The Darya Nandkarni Misadventures Omnibus: Books 1-3

by Smita Bhattacharya

  Veda didn’t reply.

  Darya wanted to tell Veda she didn’t disbelieve her but wanted to know more, to understand what had really happened.

  But before she could ask, Veda said, ‘I’m hungry. Can we go to Quiche Corner today?’

  ‘Okay,’ Darya said.

  The two edged past parked cars and bikes to walk to Quiche Corner, a popular local eatery. An elderly woman and her son sold freshly baked quiches, patties and cupcakes every morning until afternoon, by which point they’d usually sold out. The walls of the tiny eatery were painted in bright sunflower yellow and embellished with black ink drawings of cakes of all sorts. It made an amusing five-minute stop even when the shutters were down.

  ‘Damn, this is good,’ Darya murmured, biting into her chicken quiche.

  They munched away, occasionally stepping aside for the throng of eager buyers.

  ‘If he’s rich, why is he staying at such a shady place?’ Darya wondered.

  Veda cocked an eyebrow. ‘So, you think this place is shady now?’

  ‘Shady for someone rich I mean,’ Darya said. ‘You think this place is shady, right?’ she asked.

  Veda hesitated. ‘I like Chapel Road, of course.’ She wiped her fingers on a napkin.

  ‘But…?’ Darya prompted.

  Veda didn’t respond.

  ‘It’s Viktor, isn’t it?’ Darya said.

  ‘Viktor is shady,’ she said tightly.

  ‘He’s not all there,’ Darya replied, tapping her head. ‘You know he’s sort of… stupid. You said so yourself.’

  ‘What about how he screamed at Max yesterday?’

  ‘Max was delirious—you saw him. He also claimed to have seen Viktor’s mother. Did you see her this morning?’

  Veda scowled and looked away. ‘She might have left,’ she muttered under her breath.

  ‘I doubt she’s even alive,’ Darya said.

  ‘You don’t believe me, but I saw Viktor,’ Veda said sullenly. ‘He knew what he was doing. Staring at the phone. Watching like his eyes would pop out. He is not who he appears to be.’ A faint shudder passed through her body.

  ‘How did you see what he was seeing? Did you look into his phone?’ Darya had never seen Viktor with a mobile phone. She was surprised to know he even owned one.

  ‘I told you—I heard it,’ Veda said. ‘And believe me, hearing was enough. And it wasn’t once. He watched the same clip several times. Out in the open. Where he knew everyone passing could hear. The whole thing was disturbing as hell. He looked up and saw me too. Smiled at me. You must be a Class A creep to do that.’

  ‘Or a stupid one.’

  ‘Or a vile one.’

  ‘What type of phone was it?’

  With a wounded look on her face, Veda said, ‘You still don’t believe me.’

  ‘It’s not that I don’t believe you,’ Darya soothed, wondering herself why she was being so resistant. ‘It’s just that … what you saw… it’s so bizarre.’

  ‘So what? Can’t it happen?’ Veda asked, her voice rising. ‘The point is you don’t believe me.’

  But Darya had stopped listening. Her eyes were looking at something afar, at the mouth of the street curving towards Hill Road.

  ‘Darya…?’ Veda asked.

  Darya blinked.

  Veda turned to follow her gaze.

  Then together they squealed.

  ‘Aaron!’

  Oddballs

  ‘How’s Goa?’

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘How long are you staying for?’

  ‘How do you like Chapel Road?’

  Darya and Veda were sitting on the edge of their bed, nearly falling over in excitement. Aaron stood facing them, rolling on the balls of his feet.

  ‘Slow down, women,’ he said, grinning.

  Darya clung to his arm and wouldn’t let go. They’d been apart for only two weeks, but she’d missed him. And when he’d wrapped her in a hug upon seeing her, she had realized just how much.

  ‘My little gipsy,’ he murmured and swept a strand of hair away from Darya’s face.

  It was a common moniker for her, purportedly because of the mass of tumbling black hair on her head which swept down to the middle of her back, her tan skin, which Aaron said shone golden under the sun, and her very black almond-shaped eyes, under the blackest of eyebrows. Aaron also called her Athena sometimes—after the Greek goddess—because of Darya’s fearlessness, her impulsivity. But unlike others, especially her ex-boyfriend Spandan, Aaron didn’t think that was a bad thing. Her spunkiness was good, he told her, only she needed to learn to use it cleverly—channel her energies better.

