Reckless with the Heart

By Suparna Verma

Young, beautiful, and ambitious Taruni sets her foot in Hyderabad, a bustling city in South India, to make her career only to find herself drawn into an uncertain, one-sided adolescent love of a young man who, though aware of her sentiments, is reluctant to acknowledge. Taruni has to go through trials and tribulations of times and emotions to emerge into a person of her own. She patiently awaits his verdict whilst tackling regional prejudices and social bigotry with immense self-control. When she begins to doubt herself and her desirability, a gorgeous young furniture-maker enters into her life who sweeps her off her feet and makes her feel important. Torn between the two, she meanders around her dreams of her eventual reunion with her first love and her present allurement. Flustered, she finds the city around her losing its lustre and folks turning hostile. Clobbered emotionally and professionally, she silently laments the impermanence and evanescence of human relationships. At the crossroads of life, what should she do?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing India
• Release date: Sep 26, 2013
• ISBN: 9781482811582

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Copyright © 2013 by Suparna Verma.

ISBN:      Hardcover   978-1-4828-1160-5

               Softcover      978-1-4828-1159-9

               Ebook           978-1-4828-1158-2

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Contents

Acknowledgment

Foreword

Preface

Prologue

Chapter 1   Pacifying The Antagonized Customer

Chapter 2   The Good News

Chapter 3   The Black Dress, The Black Car And The Black Night

Chapter 4   The Pact

Chapter 5   Benefit Of Doubt

Chapter 6   The Reason Behind Getting Naina Drunk

Chapter 7   Abraham’s Apartment

Chapter 8   Piercing Arman’s Shell

Chapter 9   The Hapless Shopper

Chapter 10   Cappuccino Froth

Chapter 11   At Last!

Chapter 12   Black Valentine

Chapter 13   Misery Loves Company

Chapter 14   Abraham’s Apartment Part Ii

Chapter 15   Flight Of Desire

Chapter 16   The Arrangement

Chapter 17   By The Arabian Sea

Chapter 18   Losing Friends

Chapter 19   Reigniting Dead Embers

Chapter 20   The Undeniable Truth

Chapter 21   Lucky Escape

Chapter 22   The Malicious Talk

Chapter 23   The Healing Process

Chapter 24   Under The Canopy Of Dreams

Epilogue

This book is dedicated to;

17659.png    My parents, my greatest pillars of strength, for always being there for me and giving me the best within their means.

17661.png    Hyderabad, the most wonderful city in the world that has played an immensely pivotal role in my evolution and gifted me some fabulous memories; no matter where I live, I’ll always keep coming back to it.

Acknowledgment

‘R eckless with the Heart’ is my first attempt at writing a novel. Writing this book has been a journey where I’ve revisited many memories and people that I had lost track of. And, what I have learnt after having finished writing it is that, we can never be thankful enough for what we’ve got. Life is impetuous and unpredictable, so are the people in it. We have got to be grateful to those who unconditionally stand by us through thick and thin, but also not resent those who couldn’t be there for us when we really needed them.

I cannot thank my parents enough for their unconditional support and love that keeps me alive and going during the most difficult times. I have inherited the knack of writing from my father Brig. A K Verma, who is a multi-dimensional, multi-talented, erudite and tenacious man. My mother, Vijaya Verma, in addition to being exceptionally talented, effervescent, progressive and fearless, is one of the most knowledgeable and practical women I’ve ever known and will be for many years to come. I really have to thank my English lecturer, Mrs. Navanita Lahiri, whose invaluable guidance and encouragement has always been a source of motivation. Her impeccable conduct and persistent dedication is worth emulating by one and all. She introduced me to the delightful word of literature and inspired me to write. Even after so many years I clearly remember the priceless lessons painstakingly taught by her.

I thank Deepa Koshy for editing this enormous piece of work so expeditiously and meticulously. She’s been a great help to me. I also, wholeheartedly, thank (Late) Dr. Kiran Srivastava, for creating such a beautiful cover for my book. Your memory shall forever live in our hearts.

Swatson JP, my husband, has been a silent support to my endeavours. His contribution to this piece of work is enormous and I couldn’t thank him enough for the same. It is he who is responsible for bringing out the writer in me.

I, also, want to take a moment here and remember Bozo, my Alsatian pet dog (who is no more) for unquestionably accompanying me wherever I went and showering me with unconditional love.

