Fiction: A gay man and a domestic worker try to understand the burdens of their relationships

Ojas wore his clothes and headed to the kitchen for a cup of tea, leaving Ralph alone in the washroom. Ralph was repulsed by Ojas’s constant dismissal, as though he couldn’t see how much he hurt Ralph with every conversation he had with other men. Ralph latched the door and began undressing himself. Under the shower, he let a jet of water rain down on his body. He picked up the loofah and squeezed a blob of body wash on to it. As he lathered his chest, he felt the increasing layers of fat around his stomach. He wondered if this was why Ojas wanted to seek other men. He bent down and scrubbed the back of his thighs, staring at his buttocks in the mirror. They were not as arched or shapely as they had once been.

He bent further and cleaned his calves that were matted with hair, his thick ankles, and the space between his toes, until he was scrubbing the tiles on which he stood. Didn’t Ojas obsess over his body all day when they were beginning to get fond of each other? The water began washing the suds off his broad and thick shoulders. His chest growing a pair of grizzly pouches on the two sides. His shaven crotch resembling a half-opened walnut. And his legs – they were not tall enough to make up for the weight distributed around his body. He splashed water on his face and scrubbed it hard with a facewash to remove the dark circles, the patches of acne scars across his cheeks, the stubble which he wasn’t allowed to grow into a beard because of his job. In his youth, his mother and his friends would tell him about the possibilities he had waiting for him because of his body.

People often told him that he had a faint resemblance to a male version of Julia Roberts. He would laugh at that and find it ridiculous – laugh with his wide mouth, pointed nose and playful eyes. What a horror to age, he thought, as he dried his body with the towel. From Julia Roberts’s doppelgänger to this ridiculous, disproportionately shaped dolt. He wished Ojas would simply leave him and find someone else. At least that would let him grieve in silence.

“What year is it?” Ojas asked as they sat down to eat their breakfast.

“Huh? It is 2019. Where are you?” Ralph said, tearing the gola ruti with his knife and fork. He was rather displeased with the morning by now and wanted Ojas gone.

“According to the Bengali calendar, I meant. Today is Bengali New Year,” Ojas rolled his eyes at him. “You should know better, shouldn’t you?”

“Hah, right!” Ralph paused, then said, “Well, Baba said it is 1426.” He chewed his breakfast without meeting Ojas’s eyes.

“So weird, isn’t it? Living in two different centuries at the same time.”

Ralph wanted to say it wasn’t. That they lived in different worlds. There was Ralph’s world which comprised Ojas in-and-out, exclusively. And there was Ojas’s world which liked the idea of transgressing all that Ralph held sacred. Their worlds had stopped being the same many months ago when Ojas had chosen to want something different.

Before Ralph could reply, Zubina entered offering more rutis. She paused, regarding them as they ate.

Ralph felt a discomfort grow in him and cleared his throat to send her off, but Zubina said, “Today is a day to be with your family. Why are both of you here in such a gloomy mood?”

“It’s not a big day, Zubina-di,” Ralph replied. “Though my mother, if she had been around, would have been busy making elaborate meals.”

“That’s what I mean. Praying to god and eating nice food with family. Why are both of you sitting here all alone?”

Ralph and Ojas did not respond to her. She said, “Well, I have cooked chicken with your spices from the hotel.”

Ralph nodded. “Sure, Zubina-di, thank you.”

Her gaze rested on Ojas. “Paneer is also there for you.”

Ojas thanked her and they resumed eating. Zubina waited, took the empty plate and strode to the kitchen, murmuring to herself.

Ojas observed Ralph’s reluctance to continue with their conversation. When they fought, he let Ralph win and ended up apologising even when he knew Ralph was at fault. Unlike Ralph, he liked the silence of being together and watching a film, visiting a park, eating at a restaurant or buying clothes and shoes. He failed to understand how people could sit and talk for hours, especially to those they had known all their lives or to those they’d meet every day. The last time Ojas had spoken to him at length was four months ago. He had tried to explain to Ralph why he wanted to open their relationship.

