by Jasmin Kaur
The door lazily shuts as Raveena explains the recording equipment to Mom. When Mom can no longer see me, my grinning mask falters. Completely oblivious to my quavering chin, Varun guides me, Taara, and Kunal, almost giddily, through the door across the hallway.
“And this is the greenroom!” Varun grandly gestures toward the narrow room filled with black leather sofas, coffee tables, and several TV screens mounted along the left-hand wall. The wall on the opposite end is made entirely of glass, revealing another hallway where two employees appear to be in deep conversation.
A stern-looking older woman and a younger man glance up from their game of chess. “All set?” the short-haired woman asks Varun.
“Ready to go. Should be any minute now.” He grins, practically bouncing on his feet as he pours himself a glass of chardonnay from a black marble table filled with a decadent array of snacks and drinks. He chugs it back in one gulp, thin lips still curled into a smile. “This is going to be epic. Epic!” he booms. God, I want to gag.
INN’s familiar news-intro tune suddenly fills the room. A dozen TV screens snap on at once. Anu Shergill smiles in sync on each one. Here we go.
“Take a seat, everyone, take a seat. Grab some coffee and snacks.” Varun gestures toward the marble table but none of us move from our place below the TVs. I can’t sit through this.
Our eyes are collectively stuck to the screens when Raveena walks in. “It’s showtiiiime!”
I glance over at Taara, who twinkles with just as much excitement as the gaudy news exec.
“It’ll be fine,” Kunal whispers to my left.
Nervously, I look up at him. “Let’s hope.”
“Good evening,” Anu Shergill declares. “We begin our newscast tonight with a live, moderated discussion between Hari Ahluwalia, candidate for chief minister of Punjab, and Kiran Kaur, a woman now well-known across India for the allegations of sexual assault that she levels against Mr. Ahluwalia. Good evening to you both.”
“Good evening,” Mom and Ahluwalia reply almost simultaneously. They both appear in tiny boxes on the screen, to the right of Anu. The sight of his face, although sickeningly familiar, vacuums the air from my lungs, as it always does. Here he is, staring smugly into a camera as though he’s looking directly at me. Through me.
The feeling is repulsive.
With violent difficulty, I pry myself from his jaw, his cheekbones, his sharp, beetle-like eyes. Mom’s expression is difficult to decipher: she could be completely focused, or, like me, she could be shivering inside.
“Let’s begin by giving Kiran the floor. I’d like to ask that no one be interrupted while speaking.” Anu pauses, and Ahluwalia nods. “Kiran, you are, presumably, speaking to Hari Ahluwalia for the first time in years. What would you like to say right now?”
Mom blinks several times but doesn’t break from the camera. She swallows. The room fills with tense silence and finally she begins to speak. “Over the past twenty years, the thought of facing you has . . . horrified me. Shackled me. And as I’m sitting here right now . . . my heart is pounding but I refuse—I refuse to be trapped by my fear of you. You don’t deserve to have that power over me—or any woman. No abuser, no predator deserves that power. You can try to defame me, you can try to turn my own family against me and question my credibility, but the truth will always be the truth and you cannot run from it.”
Holy shit. She just did that. Air finds its way into my lungs once again, and I exhale.
“Powerful words, Kiran,” Anu states as Ahluwalia tries to force down the edges of a smile. “Mr. Ahluwalia, you’ve been running a political campaign over the last several months that has continued full force despite sexual assault allegations from Kiran Kaur. How do you respond to her?”
“Well, first of all, Anu, I’d like to start by saying thank you so very much for having me on the show today,” he drawls, faux politeness wrapped expertly around his voice. “I think that Kiran Kaur, although accusing me of complete lies, has sparked a very important conversation about sexual assault—one that we, as politicians, need to be having! Young women have made their voices clear: they feel unsafe. Our party, the People’s Party, is committed to changing that.”
“Well, I’m curious about the sincerity of that, Mr. Ahluwalia,” Anu says, “when university groups were disbanded in Punjab because they raised their voices against sexual assault—against you.”