I have also to thank Smita Patil Kumkar and Kanwal Dhillon for motivating in ways more than one, and my brother Abhishek Verma for letting me use the internet

Lastly, I would thank Shona George, a gifted writer and my good friend, who cheered me when I had started to doubt my aptitude whilst looking for a publisher. Only a writer can understand another writer’s woe. I will always cherish his kind words.

Foreword

Dear Reader,

Firstly, my compliments for having picked up a copy of ‘Reckless WithThe Heart’. It was two years ago, one evening at the club that Suparna told me she was planning to write a book. Six months ago, she sent me a copy for my opinion. Owing to my commitments I was unable to go through it. Finally, out of guilt, I decided that I must put away a little time each day for reading the book. So one evening, I picked it up, intending to spend maybe half an hour on it. I put it down four hours later after finishing it back to back.

The beauty of this book is its simplicity, the manner in which it can be related to. The book is contemporary, set in urban India. Taruni, the protagonist is an independent girl in her early twenties. In the initial part we see how Taruni struggles with her feelings for Arman, her childhood love. One sided feelings which are never reciprocated by him, her disappointment when he rejects her. Following the rejection she discovers solace and passion in the arms of Abraham, a relationship which is meant to be purely physical. She discovers her true self beneath the façade of the woman she thought she was. But she rejects him when she feels herself being drawn to him given his transient nature. We see the conflict she feels between what wants and what she gets in a relationship. All this while, she also confronts the problems which are faced by every woman living in a big city, that of being alone in a crowd. Taruni’s story could be the story of any urban working woman or more appropriately Taruni’s story is the story of every urban working woman.

It’s hard to believe that this is Suparna’s first book. She had written a well-rounded story with real characters. The gripping manner in which the book evolves is one which is expected from a writer who is much more experienced than her. All in all, it feels like a warm blanket on a cold, rainy day. I have great hopes for this book and I’m honored that she has asked me to write the foreword.

So, happy reading, I know you will enjoy the book.

Regards,

Shona George

Preface

W hen someone asks me to share my favourite memory, I go back to my childhood for reference. I’m sure that is the case with most of us. It is a period of life that is untouched by flawed or deformed ideas of sustenance. When I see a child, I can’t help but notice how pure and innocent he/she is. He/she doesn’t have to worry about a thing in the world that we adults have to. It is this purity and innocence I wanted to capture and portray through my story.

The protagonist, Taruni, breezes through multiple upheavals with fortitude; however, a wound from her childhood still remains unhealed in her psyche. It is her Achilles’ heel, standing stubbornly in the way of her happiness. She struggles to get rid of it, which takes a long time during which she undergoes phenomenal psychological changes. As she adjusts to the ethos of the society, she finds joy in relinquishing her inhibitions.

This could be every woman’s story, if not totally, in parts. My protagonist is a wonderful mix of vulnerability and shrewdness. She’s not perfect and that’s what makes her believable. Human imperfections are fascinating; if we didn’t have any, how boring we would become.

Do read this novel to celebrate your imperfections and get in touch with the child inside you. Cheers!

—Suparna

Memories of childhood were the dreams that stayed with you after you woke.

—Julian Barnes

Prologue

M other collected the mail and walked towards a blurry eyed Taruni, who had just regained consciousness on a lazy Sunday morning. Last night, for a change had been a sober one spent fruitfully chatting and discussing inconclusive matters.

It’s almost 10. Get up and go to the bathroom, your breakfast is getting cold. Mother spoke with effortless authority.

I don’t feel like eating. Taruni spoke in a sleepy monotone pulling the sheet over her head.

Eating breakfast after a gap of six months was no less than taking on a fight at the dining table. Ever since, Taruni had taken up the appointment of Assistant Manager (Operations), Indian Bank of Commerce, Banjara hills, she hadn’t had either the time or patience to conjure up the simplest of morning meals.

One shouldn’t stay hungry for more than eight hours, you ate dinner at 11pm last night, and it’s more than eleven hours already. Hurry now. Mother said as she drew the curtains apart. Her knowledge about human metabolism though not accurate, couldn’t be over ruled. And don’t assume that by skipping breakfast you’ll get thinner. I don’t understand why your generation is so image-obsessed.

But thin is pretty, supposedly!

