Losing My Virginity and Other Dumb Ideas (12 page)

This conversation would plague me for a few days till Arjun came back. I invariably wanted to know why we couldn’t hang out more at his place. I told him the dilemma I had about him living in with me. But he didn’t seem to bother too much about gossip. He was adamant about us not going to his flat. The repeated arguments we had about the subject went something like this:

‘Arjun, I think we should stay at your place for some time. I can work from there and you can come home to all your belongings. It would make us get away from Martha and this building for some time.’

‘No. That’s not a good idea. Kaveri, can you move while I see the highlights of this match? Sachin scored a century and I missed it!’ he said, while craning to move me away from the television.

‘Why not?’ I asked while moving to a chair close by.

‘Because, baby,’ he also called me that, ‘there are photos of my wife all over the place and it would make you uncomfortable.’

‘Then put them away!’ I would demand with my hands on my hips. But eventually he would pull me into his arms and say he would soon and if I could just please think of better things to talk about since he had had a hard day. And I would feel guilty and change the topic to his work.

The thing that kept us connected was the sex. That was the best part. Our sex was, to say the least, a white lightening, mind-blowing, and ‘Jesus’ invoking astounding piece of work. Let’s put it this way, if I was a German, it would have been more exhilarating than the Berlin Wall coming down. If I was a basketball fan, it would have been like a day spent with Michael Jordan. If I were a nonstarter in the film industry it would have been like having a bigger hit than Shah Rukh’s on an opening weekend. Every moment was amazing. And that’s where our differences evaporated. We liked the same thing. We wanted it the same way. We wanted it always. And we were always satisfied.

After one particular fight we had, Arjun and I had incredible make-up sex. Now the thing is ‘make-up sex’ is always better than regular sex. It’s probably because there’s a sense that we could have broken up or it could have been our last time together. Hence, the passion was raw, deeply intimate and, bordering on violence, even. Completely invigorating!

But back to our conversation. We were lying in bed when I broached the topic of my virginity.

‘You know Arjun, I was a virgin when I met you.’

Arjun was quiet for some time and then he said, ‘Really?’

I turned over to look at him and said, ‘Ya. You didn’t know?’

He shook his head.

‘That’s ridiculous. How could you not have known?’

He shook his head and put his left palm on the back of his head and said, ‘Okay, I figured.’ And he smiled and I looked at him thinking a million thoughts. I was quiet. The notions of what a bride feels like on her wedding night came back to me. The night I was with Arjun in Goa for the first time was good, but painful. But after that, it unlocked the treasure chest of pleasure for me. I could never have enough. I was the one who always wanted more, even if he was tired. I was the one who ‘kept count’ and made him laugh in delight. Just because I hadn’t ever done it didn’t mean I hadn’t ever read about it. And knowledge is a powerful weapon.

‘What did you do before that?’ he asked suddenly.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well if you hadn’t had sex, how did you know about it or feel it?’ I thought about that. I had read about it and I had spoken about it with Aditi, but I had never really wanted to do something on my own. A solo plane ride was not fun for me. I needed to fly commercial.

‘Nothing, really,’ I replied.

He was shocked. ‘What? You never pleasured yourself?’ he asked with one eyebrow raised.

I shook my head. No.

He continued, ‘But didn’t you want to? Weren’t you frustrated because you didn’t?’

I said, ‘Well, once or twice I tried it. But it did not work for me. Aditi told me to use the hand shower in the bathroom, but the water was too cold and it never did anything and I got bored.’

‘But there are far more things to try out than a hand shower, aren’t there?’ he asked.

Yes, there were. There were dildos, your finger and bubble baths, candles and romantic music while lying on your bed, watching porn and imitating the women. There were hundreds of things that people did, but which did not give me pleasure. I didn’t feel the need to. Maybe it was because of my conservative upbringing. As it was, I had too many things to deal with. On top of that, the one or two times I tried, I was too disgusted with the whole concept. And it never led anywhere in the time frame I gave it, which was five minutes, so I left it forever. I was impatient. It was something I didn’t need to learn or master.

‘I never felt like it,’ I said plainly.

‘You mean to tell me that for thirty years you never had sex and you never even masturbated?’

