‘How art thou out of breath when thou hast breath to say to me that thou art out of breath?’ Saloni was pacing back and forth, her hand working like a magician in the air, when I barged in. She jumped, near sky high, then put her hand on her heart.
‘Aru da,’ she said, ‘you scared me!’
‘Sorry. Play prep?’ I asked, sitting down on one of the rustic chairs, the bag in my hand.
‘Yes. It’s next week and I couldn’t be more self-aware.’
‘Don’t worry, you’ll do fine.’
She leaned back on the ladder that led up to the massive water storage. ‘How do you know that? You haven’t seen me act once.’
‘You’re dramatic,’ I replied. ‘I guess that counts for something.’
Ignoring the remark, she nodded towards the bag. ‘What’s that you got there?’
I held it out to her. She tucked her bundle of papers under her arm and peeped in, then glanced up, staring agape. ‘This is…’
I nodded. ‘What you wanted.’
She pursed her lips and held out the bag to me. ‘I don’t want it.’
‘It’s a present.’ I took out the dress, balled it and stuffed it into her hands, which made her wince. ‘It’s bad manners to reject a gift, especially when its non-refundable.’
She eyed the dress tentatively, holding it as if it were a grenade.
‘It’s just a piece of cloth, Saloni,’ I reminded her.
She turned, placed it on a rung of the ladder and walked over to the railing, away from it. ‘That thing will remind me of the worst day of my life,’ she mumbled.
‘Then keep it as a reminder. Of how it ruled your mind and directed your life for a brief moment. It will remind you to work hard enough so you never find yourself in a helpless situation like that again, at the mercy of someone else.’
I went over to her, put my hand on her shoulder and gave it a shake. ‘You deserve a lot more than an expensive dress and I don’t mean just materialistically. You can get anything you want if you just work hard and honestly. Own your success, Saloni. You’ll get it.’
She turned, gave me a small smile and reached over to hug me. She didn’t wear the dress to the party the next day. She wore jeans, top, a scarf, and styled herself with what I thought was far prettier than the dress.
CHAPTER 14
D
id you draw all that? I texted Nyra when I was in the living room of my apartment, with four of my room-mates and a couple of my college friends gathered on the couch to watch UCL, Barca against Real Madrid. The teams on the couch were split, one of us being neutral, an MU supporter.
The morning after her birthday celebration, I’d wished her good morning to which she’d replied almost immediately.
Are you not hungover? I’d asked her, which had given way to a long-winded conversation.
Nyra: Nope.
Me: Huh. Sounds like you had a boring party.
Nyra: Maybe I just have a good capacity?
She sent a wink with that, but I didn’t buy it. She seemed far too simplistic to get wasted on a night, which turned out to be true. They just left early because her two neighbourhood friends arrived with a cake at her house.
Nyra: Why are you up so early on a Sunday?
Me: Headed for a walk.
Nrya: Do that every day?
Me: Only when I’m home.
Nyra: Where else would you be?
And I told her where I lived. We texted some more while I jogged in the enclosed park, the people whom I saw every weekend waving to me. I juggled between replying to her and working out.
She gave me her birthday treat the next day, in office along with everyone else. Heena wished her in front of everyone as soon as she came in at twelve in the afternoon. It caused a minor turbulence—which was usual for everyone else—where Nyra was bombarded with wishes and pestered with party requests. Finally, she sponsored evening snacks for all, ordering fifteen pizzas from Joey’s. I didn’t think I’d felt more disappointed with a joint party than I did at the time.
We didn’t text each other for over a week after that, although that didn’t cut us off from each other. Our conversations continued during morning coffee rounds and evening tea breaks and lunch, a perk of working together.
The text conversation resumed two weeks later, on a football night, with Nyra asking me if I was going to Manish’s engagement party. He was my senior, the one who trained me for all these months. I could understand Nyra’s dilemma, but I had to be there.
Yes. I wrote back. Do you not want to come?