Taruni often wondered if her weight and waistline fit within the norms dictated by the fashion mafia. How she wished that one day she could wake up and find herself 5kgs lighter or maybe 10! All the dieting and gym-tours post a hard day’s work had to show their effect someday. But while Taruni was being ordered to follow the lady’s command, her mind digressed into devising new tactics to avoid breakfast. Blessed with a strong appetite for sumptuous non-vegetarian preparations, and an insatiable sweet tooth that could never get enough of luscious desserts and puddings, she knew she was a victim of unhealthy eating habits and erratic meal timings.

As the sunlight gently caressed Taruni’s eyelids, lethargy scurried out of her psyche; however, she had not left the bed. Through half-open eyes she could see her mother cautiously tear open the envelope of her mail.

Your phone bill is outrageous. The woman shrieked, while still holding the stack of Taruni’s mail, her forehead bore the deepest scowl. Taruni was shaken from her ambiguous thoughts.

Busted!

The woman’s rotund body and disheveled bun made her appear innocuous, but she had the eyes of an eagle. Taruni felt like one of her students who had failed to submit an assignment, or even worse, caught cheating in an exam. I hope these people are not fleecing you, come take a look here.

Taruni sprang from the bed snatching the white and red colored paper away. Amount due-Rs. 5529 only was written in a thick, bold font. It was much lower than last months’, but she didn’t dare divulge it to Mother.

They’ve overcharged me, Mama. I’ll have to check with the phone guys. Let me call them now. Taruni feigned surprise but it was all apparent to Mother.

I hope you are not wasting your money calling Arman up.

Taruni was speechless. She felt like an addict who had been caught red-handed snorting drugs, only this drug went by the name of Arman Rajwar. But she didn’t feel the need to explain what had been obvious for the last nine years, since the age of innocence till the semi-ripe phase of her life.

You should abandon the idea of marrying him. He’s not worth it, Taru.

Mother, off late, had been coaxing Taruni relentlessly to consider the marriage prospects that had been pouring in ceaselessly over the last few months, but it was to no effect.

Taruni didn’t speak. It was no use repeating what she had wanted her mother to understand.

Mother bowed her head and turned away after having read Taruni’s silence with utmost accuracy. Taruni could see the amount of effort that was being put into subduing the angst evoked by that name. She wondered if she was old enough to take a stand, declare her obsession and take the wrath caused by disclosure or, if she should stay mum and not hurt the only person who would support and comfort her unconditionally.

The day passed by and before they knew it, dusk had spread its blanket over the December sky. The woman was frantically packing her suitcase, in a matter of another hour she would board a train to Bangalore. Taruni stood in the corner of the room watching her yearningly. Watching her leave was one of the worst scenarios in spite of the introspection Taruni was put through.

Ready? asked Taruni clad in denims and a blue block-printed kurta. The woman nodded.

As they drove out of the colony Taruni enquired about her next visit, the woman however was keen on discussing something else. Taruni wanted to avoid confrontation at all cost, especially while driving through the crammed, unruly traffic of the city. Arman, his name was bad enough to cause accidents. It sounded harmless but packed a punch.

That boy is bad news. He’s wasting your time. What have you not got that he acts so pricey?

He’s not that bad. Taruni hoped against hope that the woman would see her perspective. However, that wasn’t happening today. Taruni believed that Arman had been misunderstood. Mother had never exhibited any keenness to learn about his true character.

I know everything. He had you wrapped around his finger then, and as I see it, he does now too. You were fooled by him then, and you still are. Tell me, what is it that you talk about for so long over the phone? the woman grimaced as she pulled away from the bandaged seat, turning her whole body towards Taruni. The question was staring her in the face but she couldn’t give an acknowledging expression.

Tell me, does he call up too? the volley of questions continued.

Sometimes Taruni said.

How many times?

Less than I do. Taruni thought but didn’t speak.

He calls up when he feels like. Please leave me alone now. Taruni hoped the tone would put an end to the interrogation. The next second she regretted talking that way to Mother. There was an uneasy silence for rest of the journey.

The coolie put the suitcase under the side berth and Taruni promptly made the payment. She noticed disappointment in the eyes of the older woman. Now she wished she could go back in time and undo that harsh little statement.

As they sat beside each other, Taruni said I’m sorry putting her hand on the older woman’s.

Two tears appeared in Mother’s eyes, one in each. I just can’t see you get hurt. You should be settling down now. She wiped her tears away with the corner of her cotton saree.

Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. The send-off parties of the fellow passengers were thronging the narrow aisle of the AC-coach and eyeing the women with obvious curiosity. Usually, Mother wouldn’t tolerate such invasion of privacy, but today she was oblivious to it.