“That—that really had nothing to do with me or the People’s Party. You’d have to take that up with the universities. Returning to the topic, though, I’d like to say that while Kiran Kaur has sparked important conversations and has just delivered a stirring speech, there is no credible evidence for her allegations. First and foremost, why did it take so long for her to come forward with this story? Why now, during the election? Why have no charges been filed against me? Why did she never report this to the police?”
Mom’s laugh is tinged in fury. “It should be pretty clear why I never approached the police. You were the police. Who could I possibly ask for help when I was”—she takes a deep breath—“when I was sexually assaulted in a police station by a police officer?”
“Holy fucking shit,” Taara breathes beside me.
“My god . . .” whispers Raveena. The serious-looking woman stands up from the leather sofa and inches toward us, lips parted and eyes on the screen.
Fire kindling in Mom’s eyes, she presses on. “When you are violated and victimized by the very system that people claim will protect you—why on earth would you expect justice there? How could I press charges in a system that has completely failed me and so many other women when, for twenty years, I’ve simply been trying to survive? You ask why it took so long for me to come forward when you knew—”
“This is absolutely—” he interrupts.
“No! I’m speaking right now! You ask why it took so long for me to come forward when you saw the fear in my eyes that day. And you laughed. You can stand here today dressed up as whatever you want, but you cannot—cannot—look me in the face and simply pretend that never happened.”
No one in the room breathes. Not even the news anchor, who simply gapes at Mom, stunned. Ahluwalia coughs. “Another rousing speech, no doubt,” he begins, the faux politeness slipping away with each word. “But before the public casts any judgment simply based on this emotional venom, I’d like to share a few images with you all.”
Mom, Ahluwalia, and Anu shrink to the bottom of the screen and a black-and-white image appears before us. A man and a woman lean toward each other from across a table. Black rectangles cover their eyes, but I’d recognize the woman’s mouth and chin anywhere. The dark-skinned man, I’ve never seen before.
“This is a picture that I took with my own camera,” Ahluwalia proudly exclaims. “Although the eyes are covered, it was no question who—and what—I was looking at that day. It’s quite a shame to say, but it’s common knowledge back home in Chandigarh that Kiran Kaur was engaged to my brother for some time—”
“H-hold on a second!” Mom stammers, eyes wide.
“No!” he thunders. “You had your turn to speak and now it’s mine! When I discovered that she had—allegedly—been cheating on my brother, I was deeply, deeply hurt by the thought of it. I had to uncover the truth for myself—”
“But this is—”
“I confronted her directly”—he drowns out her voice—“and, as you can imagine, she was defensive. Just as defensive as she is today. So defensive that, perhaps, she left for Canada and decided to never return? Not even for her poor father.”
Another picture appears on the screen and all blood drains from my face. Mom’s hand is placed atop the man’s.
From behind me, Raveena gasps. “What. On. Earth.”
“Did not see that coming,” the other woman scoffs.
“Sahaara, it’s going to be okay—” Kunal begins.
“They need to—they need to end the interview,” I croak, burning at the sight of Varun beaming next to Kunal.
“This floor, I think. East wing,” the other woman replies.
Slowly, I turn around, the room spinning. “Place . . . who?”
“Oh, um.” Raveena gulps, glancing nervously over my shoulder.
I swivel around fast enough to catch Varun furiously shaking his head at Raveena.
“Place who?” I repeat, moving toward him.
“No one—I—I’m not sure—what they’re—uh—” Varun stammers, edging backward toward the wall, glancing from me to the TV screen before he can stop himself.
Kunal’s gaze moves from me and Varun as understanding sinks in. “Is he . . . here?” Within a second, he drags Varun toward him by the scruff of his neck. “Is he?!”
“No! What! That’s ridiculous—I—”
“THE TRUTH! I want it right now!” Kunal roars, inches from Varun’s face.
“He’s a good man, Kunal!” Varun pleads. “He means no harm—”
Kunal pounds Varun’s large body against the wall and Taara shrieks. My ears ring and in the split second that Kunal’s back is toward me, I make a decision.
