Cockroach 8: The Experiment

“No man ever steps in the same river, for it is not the same river and he’s not the same man.” -Heraclitus.

Henry Ford once said, “A customer can have a car painted in any colour as long as it’s black.” It is a persuasive argument. Henry Ford did not leave the customer in any doubt but ambiguity is at the core of human existence. Leaders and lovers thrive on ambiguity. The fun is lost, if you take ambiguity out of a situation. Doctors, para-medics, psychologists, fire fighters, Police, soldiers, mountain climbers and lawyers are trained to handle ambiguity. People who live on the edge deal with ambiguity all the time. In Bollywood and Hollywood the heroine’s refusal to profess her love for the hero keep the cash registers ringing. Beauty, romance and glamour are fruits of ambivalence. Ambiguity can be intimidating. It is a flaw in writing, but writers proliferate on it. They enjoy it. They play on the gullibility of the reader. They tease the reader with the Will she, Won’t she kind of excitement. The mystery and complexity of a story is built on ambiguity. The writer fictionalises his own account based on shades of grey. What was considered as bad before is very cool now. Yesterday’s criticism is a compliment now.

I am a student of science. I love to dabble in the arts. I believe there is a precise science behind human relationships. In humans, subtle information travels faster than the speed of light. It is the reason, why we find it difficult to process it. Relationships created at the same time, with the same energy like two electrons of the same atom follow laws of conservation of Physics. In the end the hormones take the lead and decide the course of action for humans. They seem to have a genome of their own.

I have known Veronica for three months now. I think taking care of the Horn Bill, the long conversations, walks and drives in the BMW, exchange of chicken biryani, distributing food to the poor, the incident with the colony guard, shopping for mutton, our fanciful plans to go to Uganda, Rwanda, Tanzania, Istanbul and Canada are all alibis to buy time. We want to be together. She wants her space. I want mine. I want companionship with no strings attached. She wants someone to communicate with, someone she can laugh with, fight and shout at. I need someone, I can read the paper to, talk with over a cup of tea and sing the serenade. We are both shying away from accepting an ambiguous reality. A doubt creeps in my mind. There is a conscious rethink on my part. What if our wavelengths don’t match? How do I test her feelings towards me? Do I continue to play safe and wait for a signal from her? What if my hypothesis (about her feelings for me) is not true? My scientific mind tells me that there is a possibility she might do the exact opposite of what is on her mind ? I have to be prepared for all outcomes. Quantum mechanics will not work here. It is time to up the game. Give her a little rap on the knuckles. Disturb the equilibrium. It requires an experiment and some spooky action. I am a creature of settled habits. It will take an effort to clear up the fog in our relationship.

I read with interest the story of an Uttar Pradesh gangster who has recently been killed in an encounter. During a Panchayat meeting, a bird sitting on a Banyan tree pooped on his shoulder. In anger, he whipped out his gun and shot every bird on the banyan tree. I wonder if I will have to do something dramatic like shoot the birds on a banyan tree to find out her aspirations. I recall she had once told me,“Since all the fashion stores are closed due to the pandemic, won’t it be fun to rob a Zara showroom and get new dresses ?” I rejected the idea then. It was not recherché, it lacked class. Now I think, my experiment has to be nothing short of robbing a Zara showroom.

I set my mind to work. I risk putting my toe in the water. I decide to dig into her insular world which has a hermetic seal. I decide to present her with a hypothetical situation. Her answer will tell me what she feels in the real world. I try to visualise the experiment. I imagine I take her for a drive. I play my favourite Atif Aslam song. I open a bottle of Budweiser beer. “Veronica, I need your advice.” She stops talking on the phone. She tells me, “Yes, Please go ahead.” I am encouraged. I continue, “There is a friend of mine. He is ten years younger to me. He works for a MNC. He is married to a stunningly rich and beautiful girl. He has started enjoying the company of a female colleague in his office. She is five years elder than him. He is not sure about her feelings. He is afraid of leaving his wife. What do you think he should do?.” She looks at me intently to find out my true motive. She answers vaguely, “Depends on what your friend values more, his feelings for his wife or the female colleague ?” I am confused. I ask her directly. “How can my friend be sure of the female colleague’s feelings towards him?” She answers without batting an eyelid, “Oh, he can never be sure of that. She is a woman. She can change her mind anytime.” I put my imagination to rest. I am doubtful if my experiment will work. I dismiss the idea.