You take care of yourself and go easy on your students. I’m going to miss you. Taruni spoke.

Mother smiled, yielding a little and planted a kiss on her forehead.

It was time to part. The train blew its signature shrill jangle. Taruni got off quickly, while the woman stood by the door. She waved a generously affectionate bye. Taruni opened her mouth and uttered Goodbye Mama .

The train pulled out of the platform majestically and Taruni watched the bogies scram by. She was not sad, just befuddled a bit. The endless pile that she’d been raking for the last nine years refused to budge, but she hadn’t given up hope yet.

Taruni hated goodbyes, especially, the ones that were harbingers of long-term separation. The most painful one being Arman’s departure from her life. A decade ago, on the brink of 16, young Taruni had trembled at the thought of being abandoned ruthlessly after a two-year long relationship. Some things were completely out of her control, like when Arman’s father was transferred to Agra, there was little she could do to ensure that Arman’s feelings for her would remain unchanged.

Don’t worry. I’ll always love you. I’ll write a letter every day. Will you reply? Huh! Will you… ?? Arman had said consolingly to a sobbing Taruni, wiping her tears with his fingers as they sat beside each other on the soft mattress of Taruni’s bed.

After three odd letters, there was no further communication. Since that was the beginning of the internet era, not many people had computers or dial-ups at home, and cyber café’s weren’t ubiquitous either. She kept writing letters one after the other that sought no reply. Maybe her biggest fear had come true. She had been alienated.

The next few months were agonizing. Having no contact with her lover, Taruni thought she was on the brink of going crazy, writing letters that fetched no response, imagining the worst of things, had he got bored with her? Was he not keeping well? Had he made new friends and forgotten about her completely? The dreadful possibilities were endless. With absolutely no answers to her questions, she withdrew and paused making any more attempts to contact him.

A year later, when her father got transferred to Hyderabad, she was relieved to leave the ghosts of loneliness behind in the vapid town of Siliguri. But her self-imposed apathy was short lived, when amongst new friends at school she met a boy who had arrived from Agra.

"Oh! Arman . . . I do know him. We were good buddies. He’s one studious boy . . . a real hard-worker. Here’s his number" said the boy cheerfully as he wrote down a 4-digit number.

Rajat turned out to be an angel with the gesture he made without asking a single question. It was an army phone number, and the boy didn’t know the ASCON¹ code for Agra. It took days to figure out the elusive code after painstakingly scouring stacks of pocket-sized Army directories that belonged to her father. She contemplated calling him up when she would be completely alone in the house. After all what would her parents have thought had they learned about her ‘thing’ with Arman? They had always been suspicious about the harmless shenanigans between the two. The friendship had been a perfect decoy for a thriving adolescent romance.

It was Friday, around eight o’clock in the evening, when she dialed the number. Her fingers felt numb as she pressed the digits on the button panel of her black cordless phone. The ring coming through the receptor resonated in her head. She didn’t bat an eyelid. And then someone answered the phone. It wasn’t his mother, thankfully, but the young man himself.

Hello? the voice had subtle undertones of masculinity, but it was still recognizable.

All of Taruni’s fears seemed to disperse, and a soft smile appeared on her lips.

"Hi . . . Arman, do you recognize me?"

There was a pause before the voice spoke again, shakily this time.

"Oh . . . hi . . . how did you find my number?" the question sounded confrontational, as if she had committed a crime by calling him up.

While she carried on giving explanations, feeling guilty of impinging upon his time, he breathed harder after every statement. It was perspicuous that he hadn’t appreciated the gesture.

Just note down my email address He severed her speech. Taruni presumed she had called at an inopportune time.

"Ok . . . mm . . . let me find a pen." She sprinted to the next room collecting pen and notepad.

She realized it would be better to write emails rather than telephone, for it was cheaper and more secure. Thereafter, the conversation was anything but sweet. It seemed like Arman hardly had anything to say.

Taruni wrote an elaborate email expressing and reiterating her vows and plans for their future. At every word that she typed on her new PIII computer, a tear rolled down her cheek.

The next morning, she left the bed immediately at the sound of her mother’s voice, and switched the computer on. While the dial-up made cacophonic noises, her heart pounded heedlessly. As she logged into her email account, her happiness knew no boundaries on seeing Re: hi!

