The Unsuitable Suitors

Epilogue

I did meet Chris again, totally by accident. I was shopping at Westfield's Mall, in Shepherds Bush. I had pulled my phone out to call Praan to ask him if he was averse to a cotton blue T-shirt with a blatant FCUK logo. Chris recognized me from a short distance and called my name. I dropped the phone at the sound of his voice. I would have said a meteor hitting London was hundred times more likely than running into Chris in a London shop. My mouth was suspended wide and open..

Finally, I took control of my mouth and brain and said, "Hello, Chris, imagine meeting you here!"

For the briefest of moments, I almost forgot that Praan and I were getting married in two weeks. Chris moved in closer towards me – and the old memories of the familiar presence of his broad shoulders and chest rushed back to me. I gave a small shudder, not believing he was here in the flesh. For a second, my body pined for his strong arms to clutch me tightly and hold me close. I wanted to see if it felt the same. Neither of us could say anything to each other for about five minutes, and we just stared into each other's eyes. My mind was too stunned to even think.

After years of imagining the man in a rugged landscape with all that red dust, here he was amongst racks of Gap sweatshirts, wearing a creamy woolly sweater? In a shopping centre in bloody London!

I picked up my phone, which was still on the floor.

We decided to have coffee and chocolate cake, as you do with ex-lovers, and catch up.

On my first impression, he looked the same; his eyes still had a mischievous twinkle. I laughed at his funny stories that still made my sides ache. He was visiting his younger sister, who had settled in Notting Hill just down the road. His son was in Australia with his mum. He told me he was officially divorced.

It was good hearing some of Chris's gossip. I told him about Praan, and a serious look came on Chris's face. "Shame," he mused, looking sad.

I felt sad, too, I don't know if it was for him, for us or for past relationships that we outgrow. Then he said he wished I had a sister he could date.

"Come on, Nims, if you had a sister, I would so date her right now. My God, you have not aged in all those years. You look younger!" Chris's attempt to flirt with me made some part of me that still held tender feelings for him fall away.

I examined Chris in more detail as he tried to woo me. He did look a bit older. The Australian sun and wind had hardened his skin. The crow's feet at the side of his eyes were more accentuated, and deep furrows had formed on his forehead. He looked paler now he was not under the hot sun, and he looked tired. I noticed the curve of his protruding belly under his T-shirt and his greying sideburns. This man looked emotionally worn out from an unhappy marriage and there seemed an anxious look on his face. The idea of Chris, the idea of living abroad, the idea of a romance that no one else could touch, which had made me hold on to him for so long now, all dissolved away.

He suggested we meet again next week for dinner. I hesitated and then I told him about my upcoming wedding to Praan. My heart triumphed at thought of Praan waiting for me that evening. Chris left me that afternoon with a peck on the cheek, though he did fill my head for the rest of the day. I didn't take his number. I haven't heard from him since.

I did consider contacting Pernickety when it came round to sorting out my pension ...yes, I do everything late in my life...but thought better of it. I wish him luck. I am sure he has a tidy, ordered detached house, you know where there is a place for everything...keys hung up there on the special hook, umbrellas leaning tidily in the special basket you have for umbrellas ...you get the drift, an efficient family unit somewhere in the Surrey Hills, everything running to clockwork...tick tick.

What of Harpreet? Daman showed me a newspaper article a few months ago. On page three was a man who had been arrested for pilfering thousands of pounds of office supplies and toilet rolls from his work supplies cupboard and selling it on Ebay. The face of the man who looked back at me was indeed Harpreet. Life is indeed stranger than fiction!

Other news? I don't have to look at bunions or stranger's penises anymore, thank the Lord! I teach kids creative writing in my after school club. It pays the bills, and I love it. I realised I don't need permission from a man to do creative things...never needed it to begin with. I also spend a good part of my week writing my fantasy novel – I'm on page 400. Philip Pullman, you'd be proud.

Laila met her lovely boyfriend on a snowboarding holiday in the French Alps. He has three kids. They are nice and are not trying to end her life prematurely, and he is properly divorced. She did her due diligence and saw his paperwork to prove the divorce. They are relocating to the French Alps soon to start their ski chalet. She is floating on a big pink happiness cloud.

Kaz, my pharmacy assistant has had another baby and is enjoying being a stay-at-home mum. Don is running an informal counselling centre next door to his liquor store.

Daman is with someone who insists he cooks every other meal and that he learns the purpose of a duster.

Mum and Dad are good, and were planning to go to India together, as opposed to separately. Actually they did go to Punjab together, but Dad came back a week earlier. Mum said she was relieved Dad decided not to extend his trip with her.

"He was shouting at me in front of everyone," she told me, "in a packed bazaar of rickshaw wallahs, tea sellers, beggar children. All felt so sorry for me!" Really? A beggar child feeling sorry for a relatively affluent Indian woman?

They are also planning to travel the whole of India. Hopefully they will discover there is more to this amazing country than just Punjab and its traditions.

My grandmother's social calendar is still jammed full with all the weddings and festivities she attends. Apparently the poor put-upon lady tells us she finds it hard to say no to all the endless invitations. Next year, she is attending weddings in San Francisco and Canada, and my grandfather is happy to stay at home. She is also gifting Daman's new girlfriend with her beloved gold necklace, as she approves of her wholeheartedly as a marriage partner. I am staying clear of these superstitious heirlooms.

My Baba ji is well, and at his grand age, still visits the gurdwara daily, despite his suspicion that religion is a fairy-tale people use to feel better. He has hired a Polish assistant to massage his sore knee, much to the displeasure of his wife. We also got him to try Singapore laksa. After the initial trepidation, he liked it and wishes that during his four decades of living in the Far East, he had been adventurous enough to try at least one 'foreign' dish .

The vegetable patch has doubled in size, and is managed by Melissa's brother George during my grandparents' absences. My grandmother has trained him up in the art of love and homage to all vegetables. Melissa and George's mother is a little alarmed by George's obsession with vegetables and horticulture in general, as he dug up all her flower bed and grew a row of cauliflowers instead, and a few other plants she does not recognise, but are commonplace on the Indian subcontinent.

After the initial spark, Bindi and Subhash, apparently went on a few dates until Jaggu found out. When he did, he beat Subhash up, breaking both his legs. I sent him a get-well text. He didn't reply back. Rude chubby. Bindi figured Jaggu must have loved her to go to those lengths. Their love was reignited, and Bindi and Jaggu are still planning their dream wedding. I don't share her ambition to have the biggest, fattest Punjabi wedding outside of Punjab.

After our wedding, Praan and I moved into a rental flat in Putney, London. It overlooks the River Thames, which is great for me, as I love to watch people row and walk past, especially the eccentric ones. Praan still doesn't have a car. We both have bikes instead, and go cycling after work most days. We're planning a sabbatical and moving to our beach house in Bali next month so we can get away from my family's disapproving comments as I finish my novel. I am looking forward to writing in the beach cafes...so it's bye bye, London!

We're not rich, but we have a good life and do things that make us happy....so girls, you don't need to marry a doctor, lawyer, banker, or property tycoon. Did I forget anything? Oh yeah...accountant...to be happy. Apologies if you were not programmed to think this way! There is also something to be said for following your passions. And if you meet someone along the way...well, it makes life even more beautiful.