Revenge

'Are you sure, Rhea?' asks my mother.

'Of course I'm. Survival of the fittest, mother. I'm not going against Darwin. Also I don't want unnecessary scars on my body.'

It's a known fact that we are all born to die. And frankly, I don't understand why it has to be made into such a big deal. If it were not for my mother I would have said that to the bunch of people outside my house, some of them with young kids, shouting slogans, waving placards, literally wanting me to cut one of my beating hearts out. "Save A Life. Donate!" they shout.

For someone who is one in billions, 7.125 billion to be exact, I expect to be treated better. Scientists are still befuddled regarding my condition that gave me two hearts in my mother's womb. But years of research and sticking needles into me have led them nowhere, and they have labelled me as a freak mutation. It's so rare - literally one in all humankind - that they didn't even name the anomaly (as they call it, I will call it awesomeness). I wanted to name the condition myself, something on the lines of Rhea's Heartsawesome but the doctors aren't thrilled with the suggestion. Instead they want to cut one of them out and save a life. Huh?

An IQ of 180, increased concentration, exceptional athleticism and a phenomenal metabolism rate - are just the few boring benefits of an increased blood circulation. Why would I ever give that up?

‘Never’, I told myself. The decision was made. The shouting brigade outside can go to hell. It’s my life. And I live it my way. Live it king-size with no ugly incisions, blood or gore to defile it. Look, I knew I was some kind of a museum specimen, a  “subject” as they call in medical colleges right from  the time I was eight.  A double-hearted girl. It did not make much sense when I first learnt it at eight.  Att thirteen, I was a bit uncomfortable whenever someone posed the inevitable ‘how & why’ question, and now at 25, it does not make much difference at all. Until the moment the white-coated doctor prophesied that I will not see my 28^th birthday.  I was heart-broken on hearing the doomsday prophesy. I wanted to live. I wanted to continue relishing the smell of the earth, the dazzle of the rainbow, the quiet of the night and the bustle of the city. Forever. Death had no business to butt in my life. Definitely not within the next two years. I cried on hearing the news.  I cried for three consecutive days.  Alone. And then got over the shock of the prognosis and began thinking ahead of how best I can ensure the two years were happily and contently spent.

But the doctor had also handed me a long rope, a work-around to this little problem of two hearts. Medical advances can ensure, with an 80% probability of success, that I live much longer than the two year blip, if I consent to have one heart removed and may be donate it.   I could not bring myself to the idea of a surgeon’s knife slicing through my chest and prising out what has part of me since my birth. After much thought, I decided against that option. Convincing my mother proved a lot more difficult but after all, this is my life, my body and I would not let anyone decide for me, not even my mother.

But when I made the decision, I also decided that before I exit this planet (which the doctors said would be another two years, if I don’t, well, surrender the second heart) I would accomplish something which would keep me a subject of discussion long after I am gone. Never mind, the discussion would be confined to my family and friends. I don’t intend to die and be forgotten immediately after people leave my grave. I want me and my death to be remembered at least for another two years. That would be just a fitting finale to the twenty five years I have lived so far. I have been wracking my brains on what that one thing I could accomplish, ever since the initial shock of being informed by the doctors that I have only a couple of years left, waned. And when the final contours of my plan took shape, I was elated. ‘That would be interesting…’ I thought. Now that I had decided on the ‘what’ and ‘how’ part of it, the little matter of ‘who’ took did not take much time. It is going to be him. Who I have known for a year…….

……It was a year back, when he walked in for that interview. ”Srivatsa, that’s my name” he told, perhaps for the 100^th time in his life, tired of always being Srivastaved by everyone he met for the first time. “I’m sorry”, I apologized and then went back to poring over his resume. My brief, as the HR senior manager of the bank I was working in, was to find a guy with about 5 years experience in the trade finance domain   to man a position that fell vacant suddenly. This Srivastav..er…Srivatsa’s CV looked promising. A  B.Com degree with high marks, followed by a three year stint in the trade desk of the largest private bank and for the last two years a team leader in the second largest private bank. A CDCS certification   to boot.

After the routine ‘take me through your career, Srivatsa’ type banal questions and some functional domain related questions from my trade colleague with years of experience, all that was left in the interview were questions on his current CTC & notice period. Which he informed is 6 lacs and 3 months, in that order. Time for the final rounding up question.

“Which public figure in India you admire most, Srivatsa, and for what reasons?” I asked him.

