Diamonds Are Forever.

By Paramjit Bakhshi

Jeanette sipped her wine leisurely. The bottle and the wine glass rested on a specially fitted shelf next to the bathtub and between her lazy efforts to scrub herself with a loofa, she would pick up the glass and take a sip. Sometimes though all movement would cease as she closed her eyes lulled by the music streaming on the speakers installed in the bathroom. Most days her bath would take an hour and unless she had an engagement to attend, she would lie half afloat on the warm scented water, her naked body hidden under the foam of bath salts. A bottle of wine had to finish before she could pull her limbs upright and head out of the warm embrace of the scented water.

Today was different and she barely finished just the one glass she had poured when she got up and padded across to the built-in wardrobe. She looked at the purple gown she had laid out to wear earlier but now did not feel like wearing it. She hung it back on the rack and paused to look at the scores of other outfits lined up before her. She selected three others, a black sleeveless jumpsuit with a low neckline, a strapless red figure-hugging dress with a slit that came up to her thigh, and a yellow taffeta “ao dai”, she had bought during her recently concluded holiday in Vietnam.

One by one she put them in front of her body and looked at the three-sided full-length mirror for approval. She finally settled on the black jumpsuit. She was about to get dressed but saw that it was still early. She went back to the bathroom and brought the bottle of Chantilly and the wine glass. She poured herself another glass and settled down half reclining on the bed. Everything in my life is like this she thought. Either I do things too early or leave them till it is too late. I got married too early and then did not want a child until it got too late. I am impulsive and my instincts are no good. They were blunted in my childhood by not being allowed out of the house. That was par for the times but it is called over parenting today. And rightfully so. It made me unfit to handle life on my own. Unable to make decisions or prone to making the wrong ones. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have married John and become the wreck I am today. Oh, God even today I can’t seem to take a step on my own. Now I don’t know if I should be looking forward to the evening or not. She felt tired suddenly and lay her head down to rest awhile. And fell asleep.

The phone rang through the third time before she heard it. She woke up startled and quickly realised what had happened. She knew it would be John on the phone wanting to give her a piece of his mind and so without bothering to verify the caller she put the phone to her ear. The clock showed it was just ten. It had been a short nap.

“Bloody Jean, what the hell is wrong with you.” John began.

“Oh, darling sorry I fell asleep, I will get ready now” Why did I feel so guilty, she thought. John doesn’t want me there because he misses me. He just needs me to entertain his friends. And today I am bloody Jean whereas once upon a time I was his Juliet. I don’t think he has ever seen me as Jeanette, with dreams and desires of my own.

“You bloody well hurry up. Hari is waiting with the car.”

“Sure John, I will be there in a jiffy”

“And dress smart Jean. Remember we are entertaining big fish today.”

Smart, in John’s language, meant sexy. He always wanted to show her off to his acquaintances. This annoyed her because many of them were plain lecherous and looked at her with lust and even made blatant and indecent advances. One of them had landed up at their home one night when John was out of station. The bastard, a pompous bureaucrat, had barged in drunk in the house and when she had opened the door had grabbed her by the blouse and tried to kiss her. She had screamed and the darwan had come running. He had then let her go but had still insisted on having a drink before leaving. When she had told John about this, he had gotten angry with her.

“You are a grown woman. You ought to be able to handle these things”

She really didn't know what he had meant by that. And often wondered whether he had been angry because she hadn’t obliged the man. Surprisingly he had never even brought up the topic with the man who continued to be invited to most of the parties John hosted.

She put down the phone with irritation. She remembered what had made her suddenly tired. The thought of having to sit in the company of Mr. Big Fish, who had suddenly plonked himself in their hotel, last evening. She had been looking forward to tonight because Rakib was going to be singing at the hotel. Apart from his melodiously rich voice, she liked his clean looks and the attention he gave her. When he sang it seemed that he sang for her alone, his eyes following her everywhere in the room. She remembered the last time when she had met him at Rita’s place. He had fawned over her the whole evening. It was after a long time that she had actually enjoyed somebody’s attention. It was the way John used to look at her when they first met an eternity ago.

When she joined John and the big fish, who was introduced as Sajiv Mathur, she could not help but smile. Well, one thing John hasn’t lost is, his sense of humour, she thought. Big fish certainly looks fishy with his darting eyes and a mouth so broad that it might be able to swallow a banana sideways. The smile gave Mr. Verma the impression that Jeanette might like him, his vanity getting a boost which perhaps his Saville Row suit didn’t quite provide.

She tried to hear the ghazal Rakib was singing but only got snatches of the lyrics because the fish kept talking to her.

“That is a nice outfit you are wearing” he opened while looking down her cleavage.

“Thank you’ she replied and then turning to her husband she said,” John, please get me a stole from the boutique, I am feeling cold.”

John signalled to one of the waiters to come over.