Nyra: I’m not sure. I have hardly talked to him once or twice. All we have said to each other so far is ‘excuse me’ and ‘sorry’ when he wanted to get a coffee and I was blocking the machine.
Me: Well, that’s conversation nonetheless.
Nyra: Not enough to attend his marriage.
Me: Look, if it makes you feel less awkward, I’ll pick you up and we can go together.
Nyra didn’t text for a while and I held my breath, wondering if she’d thought I was trying to hit on her. It might be true, but I wanted it to go unnoticed. Thankfully, she replied:
Nyra: Can you do that?
Someone hit a goal, someone booed, someone clapped, and I leaned forward, my elbows on my knees, texting her a reply. Sure, why not?
Nyra: Can we take my two-wheeler? I’ll bring it to your place, since we’ll cross your lane anyway.
Me: So, you want to pick me up?
Nyra: If you put it that way, then I guess, yes.
I thought about it for a second. A girl picking me up. That didn’t happen before, but it sounded like a tempting idea.
Me: That’s a deal, then.
When the match went into advertisements, I got to our messages again.
Me: What were you doing, by the way?
Instead of telling me, she sent me a picture. A big drawing book lay on her queen-sized bed. There were numerous little sketches of eyes, twelve in total. Some pairs were droping and sleepy, some were wide awake and surprised. One had perfectly shaped eyebrows, while the other had bushy and uneven ones. One pair of eyes had dilated pupils, one had long curled lashes, one had wrinkled skin around the corners and one was youthful and innocent.
Did you draw all that? I asked her.
Nyra: Technically, it’s a sketch. I’m practising for my class. You asked me if I had a hobby? This is it.
Me: Wow. I wish I was as good in my hobby as you. I like to play table tennis and I suck at it big time.
She sent me a smile.
Me: But why so many eyes?
Nyra: It’s my homework for the month. My tutor is out of town and I’m weak when it comes to sketching eyes. They don’t look as real as he wants them to. So I have to fill this book with just that body part until I get it right.
Me: Dude, you call that ‘weak’? Puff!
Nyra: This is the second last page. If you see the first forty-six pages, you wouldn’t be saying that.
Me: I’ll take my chances.
Do you paint too?
Nyra: No. I like the world black and white.
Me: Sounds strangely beautiful and also depressing.
Nyra: For me, it’s poignant and full of life. The absence of colours makes us appreciate them more.
Me: Wow. Okay.
Wanna see a sketch I made?
Nyra: lol, not really.
I scrolled down the images I’d received on my WhatsApp, tons of useless ones, and sent her the one I meant to, writing at the bottom: You don’t have a choice.
I had sent her the picture of a landscape I’d drawn when I was in fifth standard. My mother had found my drawing book while cleaning the house a couple of months ago. She had, for some weird reason, preserved it and insisted on continuing to do so. When I fought with her to dispose of it we compromised. She could keep it but she would not show it to anyone else.
I had gotten four marks for that drawing, a decent score for a sun that looked like a blob with uneven surf
ace and that gave out light in perfect lines, like arrows shooting outwards. A house on a moor had only one window and a stream of water that ran down in a curve through three mounds that were supposed to be mountains.
Well, Nyra sent me, I could never beat that.
I take it as a compliment. I replied.
Once I’d downed my can of cheap beer my college friends had brought, I headed to the kitchen to fill it with some water so I wouldn’t be the only person without a can. While waiting for it to fill up, the tap water falling in a small thin strip, I asked her: Do you live alone in that colossal room of yours?
Nyra: How do you know it’s colossal?
Me: Beyond the edge of your giant bed are marble tiles and for about eight feet, no furniture in sight. Made me wonder.
Me: Well, yes. Single child.
I guessed it. Rich, young, lone child and pretty. No wonder her ex didn’t want to leave.
Nyra: You too?
Me: I wish. But no. An elder brother and a little sister take up most of the house space.
Nyra: How old are they?
Me: twenty-eight and fifteen, respectively.
Nyra: Wow. Must be fun.
Me: Err, not sure about fun. But crowded? Yes.
