We dined at The Bar-one of the best in Kolkata, you should have heard. String lights and candles, bone china and half-a-roast chicken-classy and cool, the ambience was hot and happening. You must know I have always liked these places. Why am I telling must! You definitely know I love these places. The pomp, the grandeur, I'm drawn to them like a bumblebee.

Hey, remember that time..anyway, will come to that later.

Satish reserved a table. The bouquet of pink roses that sat beside read a small note-My Forever Valentine-such a sweet gesture, nothing like you did. I'm pretty satisfied he's a step up, otherwise, this divorce and all would be in vain!

He knows how to make a woman scream, not a mamas boy, you see. Naughty nachos, that's what he is. Oops! Guess I'm spilling more than I ought to. Generally, these are reserved when shrieks of pleasure bomb our bedroom. I savour our nights together, in between the sheets-as envisioned. He started where you left; I'm content.

I wore a dress straight from Zara, white shimmer and thigh-high slit, showing my curves. Man, I was the apple of all eyes! It's a stellar change from those conservative kurtas and the same old skinny jeans that couldn't cross the 2k threshold. Money had to be rationed; you and your middle-class upbringing, just like the dingy old lanes of North Calcutta. And yes, Calcutta. Kolkata sounds boring. Satish made me dream-the Swiss Alps and the Mediterranean, the white sand. And that's exactly where the problem is-he 'made'. I dreamt, my fault. Dreams are distorted reality.

I now miss the cramped hotels of Puri and Digha, at least I had you; not just a car, some notes and a shared bank account. Your smile, your care, your twinkling eyes that harboured love, I envy them. The concern which I mistook for possessiveness alludes to me, I'm a mistress in a palace now, owner of an uninhabited island. I walk through marbled floors with maids in toe barking orders, glammed in layers of Clinique, yet there's none to see me. Just my reflection and myself is all I have. Money bought everything, even that wild passion in bed, love bites and repeated orgasms. I burst with temporary euphoria yet a slick line of tear glides by when he makes love. Love? Should I call it that?

I knew love, once. I misinterpreted. I grieve and sigh. The problem lies with me, neither with you, nor Satish. Old grains indeed fluff up-I cared for the outside, the glitz and glamour. And as I'm drinking my heart out with a pen and paper as companions, old memories come rushing back-of you, your mother who accepted and loved me. Yes, there were constraints but nothing that we couldn't have overcome. I complained of you not giving me time, I wanted parties and love letters, constant I Love Yous and steamy whispers. You did none, Satish did all-whispers of lies, show off. Amongst all the gifts and kisses, darlings and honey, he probably has forgotten my name. And guess what, it's been just two and half years!

Huh! Poor me. Whining, drinking, crying, laughing, reminiscing, cursing, missing..oh God! I'm such a mess.

Varun, remember we floated together. I was such a bitch. I know, I know, what you're going to say-'Language missus, language.' No, I'm not sorry for cursing. Let me, please. He's not here and I can be a lunatic for all he cares. I can scream and I can cry, I have given the maids a leave, none's there to listen and report. None's there to comfort. I don't need comfort. I need to burn.

Fuck! This hurts. Nope, no red eyes, Varun. No. Let me blurt it out. My writing's gonna get crazy from here, crazier even. Stick with it, please. It's a request. Because from tomorrow, I'll be prim and proper, hanging from Satish's arms-a sexy showpiece. We'll be dining out and ripping each other's lips off only to have him grab the ass of a hot assistant and ram into her under the hushed glow of late office hours. And I'll be here, in my cream leather couch getting a pedicure or even better a mud bath in a top-rated spa to maintain the glow of my cheeks or the sheen on my porcelain skin.

Bloody hell!

For whom? For Satish to grope my assets and romp in bed! Oh yeah, the sex is regular, almost.

Why am I even telling you this?

I don't know, I don't, honestly. My fingers lag, I can't hold the pen properly, I don't know what the hell I'm writing. Am I being a wasted bitch? Maybe I'm. I don't care. Just for this night, I'm shredding off my sexy, hot confident image-the self I created, to serve the purpose. I'm in a lacy nightgown with a tall glass bottle. It pours-a red liquid. I drown with the thirst of the Sahara desert, it burns and heats up, cools me at the same time. The reality detaches, the pain, the grief lessens, I fly with wings..until..until..it gets berserk. The world that I'm in, the car that I ride, the designer bags I carry, all of these yet, I don't have anybody to share my joy with. I only share my husband.

I'm so poor! Haggard, a vagrant.

And now I realise, I never had to share you. Our two bedroomed house in a middle-class neighbourhood with your mother coughing behind a thin wall was so claustrophobic. The notes I had to count after the middle of each month cramped my judgement. And I don't even want to start on the intruding neighbourhood. But, there was life! Something was happening! Unlike now when it's practically stone-cold!

I must sleep. I'm crying, my mascara is smudged. I line my eyes with kohl to define them, even when my life is undefined. Funny, so funny. I cheated, got cheated on. It's karma. You reap what you sow. Varun, this letter will be delivered tomorrow. No message, no call, no WhatsApp, nothing-a letter penned from my heart. I wronged. I'm sorry, I repent every second of my life. You had principles, morals, you were human and humane. I fucked up big time.

No, this is no pretence to end up being in your care. I don't want, neither will you. But, at thirty-two I understand I screwed. I'm just a legal mistress, he's my sugar daddy. My words are dragging, the bottle is emptied, I'm far away from the humdrum. My fingers loosen, I must end. I ran after a vain pursuit of fulfilment, of happiness. I lost you, our family. My parents only see me on tv. I fake a smile, flash some skin, cosy up to my husband. Off-camera, we have sex.

Life is not just biology, it has a purpose. You tried to show me that purpose, I grew impatient. I was bewitched by the beauty of a floating bubble, failing to realise it was nothing but space. And then the bubble burst, leaving nothing but emptiness.

I breathe that emptiness. You were life, I'm but a lifeless doll. I'm a loser, I regret losing you, I lost love, I lost to lust.

Happy fourteenth of February, My Valentine.

Not so faithfully yours,

ex- missus