  And Darya did think she’d turned into a calmer person since she’d met Aaron. It helped that he was older, sager and rarely ruffled, which made her want to be like him. He’d had a tough childhood—his parents had died in a car accident when he was still a boy—but he had risen from his circumstances to become quite successful.

  ‘Goa misses you,’ Aaron murmured.

  Darya missed Goa too—the beach, the sand on her feet, the moist morning air that lifted her spirits no matter what, not to mention the free-flowing liquor. The thought made her smile. Aaron looked at her quizzically.

  ‘Reminiscing,’ she said and squeezed his hand.

  ‘About?’

  ‘Last year.’

  Darya had spent most of the previous year in Goa after her uncle Paritosh’s untimely death and a tumultuous break-up with her abusive ex. She had been directed by her father to collect her uncle’s last effects and clean up the house he’d lived in. Located on the beautiful Heliconia Lane by the sea in South Goa, her uncle’s house—Sea Swept—had held a thousand splendid memories for her, so she hadn’t minded. At least, not at first. Because soon Darya had fallen headlong into solving the mystery of her uncle’s suspicious death along with those of the neighbours on the street. She’d helped the local police crack the case, trapping an unlikely perpetrator. She’d also met Aaron during that time, and they’d fallen for each other. However, she’d discovered some dirty secrets about her uncle while digging through his life, and one, in particular, would upset Aaron terribly. She knew soon she’d have to tell him. Only she didn’t know when. Perhaps, when they were married and there was going to be no other way…

  Then, out of the blue, the pang hit her. She brushed the thought aside hastily, as she did every time it crept up on her unawares. It was never going to go away, she thought with regret. How was she to carry on like this?

  She loved Aaron, or so she thought, but how often had she wondered if what they had was going to last? What if he got to know the truth about her—was he going to love her still? And… would it hurt terribly if he left?

  ‘What is it?’ Aaron asked softly.

  Darya shook her head. She’d think of it another time. She was going to enjoy the moment and think of the future… well, in the future.

  ‘And Veda, how have you been?’ Aaron asked, turning to her.

  Veda and Aaron had met last year in Goa when she’d visited along with Rishabh for a brief holiday. They’d hit it off and, despite Aaron’s usual reticence, he’d opened to them and enjoyed himself.

  Gentle raindrops fell on the roof as the three talked, of old things and new. Darya told Aaron about Viktor and Debbie; Kyra, Max and their mysterious disappearances; their new neighbour—the nervous and shifty Parthiv, while Veda briefed him on the tale of the missing girls and the Angel Killer. Aaron nodded dutifully at their wound-up, jumbled stories, trying not to appear dazed.

  ‘Amazing,’ he murmured finally. ‘No surprise you chose to stay here of all places.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Darya asked puzzled.

  ‘Mysteries follow you, don’t they, Darya?’ He cocked his head and his eyes twinkled with mischief. ‘You could’ve well stayed elsewhere. You had so many options, but you chose this.’

  Of course, it made sense. There was a pattern. Darya thought of what had happened in Goa, the year bef
ore, and shook her head. ‘I follow mysteries or mysteries follow me,’ she muttered. ‘Who knows? Either way, they make my life interesting.’

  ‘Touché that,’ Veda agreed.

  Aaron looked thoughtful. ‘Nothing to worry about, I hope?’ he said.

  Darya shrugged. ‘We don’t know if the disappearances are even related. We’re probably overthinking this, making correlations where there are none.’ Then, as if to dispel the sombreness that had come upon them, Veda asked Aaron, ‘Do you want to eat? There are a few good places around.’

  Aaron agreed that would be a good thing to do.

  They gave him a few choices. Vada pav, bread omelette, vindaloo, sorpotel, quiche, chicken patty, or go to Starbucks one lane away for its regular fare.

  ‘Not that,’ Aaron said scowling. ‘Can we walk around and see what looks appealing?’

  Half an hour later, they were standing next to a tiny tea stall, biting into a samosa pav, and sipping from a steaming cup of sugary tea. Darya surveyed the motif on the wall next to her: a blue flying elephant, Disney-like, with the words World Magic Day underneath. It didn’t make any sense, but it sure looked cheerful.

  ‘Chapel Road feels a bit like Goa,’ Aaron commented.

