Secrets of a Bollywood Marriage

She was stronger now. He missed her long hair, the way it would fan across the pillow, fall down like a veil when she was on top of him, and how he could wrap it around his hand and hold her still. But he didn’t mourn the loss. He wanted to sigh with relief at the sparkle in her eyes and the color in her cheeks. He wanted to swing her in his arms every time she fought back.

It almost hurt holding her like this. It reminded him of how things used to be. Holding Tina, touching her, loving her, had been a privilege he had taken for granted. He missed this intimacy. He missed Tina.

Did she miss him? He didn’t think so. The only reason she’d come back was to ask for a divorce. He was surprised she’d asked for it in person. He had expected to get a call from his lawyer as the days dragged on.

But he was going to fight this divorce. Remind her of how good it used to be and that it could be that way again. But first she had to trust him. Forgive him for failing her. He didn’t think that was going to happen in the next two months.

* * *

Tina stood excitedly at the tiny stall on the corner of the dusty street. The honking horns and the overlapping conversations were the sounds of her childhood. The scent of spices in the air mingling with the odor of garbage was familiar.

She straightened the dupatta that covered her short hair and looked around the old neighborhood. The day was wet with humidity and everyone moved slowly. A bright-blue rickshaw kept together with duct tape seemed to shuffle past. The handbag vendor had patches of sweat on his white kurta shalwar while haggling with a group of young women in jewel-colored saris.

“I can’t believe you chew paan.” Dev shook his head with disgust as he settled his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose. He leaned against the colorfully painted street cart as small cars and motorcycles drove by. “What would your mother say?”

“That it has no nutritional value and it’s going to ruin my teeth.” Tina had heard that lecture many times. She glanced up at Dev. “That makes it taste even better.”

His slanted smile made her pulse skip hard. She abruptly looked away and watched the paan walla’s red-stained hands. The man layered coconut and spices on a bright green betel leaf before he wrapped it into a tight bundle. “My mouth is watering,” she confessed to Dev.

“Want to know what whets my appetite?”

She blushed at the heavy innuendo in his tone. “You should keep your voice down,” Tina said in English, casting a quick look at the walla’s face. He didn’t seem to recognize what she said or who she was. “It was named one of the most recognizable voices in Bollywood.”

“I believe it was the sexiest voice in Bollywood,” he replied in English.

“My mistake.” He had also been named sexiest actor every year, which wasn’t hard to believe. Dev Arjun was charming, athletic and possessed a sex appeal that wasn’t manufactured. He was gorgeous without even trying.

She gave a quick glance at him. For the past two weeks, Dev had stopped shaving. The dark stubble didn’t soften his chiseled jawline or diminish his masculine beauty. If anything, it gave a reckless edge to his dark looks. The indigo-blue kurta shalwar he wore skimmed his athletic body. She tried not to notice. Dev Arjun looked debonair in a tuxedo and sexy in jeans and a T-shirt, but Tina always thought her husband was stunning when he wore the long tunic and drawstring pants.

“I thought we were in this neighborhood because you wanted to get chaat,” Dev said.

“I want that, too.” For months she’d eaten only for sustenance, for fuel. Nothing had tasted good and it had been a chore at every meal to spoon the food into her mouth. Yet it was different since she had returned to Mumbai. She noticed the toasted warmth of cumin or the bite of cayenne wafting in the air and needed to taste it. Experience it.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to a restaurant?” Dev said as he placed a protective arm on the small of her back as a barefoot child with spindly arms and legs ran past them. “There’s a really good one on the other side of Mumbai.”

Other side. She knew he really meant to say the good side. The glittery and elite world where he ruled. The exclusive neighborhoods that she still couldn’t enter if she didn’t have the Arjun name and clout behind her.

“Those restaurants are not authentic. They make appetizers and snacks that are inspired by chaat,” she declared with her nose in the air. “You have to get chaat from the streets. Tell me you’ve eaten something from these wallas at some point in your life.”

He shook his head. “My family considered it unhygienic.”