Cross my Heart & Hope to Lie

 

 

 

 

 

It is 7 am. The phone rings - even before the first ring is over, I have already snatched it up. It is, after all, my bestie calling me, and I know for sure she wouldn’t have called me so early, if she didn’t have something juicy to share. There’s this particular tremor I detect in my friend’s voice when she says, “Listen, I have a secret. But you must promise you won’t tell anyone.” It’s not a casual request. It’s delivered in a tone usually reserved for courtroom judges or cricket commentators announcing the last over for a match that is poised for a nail-biting finish. Now, like any honest human being (which I think I am), I immediately put on my most solemn expression and in a voice matching the expression utter, “Of course! I swear on my life, I will not tell a soul.” At that moment, I mean it with the same intensity as if I were taking an oath on my own life. But you all know what the problem is. Human nature is a slippery thing. The second my bestie hangs up, the secret begins to itch inside me like a mosquito bite you’re not supposed to scratch. You all know what happens next.

 

For this is exactly what happens with all of us. I furiously dial a number, hoping that the call won’t go to voicemail. It doesn’t. As soon as my contact picks up, I look around before whispering dramatically, “Listen, I have to tell you something. But you must promise that you won’t tell anyone. Pinkie promise.” Female friendships are defined by an ancient code of pinkie promises, and I can feel her all geared up to hear what I have to say. “Jaldi bata,” she urges, and I, with all the flair of a news anchor breaking a story, spill the beans. Of course, there is a difference - unlike the news anchor who is loud and aggressive, my whispers are barely audible. They are only for her ears. At the end of this conspiratorial whispering comes the ubiquitous disclaimer, “Please, please do NOT tell anyone else.”

 

I can picture her nodding vigorously on the other end, her hand on her chest as if she taking an oath as the President of the nation, all solemn and upright. But I know for sure she is already mentally scrolling through her own contacts for her ‘most trusted confidante’ to whom she can pass on the gossip (read news) - just as I had done some time ago. Thus, what starts as a Top Secret Mission known only to two people, spreads faster than an obnoxious reel of Rakhi Sawant. The funniest part about this whole exercise is that everyone insists that they are the only ones to know. It always begins with, “I am telling ONLY you, but you mustn’t breathe a word to anyone else.” And this is repeated from person to the next person. Sometimes the networking is so strong, that it doesn’t take a few days for the news to spread like wildfire. By the end of the day, half the city is privy to this ‘classified’ information while pretending they’re CIA operatives safeguarding nuclear codes. A classic incident of this circus is about a friend, recently divorced, who called up at 11 pm. Now any late night call raises the level of the breaking news a notch. In hushed tones, she began, “I want you to swear that you won’t tell anyone.

 

Cross your heart and hope to die.” My interest was at its peak, and like Kaa of Jungle Book, I literally did a yoga pose of ‘crossing my heart and hoping to die’. “I am off to Goa for the weekend with ‘you know who’,” she stated. I knew of her latest crush, and after the previous heart break that she had undergone recently, I was happy for her, “Good for you. Enjoy,” I said before she rang off. By midnight, three more of my friends called me and shared the news. By morning, one of them had already sent me their day-to-day itinerary. And by evening, my husband casually asked, “So, when is your friend leaving for Goa?” I gasped, “How do you know?” He shrugged, “Everyone knows”. The irony is, secrets are rarely ever as juicy as we hope. Most of the time, they’re glorified gossip. “Don’t tell anyone, but I think Neha coloured her hair.” Or, “Promise me you won’t say a word, but Meeta’s son didn’t get into IIT.” The kind of stuff that has zero impact on global warming, but apparently carries the weight of state secrets. And yet, the drama around them is Oscar-worthy. There’s always the solemn oath, the dramatic pause, the urgent “Are you alone?” before spilling the beans. Honestly, the whole process is far more entertaining than the secret itself. My daughter, of course, has no patience for this cloak-and-dagger business.

 

When she hears me whispering on the phone, she smirks and says, “How long before you pass this on to Aunty X?” I glare and say, “Excuse me, I am a vault of trust.” Ten minutes later, she catches me muttering into the phone: “Promise you won't tell anyone, but listen to this…” Children can be merciless truth-tellers. Over time, I’ve realised there are three main categories of ‘secret-sharers’- the ones who pass the secret along instantly come under the first. But they do not pass it ad verbatim, they add two kilos of masala before telling it to the other person. What started as “She’s dating a boy” ends up as “She’s secretly married to a boy from Antarctica.” In the second category are the ones who say, “Don't worry, I won’t tell a soul.” Then they casually drop a hint at a get together, like, “Of course I won’t say the name, but someone we know is going to Goa with someone. Guess who?” And then there is that rare breed - who actually take secrets to their graves.

 

They must be studied by scientists, because clearly they have achieved a level of restraint the rest of us can only dream of. As for me? I place myself somewhere between Category 1 and 2. I pass it along, but it’s never instantly - I mull over it, ponder and then only to ‘my most trusted circle’. The fact that this ‘circle’ includes 10-12 people is, in my opinion, a minor technicality. The moral? Human beings are simply not designed to keep secrets. We like the drama too much. Besides, what’s the point of knowing something spicy if you can’t share it over chai? So the next time someone calls me and says, “Swear you won’t tell anyone,” I’ll promise, cross my heart, and hope to die. And then, of course, I’ll immediately call my next friend and begin with the classic opener - “Listen, I have to tell you something. But you must promise me… you won’t tell another soul.” n