Nyra: Are you close to them?
Me: I would like to believe so. But it’s not as great as you might think.
Nyra: Grass is always greener on the other side.
I wish I had a full house. How does it feel?
Me: To never be alone? To never have privacy? To have too many opinions flying around all the time, with all those minds walking a different path, their roads rarely intersecting? Wonderful.
Nyra: Come on, now. There must be SOME positives.
Me: There are none. It’s just a plain big mess.
Nyra: I doubt that. Do you guys have dinner together?
Me: Some days. Mostly on weekends.
Nyra: See? That’s one reason for you.
Me: Do you really fancy the idea of family dinners so much?
Nyra: You fancy what you can’t get. Dad’s work takes him to other parts of India and sometimes Dubai. Whenever he’s here, he’s out all night because he insists on supervising the events despite having people to do it. Festivals are the busiest, which couldn’t be more tragic.
Me: Sounds tiresome.
Nyra: It is. And not just for him.
Me: What does your mom do?
Nyra: She’s an economist by qualification, a professor by choice.
Me: Impressive family.
Nyra: All families are, on the outside. You only see the cracks when you get closer.
What about you?
Me: Any cracks in the family? All of ’em. And I don’t exclude myself from the list.
She sent a laughing emoticon.
Me: On a serious note, my dad is a college dropout and my mom only saw seven steps of schooling years. But they worked their asses off to get us a decent education. My brother was the first in the family to graduate.
Nyra: They must be proud of you. What with you writing a novel and all.
Yeah, I wrote back. They are.
At some point in our conversation, we began talking about afterlife, and it was only when Barcelona began winning that I asked to talk to her later.
Watching Ramos take a backward plunge to defend Messi’s strike, my mind drifted to Nyra’s open hair brushing against her cheek, her dress billowing in the wind, her mouth twisting in the corner as she listens to someone speak on the phone. For once, losing Arvi didn’t seem like such a tragedy.
CHAPTER 15
‘I
told you,’ the bartender said to me when I was at his counter again, asking him where he had seen the girl I had come with, ‘I don’t know. I’m sorry.’
Nyra and I arrived for the reception at eight in the late evening. Out of all the office members Manish had invited, only five of us could make it. Jasmine stayed for a short while, wished him and left without having dinner. She had to fly to Delhi that night for the Young Entrepreneur’s Summit where she was invited as a guest speaker. The four of us who stayed back, the other two being Nisha and Vishaal, hung out together, sitting at one of the smaller corner tables.
The reception was unlike anything I’d attended before. The party was in an open lawn area, a pool in the middle, circled by a long counter for drinks and snacks. The white drapes and soft blue light glowed in the night, embracing us with warmth and perfumed breeze. The floral décor of tulips and the fountain at the entrance added a touch of elegance to the hotel. On the makeshift stage, with the couple sitting right beneath it, close friends and relatives presented dance performances and made speeches. Nisha was going to say a few words on behalf of the office staff.
At some point, Nyra excused herself to get a virgin Bellini. When she didn’t come back for over twenty minutes, I went to look for her.
I had been looking for half an hour.
Her two-wheeler was parked at the same spot, the place I first checked when I didn’t find her at the bar counter. I took a tour inside the hotel where they served dinner. I knocked on the ladies’ washroom, asked one girl to see if she was in there. I strolled among groups of people in the lawn side, then checked at the back of the hotel, in the garden area, even in the kitchen. I tried calling her but her phone was out of range. Apprehension settled in the pit of my stomach like disquieting food.
After touring the entire four-star hotel, I was back at the counter, asking the bartender to think harder.
‘Did you see her turn in any specific direction?’ I ignored his sigh, the obvious impatience he tried to hide.
‘No, sir. I would have told you if I knew.’ A tall, lanky guy and a bespectacled girl watching the dance performance of the bride’s college friends waited patiently for me to get out of the way.
Without saying a word, I walked back to our table. Nisha’s speech was up next, the one she and I had written over the phone. So she was by the stage, waiting her turn.
