I do not love her

(This story won Oxford Bookstore and The Telegraph award in 2008. This is included now in my 3rd book, Whiff of Tempest, along with 15 other short stories, which you can download from Amazon🙂

I am forty-three. She had loved me for twenty-one years and was forty when she died.

That was a year back. Her husband had loved her very much and was enormously grieved. She had a son, a normal son, who was fifteen and was shocked. They are still recovering.

I did not love her. For twenty-one years I refused to love her. It was not that I was not attracted to her. She had attracted many people. Even since she was in high school she was in love with me. I knew that. Not that she let me know that. But her friends had told me that. I was her friend too. She never, however, let her love for me affect our friendship. Perhaps, that’s the reason why she never told me she loved me. She never ever proposed to me.

“Gullu wants you to stay up for the video show,’’ Babla came and whispered in my ears on the night of Diwali, when our club was to hold a nightlong program, while we were still at high school.

“Why doesn’t she tell me that herself?’’ I was annoyed.

“She feels you hate her.’’

“What rubbish!’’ I knew I was being unfair. I didn’t know what attracted her to me. I was short, physically not so attractive. I was, of course, the all-rounder as far as our club activities went. I excelled in games, swimming and was a good singer. Those were enough reasons to attract a teenage girl. I was sure she was going through a crush and would soon meet the ultimate man of her dreams. I did not believe she could ever seriously think of me. I did not think seriously of her at all.

“Where is she?’’ I asked Babla.

“She? She’s in the clubhouse.’’

I stormed in. She was sitting alone and looked at me, scared.

“Gullu,’’ I came straight to the point. “What’s wrong with you? Why can’t you tell me what you are feeling?’’She started crying. I began consoling her and in that dimly lit, empty clubhouse I first kissed her. I held her and kissed her passionately. Then I fingered her soft breasts. Her hands were shaking as she held me, her eyes closed and she whispered, “I love you, I love you…’’

We never ever touched each other after that. We shared a friendship, a kind of a forced platonic relationship that Gullu insisted. I never felt the real need for her. Because she was always there.

Five years passed. She remained in my life as a necessity. I never called her, but she was always around whenever I needed her. She knew I loved chhola-batura and hated mixed-chaat. She knew I disliked football and was crazy about cricket. She always brought me the latest cricket stories. She went ecstatic the first time I got a job and was happy for me when I fell in love with someone and actually got married to the same person. She never cried. Never showed any emotions.

But she cried when she had to get married. She cried inconsolably. When I held her as she was leaving for her in-laws, she broke down completely in my arms. But she never ever told me why she was crying.

We were friends even after her marriage. Both our families went out for movies or picnics together. She inched to sit beside me every time. Our spouses were getting acquainted to each other and we were having a good time.

It was then that our platonic relationship began to turn intense. We met often at my house or hers, whenever we could and plunged into intense physical expressions of each other’s needs. I still can’t say I ever loved her. I wanted her. I needed her. I still didn’t know whether I was ready to sacrifice anything for her.

She had a son. I had a daughter. Days rolled by, years. My family shifted to another town. We lost touch. She sent me greetings on new years, birthdays and on occasions. She wrote her last letter to me five months before she died.

“…Both my kidneys are damaged. A new kidney would cost Bulku five lakhs. Oops… I think this time I’m gone for sure. Don’t grieve. I’ll never stop loving you ever. Love, Gullu.’’

Gosh! It’s nine-thirty. My daughter’s plane must have landed by now. She’s coming home after three months from her modeling tour across Europe. She should reach home in an hour. I cooked her favorite dish, crabs.

I couldn’t go to the airport. I cannot strain myself heavily nowadays. I suffer from a backache. Doctor Rao is sure that the pain will go away in a few days. He says, “One kidney will need some time to get adjusted to the lack of another.’’ Oh! Did I forget to mention? I donated one of my kidneys to Gullu. Our blood groups matched. But she couldn’t ‘receive’ it, according to medical terms and died within two months. I cried a lot. I don’t know why. I never loved her. Or did I?

Though my husband always told me that she was the best friend I could have ever had.

(Footnote: Please do not consider the last line to be a typo… I mean some friends did… Now you can go back and read it all over again just to be sure. Also please leave your opinions. I’d cherish them)

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