“Rita can’t stand up to her parents, don’t you know?”
Kenneth Menezes said this with a snigger, in response to a question directed towards his partner, Rita, by her best friend Brianna. The trio was seated for dinner at Souza Lobo, a popular beachfront restaurant in Goa. It was the last night of what seemed to Rita to be a whirlwind trip. She toyed with a solitary French fry on her plate, as though she might be doing something of the utmost importance. Her eyes unable to meet her bestie’s.
Rita looked tired. A tiredness that stemmed not from the road trip they had embarked on to a distant end of Goa earlier that day in order to eat a king-size pomfret. Rather, it was a product of Kenneth’s relentless put-me-downs. At night, in the comfort of their modest three-star lodging, she asked him, “Darling, what would you like to do on our last day?”
Kenneth took a deep drag of his cigarette before snuffing it out with a vengeance.
“We’ll just sleep all morning, okay? I told you, no church and all. Staring at a casket that holds the lifeless remains of a saint isn’t my thing.”
“But it’s my thing na, baby? Plus, I accompanied you to Arambol to eat that pomfret, na?”
“Don’t use that gentle tone when you talk to me! I met that boring Brianna in Souza fu**ing Lobo, didn’t I? And it’s not like you didn’t enjoy the fu**ing pomfret!”
“I’m sorry, Kenneth. I won’t ask again. It’s just — visiting the church has been a dream for years.”
“Santa Claus was my fu**ing dream, too. Then I grew up and smelt the roses! Good night.”
I have forged the closest friendships with people who have treated me like dirt
There went the last chance for that tender lovemaking they had spoken of while planning their vacation. It seemed all Kenneth wanted to do was stare into the horizon and drink beer. As if Rita were there merely for the kicks.
Over the course of my life, I have forged the closest friendships with people who have treated me like dirt. Through all those times, I have hankered after them just like Rita hankering after her lover Kenneth. Mind you, it is not always painful to be around people like Kenneth. Toxic people, for the lack of a better term. Indeed, at times, it seems like there could never be a person as special in all the world. As though one might be hypnotised to such an extent that they fail to see the hideousness of the person they adore. To acknowledge that they are being controlled, just so the toxic individual can feel good about themselves. After all, our feelings do not matter one bit. At least, that is what they have us believe…
That night, Rita could not sleep. She thought back to the time when she and Kenneth first met. How something ‘magnetic’ about the guy drew her inexorably towards him. When he spoke, everyone listened. On second thoughts, did they? Perhaps she had been the only one…
Over the years, Rita had always acquiesced to Kenneth’s demands, but only because she loved him. Parents on both sides egged them on to get married, but after a few years it was a lost cause.
Rita had slowly come to accept the fact that she was never going to have her white wedding in church. Or visit any church for that matter, let alone the Basilica of Bom Jesus, which holds the mortal remains of St Francis Xavier. Ultimately, Rita could not go anywhere Kenneth did not want to. It was the unspoken law.
I cannot hold on to hate, the very thing that breeds toxicity
Rita found a way to focus on herself before her Goa trip ended Pixabay
Right before Rita closed her exhausted eyes, a solitary thought floated in her mind’s eye: “When was the last time I did something for myself?”
I have been repeatedly abused by friends I held dearest. Statements they uttered nonchalantly led me to believe I was always wrong. Or that I had no hope, and they were my only means of salvation. Little did I know that they were gradually breaking down my defences. Till I was putty in their hands. A slave to their whims. It took me years to realise I was the victim of abuse, and break free of toxic friends. That being said, I have forgiven them all. I cannot hold on to hate, the very thing that breeds toxicity.
The final day in Goa dawned. To Rita’s friends who flaunted Gucci bags, Goa was a routine indulgence. To Rita, it had been a long-standing dream. Her parents had never taken her anywhere beyond Lonavala or Mahabaleshwar. Not that she ever found herself wanting as a child. Her parents were “the best in the world”. On that note, she stepped into the morning sun and into the Uber waiting for her.
Kenneth had told her last night, “Better wake me up at fu**ing noon.”
That gave Rita around three hours to make the trip to church and back, before ticking off the task entrusted to her. Not that it mattered. She was going to lunch alone at Mum’s Kitchen in Panaji after church. Yet another place Kenneth had refused to take her. And yes, all hell would break loose when she returned. In all probability, Kenneth would not be able to get ready in time for the flight back home. Maybe that was the point.
Love is supposed to heal and sustain
Love is supposed to heal and sustain. Even if it gives momentary joy, it is not supposed to be toxic Shutterstock
People are told they must pay for excess baggage. And Rita would. With her relationship. About time, too.
I have spent some of the best times of my life with toxic people. I have loved them, yes, because it has been impossible not to. In some ways, they have indeed ‘saved’ me. But, in hindsight, each of those acts of salvation has been for selfish reasons. The only person a toxic individual is capable of loving is themself.
Our bodies are wonderful instruments, performing the tireless job of flushing out toxins everyday. They know what is good for them. High time our minds and hearts did, too.
Love is supposed to heal and sustain. Even if it gives momentary joy, it is not supposed to be toxic.
Rohit Trilokekar is a novelist from Mumbai who flirts with the idea of what it means to love. His heart’s compass swerves ever so often towards Kolkata, the city he believes has the most discerning literary audience.
