[The characters of this story bear no resemblance to any persons, living or dead] There’s a saying among Goans that a boy and a girl cannot ‘just’ be friends. But Adelaide and me proved everyone wrong!
Both of us scraped through school and college, virtually living into each other. We shared anything and everything that happened in our life. Not a day passed without our tête-à-têtes. Our topics of conversation ranged from political issues to terrorist activities, Portuguese colonialism to present day tourism, global oil resources to Goan mango prices; but never anything personal. That was one boundary line we never crossed.
Later I made up my mind, I wanted to go abroad.
“Go abroad? You must be joking... Take a spanner and tighten your screws, your brain is loose,” Adelaide said, “I would never leave my Goa... or marry someone working abroad.. shh...can’t digest that piece of stupidity...”
“What is wrong with that..? And.. you with all your brains.., you want to stagnate here?.. What a waste!” I groaned.
She was unmoved.
Must have been pride or ire, which made me leave without even wishing her goodbye.
Some years passed.
I had a standard job in the Middle-East where I worked hard and earned enough but spent like a Sheikh – living a life of luxuries and entertainment. I had almost forgotten about Adelaide. There was Nazima, a girl from Bombay. But when I found out she was juggling a Britisher, an Arab pilot and an Indian architect in a most misdemeanor, cosmopolitan manner, I decided to check myself.
Occasionally, Adelaide’s father emailed me. Adelaide was working and involved in a number of charity works. She did not have time to think of marriage. And then, as it happens to most complacent people, I guess I fell in love.
Having burned my fingers with Nazima, I should have been immune to Maisel, a Mangalorean working as a ground-hostess at the airport. Her slow, sweet smile, her way of looking at me as if I was her man probably foxed me. I was on top of the world when she told me she was not one of those liberated types. She wanted a home and children. My children.
‘That’s one in the eye for you, Adelaide. Here’s an angel who likes me for what I am,’ I gloated to myself.
The whole affair was going strong when the unexpected happened. It was at one of the Goan dances that we attended. Just an hour into the Nite, a well-built man with hair as long as Sanjay Dutt in ‘Khalnayak’ intruded from nowhere as we danced romantically. Maisel excused herself to talk with him with a casual “I’ll be right back” riposte.
I found myself standing alone on the floor to prying embarrassment of disparaging faces from the society. The man led Maisel out to an adjacent hall away from the deafening music. Fearing for her safety, I tagged along and surreptitiously spied on them from close, standing behind a giant vase of flowers.
“You know you cannot go along with this farce, love. I will not let you. How can you marry him, when it is I whom you love?” I overheard the man’s tormented voice. He had Maisel covered in his ‘door-like’ stature which prevented her from visibility.
“Don’t be so dramatic, Jack,” Maisel replied, “You know my parents. They are old fashioned, I cannot marry you. Besides, this smug, self-important bore will always believe I am the perfect wife for him. These Goan boys are too stupidly unconscious of the fact that we hold them in contempt.”
“Yes, they have this virtuous wife syndrome,” said Jack.
“Dad says he is a very bright boy. Indeed, with all that money rolling in! I love your body darling, but there’s a hole in your pocket. Always!”
I wiped away sweat beads from my forehead. I was heart broken. This mercenary gold digger – was she the one I had supposed would be a good wife? One who proposed to use me as a front for her affair with another man?
But I was not a coward. I ambushed them from the shadows as they got closer for a brush of breath.
“Darling, this is....!” Maisel was about to introduce, then probably caught the message in my eyes and shut her mouth.
I looked around at the monster. And back at Maisel again.
“Do you want to hear me alone or you want Jack to hear too?” I asked.
“What do you mean?” she queried.
“Just that I refuse to play dumb and dance to your tunes...I want a wife who knows the meaning of loyalty, faithfulness and sincerity. You, angel faced, have none of these qualities. So I leave this high-principled man to you. You and your gigolo can rock on from now, you two deserve each other.”
“How dare you say that! I suppose you have some Goan female tucked away in a smelly house, back home there... Go, marry her!” She yelled without guilt or shame.
The MC of the ongoing dance was screaming his lungs out. I paused and stared at the two culprits till he finished his squeals.
“You are not fit to tie even her shoelaces, let alone utter her name. What use are these beautiful hands of yours if they serve no useful purpose except to grab money to be spent on luxuries?” I spat out.
“Stop moralizing, you pious bishop! Go back to her, if you miss her so much.”
“I shall...” I said quietly before I stormed away from the scene.
Everything tasted bitter. Like a hurt animal, I wanted to go back to the comfort of those who respected and cared about me. I knew others would think me selfish, but I needed my friend.... my Adelaide, my best buddy in life. She would open her arms wide to welcome me.
I booked the next flight home and immediately sent an sms to Adelaide.
Sure to expectations, she was there at the airport on my arrival. But there was something eerie about the homecoming. A handsome man in jeans with a photoshop face of a filmstar prodigy stood by her side sporting a WWF T-Shirt.
Adelaide tugged on to his arm adoringly as she waved me from the distance.