“We trusted you!” Kunal shouts as I silently escape from the room. “I would never have brought them here if I knew—WHY IS HE HERE?!” I look left and right down the long hallway and obey the instinct in my gut: Ajay went right. Heart pounding, blood rushing, I race down the hallway, as fast as my heels can carry me, praying that I can run faster than Kunal’s razor-sharp attention. I skid to a stop at the hallway where Ajay turned left and kick off the pumps. They’re slowing me down.
Continuing barefoot down the hallway, I reach into my bra, grasping hold of the folding knife that my best friend entrusted to me. Without breathing or thinking, I slip it into the black sleeve of my top. A door suddenly creeks open to my left and I all but run into it.
Papers scatter across the floor and an unfamiliar man in metal glasses emerges from behind the door. “Shoot—shoot—sorry—didn’t mean to run into you!”
“Sorry!” I gasp.
“You, uh, lost, or something?” he asks, gathering his papers.
“No, just, um, just looking for the washroom,” I nervously laugh.
“Right . . . uh . . . down that way . . . end of the hallway . . .” He points in the direction I was walking.
“Thanks,” I dizzily breathe, grateful that my long maxi skirt covers my bare feet.
I speed walk down the cold black marble, reading each door in adrenaline-fueled desperation. Good Morning, India! reads one. Greenroom reads another. My stomach lurches when I hit another hallway to my right, a gold plank glistening on the wall: East Wing.
I exhale with purpose. My bare feet move precisely and silently. Portraits of celebrity guests line either side of the empty hallway, punctuated by an occasional black door.
Fear finally begins to crawl through my skin, but my body continues forward: he hurt her. He violated her. He stole her safety.
Voices echo against the walls. “Excellent interview, sir! You smashed it . . . destroyed the lying bitch.” I can’t calibrate where the words are coming from. They seem to be everywhere.
“The best way to crush opposition is with the facts. So glad we could have you with us, sir! Truly an honor,” comes another voice. I slip into an empty doorway and listen to shoes clack louder and louder against the floor.
“All in a day’s work,” laughs a familiar, snarky voice.
“Hopefully we can have you back on the air sometime soon.”
Several men in black suits suddenly whoosh past me, moving as a unit around a navy-suited man and the one I’ve come to see. They look straight ahead, not even noticing my body pressed into the corner of the doorway.
My heart pounds as loud as their voices. Here we go.
“Hey, kutheya.” I step into the center of the hallway. Like robots, every head turns toward me at once. All heads but his. “I’d like to have a word.”
Slowly, he glances over his shoulder, no shock or fear on his face. Instead, a bemused grin. “Kutheya? Now, that’s a bit rude, isn’t it?” His whole body swivels around. He folds his hands and smiles serenely from behind his security guards. Frigidly.
“I call ’em like I see ’em.” I shrug, inching forward.
“Sir, I’m—I’m so very sorry. I’m not sure what’s going on—I—” Ajay sputters, rattled by the sight of me. The security guards shrink their protective circle, closing any gaps.
“No need to apologize.” Ahluwalia laughs. “And why the panic, my friends? It’s just a little girl.” Some of the guards snigger and curse under their breath. Ahluwalia brushes one of them aside, stepping out of his cocoon. When he moves toward me, a security guard follows and he brushes him away.
Taller than Jeevan, he leans down to meet my face and rests his hands on his knees. “What were you saying, again, young lady?”
Only if I need it. Only if I need it. Only if I need it. Remember what Jeevan said.
“You don’t scare me,” I whisper, despite the pounding in my chest that could drown out my voice. “Your lies won’t shut us up.”
“My lies?” He cackles. Just loud enough for me to hear, he says, “Maybe you and your mumma need to have a little chat. Find out where you’re really from, you feisty little bastard. Hopefully she kept track—”
“Go fuck yourself,” I spit.