“I know we are a little over a year into our relationship, baby,” Ojas began. “I know it’s too soon to ask for this, but I think I want to talk about it.”

Ralph listened to him, helplessness spreading over his face.

Ojas continued, “We can try opening it, you know. I am not saying this is going to be a forever type of situation for us, but we can give it a shot and see if it works?”

“Why do we have to do it at all? We have a good sex life. We have a steady relationship, don’t we?” Ralph asked, holding back his tears.

“Yes, we do. I am not denying that. I feel …” Ojas stopped to think. He was nervous about saying it aloud. He didn’t know how to communicate it to someone other than himself. He said, “I feel I am ageing. I am already 39 and I see a future with you and I want to be with you. But I don’t want to box myself in just yet. Do you understand what I am saying? I know you feel the same way. You know you want this as well … don’t you?”

Ralph expelled a mocking laugh. “So, this relationship is a box for you? Ojas … no … I don’t want what you want. And seriously … you are only fucking 39, that’s barely an age to feel that you are ageing. Age looks better on you than on me.”

“My body is getting old, Ralph! Look at me, I am losing all shape. And I don’t have the time to change when I have to manage a goddamn business.”

“But you will have the time to sleep with other men, right?” Ralph retorted. “And as for your body, it is perfect. I love it as much as I did the first time I set my eyes on you. There is nothing wrong.”

“I don’t want to explain things further if you are going to be such an asshole when I am opening up to you.”

“Ojas, for once, stop thinking of … of getting back at me. We will fucking lose ourselves in this,” Ralph gestured to the air around him with his hands. He rarely felt this helpless.

“Ralph, I want to sleep with other men, but that does not mean I don’t want to be with you. All I ask is that we give it a try. Please, just once …” With that, Ojas left the flat.

For a week, they didn’t mention the topic. Until Ojas brought it up again and Ralph concurred – he’d give it a shot.

He wanted to scream at Ojas that their path to ruin had begun. But when he tried … what could he say, after all?

Ralph’s reserve at the breakfast table unsettled Ojas. As much as he liked silence, this was the kind that Ojas detested – the kind that carried the shadow of closeted anger, unspoken complaints and misgivings.

Ralph and Ojas had begun sharing silences of this kind more often now.

When Zubina left after preparing lunch and cleaning the rooms, Ralph retired to the couch in the living room. He turned on Netflix and waited for Ojas to get done with his call. Ojas said over the phone, “Today is Bengali New Year, it’s a holiday. You don’t have to work yourself crazy. It’s your festival, Dharu-da.”

Ralph smiled to himself, hearing Ojas speak Bengali. He could sense the effort, the pauses to avert the possibility of a mistake, to appear fluent after having lived in this city since birth. Between themselves, they mostly spoke a mix of Hindi and English. Ojas refused to speak in Bengali to Ralph, even when Ralph had tried a number of times to begin a conversation in the language. Later, when Ralph pointed this out, Ojas blushed and said, “I can’t speak.” And Ralph replied, “But you do so well with your staff.” Ojas only shook his head and got back to what he was doing.

Ojas disconnected his call and asked Ralph, “You aren’t meeting your father?”

Ralph said no while fiddling with the remote. “I called him. He said he’d like to rest.”

“Right. So, what are we watching?”

“We will finish this season of Schitt’s Creek.”

“Okay, but first … you come here,” Ojas said, extending his hands, inviting Ralph for a hug.

Ralph demurred but finally entered the folds of his arms. Ojas kissed his forehead and said, “At the bar last night, I got a text from Divya. She’s getting married.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I haven’t congratulated her,” said Ralph. He smiled with relief.

“You were too drunk. And you were talking to me about the last caramel custard you fed your mother, and then you went back to the year 2004 … when you were making some coffee cake with her.”

“Hm,” Ralph mumbled.

“Shubho Noboborsho, baby,” whispered Ojas.

Ralph chuckled. “Shubho Noboborsho.”

Excerpted with permission from Unfolding: A Novel, Rahul Singh, HarperCollins India.