Someone at the outer fringes of the mob heard her cough and turned towards her. Soon, everyone in the room, including Zee, was staring at Trish. The others looked aghast. Zee merely looked pissed off.
‘Sorry to interrupt,’ Trish said brightly to Zee. ‘But we did have a meeting scheduled at twelve today, right?’
Zee opened her mouth as if to retort with something biting, but appeared to change her mind midway. She glanced up at her team members and said crisply, ‘You people come back at one.’ As they began to file out, she added in a dangerous tone, ‘And don’t be late. We’ll work through lunch if we have to.’
Trish stepped aside, and soon the room was empty but for her and Zee. Zee continued to sit with her head tipped back, looking down her long nose at Trish. She raised her arm towards a chair across the table from her to indicate that Trish should sit. Just to be contrarian, Trish walked over to the lounge area and took a seat on the sofa.
Zee’s black eyes flashed for a second. She smiled coldly. ‘I suppose you’re wondering why you were called here today?’
‘How are you, Zee?’ Trish said, by way of polite greeting.
‘Fine,’ Zee snapped, and Trish was pleased that this seemed to throw her for a second.
Trish kept her tone pleasant. ‘Yes, I’m wondering what was so important that it couldn’t be discussed on the phone. I’m also wondering why you called me today in front of the entire office instead of like last time when you wanted me to sneak in and out.’
Zee replied dismissively, ‘That was when we had to be very careful about Amy’s identity. Now, no one would believe it’s you, anyway.’
She was as rude as before, but Trish just smiled and said, ‘It might also have something to do with the fact that there are rumours about the column being ghostwritten by you. Which, I’m told, are heartily encouraged.’
Zee crossed her arms over her chest and said in a warning tone, ‘Look, Missy.’
‘It’s Trish.’
‘If I wanted to, I could write this column with my left hand,’ Zee spat out, ignoring Trish’s interruption. ‘It’s just that I have more important things to do. I have a whole paper to run. If it serves to obscure Amy’s true identity a little further, it is a rumour that must be encouraged, don’t you think?’ She gave Trish a superior smile. ‘After all, apart from the air of mystery, Amy deserves to have a personality that commands some respect. Correct?’ She ran her eyes up and down Trish in a manner full of disdain and very different from the way that Akshay had looked at her.
Oh,’ Trish said, ignoring Zee’s question. ‘I’m also curious about why you would tell Akshay I’ve come in for a job interview with you. That seems unnecessarily proactive. Or rather, a plain lie.’ A part of Trish couldn’t believe the bold words coming out of her own mouth. But Zee deserved it. Taking credit for her writing, explaining it was for the good of the column and attempting to put Trish down, all in one fell swoop. This was a business arrangement, she reminded herself, not a bloody fiefdom. She, for one, refused to fawn over this egomaniac.
Zee’s nostrils visibly flared at this. She appeared to be exercising some self-control. ‘Let us get down to the business at hand. I’m a busy person.’
‘Oh, I’m a total vela,’ Trish said gaily. ‘Perhaps your Indian half knows what vela means? I could do this all day! But anyway, if you insist, let’s start.’
Zee calmly said, ‘So. The column continues to grow in readership.’
‘Yes. Nivedita shared the numbers with me. It’s by far the most read.’
‘However,’ Zee continued as if Trish hadn’t spoken, ‘Before we get too self-congratulatory, I think there is a need for us to examine the direction in which we’re going.’
‘Is there?’ Trish was being deliberately flippant. ‘I thought this paper was all about the numbers. As long as it’s being read, it’s right.’
‘Print journalism is serious business,’ Zee almost snarled. ‘There’s a certain thing called journalistic integrity which you would do well to try and imbibe now that you’re calling yourself a journalist.’
‘Integrity?’ Trish was amazed. ‘It’s an anonymous column with a so-called persona manufactured from day one, and you’re deliberately spreading false rumours about who’s writing it.’
‘Let’s not digress,’ Zee shot back. ‘I’m talking about being clear about what we are doing, and maintaining consistency with our vision.’
