COLD CALLER

During the promotional interviews conducted with Bollywood actors, before the release of a new film, actors always claim that the story appealed to them because it is somehow different from what has gone before. Most often the reality is that the story is clearly predictable and almost clichd. My (very) short story below is genuinely different from others that have dealt with these themes!

This is a modern story about a deep and long friendship that went wrong and why, and in addition, a story about a love affair that went awry.

COLD CALLER

I was making a sandwich when my mobile phone range. I sighed in irritation at the interruption and answered the call. It was not a number I recognised. Probable a cold call. There's always unsolicited calls from people trying to sell you something. I waited for the voice on the other end to speak.

"Hi Ranveer..."

I was totally caught off guard. My heart lurched. No, it couldn't be, I told myself. Not that ghost. Impossible! I felt weak at the knees and blindly groped for a stool with my free hand to sit down on before I fell over.

"Well? You not going to say something..?" the voice prompted, light-heartedly

It was definitely her. Namak Haraam.

I was confused. After all that had happened and the ten years that had passed since I last heard that voice, I surprised myself that I could still get so worked up.

"Who is this..?" I parried, my heart racing as I struggled to contain my emotions.

"You forgotten me already?" the voice teased.

It was not possible to forget her. We'd been best friends through primary and secondary school as well as most of university. It was not altogether an unusual friendship in our multicultural era, but then of course there were, and always would be, those that looked at such matters through the lens of ethnic loyalties. Whatever people thought, we had been closest of friends. We spent a great deal of time together, including in each other's homes. She and I confided in each other about our fears and aspirations. One of us would build the other up when the other was down. As young teenagers, we'd shared the secrets of our crushes and laughed together about who we thought was eyeing either one of us up. When we faltered in our forays into dating, we'd regaled each other with amusing anecdotes or comforted each other, depending upon how things had turned out.

"Sam..?" I asked, pretending I needed confirmation.

Samantha had been a bit taller than your average five foot six woman. Blonde hair worn short, and ruddy complexion. Piercing blue eyes that drew one's gaze like a magnet. A bit of a hippy-type. Wore dangly ear-rings, lots of bangles, rings on her fingers and Indian prints as well as lacy scarves. It all came back to me, as her image flashed through my mind. She was curvaceous and drew a great deal of male attention - particularly from the Asian lads. Whether it was the novelty factor, or fascination with her fulsome breasts, I'm not sure. They were always trying to get a leg over. Some were incorrigible. Got me into a few fights with some of those who wouldn't take no for an answer. As a tall, fearless Sikh, I can handle myself in any altercation. Friends are supposed to have each other's backs, as Sam and I did.

"Of course it's me, silly," she commented in that familiar style I used to know.

In the third year at uni, things had changed between us. I remember the party she'd thrown at her flat. It had gone on into the wee small hours. A great many of the guests had been drunk - but heh, it was a students' party! So some people had crashed at her pad. I'd been drinking too and wasn't in a fit state to drive home. Cramped for space, Sam had offered to share her bed due to the lack of room. All very platonic. After lying on our sides talking for a little while, we hugged by way of saying our goodnights before going to sleep. She then leaned in towards me to peck me on the cheek but I was caught off-guard because I had turned my head a little. Her lips met mine briefly. No great harm done. We'd pressed lips together before, as friends. She moved her head back slightly but her lips remained hovering so close to mine I could feel the heat of her face. That face was slightly flushed. She leaned into me again. Her lips contacted mine and this time they really mashed. The kiss lasted a long time. When I pulled back a little to look at her, she had an expression I'd seen before on the women I had been intimate with, but never before seen on her. I could have sworn there was a smokiness and need in her eyes. I read the signals and didn't hesitate. This time, I kissed her, but not as a friend. She responded passionately. Soon, two pairs of hands were caressing, squeezing, and pulling each other's clothes off. We slaked our lust that night. We had no illusions that that's all it was. Lust, biology, call it what you like.