  ‘A crammed version of Heliconia Lane,’ Darya agreed. ‘Dirtier though.’

  ‘What time do you need to leave?’ Aaron asked Darya.

  Darya looked at him quizzically.

  ‘For Warm Beans.’

  Darya said she’d skip class. Veda said she’d call in sick at work as well.

  ‘Don’t,’ Aaron said firmly. ‘I’ve got things to do anyway and we can meet again in the evening.’

  ‘Did you come to meet Shiraz?’ Darya asked. Shiraz Ahluwalia was the architect they had employed to draw up the plans for the hotel.

  ‘Yep,’ Aaron replied. ‘I’ll get the first draft today. I’ll show you tonight when we meet.’

  ‘I need to know what she’s thought for the café,’ Darya murmured. ‘I have some ideas myself.’

  ‘She hasn’t started working on it yet,’ he said. ‘I’ll ask her to. We can go meet her together the next time when she has the draft for the café ready.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Don’t skip class,’ Aaron repeated.

  ‘Okay,’ Darya conceded reluctantly. ‘I’ll go late. Attend the afternoon session.’

  ‘Mine doesn’t matter as much,’ Veda declared glibly. ‘I’m only an intern.’

  Darya decided to risk it. ‘Not even when your phone rings?’ she asked casually.

  If Veda noticed the suggestion, she didn’t let on. ‘If an emergency, maybe. Breaking news and all.’ She shrugged. ‘Otherwise I’m at your disposal. Hope you guys don’t think me kabab mein haddi though.’

  ‘Leave us alone at night, will ya?’ Darya said.

  As she expected, Aaron admonished, ‘Darya!’

  ‘Just kidding.’ She punched him on the shoulder.

  ‘Guys, get a room,’ Veda scolded.

  ‘You’re in mine,’ Darya commented.

  ‘Get another,’ Veda quipped. Then she turned to Aaron. ‘Where are you staying, Aaron?’

  ‘I’m leaving tonight,’ Aaron said and when Darya gasped, added, ‘The hotel can’t build itself, can it? Anyway, I’m going to be back next week to pick up some stuff. I’ll be here for two days then. Okay?’

  Darya nodded and hugged him tighter. The warmth of his skin soaked into hers and she didn’t want to let go.

  A few hours later, Darya got dressed to go to Warm Beans. She had missed the morning class, but she was going to be on time for the afternoon session. Aaron and Veda had left together an hour ago and Darya had reluctantly pulled herself out of her torpor to take a shower and head out. It had been dry all morning, which was a blessing, but as soon as she stepped out, a torrential outpouring greeted her.

  I should have stayed put, she grumbled to herself, and no one else should have left either. We could’ve had chai and bhujiya and made a day out of it.

  She unfurled her umbrella and looked around in annoyance. Only two taxis in sight, but their drivers looked at her as if to encourage hope and then glanced away, a diabolical game. They were all in cahoots, Darya decided. They were all going to hell.

  She noted with concern the thick rivulets of rain that gushed past her feet, green, red and brown streams of floating debris replete with cigarette stubs, plastic wrappers, bottles and paper scraps. People around her walked with their trousers or dresses hitched to their knees, their faces hidden under gigantic umbrellas. Rain poured into and out of every possible crevice; it wasn’t going to let go.

  But so, what? Nothing stopped in the city. Life went on. Life had to go on.

  As she waited and the fury of the rain gods descended on her, her mind wandered to Veda. How strangely she had begun to behave. Her mood was a rollercoaster; irritable and glum one moment, upbeat and chirpy the next.

  Darya wasn’t certain Veda was headed to her office at all; she had been much too overdressed for that. Large danglers, hair in a snazzy top knot, a green body-con dress which complimented her eyes but was too ostentatious for daytime wear. A text on Veda’s phone had resulted in the sudden brightening of her mood and her getting dressed in a tizzy.

  Darya hadn’t asked her who it was or where she was going. She hoped Veda would tell her when she was ready.

  But perhaps more disconcerting to Darya than Veda’s continued aloofness was the ‘landlord conundrum’: she simply couldn’t figure out what was up with them. She wasn’t sure what about them was troubling her exactly, only that every encounter brought forth a murky uneasiness.

  Half an hour earlier, Darya had walked down the stairs to the sounds of whimpering. It seemed to be coming from the reception, muffled through the closed door.

