Roger proposed officially. A hand written letter, on paper embossed with matt yellow and pink gerberas, arrived on her birthday. The envelop was sealed with a real flower. She knew it was him, the moment she opened her mail box.
Expecting a birthday card, she opened it after settling down with her dinner. The handwriting was bold. It was not a long letter. As if he was afraid to spoil the beautiful paper.
"Dear Pari, Happy Birthday. I wish you a healthy life and may 2020 bring you all the happiness that you deserve. I think we should spend the rest of our lives together. If you agree, then I will stop by London. We can spend our second year-end together. And then, every new dawn."
That was all. There was no declaration of love, or 'non-survival,' if she did not consent, no reference to how 'well suited' they were. It was so unexpected and so 'him.' She read it a few times, to make sure she understood him correctly.
Then folding it carefully, she tucked it under her pillow. She could not help the tears from rolling down.
When Roger came visiting in May, he was actually in London for two days. He attended some buyers meet and went back to Bangladesh. Later he had told her that he had wanted to see her once.
"I am not sure why. But I knew I had to see you once more," he had confessed.
It was a good thing that he did. When they met for dinner, Pari was surprised that all her initial apprehension vanished the moment she saw the dear face. She surprised herself by running into his arms. Roger had been surprised too. Both were undemonstrative people.
That day caught in a tight hug, in front of the black gates of the Sanatan Temple, they felt drowned in love.
London, December 2019
They decided they would marry in February. "It's the lean month in our business cycle," Roger explained holding Pari's hand in the strong friendly grip that had become so familiar. Just to tease him, Pari said, "You don't have to justify why you chose February." At first he had no idea what she meant. Then he started laughing. A wholesome all-out guffaw. They were at Pari's place, spending a cosy end of year.
Pari was yet to tell Monty that she intended to end her association with the company. She did not want to say anything before the outdoor was over. It was a big job. The money would cover all her marriage expenses. She did not want to jeopardise the situation by saying anything before the work was done. She distinctly remembered his reaction when she wanted to take leave and travel with Roger. There was no official contract and hence she would face no complication on that issue, she thought to herself. They had never got to penning down anything. Monty had mentioned it off and on, while doing other contracts, but it never happened.
She felt a nagging unease that Monty would not be pleased.
London, December 2019
Roger had debated on his feelings. This was no 'swept off the feet' thing. At his age, he was looking to settle down with a person he cared about. He had enough years behind him to realise that 'love' was overhyped. What you looked for and what was more lasting was trust, care and respect.
When he had kissed her fleetingly, on the flight, it was a gesture of instant liking. He was very happy that this liking was reciprocated.
Being the practical man that he was, he had said, "You will have a lonely old age. Have you thought of that?"
They were in her flat and she was warming dinner in the small kitchenette. Roger was going back the next day. "If you mean that you will die before me, then yes that is probably true. But I know you will have me well covered financially."
Roger had been a little taken back. Pari had turned down the flame, wiped her hand on her apron, and come and stood near him.
Holding his face in her hands and looking into his eyes, she had said, "Till then my darling, let's live."
London, January 2020
Once Roger left for Bangladesh, Pari started to get her affairs in order. The outdoor was midmonth; a bigger group than usual. Monty was on short fuse. He was venturing outdoors for the first time. And the logistics were not in his control. He had done a recce. The bungalow on Bournemouth Beach was located in a cove that gave it ample privacy and the beach was like an extension of the house.
They would have scenes that would move across the beach, the house and the swimming pool. The plan was to finish the outdoor in two days and come back to finish the rest. It was costing them a bomb and Monty was determined not to overshoot the time. They would need some quality editing, but he was willing to try it out. All this made him rather cranky.
The girls were waiting to try out their beach wear. The men were looking forward to sun and beer. Everyone was looking forward to the getaway. Pari was waiting for it to get over. For once young people were not looking forward to sex on the beach.
One evening, before the outdoor, they wrapped up early. Monty, a change from his current dour self, looked happy. A few deals had come through and he was all set for the year. "Kheye ja; made ilish and khichudi," he said. Sonia was away visiting family and Monty was taking full advantage of her absence to eat what he loved. Pari agreed readily to stay for dinner; "Monty da, eat as much fish as you want before Sonia comes," she said laughing.
Next day Monty called to find out if she would have time to prep up some of the new girls. Pari was still in bed, though it was almost 10 in the morning. She said she would come over in the evening. Having woken up happily with the thought of Roger, Pari spontaneously said, "Monty da I am marrying." Last night Monty had been so nice and friendly, Pari was lulled out of guard.
The line was quiet for a few seconds and she heard Monty clear his throat. "Let's have lunch. It's a new place. Say 12 pm?" he hung up after an infinitesimally small pause, during which Pari's silence signalled her acceptance. Pari got ready. She knew she had to meet him and explain.
It was a new Indian/Bangladeshi place and looked homely. She went inside and before she could ask for him, he called. She saw that Monty had taken a place by the window. A nice sunny table. "What will you have?" he was screening the menu with utmost interest. They ordered.
"Who is marrying you?" Monty's offhand way of asking had a hint of mockery. He had kept the menu aside, and was sipping the ice water that had been served. "I told you about Roger. We had met on the flight," Pari softly reminded him. Monty looked at her, a sardonic smile lapping his face. "Jane tuyi ki korish? Does he know what you do for a living?" Monty asked in a tone that seemed to be taking her clothes off, with each word. "Monty da, Roger has asked me to marry him. He knows that I am a porn artist," Pari replied, taking utmost care not to display the ache that was gnawing her insides.
"Tore motow magi ke biye korche. Motlob ta ki bhalo hote pare? O toke nije bhog korbe. Tarpor toke diye randi giri korabe. Dekeh nish. Sali, atow sohag kore pushlam ar tuyi akhon kete porchish," the slew of Bengali washed over her like hot lava. Stunned, her cheeks burning with shame, she stared. "Who is marrying a slut like you? He will enjoy you and then push you into prostitution, you mind my words. Whore, I made you what you are and now you are ditching me!" Monty reiterated, the Queen's English, minced through his clenched teeth, was like mashed gutter sludge.
Pari tried to smell the stench, her mind going blank, she was sure she could smell it. It was understandable that Monty would get upset, but Pari could not match this person with the Monty of last night. He was so warm, funny and caring. Passing the choice of ilish, she liked best, on to her plate. He had seemed like family.
Such disrespect for the business that gives you your livelihood! Pari found herself taking it as a professional insult. "Monty da, ami sottyi sorry. I am truly sorry. I also have a future. I will never meet a man as nice as Roger," Pari said calmly.
She had to do this and get it over. She would not gain anything by taking on Monty. She had to do this for Roger.
Pari was right. The Bournemouth trip was a disaster for her.