‘Found her?’ Vishaal asked me.
I shook my head, then through the hotel’s glass doors, I saw a familiar black dress emerge from the washroom. Nyra walked a little unsteadily on her feet, put her purse on the empty sofa and dug through it. Her shoulders were squeezed in, as if she was shielding herself from cold. Without pointing her out to Vishaal, whose eyes were fixated on the stage, I excused myself and rushed over to her.
Nyra jumped when I touched her shoulder lightly and took a staggering step back, away from me. For a second, it seemed like she didn’t see me at all, despite looking at me. Her eyes were distant and … distrustful. When she finally saw me, she let out a short breath.
‘Are … are you okay?’ I asked tentatively, taking a step towards her. ‘Where were you?’
She nodded. ‘I was outside the hotel, across the street. I had to attend a call,’ she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her hair seemed glossy and drenched, like she had flattened it with water. She bent down to pick up her purse and I saw a patch of mud on her heels, the hem of her black dress powdered with dust. When she straightened to face me, she said, ‘My friend just called and she is in some trouble. I think I might need to rush home.’
‘Right now?’
‘Yes.’
I thought for a second, running my eyes over her face, trying to find signs of … something, struggle maybe. Except the distraught look, she seemed fine. ‘Did you trip over something?’
Her eyes widened slightly, like she wasn’t expecting the question. I gestured to the side of her dress and she glimpsed down. Fingering the dress, she dusted it off. ‘Yeah. The bench I sat on wasn’t so clean.’
There weren’t any benches on the streets. Not any that I saw coming in.
‘Do you want me to drop you?’
‘No.’ She headed towards the exit, walking with some difficulty in her heels, while operating the cab app on her phone. ‘I’ll take a cab.’
Nisha was on stage and Vishaal glanced at me, but I
waved to him, gesturing I’d be back. I followed Nyra. ‘What about your two-wheeler?’
‘You can use it to go home after the reception. Keep it in your building, if that’s okay. I’ll pick it up tomorrow.’
I gently clutched her arm to stop her. She turned, blinked her purple and black lined eyes at me. ‘Let me drop you.’
‘It’s fine. Don’t miss the—’
‘I want to,’ I told her, holding her gaze and my ground.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked me as I took yet another wrong turn, which only led us away from her house. Finally, I stopped outside the Bombay Brew. The place was open till eleven. Across the street, I didn’t see Ishaan’s bike, which was a little unsettling. The place seemed to buzz with activity.
Nyra and I barely had half an hour before the café closed. I was hoping that would be enough for us to have a conversation. Once we were seated inside, she asked me, ‘Now can you please tell me what’s going on?’
I studied her. ‘You tell me.’
She blinked, confused and slightly impatient. The server who approached us reminded us of the limited time they had before the kitchen closed.
‘Just some water will do,’ I told him. Once he left, I turned to Nyra, who sat still. ‘Did Veer come to the party?’
Her head whipped towards me, her eyes boring into mine. ‘What makes you think that?’
‘You look upset and anxious. That’s my best guess.’ And my gut feeling.
It took her a long minute to speak. She seemed to internalize the answer for her eyes were glazed, lost in thought. Finally, she took a sip of the water brought to us and set the glass down, barely making a sound. ‘He followed me,’ she mumbled, the wall coming down, her eyes meeting mine, looking vulnerable, scared. ‘Us.’
‘Did he hit you?’ She pressed her lips into a thin line, the corners turned down. I felt my heart drop. ‘He did?’
She swallowed, trembling slightly. ‘Tackled me to the ground. I kicked him and ran away.’ Her voice choked, her chin quivered. ‘I had to run away from a person I trusted with my life.’
Shit. Not knowing what else to do, I reached over to clasp my hand over the back of her palm. She didn’t flick it off. Instead, she turned away and a tear spilled from her eyelash. ‘Why didn’t you call me?’ I asked her. ‘Should we go complain to the police right away?’ I might know a thing or two about them by now.
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