Fortunately, for me I find the answer to my questions in the natural course. The opportunity to test my hypothesis presents itself in an interesting way. I send her a message, “Hi Veronica. I am going to the Decathlon store at six. Want to come?” She replies,“Too hot for me to venture out. Can you do me a favour please? Get me a pair of inline skate brake pads for Golu?” I agree and cycle all the way to the store. On the way back, I think of dropping the brake pads at her place. She is not expecting me. I ring the bell. She opens the door. She is wearing yellow shorts and a T shirt. She looks hassled. She invites me in and asks me to sit on a sofa in the drawing room. She introduces me to her uncle, “Meet Mohan Uncle. He lives in Gurgaon. He has come to visit us for a few days.” Sitting on the dinning table is an old man in his late seventies. His head is shaven, his face is round and hairless and he has a pale complexion. He is wearing a floral pink shirt and shorts. A round protruding belly is sneaking out of his shirt. He looks up, smiles at me and continues to eat. It is seven in the evening. He is having samosas, jalebi and kachoris. He does not offer any to me and continues to eat ravenously. After twenty minutes of eating, he burps, offers his greasy hands and speaks,“Hi. Good to meet you. I retired as a Nuclear Physicist from Bhabha Atomic Research Centre in Mumbai. Veronica told me about you. You are some kind of writer. Aren’t you?” I politely nod. I am eager to share my stories with a possible reader. I tell him,“Sir, I just pen down my thoughts. Some of my stories are available on medium.com. If you like reading, I will forward the link to you.” He gives me his number. He cuts me short and orders some more samosas for himself. He tells me, “Let’s meet tomorrow for dinner. We will talk.” He dismisses me with a wave of his right hand.

Next day, I reach Veronica’s house promptly at seven. She has never invited me for dinner before. I am dressed in a pastel shirt, blue trousers and brown shoes. I carry a bouquet of red roses for her. I feel like a prospective groom going for a marriage interview. I am edgy. I enter her house and find Mohan sitting at the dining table eating pakoras. He looks quite unappetising. He sees me and continues to eat. I think he is a coarse, brutal, cynical, vulgar sort of fellow. He laughs,“I am just having a little snack before dinner.” He wipes the remaining ketchup on his plate with his little finger and then puts the finger in his mouth. He finishes eating and settles down on the rocking chair with dental floss. I am feeling out of place. I look nervously at Veronica for support. She ignores me and continues to talk on the phone to her aunt in Lucknow. She is asking her aunt to send her two Khus fans which have a cool breeze and a nice fragrance. Mohan flosses his teeth, clears his mouth and speaks,“I read some of your stories. Pretty interesting. I have some idea of what you have been doing during the pandemic ?” I avoid his stern gaze. I am feeling uncomfortable under the glistering lights of the chandelier. After two large pegs of whiskey, Mohan sways a little in his rocking chair. He looks at me with his twinkling blue eyes hidden behind the fat of his face. He lights a Cuban cigar, inhales and tells me,“I have known Veronica from the day she was born. She has always been a very difficult child. Her father died when she was twelve. She was an incorrigible, stubborn child. She used to fight with her mother, refuse to go to school. Unfortunately, her mother passed away a few years later from cancer. Veronica married at the age of twenty-two. The marriage ended in divorce five year later. Veronica always wants to win. However, she allows her adversary to choose his weapon.” I wonder whether Mohan’s last sentence was directly meant for me. I listen intently. Veronica is the subject of my experiment and it helps to know everything about her. I am surprised that in the last three months, Veronica has told me very little about her personal life. Mohan changes the topic of the conversation and says, “Tell me about yourself.” Over the next half an hour, I tell him about my wife, my son, my mother and how unhappy I am in my marriage. I notice he is playing on his mobile. He is disinterested in my story. Dinner is served at nine. I help myself to well cooked mutton, chicken biryani and daal. Suddenly, before the dessert is served, Mohan asks me, “Do you think the latest Iphone XR is a good value for money? Veronica wants to buy one.” I am a great fan of Apple products. I start reciting the benefits of the iPhone XR: its Apple A12 Bionic processor, 6.10 inch display and 2942mAh battery. Mohan gets up from his chair. I notice he is a short man, no more than five feet two inches in height. He shouts at me and says, “Get out of the house now! Enough of your nonsense. Don’t ever come back.” I am shocked. I move out of the house. I am dejected and disappointed at his behaviour. Veronica tries to cool me down and escorts me to the gate. I miss dessert.

