Sorting Out Sid (10 page)
He pressed a button on the remote and Mandira’s opera music rang out. No … no … no! Sid quickly changed to radio mode. A song from
Band Baaja Baraat
shattered the silence. Perfect.
‘Let’s listen to some dhinchak-dhinchak, eh, Brownie?’ Sid said, trying to make up for slapping her. Brownie didn’t respond. Sid fumbled with the cap of his fourth beer, trying to open it with his fingers, then his teeth and then his belt before remembering his Swiss opener. Prying the cap off successfully, Sid took a long grateful sip. Nah, forget food, I’m full. It was true, his stomach couldn’t take any more. In fact, he was sure if he got up there would be all sorts of swishy-swooshy sounds filling the room.
The song on the radio ended, and the RJ started talking. ‘My name is Abheek and you’re listening to Hit-101 … your station for your favourite hit music … and today we’re talking about something extremely important: do you believe you’re living your life to the max?’
‘No, yaar!’ slurred Sid, believing the question was addressed directly and solely to him, ‘In fact…’
The RJ continued, ‘… this very important question is posed to you by Maxx, the sports drink with max energy. We have a caller on the line … Nitin? Nitin? Hello?’
Sid was annoyed by this. ‘Not Nitin … Kya bol raha hai, yaar … my name is Sid, and…’
‘Hello? Ya hi, this is Nitin…’
‘Welcome on Air, Nitin.’
‘
Sid
…
it’s Sid
…’
‘Hi, Abheek.’
‘So what do you do, Nitin?’
‘
No
…
I don’t think I’m living my life to the max
…’
‘I work at a call centre as an accent trainer.’
‘Ohh hooo, so you teach people how to maaro accent-shaccent and all. Arrey waaah.’
‘
That’a bad joke, you dick
!’
‘Heh … heh … heh …’ Nitin apparently didn’t agree with Sid’s assessment of the RJ’s joke. ‘Ummm … haan … something like that…’
‘So, are you ready to tell us
–
do you think you’re living your life to the max?’
‘
To the min! To the min
!’
‘Yes, I think I am!’
‘Ohhhh … verrry good, sir! So tell us why you think so…’
‘He’s lying
…’
‘I think my job is actually not just about accent training, but more holistically and importantly helping people become more confident, and empowering them to live their lives better.’
‘
Boo
!’
‘Ohh hhooo, that’s really something, Nitin. So you think your job is making a big difference eh?’
‘Absolutely!’
‘
You’re lying
!’
‘Wow … that brings up a very interesting point. I wonder how many of us get the true meaning of life through our work. I know as an RJ I get to talk to more people than I ever thought I would. And since talking is what I do best, I guess I’m living it to the max too, eh?’
‘
I clean toilets for a living
…’
The conversation continued in a similar vein for a while with Sid getting more abusive with each passing minute until at some point he passed out.
Sid didn’t hear the bell ring at about midnight. He didn’t hear Mandira fumbling with her keys to let herself in. He didn’t hear her exasperated sigh when she saw him lying asleep on that tatty, old beanbag. He didn’t see the look she gave him
–
disgust tinged with unwilling tenderness. He didn’t hear Mandira whisper softly, ‘Had a good evening, it seems…’ and then add, ‘… wouldn’t have even thought once about our fight.’
Mandira went into her room and then came back with a light blanket. She covered him up and switched off the blaring radio, shaking her head at the state of the drawing room. She went back to her room, shut the door, and got ready for bed quickly. The next day was going to be another busy day at work.
She couldn’t hear Sid moaning softly outside as he thrashed around a couple of times, trying to get comfortable on Brownie. She didn’t hear him accidentally kick over a bottle as he pulled the blanket tighter around him, shivering in the cold of the air conditioner. And she certainly didn’t hear him murmuring drunkenly before passing out again into an uneasy slumber for the rest of the night.
His words were slurred. ‘Goodnight … Mandy…’
I
f there was one thing Sid disliked more than driving at night, it was driving to unfamiliar places at night.
What was with the numbering system in these Delhi colonies, anyway? After driving up and down the same lane a few times, peering around in confusion, he finally found the address he was looking for. Overcome with relief and joy, he accidentally sounded the horn to the irritation of the hitherto asleep security guard stationed between two houses. The guard rubbed his eyes and looked at him in an aggressive manner. Sid returned the look and gestured to him to help with the parking. The security guard ignored Sid and settled back to sleep. That was the downside of looking like a college kid, Sid told himself, you didn’t get enough respect. He cursed the guard under his breath and backed his car, slowly and carefully, right into a bush. He was just thankful that it hadn’t been a tree or a rock and also that it was so dark that no one saw him do it. He took off his glasses and placed them on the dashboard. Checking himself out in the mirror as usual, he got out of the car.
He strode up to the gate and read the name written in small black letters above the address. Yes, this was her. He reached out to ring the bell, and wavered for just a moment. This was the craziest, most impetuous thing he had ever done. He couldn’t turn back now. He was as curious as he was nervous. The situation with his marriage had left him so frustrated that he needed some form of action.
