Sohini Chatterjee sank into her favourite plush recliner by the window, in the living room of her expansive Mumbai apartment. Her lover had just left, though traces of his scent lingered. On her skin. In her soul. Forty-year-old Sohini had been seeing the twenty-something lad for a while, although the term ‘seeing’ remained something of an ‘ambiguity’ for a relationship that wasn’t yet defined. Only recently, he had tried tossing the term into their conversations. While she did his underwear during their steamy encounters.
But Sohini wasn’t ready to commit. On the other hand, the earnest lad told her he wasn’t ashamed of introducing her to his parents!
“What’s stopping you?” he asked her once, a pot of tea not the only thing brewing between them. A storm seemed around the corner, what with her just having told him it wasn’t going to work out. Perhaps it was merely for the sex that she found herself in this situationship, defined as something that means different things to different people. The one thing Sohini knew for certain was that when he filled her, she didn’t feel empty.
Things took an abrupt turn when, one day, Sohini suddenly stopped texting. It had been an unwritten rule that he would come to her place only after her confirming the rendezvous over a WhatsApp message. For months, the arrangement had proceeded smoothly. For the major part, Neel hadn’t minded the lack of commitment himself. Until he started harbouring more intense feelings for Sohini. He thought back to the time he had first laid eyes on her. She had been a breath of fresh air. They met at the Bandra railway station. In an autorickshaw line. They ended up sharing the ride, not knowing they would soon be sharing much more.
She seemed frantic…As though he were a sin she was desperately trying to hide
When Neel had asked Sohini her name, she had replied: “Oh well, you can call me Miss Chatterjee.” It was Sohini who had asked for Neel’s number. Neel’s profound shyness when he obliged was utterly endearing. The first time he came home, Sohini tutored him in the art of making love.
The one thing Neel struggled with was the secrecy. It was odd, considering they always met in Sohini’s home, never a public place. She seemed frantic, each time she opened the door to usher him in. As though he were a sin she was desperately trying to hide.
“Do you even have feelings for me?” he asked her once, to the sound of silence. Sohini was relaxing in her favourite recliner. She had just made love to Neel on it. Ah! The energy of youth… Perhaps that was what excited her most — the fact that Neel was half her age. That, and his dreamy chocolate boy looks.
A month after Sohini mysteriously vanished, Neel heard his phone ping at work. It would ping several times a day, of course, but he rarely looked at it. This time, it was different. It was almost as though he knew it were a text from Sohini. And it was. Not a single message, but several. The texts began with an apology and ended with an appeal.
Sohini knew she had to handle the situation tactfully, or she might run the risk of losing him forever. The mere thought of Neel disappearing cut like a knife through her fragile heart
From the moment Neel walked in, Sohini sensed the shift in energy. Something wasn’t quite right. She started kissing her lover passionately, but only a few moments in, Neel pulled away.
“What’s the matter, darling? Did I upset you?”
“You bet you did! What’s wrong with you? You embark on this strange relationship with me, before cutting me off like I’m some kind of tumour?”
Sohini was stupefied. In her wildest dreams, she wouldn’t have thought this innocent-looking lad could ever muster the courage to scream at her.
“Are you looking to put a label on us?” asked Sohini, teary-eyed.
“Yes! And what the hell is wrong with that?” responded Neel, shaking, almost out of control. Sohini knew she had to handle the situation tactfully, or she might run the risk of losing him forever. The mere thought of Neel disappearing cut like a knife through her fragile heart.
“I’m… sorry, jaan. I just thought we were doing fine, you know.”
“Fine? You call this fine? You’ve been using me for sex! That’s it. I just can’t take this any longer. Why did I even come here?”
Neel had fallen in love with Sohini — the cardinal sin in a situationship
Something transitory need not be meaningless, as long as it provides a genuine connection Pixabay
Sohini’s heart was racing wildly. All of a sudden, the gravity of the situation weighed heavily on her. While she might have been comfortable with this arrangement they had shared, poor Neel had evidently wanted much more.
Neel had fallen in love with Sohini — the cardinal sin in a situationship.
That was the last day they saw each other. She went on with her mundane life, each day like the preceding one.
One day, against a backdrop of beautiful hibiscus flowers blooming in the garden, with a drizzle in motion, Sohini thought of Neel and all he meant to her. How could she ever have explained to someone fresh out of the throes of adolescence that only the quality of moments matter? That she made love to him because it made her feel something?
Neel had every right to want more. Especially because he loved Sohini. Only now did Sohini realise that she might have loved him, too. Yet, she had her own compulsions, the amorphous boundaries of another situationship that she had been in for years. One that had a label, but no clarity. Her marriage with Mr Chatterjee.
Most of us amble through life, in relationships as predictable as dal bhaat. Commitment isn’t the only thing that binds people. Especially when it’s a word sprinkled casually, like tadka on dal.
In common parlance, a situationship is defined by a lack of commitment. Some situationships, in the guise of relationships, don’t suffer from a lack of commitment to a person. What they lack is a commitment to love itself. And yet, such a fickle thing is love that the most compelling moments it produces are often transitory. Like butterflies.
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.
