The Choice Was Hers…

Karan leaned back on the plush leather seat of the car as he listened to a radio show on his wireless iPods. He smiled as Stuti’s exuberant voice rang in his ear. “This is your host Stuti signing out from ‘Savera with Stuti’... Humaare pal bas yahi pe tehre, milenge phir hum kal savere. “ ( Our time has to stop now. We will meet again tomorrow morning. )

It was a late afternoon for him in Australia and the selectors had called for an emergency meeting. Being the captain of the Indian Cricket Team, he had to explain his current line-up of players and why keeping Rishan as the opener was a good idea, despite his poor form in the recent matches. He wished he could talk to Stuti, but she would be busy with the show wrap up and other jobs for the day.

Karan spent a couple of minutes recalling his friendship with Stuti. The first words she had spoken to him had been rather accusatory. He was on Instagram on the live show, “Ask me anything” when a question had popped up on the screen. “Why did you have to make a media circus about that poor boy’s plight ?” a person had asked. A quick search showed that that person was Stuti Starfire, her pseudonym as a Radio Jockey. He could not recall what he had replied, but then he had sent her a private message. It was unusual for him, but he had some free time on his hands that day and her question had been a refreshing change from the usual, “What do you eat ?”, “Whom are you dating” and “Will you marry me ?”.

The basis of her question was an incident that had occurred during an IPL match in Mumbai. One of his sixers had unfortunately broken the nose of a specially-abled kid in the stadium who could not move out of the way as he sat in his wheelchair. He had been taken to the hospital and later in the evening Karan had gone to visit him. This had triggered a media frenzy and the media had continued to mob the poor family even after he had left. He had had to arrange a police escort for the family and unknown to everybody was still in touch with the little boy from his private social media accounts.

The photo on Google of Stuti showed a beautiful girl with sparkly black eyes and curly black hair. Feeling drawn to her and hoping that she was not another money-hungry reporter, he had explained his actions to her. She had seemed mollified by his response and accepted it. Unwilling for their communication to end, a couple of days later, Karan had sent a “Forgive me ?” message to her, to which she cheekily replied, “Is the great captain of the Indian Cricket Team flirting with me?”

This was the beginning of a beautiful friendship for Karan. He was glad to have a confidant who did not discuss his statistics, his form, or his batting prowess. But she was always willing to listen when he had a bad day. She cheered him up when they lost matches and cheered him on when they won. She had sort of reprimanded him on the day that he had smashed his bat to the ground in anger. She guided him on how to reply to trolls and well-wishers as she had her daily share of the same. She told him that she had happily given her picture for her bio, but no one recognized her as she had an infallible disguise. Karan had asked her about it, but she had refused to reveal what it was.

Karan had wanted to meet her, but she had extracted a promise on their friendship, for him to never try. He wondered why, but her friend was too important for him to risk it. But now after two years, Karan desperately wanted to see her. He wanted to tell her face to face about the feelings in his heart. He had fallen deeply in love with her and hearing her voice or reading her text messages had become as important to him as breathing. He resolved that he would take some time off and visit her at the Radio Station in Mumbai. As the car came to a halt, there was a spring in his step as he went to deal with the selectors.

A month later, Karan, in disguise, sat on a table in a corner in the cafeteria in the building where the Radio Station was located. Stuti had let it slip that she had lunch there every day with her friends. As Karan waited, a group of young people walked in from the side of the elevator. They walked slowly as if they were waiting for someone to catch up, but there was nothing awkward as they all laughed and talked together, and only as a bystander could Karan discern that something was unusual. It became clear when the group parted to reveal a girl in the center who was on crutches. From what he could see, her legs had been affected by Polio. She tossed her head back to answer one of her friend’s and Karan went cold and then hot when he realized that the girl was Stuti. He was stunned. He had thought of multiple scenarios why she would not meet him but had never imagined that his so-called best friend was hiding a secret of this magnitude. He walked out into the sunshine and back to his hotel, his mind numb with shock.

The thoughts about her plight plagued him day and night. He was not repelled by her disability, it was really sad that in these days of vaccines she had been unfortunate enough to suffer from the disease. He also knew that she had overcome it to be the smart and vibrant person that she was and he would be a fool to think badly of her. But what upset him was the dream of their being together. His world was filled with glamour and excitement, continuous travels, parties, and matches. The press watched his every move and he was regularly hounded. It would be pure torture for Stuti to be pushed into the middle of the news-hungry media. She would be mercilessly trolled and compared to all the other cricketer’s wives and girlfriends who were generally models or actresses. Karan was pulled in two directions. He wondered if it was possible for him to take her abroad and get her treated. He wondered if he could keep their relationship under wraps. He found no solution. That week, Stuti asked him if anything was wrong, but Karan would not reveal anything.

A few days later, when Stuti was on the show, she was discussing the #MeToo movement, which had hit Hollywood and then later Bollywood. She emphasized to her listeners that a person’s consent was the most important thing. And any person acting against that choice was a perpetrator of a crime. This was like a slap to Karan’s face. The solution to his dilemma had been right before his eyes. The choice had to be Stuti’s. Beginning from, if she reciprocated his feelings, to being with him or marrying him, the choice had to be hers. If she wanted to have a clandestine affair or accept a full-blown media frenzy, the choice had to be hers. If she wanted to take him up on his offer to get treatment abroad or go on as she was, again, the choice was to be hers.

Karan was happy. He had taken millions of decisions in his cricketing career, but today he was ecstatic to hand over this decision to someone else. He would seek a good time to reveal all to Stuti and hope for the best that she would agree to be his, but he would remember that no matter what the outcome was, the choice would always be hers.