Eventually she could not take it. She needed a break. So in ‘89, she came down to Bombay with her friends without telling me. When I got to know I was frantic. The day before she left, she came to meet me. It was her birthday and I had decorated my room with balloons and bought her a lot of presents. When she came to meet me she cried and I thought maybe she was overwrought because of all the tension.
When Gauri left, I confided in my friends Ashish and Benny. I told my mother about it, who told me to go and bring back the girl I loved. She gave me Rs.10,000 and we all came to Mumbai. We spent the first two days at a friend's house. The rest of the time we slept on the footpath near The Oberoi hotel. I still remember we used to wash up in the Taj - the bathroom behind 1900's was being done up at that time and we used to sneak in early mornings for a wash.
We spent most of the time walking around looking for her everywhere especially the beaches. Gauri loves beaches. But I didn't know much about Bombay then. On our last day we met a Sardar taxiwala who spoke to us about Aksa Beach. We took a chance and went there. By then we had run out of money. I had sold my camera too. The cab dropped us to Aksa and we were left with 20-odd rupees. Then someone told us of a beach called Gorai. So we took a ferry across, searched a lot but couldn't find her. And just when we were coming back by rickshaw to the ferry around noon, I heard some people shouting. The rickshaw driver told us it was a private beach (and I had been describing her to people, telling them about her hair, saying she's a friend and I've lost her. I used to love her hairstyle. But she cut it just to spite me). I told the rickshaw driver to take me to this beach. So we went and there she was. Standing in the water, wearing a T-shirt. By then it didn't matter even if she wasn't wearing anything. She came over and we hugged, and cried. It was then that I realised I was being unreasonably possessive. I also realised that no one could ever love Gauri the way I loved her and that gave me tremendous confidence.
Our wedding took place in the strangest circumstances. We had already rung up Gauri's parents from her aunt's house and told them that we were married. Pandemonium broke loose, her mother stopped eating and the whole atmosphere at their place was like a house in mourning. I entered to meet her father. I felt guilty. I think when I spoke to them they realised that they had no other way but to take the risk. I really identify with this feeling when I do a film like Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge.
I can understand Gauri's parents apprehension. After all, they were a Punjabi joint family. About 15 members and Gauri, the youngest, the most sheltered one. Imagine she announces that she wants to get married to this ruffled looking guy belonging to a different religion, having a wrong attitude and working in the wrong profession. There wasn't a right thing going for me. I don't blame them. They may have thought that any day they would have got a better deal for Gauri. Let's put it this way. If my daughter brought in somebody like me, I would hit the roof.
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