He thought for a while and presently mentioned a leading male actor of the South.

“Reasons?”

“Not in the least because he is a versatile actor” he explained, “though that’s why he is a public figure in the first place. Why I like him most is he has the dare to fall in love multiple times, marry multiple times and not feel an iota of guilt for that. Not that the act itself deserves guilt but that’s what the world expects of us – to feel guilty if you fall in love, wriggle out of that  love, fall in love again, slip out again and fall in love for the third time. That requires guts. And a lot of personal conviction.”

That sealed it. I was pretty impressed. He was hired.

I liked the guy right from that very moment. Not very dashing, masculine, Salman Khan  type and  neither very commonplace, ‘doesn’t-deserve-a-second-look’ type but somewhere in-between. Neither too very academic and ‘brainy’ (you know,  the 90% in Physics types in school) nor very hare- brained. These middle types interest me a lot. Neither here nor there.  Neither in Swarg, nor in Narak, the trishanku types

  That was exactly a year after I hired Srivastav..er.. Srivatsa.  . Right from the moment I hired him, I had an eye for him. In fact,  more than an eye. I am not a flirty type, I help hiring lots for the company in my routine, but this guy, well, interested me. The one who would not be Srivastaved at any cost . I always kept an eye on him.

Now is the time to keep more than an eye on him, I realized, when the doomsday prognosis was read out to me.  I started trying right away. I dialed his cellphone.

“Hi Srivatsa?”

“Hi, Rhea.”  Nothing more. It’s going to be a tough job.

“…..Er….well…. how you doing Srivatsa? Its’ now nearly a year since you joined. All okay?”

“Yeah, Rhea (how nicely rhyming), all okay.  Tell me, what can I do for you?”

Like hell, you can do a lot of stuff for me, I thought.  But did not spell out loudly.  “ Well, the yearly appraisals are due next week. You must have got the internal circular. I need to discuss about that.  You know, we have the annual budget on promotions and increments. Your immediate reporting boss should already have discussed this with you.  But from an HR perspective, with you being a team leader I need to discuss a few things. Are you free this evening?’ I asked.

‘Sure, yes’, he replied. ‘Can I come over to your office” he asked innocuously. But the poor guy did not know that I had other plans. That I had an exigent internal assignment to seduce him. “No, I am leaving office early today to meet up with a friend in a hotel. Look, why don’t we meet up at the Trident hotel at say 7 today?”

He agreed. So it was Trident. He did turn up on time. By which time, I had already bid farewell to that imaginary friend of mine. I had the gall, or gumption or foresight, whatever one may call, to have already booked a room for two  in the hotel overnight. The receptionist rang my room and informed that one Mr.Srivatsa was waiting in the lobby to meet me. I came down.

“Hi Srivatsa.”

“Hope I did not interrupt your meeting with your friend” he innocently asked.

“Not at all. In fact, she left just five minutes back. Look, Srivatsa, why don’t we have a quick light dinner and then just go over the appraisal thing? A few points need to be discussed right away.”

Srivatsa’s bemused look betrayed that he was not expecting any dinner together tonight. But he said yes anyway. They moved over to the restaurant at the basement, took a corner table and sat. I ordered some drinks. He was not prepared for that either. I could guess that he was feeling helpless, on how to say no to a boss. I finished the first glass in double quick time, sending out the message to him that he is expected to follow suit. Which he did. I ordered another round and slowly started to discuss a few banalities on Srivatsa’s direct reportees, how to handle their appraisal this year, who performed how this year, and how much of a raise they deserve. He was pretty serious during the discussion while I had the least interest in the topic.  I ordered a third drink.

“ Rhea, I think we should order dinner right away. It is getting late”… he drawled with just that hint of a slur.

“What’s the hurry, Srivatsa, tomorrow is a holiday. Anyway you are only returning to the PG.”

I will be brief on what transpired during the next few hours. Just as you could surmise by now. He got quite drunk, I successfully could limit my alcohol intake to just three extremely diluted pegs, dinner was a real quicky and we staggered out of the restaurant. I suggested to Srivastav that he should not be driving back at this time of the night specially when he is not sober. I also suggested he stay back in the hotel as I have a reservation in my name, for the friend who departed this evening. I myself would be staying in the room. Despite being quite drunk, Srivastav’s countenance was one of surprise as he took in the full implication of the suggestion of sleeping with the boss. Surprisingly, he said yes. Either the alcohol inside speeded up his decision or the real prospect of what lay ahead made his decision easier. 