In the morning, neither of us felt either shame or regret. We were comfortable with each other. We were friends but definitely not in love with each other. It happened again several times over the next few weeks. After a month or two, things got back on a more even keel. From then on though, we secretly decided to become friends with benefits'. When we weren't dating or involved with other people, and were feeling randy, we turned to each other for what we joking began to call, tension relief'.

"How did you get my number?"

"You know I have my ways," she chuckled.

You bet I do. You destroyed something that was very special to me. You're the reason I lost four years of my life. You're the reason I had my breakdown. For two years I increasingly sought solace in the bottle. At first, alcohol helped to numb the pain and took the edge off my anger. But alcohol brought its own problems. On too many to count occasions, I woke up in unknown places and or in strangers' beds, with no memory of how I came to be there. Blackout were common but still I was incapable of accepting what had happened. It wasn't until I was pushed by friends and family to seek professional help for my drinking did my long and difficult journey to recovery begin. I was seeing a therapist for nearly two years because I couldn't come to terms with what a so called friend did to me and more besides. And now that I thought I'd put it all behind me, or at least begun to come to term with it, out of the blue, she calls me.

Whether through cowardice or diplomacy, I didn't say any of that.

"Yes, I expect you'd know how to track me down."

"You might not be, but Paramjit's on Facebook. I contacted her and she gave me your number," she added by way of explanation.

It surprised me that my younger sister, Pammie would've done that knowing what had happened to me. But then again, she in her own right liked Sam and was close to her from all the times Sam had been round at my mother's place, as all of us were growing up.

"So what did you want to talk to me about?" I said icily.

"You're still angry with me, after all these years." It was an observation, not a question.

"No, I'm not."

"Liar," she accused but in a light hearted manner reminiscent of parrying between close friends. Like the old days.

To be strictly truthful I was upset with her. Pissed at the fact she had knowingly destroyed something very special and wonderful in my life. She should have known better. I had expected more from my best friend. Friends are supposed to have each other's back. I'd been wrong about Sam and that hurt me too.

"Look Sam, I'm in the middle of something right now, so can you cut to the chase," I told her wanting the conversation to end ASAP.

The conversation was stirring too many buried emotions and threatened to undo two years of therapy. Remember, I'm still a recovering alcoholic. No one is ever permanently cured of alcoholism. At best, one can have remission. I was afraid that I might not be able to cope with my feelings and once more seek refuge in the bottle. That would be to descend into my private hell, again.

"Who is she?" she joked, like the old Sam used to. "Anybody I know?"

When we'd been friends, we shared titbits about who each of us was seeing. But as far as I'm concerned, we weren't friends anymore.

"It's nothing like that..."

"Are you currently seeing anyone?"

What was this? Curiosity? Or an attempt to diminish some of the distance between us? If it was the latter, I wasn't interested.

"No. Now you answer my question. Why the call?" I sounded very business-like to drive home the point we weren't chummy any more.

Sam took her time before she answered. When she did speak, I could have sworn there was a momentary catch in her voice. "It's Kavita..."

The other ghost. The beautiful one.

I found myself struggling against a swell of memories that threatened to sweep me away. My Kavita was tall, svelte, graceful, and always immaculately dressed. She had long black hair that went half-way down her back, and a generous mouth with cherry lips. Kavita was the first person I had genuinely fallen in love with. The other women were mere infatuations in comparison. She was the one I wanted to marry, eventually, even though Sam had insisted it wouldn't happen. According to Sam, I was only the refined girl's bit of rough'. Sam, you see, was the one that introduced me to Kavita because they'd known each other for a little while. Once Kavita and I were seeing each other, Sam, as my closest friend, naturally also spent a little time with us, with or without her latest beau. The trouble was, Sam had been the one that destroyed my new and promising relationship.