“So where did you study’, said the fish.

“Loreto Convent,'' she replied.

‘Mujh se pehli si Mohabbat mere mehboob na mang” floated in the line from the ghazal being sung by Rakib.

“And college?” said the fish.

‘Get Miss Mehr here,’ said John.

“Xaviers?” asked the fish.

“Sir who is Miss Mehr?” said the waiter.

“And then what did you do? did you work?”

“ Arre bhai, woh boutique ki maalik” said John to the waiter.

“No I got married”

“Teri ankhon ke siva duniya main rakha kya” intruded Rakib sweetly.

“Can I refill your drink Sir”, John, asked the fish.

“How many children do you have” asked the fish ignoring John.

“What about you Jean?” John asked her holding the bottle of wine.

“Yes. please do fill my glass John” she said.

“Sorry. we have no kids. “She replied, realizing a little late the question the fish had asked.

“Sir can I refill your glass” repeated John.

“Theek hai John, bhar do bhai.” obliged the fish.

“So how do you kill your day” asked the fish, his eyes still on her breasts.

“I clean the house’, she lied and thought that the bastard would have perhaps preferred to hear that I do nothing the whole day. Or perhaps I wait endlessly for someone like him to appear.

“Ab bhi dilkash hai tera husn magar kya kijiye’, cried Rakib.

“Ab bhi dilkash hai aapka husn, you are so sexy Jeanette”, murmured the fish swallowing a sip and slurring a bit.

She started feeling dizzy. There were too many voices speaking to her. All vying to get the attention of different parts of her. There was Rakib singing out his love for her, while the fish drooled over her body and John blatant in his indifference to her feelings. John nowadays only looked out for her material wellbeing. I bet if I wanted a diamond as big as the Kohinoor, John would get it for me, she thought. Just as long as I left him alone.

“Do you understand Hindi Jeanette?” said the fish more loudly eager to find out whether she had understood his second-hand compliment.

She stared at him blankly. She realized that he had said something. Inside her head, she knew that all the man wanted was to bed her. So, she knew that nothing he said was important in itself. Why do people crave sex so much, she wondered? Is it because it is the only nakedness, they are willing to exhibit? Freckles and flab and imperfection notwithstanding perhaps our bodies are still more presentable than what we hide under layers of emotional subterfuge. We often wish our loved one’s dead, somebody had said. And we love perfectly the ones who are already dead. Otherwise, our love is fickle. We love and we hate and are indifferent to the same person at different times. But we dare not reveal this to anyone. Least of all to the person we once loved and still profess to love. They would damn us anyway if we did. So, we continue living in relationships like mollusks in their shells. with feelings and senses desensitized. She wondered if everybody lived in a quagmire of dead relationships. And if every relationship was destined to die sooner or later. It is all useless but we still expect a miracle. Like I do with Rakib.

She looked up and found John and the fish staring at her. As far as John was concerned glaring would be a better term she thought.

“Are you” John paused and added, “deaf?’

He was being polite in front of the fish, she knew. The pause was because he had stopped himself from saying “fucking deaf”

She got up and walked away from the table without saying a word. After a few steps, she wondered where to go. She could feel eyes boring into her back. She knew it won’t be John. He must be busy trying to make amends on her behalf. She shivered a bit and stopped. Then slowly she headed and stood on the edge of the stage where Rakib was singing.

“Love me tender, love me sweet, never let me go” came the lyrics clearly from the speakers. This is the third version I am listening to, she told herself.

The one with Elvis was the best. But she knew enough of the singer’s life to know that he had never meant those words.

And then she had believed John when he sang the song for her. But then John had stopped singing.

Now Rakib singing the song was almost comical. His voice didn't suit the song and his English pronunciation was awful. She felt Rakib was somehow selling himself by singing English songs to her. “I do understand Hindi. I understand it well.” she wanted to tell him. She found him staring at her. She smiled weakly back.

Then she felt somebody standing close to her. She looked and saw it was the fish. She smiled at him and caught his hand. His face lit up instantly. Together they walked back to the table where John welcomed them with a smile.

A silk stole lay on the table. “I don’t want that anymore,” she told John.

“No problem baby, I will return it,'' said John.

How does anything matter, she told herself? It is too late to change anything now.

Jeanette sipped her wine leisurely. The bottle and the wine glass rested on a specially fitted shelf next to the bathtub and between her lazy efforts to scrub herself with a loofa, she would pick up the glass and take a sip. Sometimes though both these activities would be suspended as she closed her eyes lulled by the music streaming on the speakers installed in the bathroom.

She stopped and looked at the two-carat solitaire on her finger. It was gleaming after the soak.

It is just like me, she thought. Glitters after the bath.

Even if it is inert and lifeless and does not make decisions on who owns it.

I love owning it.

And so, do others.

By Paramjit Bakhshi