She calls me up a few days later. “Listen, do you have a smart phone you can spare. My phone has malfunctioned. I am using my maid’s phone. I am not able to see my WhatsApp messages.” I tell her, I do not have a spare phone. I assure her I will do something to help. She sounds disappointed. I ask her, “Do you have any preference for a model? Which colour would you like ?” She replies, “I love the iPhone XR. I prefer pink.” I know she is not a master at the art of innuendo. Her hint is fairly direct. Two days later I receive a message on WhatApp from Mohan. I have forgotten all about him. The message says,“Emotional problems have practical solutions. The iPhone XR is still not available in India. You will have to wait. You must kiss her on her left cheek when you give it to her. Be kind, gentle and less greedy. Choose your weapons well,” By this time, I have formed an opinion about Mohan. I think he is a man of vacuous intellect, esoteric, narrow minded and dogmatic. I ignore his message.

Three weeks later I call her up. I ask her, “Are you free in the evening? I have some work in Lajpat Nagar. Would you care to join me for an early evening snack?” I know she will refuse. Whenever I propose, she rejects it. I must consult an astrologer to find out why ? I still try my luck. This time she agrees. A month back, we had gone to Saleem’s in East of Kailash. Their chicken rolls were spicy and over priced. This time I ask her to choose a better place for our evening rendezvous. In the evening, I pick her up from her house. She has forgotten her Covid mask. I offer her one and ask her to wear it in the car. I ask Siri to play a song by Atif Aslam. Siri is rude and replies back “Sorry, I cannot play that song. You are driving right now.” I swear under my breath. I notice Veronica is busy on her maid’s phone. I fiddle with my iPhone and manage to play the song, “कैसे बताये क्यूँ तुझको चाहें, यारा बता न पाएं बातें दिलों की, देखो जो बाकी, आँखें तुझे समझाएं(I am not able to tell you what is on my mind? Perhaps my eyes will tell.)” She stops talking on the phone and takes a deep breath. She is trying to discern if the song has been played on purpose. She does not smell anything fishy. She goes back to talking on the phone. I realise I am no good at the art of innuendo either. I am not hungry. We take a round of C.P. and do not talk much. I enjoy the feeling of togetherness. I switch off my mobile phone. In the cool confines of the car, I enjoy the leisure without disturbance. She finishes a bottle of Budweiser beer and suggests, “Let’s go and eat na. Do you have a place in mind?” I haven’t thought of any place. I have been busy selecting the right kind of music for her. I keep quiet. She breaks the silence and suggests we got to Al Bake in New Friends colony. We reach the place by seven-thirty. The market is crowded. I am afraid to go to the shop because of the Corona Virus. She suggests we order on Zomato and ask for delivery in the car. We order two boxes of chicken shawarma. She tells me, “After Istanbul, the best chicken shawarma I have had is at Al Bake.” I just want to eat. She continues, “Shawarma is a Middle Eastern dish consisting of meat cut into thin slices, stacked in a cone-like shape and roasted on a slowly turning vertical rotisserie. I hope Al bake has not reduced its quality because of the rush.” I step out of the car to buy a pack of Dunhill switch cigarettes. She insists on sharing a cigarette with me. I offer her another one. I am afraid of exchanging any saliva with her. The delivery boy gives us the box. I pay the delivery boy and give him a hundred rupee tip. After the delivery boy leaves, she tell me “ Why did you give a hundred rupee tip ? Don’t waste money like this. Go and get fifty rupees back.” I am in no mood to run after the delivery boy to get fifty rupees back. She insists. Otherwise she will not eat. I get my money back from the delivery boy. I am embarrassed. The shawarma is really good. We finish the eight pieces in no time. We are full. She encourages me to take the second box for my son. We smoke Dunhill cigarettes. It is time for the climax. The end game. I have played the scene in my mind several times. I open the glove compartment of the car, take out a box and hand it over to her. She takes the box. I hear her oohs and aahs. I am delighted. She unpacks the box and looks lovingly at the pink colour iPhone XR. As per Mohan’s WhatApp message, I have to kiss her on her left cheek at this point. I am so overwhelmed by her reaction that I forget all about it. The unthinkable happens. She grabs me by my shoulders and plants a full bloodied kiss on my lips. I am shaken from stem to stern. I enjoy the moment fully. It is as if at that moment my soul has escaped, leaving my body to relish the kiss and a touch. I forget about giving her the bill and asking her for the money for the iPhone. After a few seconds, I catapult myself out of her embrace. I know my feelings for her are not unrequited. I drive home with the taste of her saliva, L’Oréal lipstick, Budweiser beer, Al Bake’s chicken shawarma and Dunhill cigarettes on my lips.

