Jaishree Misra - Secrets and Sins

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

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Copyright © Jaishree Misra 2010

Jaishree Misra asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

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Ebook Edition © APRIL 2010 ISBN: 9780007352326

Version: 2018-06-27

I dedicate this to Shalini Misra who is no relation and yet showers my Rohini with the kind of love only the closest relatives give.

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Epilogue

In Conversation with Jaishree Misra

Acknowledgements

About the Author

By the same author

About the Publisher

She gazed up at the cinema screen. He was larger than life, the close-up zooming in on his face causing his sleepy brown eyes to look directly into hers as he smiled into the camera. His hair was still black and shiny, exactly as she remembered it from back then. How many years ago was it? Every so often, she counted…ten…eleven…always surprised that the yearning hadn’t gone away…

Something indefinable caught at her heart as she saw his face soften. She cast a look around at the rows of faces staring intently at the screen, all of them absorbed in the drama of the tender love scene unfolding before their eyes. He continued to be Bollywood’s most popular actor, equally loved in action as well as romantic roles – but undoubtedly it was his romantic persona that carried abiding appeal for his throngs of doting female fans.

As he leant down to kiss the heroine on the nape of her neck, the same thought came to her as it always did when she watched one of his love scenes on screen. She sighed and sank down in her seat and wondered, with the same old feeling in the pit of her stomach, what all these hundreds of people watching the film would do if they knew…if they only knew that she, Riva Walia, was the very first girl to whom the iconic and adored Aman Khan had ever made love.

LEEDS, 1994

The Union Bar was more crowded than Aman had ever seen it since joining the university. Unsurprising, he supposed, seeing that the Man U versus Barça match was due to kick off in fifteen minutes. The din was unbearable but everyone else seemed oblivious to it; both the groups of students gathered around the cheek-by-jowl tables and the bar staff who were by now probably all stone deaf. Aman looked around for the only person he was hoping to see, and soon spotted Riva. She was with a gang at the far end of the room, seated around a scuffed circular table near the back door that was sticky with spilt drinks and littered with crumpled crisp wrappers and cigarette butts.

Shouldering his way through the throng, Aman saw the usual crowd surrounding Riva, including a few people whom he knew by face rather than name. Aman had watched Riva acquire at least a hundred new friends in this first year at uni; she was always surrounded by people. Riva’s best friend, the chirpy redhead Susan, was the first to spot him. She said something to Ben that made him look up and give Aman what was definitely an unwelcoming glare. And then Riva spotted him. Her face broke into one of those lovely smiles that did strange things to Aman’s insides. She raised her arm and waved enthusiastically at him. He nodded as she pointed to the empty stool next to her, and continued to make his way through the crowd in her direction. Could he really hope that she had kept that seat waiting for him? Ben was still glowering as Aman neared the table but Susan’s medical student boyfriend, Joe, was friendlier and moved his bag aside to make room for Aman.

‘Hi, can I get anyone a drink?’ Aman asked. He licked his lips – his mouth had gone suddenly dry. Everyone had full glasses and so Aman sat down. He would get his orange juice later. It wasn’t what he was here for anyway.

‘Didn’t know you were a football fan,’ he said, turning to Riva with a smile.

‘Oh, I’m not,’ she replied cheerily, taking a long swig from her glass. He watched the golden lager passing through her lips, thinking of how badly he wanted to kiss them. Putting her glass down, she said, ‘And I didn’t know you were a footie fan.’

‘I’m not either,’ he replied, slipping into the same merry tone of voice she had used.

‘Shall we escape this shit then?’ she asked. ‘Or did you have other plans?’

Incredulous at the unexpected change of fortune and momentarily robbed of speech, Aman nodded dumbly. Then, gathering his wits, he said, ‘I was going to make myself something to eat back at the hall, actually. You know, take advantage of everyone being here to get free use of the kitchen.’

‘ Make something? You can cook?’

The truthful answer would have been ‘Hmmm, a tiny bit – toast and scrambled eggs mainly.’ But Aman, his heart surging with bravado, said, ‘Of course I can cook. I’m quite good actually. Why, don’t you believe me?’

He couldn’t help but imagine the peals of laughter his mother would have broken into had she been around to hear his blatant lie. Luckily Mum was as far away as she could possibly be, probably fast asleep in her bed in Bombay and blissfully unaware of her son’s evil machinations.

‘I only ask because Sonalika, my mate back at school, used to say she knew no Indian men who cooked,’ Riva smiled. ‘My dad certainly can’t, but I don’t know too many other Indian men apart from him, so I shouldn’t judge.’