Kavita was from a wealthy family, and some would say, had some airs and graces. Spoilt rich girl with designer clothes and an entourage of wannabees. She also had clean cut, well-groomed pretty boys hanging around her. Gays and metrosexuals, Sam had explained to me once. I was a little nave about such matters. There were gay students at uni but I didn't get to know any of them. Despite that, my personal philosophy was, live and let live. The well-groomed straight guys were of more concern to me because I saw some of them as competition for Kavita's attention. When I first set eyes on Kavita at a party, Sam had ribbed me because according to her, I was drooling at the sight of Kavita. Sam thought it was hilarious and kept rubbing my nose in it for weeks. At the same time, Sam discouraged me too, by saying that I was out of the girl's league. When Sam realised I was smitten, she introduced us and even put in a good word for me. I pursued my dil ki rani' for many weeks before Kavita agreed to even share a coffee with me. I was obsessed, totally deewana.

Eventually my relentless pursuit paid off. Perhaps I wore her down but I liked to think in the end, she fell for my charms. We began seeing each other. When she first made me aware of it, I was surprised to learn she had never been intimate with a man. Angelic virgin, Sam had jibed, much to my annoyance. Perhaps Kavita's parents had been overly protective, I told myself. Or she'd never met anyone with whom she felt she wanted to become intimate. Kavita and I decided to take things slowly. Things happened in their own good time and the wait was worth it. How can I forget those long slim limbs wrapped around me, and my face lost in her coal-black black tresses? Our mutual cries of ecstasy and joy, briefly reverberated in my brain as I recollected what had passed between us.

"Ranveer..? You still there..?"

I'd been lost in the memories and fallen silent for a few moments until Sam pulled me back to the present.

"Yes...What about Kavita?"

"She's in hospital with cancer...She wanted you to know that." The words were spoken tentatively.

There were so many conflicting emotions battling inside me. I honestly didn't know what to think or feel. This was the woman I'd once loved deeply enough to want to marry. She too, had betrayed me, though. Now she's suffering from cancer.

"Thanks for letting me know."

"Is that it?" Sam virtually screamed with incredulity.

"What d'you want me to say?"

What did Sam really expect me to say? She didn't have a clue about how difficult it was to keep my feelings of bitterness and hurt at bay. Given all that we had going for us, Kavita had chosen to be totally besharam in her behaviour. But it was more than just that. After all, despite Sam and me sharing intimacy occasionally, neither of us had felt any jealous if either of us slept with other people. It's difficult to explain. My feelings had a lot to do with the fact that I genuinely loved Kavita, while Sam had always remained only a close friend.

"Ranveer, the cancer's of a particularly rare and nasty variety...It took a hold quickly..."

Even an idiot couldn't miss how she struggled not to choke on her words. I knew from past experience, Sam was close to tears.

"Surely the doctors are treating her for it," I commented needlessly, just to give Sam a moment to collect herself before she said any more.

"Nothing worked...Now it's spread..." Her voice was barely a whisper.

Overcome with grief, Sam couldn't talk any more. I heard her sobbing. I didn't know what to think or even feel given the recent history between the three of us.

"She's dying, Ranveer...Can you believe it? Our Kavita is dying..." and her voice faded into silence, followed by more sobbing.

When Sam said our' Kavita, a knife painfully lanced my chest. The word brought back the image I found so difficult to deal with. An image that had pushed me over a precipice, and I'd fallen a long way into a personal hell. The image seared in my mind, was one of Sam and Kavita being intimate.

Never in my most outrageous thoughts did it enter my head that either of them could be bisexual. But it turned out both were. Of course I knew such people existed. But I couldn't process that two of the most important people in my life were bisexual and neither had shared that knowledge with me. It had been more than a double betrayal. That kind of situation would've scrambled anyone's brains.

