The First One

(Picture courtesy: Mask of day by day by Paulo Zerbato)

 "Welcome to my home," he said.

"Where's your wife?", she said.

" She's gone for a shoot, to Pondicherry."

She looked around. The house was just as she expected. Aesthetically done. Posters and paintings, old wooden furniture, Ikat throws, Crepe curtains, some silver ware.

"Do you want to remove your jacket?"

She nodded, knowing why he was asking that.

He timidly touched her neck while he removed it.

"I love your shoulders."

She was wearing a tank top underneath, with trousers and boots.

"So Pranoy, does your wife know I'm coming over?"

"No, but she wouldn't mind. I told you, we have an open marriage."

"Didn't seem that way when she chatted with me pretending to be you and swore at me for stealing her husband."

"That's all in the past now. Sakshi and I have done this before. She considers you a threat maybe because it's not just physical with you."

"So what is it with me?"

"I like you. You are confusing and chaotic. A beautiful mess. I think I might even love you."

She laughed. "Love? You don't even know what love is. And I could never love someone like you."

"So why do this? Doesn't your false morality count here?"

"I'm doing this because I want to know what it's like to be on the other side. Be the other woman."

He smiled. She moved and touched his eyebrow.

"You have a scar on your eyebrow too. He did as well. Funny, you will be the second man I will ever be with."

"So you married the first person you fell in love with?"

"Yes."

"That's terrible," he laughed.

He beckoned her to sit on the sofa, got her wine, some flavoured bread and cheese.

"Should we listen to some Dylan? By the way, since you are such a fan, which is your favourite Dylan song?, " he asked.

"As cliched as it sounds, it's 'Tambourine Man'. For me, it's one of the most beautiful poems ever written. What about you?"

"It's, 'I'll be your baby tonight', at least tonight"

He came closer and kissed her. She felt nothing.

The music played on and on. The bottle of wine was finished. They talked, about his childhood in Kolkata, his mother, his work as the Creative Director of the biggest ad agency in the country. 

He rolled a joint. They smoked it. He wanted to share his music with her. First Indigo Girls, then Phish. Things were blurry. He fed her fish and rice with his hands. The more he tried, the more detached she was. She observed herself from a distance, observed that there was no guilt, no sense of unsteadiness. Everything was clear.

He told her about the time he made love to his client on the top most floor of the airlines building. She was sprawled on the desk and he was looking out of the window at the sea.

"It was one of my best lays. I felt like the most powerful man in the world."

"Who are you and why this mask of callousness all the time?"

He pulled her close and put his face in her neck. 

"Sometimes our masks become us. I don't remember who I used to be. My mask is me now."

His words seeped into her soul. Did she want to become like him? No. But she wanted to be immune to hurt. She wanted to never be able to feel again. That way no one could ever leave her.

It was 4 in the morning. He offered her his wife's night dress. She shuddered and refused.

Then they made love in his guest bedroom. She was very clear it couldn't be in his bedroom.

As she lay stark naked on the bed, he put on some Sinatra. He watched her while he smoked and she sang. "I get a kick out of you..."

Pranoy laughed. "You looked like one of those Renaissance women. That was before you sang. Now you look like a little girl."

"Renaissance women? You mean small breasted and big thighed?"

"No, I mean beautiful. You have child bearing hips. I see two children in your future. I would love to have a child with you. Your child would be sensitive and creative like you."

"I don't want children and I certainly don't want yours."

"But I love you."

"I don't Pranoy. I told you why I did this."

"So tell me, do you feel guilty? Are you at fault for sleeping with a married man?"

"No. I feel no guilt. It makes me realise that the women who slept with my husband knowing he was married are not to blame. I don't know who is to blame, and if there is anyone to blame."

"Wow, looks like I've transformed your middle class morality."

"I have to go. The sun is coming out."

She dressed up, took her bag and left. 

While she stood in the street, waiting for a taxi, she felt her face become numb. Something heavy was growing over it. She tried to feel sorry, sad, free, but no emotions came.

She looked at her reflection in the window of the taxi. She had changed. And there was no going back.