Sure, she was the foreign variety and apparently they were the best at this kind of thing. But would it be awkward? Sure, she was a complete stranger. Still, could he really count on her complete discretion? Sure, she came highly recommended, but with this sort of thing how much could you really trust another person’s recommendation?
He took a deep breath and rang the bell. Now that he was here he might as well get it over with, decided Sid. If nothing else maybe just the conversation would provide some relief. After a few seconds, a light, slim, shadowy figure floated towards the gate. It had to be her, he knew she lived alone.
She unlocked the gate and whispered, ‘Hello, Sid.’ Her pale hair glinted in the moonlight as she led him into the house. She switched on a light in the hallway and then turned around to face him. She smiled in a warm, welcoming manner. Sid thought she was quite beautiful.
Especially considering that she was about sixty years old.
Her eyes crinkled as she said, ‘I’ve been looking forward to seeing you
–
you’re a bit late, but of course, I knew you would be.’
This, then, was Cynthia Sherman. Cynthia, the Psychic.
When Aditi had first mentioned that this Cynthia person was a psychic friend of that strange girl Neha, Sid’s instinct had been to make fun of it. However, earlier today, Aditi called all breathless and excited, and that too during work hours, which was unusual for her. She told him that she had done a session with Cynthia and it was ‘beyond amazing’. She was blown away by the things Cynthia told her
–
not only about her future, but also about her past and present, things that she couldn’t possibly have known if she weren’t truly psychic.
‘You should totally give it a try, Sid, she’s great!’
‘Me!’ Sid scoffed into the phone, sputtering bits of the pizza he was eating at his desk. ‘Never touch the stuff.’
His mind was buzzing though. He swallowed his pizza before saying in as casual a manner as he could, ‘But, er, you know? I have this friend who is into all this mumbo-jumbo, and I think I should take this lady’s number, for, you know, er … her.’
‘Fine.’ Aditi sounded disappointed. ‘I’ll text you her number. But I wish you wouldn’t be such a sceptic all the time. I really think you should go. She could give you some insight on your prob … er, your life, I mean.’
‘Adu,’ Sid chided her gently, ‘you should know me better than that
–
this kind of thing is only for da “ladeej”.’ And da nutcases, he added silently. And this apparently included da him, he mused as he hung up. Sid leaned back in his chair, gazing thoughtfully at the phone, waiting for Aditi’s text with Cynthia’s contact details.
Sid now sat in Cynthia’s living-cum-dining room, fidgeting nervously, drumming his fingers on the dining table. He insisted that he didn’t want any tea, but she had been dismissive of his protests, saying that she already knew how fond of tea he was, and how desperately he needed a cup to calm down. Sid would have felt a familiar annoyance at yet another woman presuming to know everything about him
–
had it not been for the fact that she was right. He did love tea, and he did really need a cup right now. Hey, she’s good, he thought, and then shook himself a bit. He was being silly. All Dilli-aunties plied their guests with cups of tea
–
that didn’t make them psychic. Sid sat and waited while she pottered around in the kitchen, calling out to him every couple of minutes that she would be with him shortly, and he should just try and relax.
He tried but found himself getting more and more agitated. What on earth had he been thinking? He didn’t even know why he was here any more.
After he received the text from Aditi, Sid had struggled with deciding whether or not to call Cynthia. He even considered deleting her number from the phone. And then, during his fourth smoke break, he decided to indulge this strange, inexplicable curiosity. Why not be spontaneous for a change? He used to be at one point. A thought shot through his head that maybe the fact that Cynthia and Neha were friends was adding to his intrigue. He dismissed the thought immediately; this was to do with
his
life, and he could experiment with psychics if he wished to, dammit! No one had the right to judge. After shooting a few furtive glances all around to make sure no one from the office was within earshot, Sid whipped out his phone and dialled the number he had saved as ‘Cynthia The P’. And since Cynthia had been so warm and receptive on the phone, he found himself setting up an appointment for the evening.
His mind wandered as he waited. Did he actually think Cynthia would be able to help? No, not really. Maybe this was some kind of rebellion on his part? Mandira was the super-rational one who always scoffed at any discussion related to occult or superstition. And while these things held a secret fascination for him, Sid always suppressed his interest to avoid Mandira’s censure and sharp tongue. Yes, that was it, he decided. This was him sticking out his tongue at Mandira’s cynicism … behind her back anyway. Mandira had no clue that Sid was with a psychic tonight. In all probability, she didn’t care where he was, either.
He couldn’t help feeling increasingly nervous. What if this lady was bonkers? What if she put a hex on him or something? He thought about it. Cynthia did exactly match his mental picture of a beautiful, pale, old witch
–
minus the hat, of course.
It was perhaps unfortunate that it was at this exact moment Sid noticed Cynthia sitting at the table across from him, smiling beatifically. He gave an involuntary start at what he perceived as her sudden out-of-thin-air appearance and almost upset the two cups of tea Cynthia had placed on the table. The cups rattled in their plates, and some tea spilled over, but Cynthia seemed not to notice, and mildly said, ‘So, my dear, shall we begin?’