  ‘Debbie?’ Darya had called uncertainly. Who else could it be?

  Then she’d heard a loud crash, followed by a male voice shouting, ‘What the hell are you doing? Get off me.’

  Darya had jumped and almost slipped on the last step. She’d grasped the wall to steady herself, her hand crashing on the window in the process.

  The next moment the door to the reception had flown open and Viktor had emerged, his lips set in a snarl, his eyebrows knotted in a scowl.

  But as soon as he’d noticed Darya, his face had relaxed, his jaw slackened, as if he were making a conscious effort to control himself.

  Debbie had walked in behind Viktor. Her hair had been loose on her shoulders, her cheeks flushed, the top of her blouse askew as if she’d been in a struggle.

  Darya had taken a step towards her, to ask her if she was okay, and then she’d seen it: the flicker of fear, the faint frown on Debbie’s face.

  ‘You should go,’ Debbie had said quietly.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Darya had asked, her eyes darting from Viktor to Debbie.

  Debbie had nodded—‘A misunderstanding.’—and waved a hand towards the front door.

  With misgivings in her heart, Darya had left, for the first time wondering if Veda had been right and Viktor was not who he seemed.

  It seemed to Darya, laughably so she admitted, that at different times of the day Viktor appeared different. Diffident and confused in the early mornings and nights; confident and astute mid-morning to evening. The latter was also when he wore his red cap and black glasses. Darya smiled to herself. The source of all his powers. He looked taller and bigger too, filling out his clothes.

  At long last, a taxi stopped near her desperately flailing hand. The driver considered her carefully, then proffered an almost imperceptible nod. Darya couldn’t be bothered with appeasing her pride right then. She was late. So, she climbed in and folded back her umbrella, cursing the sheets of rain slapping her behind.

  ‘Another one checked in this evening. In 102,’ Veda told Darya. They were meeting Aaron at Café Mondegar in Colaba for dinner. Darya and Aaron had come straight from work, while Veda had gone back to the villa to freshen up before heading out
again.

  ‘The villa’s getting full,’ Darya noted.

  ‘There are five rooms, right?’ Aaron asked.

  Darya nodded. Then addressing Veda, she asked, ‘What’s this one like?’

  Veda told them.

  His name was Rajesh. Brawny and thickset, he was dressed like a bouncer—black T-shirt tucked into tight black trousers, a black belt, slicked black hair. His teeth were all crooked, the first thing Veda had noted. He had a long, reedy neck over a prominent collarbone. Feverish eyes.

  ‘Another thug,’ Darya commented.

  Aaron looked at her curiously. ‘Another?’

  ‘Oh, come on, Parthiv is okay,’ Veda protested.

  ‘He looks past us as if we don’t exist.’

  ‘Do you want him to look at you?’ Veda teased. ‘Because you clearly like the brooding sorts.’ She tilted her head at Aaron.

  Darya pretended to swat her. Aaron chuckled.

  Serious again, Veda said, ‘This one… his voice is funny.’

  ‘How?’ Darya asked.

  ‘Shrill,’ Veda said.

  ‘Unmanly, you mean,’ Darya said.

  ‘You shouldn’t say that,’ Aaron said, with another chuckle. ‘No control, is there?’

  Veda pulled a face. ‘Never.’

  Darya scowled. ‘You don’t speak,’ she scolded. ‘You’re becoming more like me every day.’

  Veda closed her eyes and said solemnly, ‘Never. I can never be as brash, blunt and headstrong as Ms. Darya Nandkarni. No wonder murderers hunt for her and find her.’

  This time Darya did swat her.

  ‘Ouch!’ Veda cried. Rubbing her arms, she said, ‘But Rajesh wasn’t alone. He was checking in with his wife. Sapna.’

  ‘What’s she like?’ Darya asked.

  ‘Beautiful,’ she said. ‘Peach-complexioned, long-haired, very eighties Bollywood. Skinny though. She was wearing a sari. A pretty yellow one. Wrapped loosely around her body as if she wasn’t used to wearing it. And she was… a bit odd. I thought she was sick.’

  ‘Sick?’ Darya asked.

  Veda shrugged. ‘She was shaking. Unwell, maybe, don’t know. Anyway, I heard Rajesh tell Debbie that Sapna was going to be leaving soon.’