Maanav had stayed over at my place; he’d met my roomies, my landlord, and the people I hung out with. And, he knew everything about my life. But, aside from what he’d told me during our dates, I guess I didn’t know so much about his.
This was about to change.
One evening, Maanav and his friend picked me up from Molly Way in the friend’s car. The plan was to head to Maanav’s house to pick up his car and drive into town for an evening out.
I didn’t think much as we headed towards the leafier sides of the North West London suburbs I lived in. But then, we approached a wide road with huge Grecian-style pillars on either side and a sign saying ‘Private Road’. I didn’t even know such roads existed. I mean, who had I heard of that lived on a private road, the Queen of England?
We drove along under the long canopy of trees, and I saw a signpost saying ‘Private Members’ Golf Club’. This road backed onto a full-sized golf course. We passed perfectly manicured green hedges and tall shrubbery, between which I caught glimpses of the biggest houses I’d ever seen. Well, I wouldn’t even call them houses; these were mansions, with expansive range in between them (I was sure couples had glorious arguments there without their neighbours hearing a peep). And each of these houses was completely different, not like the side-by-side cookie-cutter dwellings I’d known to date. One was like a Mediterranean villa, another was in the style of a rambling English country cottage, yet another like a Tudor mansion, and so on. And just as unique were the house names instead of door numbers that I was used to. Names such as Kingscliffe, Cervantes, and Willow Mead were engraved on elegant plaques at the gate or entranceway to the properties.
As we pulled into the driveway of the family home, which Maanav shared with his grandmother, parents, and two younger sisters, none of whom I’d met yet. I heard a crunch of the pebbledash under the tyres and looked up. The palatial red-brick house before me, with its huge windows, sloping roofs and portico, was grander and larger than the houses we’d just passed; my heart sank.
I sat quietly in the friend’s car as I watched Maanav enter his house and switch on the lights of one of the ground-floor rooms facing the driveway. Through the window, all I saw was dazzling white. Bright, white lights from the ceiling bounced off the pristine white tiles and cupboards, and sparkling granite. It must be the kitchen, I guessed. Maanav opened a drawer and collected his car keys. The next thing I saw was a huge door whirring open at the side of the house. The garage was bigger than some flats I’d been in.
I sat with Maanav in his black VW, the kind where the roof rolled back at the touch of a button, and before we’d even pulled out of the driveway, I said to him, “I can’t see you anymore. We have to end this.”
Maanav seemed genuinely shocked. He didn’t understand why. I tried to explain to him that we came from such different backgrounds, I couldn’t see it working. How could someone with his kind of family, education, upbringing and privilege understand someone like me? How was I ever going to fit into his family?
Not only were they wealthy, but they were deeply respected in the East African, Indian, Hindu and Jain communities. Maanav’s father was a well-known businessman and the head of a major charitable organisation. He’d worked hard for his fortune and stature, and Maanav, born into all this privilege and the only son, would, of course, be expected to follow in his father’s footsteps and garner the same standing in society.
That house represented all the disparities in our lives. Seeing it for the first time, reality kicked me hard in the shins.
I asked Maanav to drop me back to Molly Way, back to my little room above the chippy, where I belonged, and I could shut out all of this and get on with my life, but he was having none of it. He cancelled our plans with his friend and spent the rest of the evening telling me how much he loved me and convincing me why it would work.
I loved him, and I could see how genuinely in love with me he was, too, but thoughts of his family, my family, my relationship with my parents, and the way I lived my life trundled through my mind. I felt I didn’t deserve him or any of this. I felt fear.
After an emotional evening of hearing him out, my doubts fell by the wayside. Maanav was my hero, my saviour. He had pulled me out of the gutter, and, held tightly by him, I felt hopeful. We loved each other, and that was enough, wasn’t it? From then on, I allowed myself to step into my new reality, this fantasy world of love and safety Maanav was offering me.
…
And so there I was, at this bar in London, about to meet all his close friends and their girlfriends for the first time.
“Don’t forget, tell them you’re eighteen and you’re a model,” he reiterated as he took a final look over me to make sure I looked presentable enough. I couldn’t wear my baggy jeans and trainers here; it was a formal coat and shoes situation.
I nodded in agreement, but felt awkward trying to hold a conversation with the girls who were either working professionals or at university, studying law and pharmacy. I had to lie about everything, so I mostly kept my mouth shut. Not the best start. (Months later, after my 17th birthday party, when they really got to know me and the truth, I was relieved. One of the girls told me they all thought I was conceited when we’d first met. We had a good laugh about it and became close after that. I wish our friendship hadn’t started on a lie, but I went along with whatever Maanav said.)
By February, I’d gotten a job as a receptionist for a two-man company on the same high street as Argos. On my first day at the office, a flower deliveryman walked in with the biggest bouquet I’d seen in my life. They were so big that they took up most of the space on my desk. A week later, on Valentine’s Day, Maanav gave me a red rose, one as I’d never seen before. The stem was almost a metre long and thick like my finger; the head of the rose was the size of my fist. I’m sure my bosses wondered what on Earth I was doing working for him for peanuts when someone was romancing me with flowers like that.
We finished our Valentine’s dinner at a restaurant with all of Maanav’s couple friends, and some of the group made their way outside while the rest were still picking up their belongings and chatting before heading out. One of Maanav’s friends, already outside, was a smoker and offered me a drag of his cigarette. I took a pull and exhaled. A moment later, Maanav appeared outside. “You bitch!” was all I heard. I was winded by his words, and I stopped breathing for a moment.
I couldn’t believe my ears. Did I say I would try to give up smoking at his request? Yes. But of course, it wasn’t going to be easy. I couldn’t become perfect for him overnight… although I was really trying to be everything he wanted me to be.
(Originally published on os.me on April 27, 2021)