‘Nope, and can we cut the topic please? It’s making me uncomfortable,’ I said, trying to busy myself with some papers.

‘That’s incredible.’ He mumbled and went back to reading a book.

Suddenly I felt stupid. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought up this topic. I was making myself vulnerable to him. I wanted to tell him I was a virgin so he would think this relationship was special. Like I did. But instead, he asked me about pleasure and passion. A topic that I had never confronted myself with. I wanted to put on my clothes and get away from him. I tried to get out of bed, so I and muttered, ‘Do you want some coffee or ice cream …’

He pulled me back in, realizing my discomfort and said, ‘All I meant was that for someone who never had too much sexual experience, you’re quite good in bed!’

I smiled, ‘Do you mean that?’

‘Yes, baby. I do.’

Then I felt a little better and opened up a little more. ‘I think that was the main reason why I wanted to get laid on my thirtieth birthday. I remember thinking that I was getting old and I didn’t have a man in my life. But it was not only to fall in love, it was to have the sexual encounter that I hadn’t been able to provide myself.’ Then, after a pause, I added, ‘Maybe if I had been satisfied with myself, I would not have felt so desperate.’

He put his arms around me and kissed my neck, ‘Do you regret sleeping with me?’

‘No, baby’ I said, ‘I’m in love with you. I’m happy I did it with you and not that random nerd at the bar.’ He looked at me questioningly, and I shook my head trying to erase the memory of the double date with Aditi that night.

We cuddled for some time before he asked, ‘So if you had to go back to being single, would you shag now or wait to be with a man again?’

I got up in shock.

‘Are you planning to leave me?’ I asked with fear.

‘No, pumpkin,’ he said, pulling me closer. ‘I would rather die than leave you. All I’m asking is what would you do now say if I went on work for a month somewhere?’

I hadn’t thought about that. Had my viewpoint changed? Not really. But would I want to just hold back and wait for him to come back or would I pleasure myself? I didn’t know. It is said that once the orgasm is a part of you, you can’t let it go and you need it like an addict.

But masturbation was not just about an orgasm for me. It was a feeling of an intimate moment with a deep part of you. And like I needed to fall in love with a man to sleep with him, I needed to fall in love with that part of myself to be able to be intimate with it. I know that’s confusing, but think about it. If you were truly not happy with another person, would you go hug him? No. Would you strip bare in front of him? No. The same thing applies to our inner and outer selves. I was uncomfortable with my outer self. It was just skin. I did not fall in love with who I was. I just accepted the nicest part of me was my eyes. So why would I touch myself when it felt awkward even to me?

I looked at Arjun and deflected the topic by saying, ‘I’m not letting you go anywhere!’

Arjun pulled me closer and started moving his hands down my back. I knew what was coming. He started murmuring softly the fantasy that was playing out in his head. And then he held my head with his right hand and kissed me passionately.

Why would I need anything more when I had him every night?

If we pay attention to the universe, there are always signs of what will happen in the future along the way. Women in love choose to ignore it because they don’t want to bring in ‘rational’ into ‘happy’. And that’s the mistake. If I had seen the signs early on … But for now, I was happy.

One evening, we were lying around on my bed, when a thought came to me. I knew it was soon, but I felt our relationship had gone from friends to lovers so fast that we were ready for another step. Some people might wait for years to decide what they need and how they feel, but we knew in a matter of weeks that we were so right for each other, that it didn’t matter that he was married.

But a loving relationship is always a work in progress and I wanted to know deep down what he was willing to do for me, and how much he was willing to risk. So while we were watching
Indian Idol
one particular evening, I started the conversation. ‘Arjun, can we please stop this stupid programme and talk?’

Arjun responded, ‘Okay.’ Then he put it on mute.

‘I said off, not mute!’ I knew I sounded like a wife.

He grumbled something and turned it off. We were lying around feeling really lazy after working the entire week on hectic projects.

I took a deep breath and started, ‘Arjun, where are we going?’

Arjun said with a teasing smile, ‘What do you mean? I thought we were going to couch out here tonight?’

I hit him lightly. God, I was already a ‘wife’ (Worries Invited For Ever). ‘I mean with “us”. Is there a future to this?’ I asked.