My emotions had vacillated between shock, betrayal and disgust. How could Kavita be unfaithful to me? How could Sam cross the line and do that to her best friend? I chose to put the blame on Sam. She had somehow corrupted Kavita. Other women were lesbian or bisexual - not my Kavita. I was plagued by the thought that when I touched Kavita, she was imagining it was another woman, and not me. What I saw that day when I found them together, undermined notions of my own masculinity. I was incapable of satisfying the woman I loved. There was no hope for my future. I just couldn't handle all of that. That's why it had taken two years of intensive therapy to face the actual reality of the situation.

That day I saw them both together, they had rushed to makes themselves decent. They saw me turn on my heels and leave in shock and disgust. I never spoken to either of them again. Each of them, individually, did try to contact to me to explain, I guess. I wasn't interested in self justifications or explanations. I was in full accusatory mode. Everything after that, for the next two years is a jumble of emotions and gaps in memory. I do know there was a lot of heavy duty drinking. With medical intervention and family support, a thin veneer of calm and understanding had eventually been overlaid across my troubled thoughts.

Right now, I saw myself again standing, peering over that old familiar precipice. The drop was a long way down. And hell was beckoning.

"I'm truly sorry about Kavita," was all I could bring myself to say at that point.

"Will you come to visit her in hospital?

The answer to that seemed easy. "No. I don't want to see her again."

I realised I sounded hard, even inhuman, but to me, it was a very sensible decision.

"Clearly you're still angry with her - and me for that matter. I do know what you went through when you learned how it was between Kavita and me. We're both sorry for giving you all that pain. What else can I say that would make a difference? Ranveer, we can't undo the past. No one can."

Something that could have been said ten years ago, I thought to myself. Perhaps I shouldn't have shunned them back then.

"Try to understand, Ranveer. This is not the time for pettiness and grudges. Besides, it's not really about you. It's about Kavita. Right now, I'm the only one who loves her and cares for her wellbeing. And, possibly you...?"

"What about her family?"

"A few years ago when her family found out about her sexuality, without any discussion, her father disowned her. The intolerant b****** forbids any family member from visiting her, even though she's dying."

I'd known Sam long enough to sense she was holding back a lot more suppressed anger at how Kavita had been treated. But she chose not to elaborate any further.

"She's dying, Ranveer... and she wants to see you."

"Why would she want to see me? I can't give her absolution, if that's what she's after."

Sam turned her anger on me.

"She's not looking for absolution. You really are a dumb oaf! You really don't get this bisexuality thing, do you? People like us can be emotionally involved with two differently gendered people at the same time. Kavita's told me lots of times that she still loves you."

Her comment only confused me. It challenged what I thought I knew. I also felt embarrassed about my rush to judgement. I didn't know what to say or how to react, so I stayed silent.

"If you won't go to visit her, despite the fact she's the woman you were crazy in love with, at least do it forme. For old time's sake, if you like...Please?" Sam pleaded.

If truth be told, I was scared that seeing Kavita again would undo all the healing that had taken place in the intervening years. I was going to have a difficult enough time coming to terms with this unsolicited telephone conversation, let alone processing the knowledge that Kavita was dying and that she still loved me. What if seeing her opened the wound again? One of the most basic of instincts is one of self-preservation. I was afraid the old emotions would overwhelm and devour me.

"I can't handle this on my own," confessed Sam. "The person I love is dying. I need my oldest and best friend to help me through this."

After I totally shunned them ten years ago, I hadn't bothered to find out what had happened to them subsequently. Just when I was sure there was nothing more that could surprise me, these two new revelation set my mind reeling. They loved each other. And even now, Sam considered me her best friend.

"Ranveer, please say you'll come to see her...She really want to talk to you...Please don't deny her one last opportunity to see you."

When I fell silent, maybe Sam thought I was wavering, and she added "She's in the Royal Infirmary on Walnut Street, ward 3B...You will come won't you?"

"I'll think about it," was the noncommittal reply.

Unable to handle any more, I ended the call at that point.

For the first time in years, I cried my heart out. I cried for Kavita. I cried for Sam. But most of all, I cried for myself.

[NO COPY]