I turned in key and we entered into the darkness of the room. I fumbled for the socket to switch on the light. Srivatsa swaggered inside and fell on the couch. I removed my clothes one by one. His breathing became heavier. I lay beside him and switched off the lights. The seduction was consummated without much delay.

There is a saying in Tamil, the cat who had caught the taste. This muse of mine too caught the taste and was reluctant to let go. I too played ball. I was amused and amazed at the ease with which my plan was inching towards fructification. The sleeping together increased in number. I could even sense some tongues wagging in the office. I could not care less. After all, my days are limited. When one’s expiry date is pre-known, one does not lose too much sleep in the journey towards the expiry date. Only the first few days after the date is disclosed are painful.

The affairs continued for about six months. Srivatsa had completely fallen for my charm. He was more than willing to lend his body for my playing around anytime I wished now. He was the perfect, well-behaved puppy happy to be tied to my leash. I could play with it, kick it, cuddle with it, cajole it anytime I wished. Srivatsa probably took my advances and carnal demands as the price he had to pay for a healthy career. Strangely, all these affairs seemed to have little effect on the quality of his work at office. He was putting in long hours (that is, when I did not cut it short on days when I pleased), was efficient and energetic all the time and his functional boss had only good things to report about him. It was clear that he had firmly set his eyes on the Senior Manager post just above it, which just fell vacant.  And he was also determined to get to that by dint of hard work, not just inside the office but also on the bed outside of it.

It was during one such steamy session  at a seaside resort on a Friday night, that I proposed to him.  He did not take it seriously though, at first. I firmly informed him that I was dead serious, will he marry me? When he saw my firmness, he realized that this is no prank and he was flabbergasted.

‘Rhea, are you serious?’, he asked. I said I was.

‘But, how can this happen? I, well, …” he was fumbling for words.

‘Look Sri, what is the problem? Both of us are adults and are capable of deciding for ourselves. In any case, neither of us has much of a family, we both are financially secure and I think we know each other enough to take the next step’. He appeared to be searching for the next question when I interjected – ‘Yes I know what you are trying to ask. Why marriage? Why don’t we carry on as we do now, without the bondage of marriage? ‘ Sri was surprised to see my correct guess. I continued – ‘ I think we need to wed because that is the natural progression, Sri. I don’t much believe in marriage as an institution  but it has its utilities. Like ensuring legitimacy to our child, (we both like kids, don’t we?) silencing the wagging tongues of our office permanently and more important, company  as we grow old. Is not all this a good bargain?’

And Sri, expectedly, said yes, though after a week. I felt a swelling of joy inside me. I am coming closer to what I set out to achieve. To be sure, Sri had no idea of my medical condition. No one had, except my mom. And the doctor, of course.

The wedding date was fixed. There was not much preparation to do, it was going to be a small, private affair. I had informed Sri that from my side only my mother would come. We do not have any real circle of friends or relatives, anyway.  The invites were printed. Half the office was kind of expecting this, though for the other half, it was a big disappointment that the fodder for their daily gossip has vanished.

Three days before the wedding, I stopped attending office. I had informed Sri that I and my mother would turn up at the venue of the wedding at exactly the appointed hour in the morning. Two days before the wedding, the packers and movers arrived at my home and did a neat job of packing and loading everything into the truck, to be delivered to the destination after three days. There would be people to receive the things, that has been arranged.  One day before the wedding, I and my mother boarded the flight to Singapore. My cousin who lives there would receive us at Changi.

On the day printed on the wedding card, Srivatsa and his close family and some friends turned up at the venue in the morning. After an hour or so, he called my number. The phone was switched off. He was not much concerned though at that time. Took that I might be on the way to the venue, with the phone switched off and kept at home.  I mentally could visualize in the flight what his subsequent actions could have been.  Trying my phone again. And again. And again. That sinking feeling he experienced when the hour approached faster. That moment of despair and shame as the guests gathered. That drop of tear welling in his eyes. That instant when his heart broke…

….That instant when his heart broke.  That instant of poetic justice achieved .  The justice of breaking hearts. The justice dispensed by a girl with a heart one too many. I could not help laughing aloud . My mother and other passengers in the vicinity were puzzled. After all they could have no idea of what I just achieved and what I propose to achieve in the little time I have left. Sweeping away any little trace of Sri from my mind, I now looked forward to meeting my cousin at the airport in another hour. Another prey waiting.  Another heart to break.