‘Our vision? You mean your vision?’
‘The point is this. You have to stop sympathizing with your audience. The column in increasingly losing its clinical and sarcastic tone. This isn’t bloody Ask Dr Phil, remember that. Your answer to that schoolkid was unprintable.’
‘That kid deserved proper advice.’ Trish was now getting angry. ‘And sympathy. I took great exception to your not printing my reply.’
‘We have the final call on what gets into the paper.’
‘You could still have put it up online!’
‘Also our prerogative. In the contract.’
‘I know what the bloody contract says,’ Trish said, not bothering to watch her words. ‘But what would you have lost if you put that reply up? It might have helped that kid.’
‘We didn’t feel the need. It would have taken away from the …’
‘Persona. Right?’ Trish finished sardonically. ‘Right.’ She took a deep breath and spoke earnestly. ‘Zee. Why don’t you make me the admin for online content? Let me manage it completely. It will mean less work for you and Nivedita, and I’ll be able to provide real-time answers. It will be more efficient all around, and you’ll still have complete control on the print part.’
‘While you’ll be in complete control of the online property, right?’ Zee was examining her fingernails, sounding bored.
‘I’ve done this before. And this is my column, damn it!’ Trish was getting increasingly frustrated. ‘You’re anyway flooding me with so many queries. At least let me deal with the bulk of the questions online!’
‘Efficiency isn’t the key here,’ Zee said smoothly, seemingly more at ease now that Trish was getting upset. ‘It’s about control. And please, don’t labour under the impression that Ask Amy is your column. It’s the paper’s column. You’re merely under contract to provide content. And you’re being compensated handsomely for it.’
Trish wasn’t denying the pay was good. But this had come to mean much more to her than just any writing assignment. She felt a certain connection with the people who wrote in. But who was going to explain that to a person like Zee?
Zee went on. ‘And let’s not forget the contract can be terminated at any point of time if we feel the arrangement isn’t working out or if your contribution is no longer up to standard.’
Trish clenched her fists. But then she remembered the situation she was in financially. There was still no other steady income on the horizon. And, unfortunately, this immensely successful column, while bringing in the cash for now, was doing nothing to her resumé because of the privacy clause. She was stuck. Her feet suddenly went cold.
Zee added, ‘I hope you understand what I’m saying? Am I clear?’
Trish swallowed hard. ‘Crystal.’
She stood up to go before Zee could dismiss her. She stalked out of the office without a word, brushing against and jangling the blue-beaded curtain roughly as she left. She stomped past Nivedita’s desk without even turning her head to say bye, past the reception, turning away from the route leading to that cretin Akshay’s office. That lech was probably waiting for her like he said he would. He probably wouldn’t be able to believe she would pass up the opportunity to see him. Well, she could only hope he would keep waiting for a long time. It would be the only satisfying outcome for her from this visit to the damned office she hated so much but just couldn’t get away from.
17
With Sahil
‘Move, move, move!’
Bloody Mumbai traffic. Trish drummed her fingers impatiently on the wheel. She was just
a few hundred metres from home, but this jam looked like it would take forever to clear. She took a deep breath and reminded herself this was hardly some official meeting that she had to rush for. Still, she really wanted to get home.
Her heartbeat quickened at the thought of Sahil waiting for her at home. She shook her head. It would be dumb of her to imagine there could ever be anything romantic between the two of them. They were too different from each other. It was just that he kept insisting there was a connection of some sort between them, and he clearly had some weird notions about what it all meant. Well, she would have to work hard to keep herself grounded about this. They were just hanging out. That was all.
By the time she finally reached home, it was half past five. She opened the door and let herself in. Immediately, her nose was assailed by the smell of ginger tea and … what was that – pakoras? Of course! Sahil was clearly here already, and Ma had gone ahead and had her way.
Ma didn’t turn from the oily kadhai as Trish passed the kitchen. Trish walked into the drawing room, heartbeat quickening again. She stopped short when she saw there was no one there.
