Page 48 of The Rules of Playing with Fire

“Dark skinned,” he elaborated in a low voice.

“You and your entire family have the exact same skin tone as me!” I exclaimed.

That rattled him. He frowned. “It’s not about that. You have to understand their point of view.”

“And what would that be?” I crossed my arms across my chest. I knew what this was about. It was about the notion of an ideal daughter-in-law and the different shapes it took in people’s imagination.

He expressed as much in the next sentence. “Look, it’s not just about us, alright? It’s about my parents and their hopes for me. They do have a say in my life.”

“Are you seriously defending them? Defending their ideas of colorism? Men like you have no business being in a relationship, Ajay,” I yelled, “if you are going to upend it to appease the messed-up ideas of your parents.”

That’s when he started it. He unfurled his scroll of litanies against me. In addition to my color, there were several other things lacking, apparently. I wasn’t as thin as he would have wanted, I couldn’t cook, and I expected equal distribution of household labor. It didn’t matter that I was a kind person and a loyal friend. It didn’t matter that I’d had his back every single time.

After that, I didn’t even have to think about it. I grabbed an overnight bag and crashed at Payal’s apartment. She had just started seeing Jaya, and they both supported me unconditionally. I was sure I’d messed up their sex life for a while, but I was out of their hair in two weeks. I found an apartment and scared up some low-cost furniture for the final months until my Ph.D. defense. With Payal and Jaya in tow, I went to my former home and packed my belongings in under two hours while Ajay was at his lab.

That evening, I’d received a text from him. It hadn’t been one of apology or regret about how things had ended. Instead, he had asked for my share of the rent for two months until he could find another roommate. This from a man who would have begun accruing a handsome six-figure salary in a few months. A man whose student stipend had been twice as much as mine because he’d been in the engineering department, working on a project funded by a giant tech company. My stipend, by contrast, had been based on a nine-month teaching and research appointment in the social sciences.

There is a word in Marathi that my mother often used: daanat. It’s a small word that encompasses a multitude of meanings. It indicates generosity, moral character, munificence, goodness, virtuousness, or kindness. In essence, it signifies the intent and the will to do the right thing. Ajay knew he had insulted and hurt me, but instead of apologizing for it or even displaying a semblance of empathy, he had chosen to reduce our relationship to a contract.

I had instantly realized I had lucked out. I had been in a relationship with a man who had no conviction for his beliefs, no backbone, and a highly suspect daanat. I had asked my parents for money—the first time in my grad school career—and sent him my share of the rent. Not for two months like he had asked, but for the remainder of our lease.

And that was it. I’d never again spoken to him or about him until I met Tara. One lazy evening, after she shared her story of having been jilted by Sameer in college, I shared the tale of my shame.

I had long concluded that men were assholes, especially Indian men. So steeped in their family, culture, and prejudices, they could never do right by any woman. That was the reason I was happy when Tara started seeing her then-boyfriend, Sujit. Sujit was an anomaly—soft-spoken, humble, kind, and, not that it mattered, but a literal billionaire.

But even after she’d let down Sujit to be with Sameer, Tara had still ended up with a pot of gold. Not only did she get the man she really loved, but she had also found a nice, supportive family to cheer her on. The thing I had assumed didn’t exist was staring right in my face. Taunting me. Tempting me.

I had convinced myself I didn’t want any of that, and for a while, I hadn’t. I was still working non-stop toward my tenure, and until a year ago, I’d had Ben, who had been my saving grace when I’d needed sex. I’d met him through a friend at a time when both of us were on the rebound. We’d hooked up and made a pact to call each other before we went looking for one-night stands. We’d met up once every few weeks, both task-oriented, and enjoyed the task a lot when we were in it. Outside the hook-ups, we’d been friends. Not someone we hung out with regularly, but someone we’d hug if we ran into them on the street. A perfect arrangement.

One evening after we’d finished, he sat naked on my bed, sipping the chai I’d made to prove to him that chai tea was neither chai nor tea. It was an abomination. In his naked state, he had no choice but to agree.

“So, what caused the breakup?” he asked for the first time since we started doing our thing. I saw no reason to hide, so I told him.

He sat speechless, the teacup frozen in his hand. “That’s…so bizarre!”

“Do you suppose it’s an Indian thing?” I asked.

“Probably not. Assholes exist in all ethnicities.”

“Would you categorize yourself as one?”

He smiled, placed the cup on the side table, and jumped off the bed. “No, but some of my exes would.”

“So most of us are assholes until we meet the right person?”

“No, but some are objectively so,” he said, pulling up his jeans.

“Ajay?”

“Objectively an asshole, and as a scientist, I don’t need to prove it. It’s axiomatic.”

I had slept like a baby that night and every night after…until I met Mihir. Last year, Ben had met his ideal partner, and our arrangement had reached its predicted, happy end.

Only now, this thing with Mihir was promising to ruin me. The unapologetic lust in his eyes, his thoughtful behavior and authentic care toward me, not to mention a mother who seemed to dote on me, had me rethinking my own desires. Sometimes, I did long for a man worth fussing over, a family who would love me and have my back, like my own. But Mihir was bound to end it eventually, and by then, I would be in too deep to walk away unbroken.

That’s the reason I was running away like a scared chicken.

The cab dropped me off at the departure level. I opened the airline's app to access my gate pass, and when I looked up, there he was.

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