The mail was in contrast to the one sent by her. It was short, but had her on pins and needles.

You can’t force me to love you. I think it happens naturally.

Taruni froze in her chair. It was vicious, loathsome and above all condescending. She wondered what had made him write something so terribly contemptuous. She recalled the times spent with him and wondered about the forcing factor.

When did I ever force him?

She did some serious retrospection, but couldn’t latch on to anything that had caused the stalemate. Thereafter, she wrote a final email promising never to bother to him again.

The three letters were burnt along with a dozen pictures and greeting cards she had treasured over the last few years. The bonfire wasn’t as liberating as she had expected. But there was no use of saving the carcass of a wrecked relationship.

She didn’t think so much about it anymore. Time had healed a lot of wounds.

It was almost 8:30 PM when Taruni steered her car through the gate of Saritha Rao’s bungalow. She had rented the upper portion of the single-storey bungalow comprising a set of two rooms, a bathroom and a huge terrace. She spotted the land lady sitting on one of the plastic chairs placed on the dry, brown lawn along with her two children. Mrs. Saritha Rao was an average built, middle-aged, wheat complexioned woman who always wore a sandalwood mark atop the vermillion bindi² on her forehead. She usually wore synthetic sarees with exception of Pochampallies reserved for special occasions, and kept her long black hair plaited. Her two children, son Mahesh, 26, and daughter Rajeshwari, 24, were quite the local heroes. In the whole township of Begumpet, they had been deemed eminent for their focus, drive, and dedication towards studies, both were pursuing MS from Buffalo, USA, a year apart and Mahesh was on the verge of completion. They would come down to India once a year during holidays to visit their mother.

Saritha, or ‘Auntie’, as Taruni had been instructed to be called, was an indomitable woman of argumentative nature. She owned three houses, this being one, and the other two in Marredpally and Ameerpet respectively, all of which been had rented out. Her husband, who was rarely seen staying with them, owned a tiffin centre in Ameerpet. The buzz doing the rounds was that the two didn’t get along well. Neither Saritha, nor her kids ever seemed to give Mr. Rao the feeling of being a family. Usually, the couple would constantly fight and bicker in Telugu with each other, but when the kids were home, the fights would get worse, the children would often express their contempt in their new, accented English which would fetch raucous Telugu response. Sometimes the fights were entertaining when they were short, conclusive and comprehendible; sometimes they were plain disturbing costing the listener his sleep. Taruni didn’t know whom to empathize with because of not understanding the language. But she didn’t mind the histrionics, as Saritha Rao was one of the very few Hyderabadis who were gradually warming up to the phenomenon of immigration of North Indians to Hyderabad, especially as Rao was making money out of sheltering them.

Taruni stopped by the lawn to wish the aging woman.

"How are you my dear? Your mother has left ah?!!" Saritha asked, acknowledging Taruni’s mother’s visit after she had left. But then why would she blame Saritha, after all, her mother’s visits weren’t that infrequent.

Yes… I just dropped her off at the station. Saying that, Taruni turned her attention to Mahesh and Rajeshwari. Hi, how are you guys? How are the things in ‘The U.S.’?

The Junior Raos seemed thrilled as Taruni showed a boisterous interest in their lives. The conversation was going smooth until Taruni tread into dangerous territory, So any of you managed to catch any yanks yet? Huh? That could easily make you a permanent US citizen. Taruni’s banter turned the girl tacit and the boy too seemed to be embarrassed, not by the question but his mother’s presence

"Wonly Telugu, no foreigners Saritha Rao spoke with absolute hegemony. Taruni realized her blunder and pressed her lips together before she could utter another word of foolishness. Not even North Indians" Saritha gazed deep into Taruni’s eyes before walking into the house. She had delivered her decree. Her kids however, appeared like curious puppies waiting to be cajoled and patted.

Trust me, there are a lot of single, attractive Telugu women in Buffalo declared Mahesh stressing on the ‘r’s with unbridled Americanized élan. His shyness quickly fled his broad, square face as soon as Saritha Rao crossed the threshold of the house. His comment did evoke restrained laughter, but on her way back to the room, Taruni wondered if she had become too familiar with the Raos to take the liberty of cracking inane jokes.

I hope she doesn’t feel I’m trying to seduce Mahesh, that’s so not my intention.

Not just because it would have been a fundamental mismatch but that, firstly, he was Saritha Rao’s son; secondly, it would have been a pain living in a dysfunctional family which