age of glory. A course patronized by viceroys; where kings, or at least princes, including the Aga Khan, had bet their golf balls in matches.

Whenever he returned home after being with Ritu, he felt an acute sense of dread. The same thought ran through his head each time. That day was the day. Kavita had found out.

"Very late today?" She asked him last Friday as soon as he entered. He heard the sound of his throat swallowing and then launched into a long winded explanation of audit reports, lack of response from Pune office, making phone calls without looking her in the eyes, his heart thudding.

In his mind, he played out different scenarios of Kavita confronting him and they were equally horrible. The thought of the kids tormented him too. They would hate him, lose all respect for him. A difficult thought to live with. It was agonizing, this continuous state of trepidation. In those moments, he hated himself for the situation he had put himself in. Yet he didn't do anything to change it either. It had become a bit of a habit with him this aimless drifting. Like a leaf in the wind.

Ouch. The ball lands in a sand trap. This will cost him an additional stroke. Behl has made up for the deficit already. He is going to take the lead now.

"Gilli danda khelo, Chadha sahib, golf aapke bas ki baat nahin," Behl rubs it in with a grin.

The physical distance between Kavita and him grew too. He was a little reserved in her presence, reluctant to approach her in bed. He did not know what bothered him more the fear of being found out or the guilt of cheating and not being found out.

And then Ritu created situations in the office.

They had a staff meeting the previous week. Ritu sat next to him. That, by itself, was enough to make him squirm. A little later into the meeting when he was about to make a point, he felt her foot up his leg and froze. There were thirty in the room and she was playing footsie with him. When he turned to give her the most vicious glare in his repertoire, she winked at him.

This was what he didn't like about their relationship. It was only his burden to keep it under wraps. They had had a few arguments and she had become a bit more careful.

They move to the sixteenth hole. It is neck to neck so far. Today's wager, a thousand rupees. The four domed Barah Khamba with its many arches looks majestic. There is a legend about this fourteenth century tomb of an unknown nobleman. Stan Peach, one of the golfing greats, while playing here, topped his explosion. The ball rose like a rocket, but hit the dome of the Barah Khamba and dropped back for an easy birdie putt. However, from there onwards, his luck ran out. The spirits were upset. His game suddenly fell apart, his six-stroke lead disappeared and he lost the crown. Sameer concentrates on the drive to ensure he doesn't hit the monument.

Perhaps she didn't care if Sunil found out. Sometimes he felt she wanted Sunil to find out. To make him feel as miserable as he had made her.

"Lucky shot," Behl says, as Sameer hits a draw shot. He is going to get at par with him on this hole.

When Ritu and Sameer were together, they seldom spoke about their spouses. Like they could deny their existence by not talking about them.

Once Ritu had invited him home to meet Aayush while Sunil was at work. Sameer had no idea what to say to an autistic twelve year old and how. He tried to make small talk, asked him a few superficial questions music, school, teachers. But Aayush responded to only half of those, despite Ritu cheering him on.

As Ritu went into kitchen to make tea, he followed Aayush to his room, where he watched cricket on TV, sitting at the foot of his bed, his legs dangling.

"Who's playing?" He asked Aayush.

"India. Sri Lanka. Fifth one day international. Two - two. India scored two hundred and seventy six. Sri Lanka one hundred eighty two for four in thirty six point four overs. Kumara Sangakara and Mahela Jayewardene batting. Need ninety five runs to win in eighty balls with six wickets in hand," he responded in a monotone, his eyes on the TV.

Sameer smiled. Aayush knew his cricket.

"Who do you think is going to win?" Sameer asked.

Aayush looked at him with blank eyes. "Aayush not know who win."

When he played the guitar, Aayush followed note after note. When he watched cricket, he followed ball after ball. Aayush did facts. He didn't do judgments.

They watched the match together. Ritu joined a little later with the tea. He was amazed at Aayush's encyclopedic knowledge of cricket statistics. Though India lost the match (and the series, as Aayush reminded him), he had struck a rapport with Aayush.

When he left Ritu's house that evening, Aayush came up to the front door to see him off.

He pumps his fist as his putt for the eighteenth lands in the hole. The head to head record Chadha: 12, Behl: 9.

It is nice to win.