She informally fixes the frequency of our meeting. It is once a week. I cannot be greedy. Last I met her was on a Friday. It is Wednesday. I have run out of patience. She calls me on a Thursday evening. “I have to go to meet Tandon jee. He is an investment consultant. I have to give him a cheque. Are you planning to have a dinner at home or you want to eat out?” I take a bottle of Laurent Perrier Champagne, two Emperor tulip glasses and an ice box. I am excited. My mother notices my excitement. She asks me, “Where are you going ?”. I lie to her. I tell her I am going to buy groceries. She looks surprised. I pick Veronica in the car. We decide not go any where. We order our favourite Pepperoni pizza and coke from Zomato. I park the car in a discreet place. The pizza arrives on time. It is soggy and cold. She is irritated and asks for a coke. I open the bottle of champagne and offer it to her in a Tulip glass. I am not the one to give up so easily. She tells me, “I will have coke instead.” I drink the champagne. It is chilled to perfection. In my heart, I know things are not going as per plan. In the background, Mark Knopfler is crooning, “We’re going for the major comeback. Back on the dance floor.” I turn the volume down. I remember my Singapore friend’s advice: she wants more meat in the relationship. I know I have to take a risk. My hormones take over. I grab her with my hands and kiss her on her cheeks. I pretend nothing has happened and continue to drive the car. She takes a while to recover from the shock. She asks me to stop the car. She opens her door and comes to my side. She opens my door. I get out of the car. She shouts at me, “Why didn’t you ask me first ?” She gives me a tight slap on my left cheek. We get back into the car. The guns are silent. The only sound you can hear is of my heart beating. The champagne is hot. The ice in the ice bucket has melted. I reach home and ask my maid, “Get me God on the phone. I need a whiskey.” She gives me a blank look. I ask her to make some dinner. I call up my friend in Singapore. I am in a bad mood. I tell him about the evening. He lets out a chuckle. He asks me, “So what do you think of her now ?” I am furious. I tell him she is “ऊपर से फिट-फाट, अन्दर से मोकामा घाट (she looks good from the outside but is hollow from the inside).” He tells me,“You are exaggerating. She is a slippery character. Have a good night’s sleep.”

Next day in the evening my bell rings. I see a man standing at the door. I recognise him. He is Veronica’s servant. He had come earlier to give me the cake on her birthday. He hands over a large envelope to me. I open the envelope. There is a card inside it. It says sorry in big bold letters on the front. Inside there is a hand written message from her. It reads, “Thank you for the iPhone. I love the pink colour. When are we meeting again? V. ” There is a cheque of forty-five thousand rupees in the envelope. I guess she found the price of the iPhone on Amazon.

I put the left side of my brain to work. It is more analytical and methodical. I think she is like a photon of light, both a wave and a particle. She connects with me like a wave. On other occasions, she is a particle of light that gives me warmth, comfort and irritates me. She is whimsical. She has no fulfilment in her life. The left, creative artistic side of my brain fights back. It tells me I am over-braining the whole thing. I think, depending on the situation, human relationships keep changing. No two situations are exactly the same. Things are always in a state of flux. I have learnt an important lesson. I feel life takes you on a bender. One has to understand the anchorages, lights, buoys, landing places, tides, winds and weather to navigate one’s journey in the sea of life. I recollect a quote by Emily Dickinson-“She sweeps with many-coloured brooms and leaves the shreds behind.” I think it was written with Veronica in mind. I am happy my experiment never happened. It never took off the ground. Who am I to judge? I do not have any right to pass judgment on another human’s actions. I should not play God. How can I test another human being’s feelings when my own baggage is heavy? I am ready to settle happily with Henry Ford’s choice of the colour black. But life is not black or white. It comes in multiple colours. Life is breathtakingly beautiful. It is a celebration of hope. It is poetry with a savoury breeze that besets your senses. All one needs is a good mood and an honest perspective to feel the breeze and see life’s multiple colours. There was a time when I believed in magic. Now, I find it difficult to believe even in reality. I have to learn to lighten my baggage and enjoy the reality of life, however ambiguous.