‘In Ba’s room,’ called Ma. Trish whipped around and doubled back a couple of steps to peep into the kitchen. Ma still had her back to her. Trish hurried down the hall. What on earth was Sahil doing in there?
She stood in the doorway and watched with growing wonder. Ba and Sahil were sitting on Ba’s bed, both tall men stooping over the chessboard placed upon the wooden breakfast table between them. They both appeared totally engrossed in the game, and neither noticed her. Trish’s eyes widened when she saw that Ba was sitting up without back support – something he’d been struggling to do of late. She cleared her throat.
Sahil turned around and saw her. He scrambled to his feet and gave her a warm smile. ‘Hey, Trish!’ His eyes twinkled at her through his glasses and his voice was low and gentle and, for some reason, his attention made her skin go pink.
‘Hello, Sahil,’ she said, sounding more formal than she meant to. ‘Sorry I kept you waiting.’
‘Oh no, that’s fine.’ He laughed. ‘I was just hanging out with your parents. They’re so much fun!’
‘They are?’ Trish said, her tone incredulous.
‘Will you shut that door, Trishna, the draught will blow all the pieces away,’ Ba barked. She quickly stepped inside the room and closed the door behind her. The curtains had been billowing about at the open windows and they now settled down. Ba went on, grumbling, ‘As it is, your friend over here has been cheating. He somehow beat me in the first game.’ Sahil grinned at her and shook his head good-naturedly as Ba continued, ‘But don’t worry! We’re doing two out of three.’
‘Oh.’ Trish came over and sat down on a chair near the bed as Sahil settled back into the game. Two out of three? That sounded like it would take some time. She frowned. She thought Sahil had come over to spend some time with her. Still, Ba was obviously happy right now, despite all his complaining. She sat in silence, observing their next few moves, both players being painstakingly careful.
Sahil was clearly a good player. Anyone who could beat her father was probably at near-professional levels. Ba, who had been lacking a serious challenger for the longest time, seemed eager to prove who was boss. Trish couldn’t figure out how Sahil had managed to even get this far with her father. Ba was fiercely protective of his space. He never came out of his room, nor did he let anyone in, especially not a stranger. Most of the time, he wasn’t lucid enough to hold a conversation with anyone. The few times that he was, he was ashamed of his disease, afraid that he would forget something or do something that he wasn’t supposed to. So he usually avoided company like the plague.
And yet here he was, deeply involved in a game of chess with a stranger. Sahil clearly had a way with people. At least with weirdos like her parents, she thought. As if on cue, the door opened and Ma came in, balancing a large tray with cups of tea and steaming pakoras. ‘Chai time! You boys can take a break from that silly game now.’
‘The door! The door!’ Ba pulled at his white hair in frustration as the room became windy and the curtains started flapping wildly again. As Ma pushed the door closed with her elbow, Ba’s face broke into the broadest grin that Trish had seen on it for a while as he said, ‘Aha!’
He triumphantly moved his queen into position and looked up at Sahil. ‘Well, young Sabharwal? See what you just did?’ He gave him a crafty, knowing smile and announced, ‘Checkmate!’
Sahil looked down at the board and groaned before slapping his knee and laughing. ‘Oh, no. I don’t believe it. I should have seen that coming!’
Ma was still standing there with the tray and Sahil jumped up to say, ‘Let me help you with that, aunty.’ He took the tray carefully from her hands and placed it on the bed.
‘Use that table only, beta Sahil.’ Ma indicated the wooden meal table as Ba cleared the pieces from the board.
‘No,’ snapped Ba. ‘We need it. We have one more game to go after this. The deciding game.’
‘Have your tea first, Ba.’ It felt odd for Trish to be siding with her mother. But when a guest came home, you offered him tea. Not endless chess sessions with a cranky old man. She whispered to Ba, ‘And his name is Aggarwal. Sahil Aggarwal.’
‘That’s what I said,’ grumbled Ba, helping himself to a pakora. As if remembering his manners, he looked at Sahil and gestured invitingly towards the tray.