This time, he was serious, ‘Kaveri, think about this, when we have moments with people, we cherish them more. Haven’t we had a blast since we’ve met? It’s because we meet only a few days in a week at the most.’

I wanted to remind him that he had been sacking at my home for quite a number of days in a week and he went home only to collect his bills and get his maid to clean the cobwebs.

But he chose to continue his speech as if he had prepared for it, ‘How many happy marriages do you see around you?’ He paused here for dramatic effect and shook his head as if to prompt me to say ‘none’, but I sat stony-faced, not giving into his argument.

He shook his head for me and continued, ‘Marriage is an institution. A
mental
institution. An institution in which you stop cherishing, stop loving, stop needing, stop desiring and stop feeling.’ He said with dramatic effect and paused before he continued, ‘If we only had a day or two with a person in a week, we would make every moment count.’ Here he moved his hands around and fixed his gaze on the ceiling as if looking heavenwards for inspiration, ‘Then you know you only need to live in that moment and that moment will remain perfect. That’s how you make happy memories.’ He concluded with a flourish and went back to switching on the TV and increasing the volume as if that was the end of discussion.

But I wasn’t done. Did he just say that we would never get married? That was not a pleasant thought for someone in her thirties. And for someone who’s biological clock was ticking. I took the remote from him and put it on mute and said, ‘But no one can live like that forever.’

‘Why not?’ he asked, disinterested already.

‘Well, because all relationships need to move to another level. Otherwise we would remain in a teenage-like frame of mind, flitting from one person to another. It needs to move to something more permanent.’

Arjun replied, ‘The permanence is in the infrequency, the temporary. All relationships could be much happier if we don’t own the person.’ He was not even looking at me, but trying to shush me up to hear what Anu Malik had to say about a new contestant. ‘Besides we
have
moved to another level in our relationship. We’re practically living together. Isn’t that enough for you?’ he asked rhetorically.

I thought about it. We were living together. And the magic had faded a little I had to admit. Instead of having mad, passionate sex every night like we used to, here we were contented with watching a stupid TV show. And instead of having long debates about art and our travels, we argued about what food to eat. This felt like a marriage. But it wasn’t
legal
.

‘Don’t you need a companion in your old age?’ I asked the typical question my parents would have asked.

Arjun suddenly explained to no one in particular, ‘There. I knew he was out of key!’ he said completely ignoring me and probably hoping I would be distracted with what was on the screen. But I wasn’t. So I nudged him and said, ‘I asked you a question!’

‘Hmm …? What?
Arrey baba
, let it go. Who do you think will win?’ But I knew he had heard. I was way too smart for him to fool me and I raised my eyebrow in anticipation of an answer.

He succumbed and turned his body towards me and took a deep breath as if to explain one final time to a five-year-old what the algebra of relationships was all about. ‘Okay! Who’s to say the person you are with today will stick around till you’re old anyway? There’s no loyalty forever. Mammals are not meant to be faithful.’

I butted in immediately, ‘Are you saying you’re not faithful to me?’ My voice was raised already. I had read somewhere that high-pitched voices come only from women who are threatened by the fact that their mates might be straying. My voice seemed to border between a squeal and a soprano.

‘No, baby,’ he said, taking me in his arms and kissing me deeply. He wanted to divert the topic but I pushed him away, crossed my arms and said, ‘Explain!’

And so he did. ‘I’m saying that maybe in twenty years, you might not be faithful to
me
, or I might die or something. Do you want to give up what we have today for a marriage that ends in unhappiness? I’ve been there, done that. Not good, I say.’

‘But I thought it was because you hadn’t found the right person?’ I asked, hoping for a correct answer. I looked around me. I had made so many adjustments for this man. My perfect house, with perfect white sheets and colourful pillows, was all gone. Instead, there was a mass of papers and junk that lay all over the place that belonged to him. My fridge that had mini tarts and apple juice and dal makhani was replaced with granola bars, orange juice and pasta. My life, that had no room for a second of wasteful TV watching, had been filled with endless hours of general random programming. I had made the changes. For him. Didn’t he want to take that leap of faith?