The smile slides off his face. “A word of advice: next time you think to make a trip to my country, don’t. My eyes are everywhere. Next time, I might not catch you in a building like this, where you and your whore mother get to hide behind cameras. Randi ki bachi saalee.” He straightens his back and raises his voice so that everyone can hear. “That’s the beauty of a democracy, isn’t it? We all speak our minds freely and, in the end, only truth prevails.” The knife slides down my sleeve, into my hand.
“SAHAARA?” Her voice reaches me before I see her at the end of the hallway, chest heaving and fear painted across her face. “GET THE HELL AWAY FROM MY DAUGHTER!”
Ahluwalia’s sharp jaw snaps toward my mother just as Vidya, Kunal, and Raveena, the INN assistant, catch up with her. Breathless, Vidya becomes a wall in front of Mom, and Kunal barrels through the cluster of security guards.
“DON’T TOUCH HER!” Kunal shouts as he grabs me around my shoulders. The knife almost slips through my fingers as he pulls me past the guards. I glance up to see moisture in his eyes. “Let’s go, Sahaara. NOW!”
The five of us are silent as we race down the hallway, following Raveena’s lead as she takes each turn. We take a right and run into Taara, who’s holding an elevator open with her body.
“Hurry up!” Vidya shoves Mom and me inside. As soon as we’re all in, Raveena slides her ID through a card reader, hits a button, and we’re moving down seventeen floors.
“Are you—are you okay?!” Mom wraps her arms around me and our breathless chests heave against each other.
“I’m fine—I’m fine—”
“What the hell were you thinking?!” Kunal roars.
“I—I wasn’t—I just had to—”
“Had to what?! Put yourself and all of us in serious danger?!” Kunal yells. I grip the metal bar behind me. “You and your mom are the single greatest threat to his political career. Did you think you were just going to have a nice chat over tea? Do you understand that these politicians play by their own rules?”
I shiver as I recall Jeevan’s words. “I’m sorry—” I begin just as the elevator dings and the doors open.
Speeding across the marble lobby, a receptionist frantically shouts at us from behind her desk, “Excuse me! Excuse me! Where are you all going?! You need to return your tags!” Kunal rips off his ID tag, throwing it on the ground behind him, and all of us do the same.
“The car—where’s the car?” Vidya asks as she holds the heavy glass door open for all of us.
“Just over there,” Kunal replies. Humid air immediately seals itself around ever
y crevice of my skin as we run across the street.
“Here!” Vidya throws Kunal her keys and we jump in the car.
“I’m so sorry! I didn’t know—I didn’t know that you all didn’t know he was here. I didn’t know it wasn’t safe—” Raveena cries as she closes the car door behind me.
“Not your fault,” Kunal cuts her off as he starts the car. “Let’s just get the hell out of here.”
He tears through the parking lot, just barely scraping through a metal gate that’s closing past another car. “Hey!” shouts a security guard sitting inside a white security booth at the entrance. Kunal speeds through traffic, cutting off drivers before traffic gets so dense that we can’t move.
“Okay.” He takes a deep breath. “Let’s hope they aren’t following. Vidya, look for the next flight to Vancouver.”
“On it,” she replies, pulling out her phone.
“But—but the gala. They can’t leave—”
“Taara,” Kunal fumes, “I’m going to say this once. Fuck the gala. Nandini will understand. They need to leave immediately. We drive back to the hotel, grab their bags, and get them the hell out of here.”
“But my mom. We can’t—I—I can’t leave her behind,” Mom stammers.
“We won’t. We’ll figure something out. Can you call her?” Vidya asks.
Mom dials but the call goes nowhere.
“Try texting her?” I croak.
Mom fumbles with the phone as she tries to type but before she even finishes, it vibrates. “I’m fine. What do you want?” Mom reads the message and looks up at us.
“Get her mom on a flight to Canada as well,” Kunal tells Vidya as he makes a sharp turn. “Will she go with you?”
“I don’t know. I’ll—I’ll ask,” Mom says, calling again. “Hello? Hello, are you there?” She places the call on speaker.
“I’m here.”
“Mom—I need you to come to Canada.
It’s not safe—”
“I’m fine!” she hisses.
“You don’t understand—you could be in serious danger—”
“And whose fault is that?”