Sahil grinned broadly and picked up a cup of tea and held it out towards Trish who took it. Then he picked up another cup. ‘Aunty, for you?’
Ma shook her head and said, ‘I only drink tea after my evening puja.’
Trish felt a familiar twinge of irritation at Ma’s pious, martyred tone. They sipped on their tea, and she realized she didn’t like the fact that she was sharing Sahil with her parents today. How ridiculous was that? What difference did it make anyway? She turned to Sahil, about to ask him how he’d been. But Ma spoke first, looking fondly at him and saying, ‘So what do you do, beta?’
Sahil cleared his throat and lowered his cup of tea. ‘Well, aunty, actually, we have a family business. Er, Aggarwal Sweets and Namkeen.’
‘Oh, Trish loves their stuff.’ Ma’s eyes gleamed. ‘She’s always buying the bhujia sev. And the gulab jamun, the laddoos and …’
‘Ma!’ Trish hissed furiously.
Sahil was trying to hide a smile. ‘Well, aunty, the thing is, I’m not really a part of that business right now. I think there’s something else I’d rather be doing, but I’m still in the process of figuring it out.’
Trish thought that this would shut Ma up. After all, Sahil had pretty much confessed to being a confused jobless bum. But to her surprise, Ma continued to beam. ‘That’s perfectly all right, beta. It happens. After all, even our Trish is in the same situation. She’s also trying to figure what to do ever since she got herself fired.’ Trish bristled, but her mother continued happily. ‘There comes a time in everyone’s life when they must sit back and think about what is really important to them. Jobs and career and all that will follow if people are intelligent and qualified, which you clearly are.’
Trish rolled her eyes, wondering how Ma had assessed Sahil’s qualifications – from his face?
Ma went on addressing an attentive Sahil. ‘And, after all, jobs come and go; but at a certain age, finding the right life companion becomes far more important.’ Sahil nodded sagely, and Ma seemed to be encouraged by this because she said, without a trace of tact, ‘So what is your age, beta?’
Sahil was sipping his tea and he coughed a little and then manfully swallowed. Trish was mortified, but he smiled up at Ma and said, ‘Er, thirty-five, aunty.’
‘Oh!’ Ma said. ‘Well, an age gap between husband and wife is not a bad thing at all.’ She looked over at Ba. ‘We also have a seven-year age gap! After all, women mature faster. At least some of us.’ Trish glared at her, willing her to shut up. But Ma didn’t notice because she was looking to Ba for confirmation.
Ba didn’t look at Ma. He was in the process of gulping down the last of his tea. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and then snapped, ‘You talk too much. No one wants to hear what we oldies have to say. Now eat a pakora and stop your rubbish.’ Ma looked stricken, but in another beat, her husband was smiling at her. ‘For those pakoras, I might marry you all over again.’
What was this now? Trish stared. Ma was actually blushing and smiling. What was with Ba today? She had never seen him act like this, forget the last few years with Alzheimer’s.
Sahil tactfully bit into his pakora, but Trish could see he was trying to hide his smile. Ba now turned keenly to Sahil with an ‘Eh? Isn’t it good stuff?’ Even Trish had to laugh at the pretend-solemn way in which Sahil nodded, while Ma muttered for Ba to stop his nonsense.
She suddenly realized that there were four people enjoying tea with the fresh evening breeze blowing in from the ocean in this small room usually shrouded in gloom and hopelessness. On most days, there was a strange and uncomfortable distance between her and her parents which she never tried to dissect. But at least for now, it actually felt like all was well with the world.
For the first time in a long while, Trish felt like she was amongst family.
Ba and Sahil were allowed to finish their third game. Ma cleared the tea tray out and Trish watched them play quietly. Ba eventually won the game, although Trish suspected that Sahil had let him win. But Sahil expressed the correct amount of dismay and then accepted defeat with a gracious shake of Ba’s hand.
Trish then gave Ba his medicines and asked him if he’d like to lie down. It had been over an hour and a half of sitting up, which was quite a strain for him. Ba nodded, and soon he was lying on his side, looking content as they tiptoed out of the room.
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