by Vibha Batra
The tall beefy bouncer scans the printout. ‘Name not on the list, sorry.’
‘Look, she’s a last minute addition,’ Martin tells him. ‘Can’t you adjust?’
That word which works so well back home—in shared autos, cabs, local trains, and government offices—merely flies over the bouncer’s head. He looks me up and down.
‘Under twenty one strictly not allowed,’ he says firmly, when Martin tries to protest.
Okay, so here’s the thing. I may be all of twenty four, but I still shop at Zara kids. Because I’m puny—wait, what’s the politically correct word—yeah, petite. Sadly enough, it’s not the first time I’m being denied entry because, what else, I don’t look my age.
Martin tries to argue it out. But the bouncer refuses to budge. He demands to see some ID. Sadly, my passport is lying in the safe back at the hotel. And all I’m carrying is a small tube of lipstick, some cash, breath mints, and a deodorant in my cross-body sling bag.
‘Problem?’ Comes a tantalizingly familiar voice from behind us.
I spin around to find Akshay standing behind us.
Ooh, he’s looking more delish than ever, if that’s possible. His long legs are sheathed in skin-tight blue denims, his crisp white shirt looks as if it’s been stitched on him, and his feet are encased in tan brogues. I take a lungful of breaths as if I have been underwater too long.
‘Go ahead, I’ll take care of it,’ he tells Martin, who flashes us a thumbs up and floats in.
My heart starts racing faster than Schumacher’s frickin’ Ferrari.
He looks into my eyes and flashes a radiant smile. And suddenly, I’m worried. I really hope my nipples aren’t showing. Not only because Akshay’s super hot, it’s rather cold in here. I quickly cross my arms over my chest and take stock of my appearance. Neon ganji, check. Skinny jeans, check. T-strap sling-backs, check.
I’ve contoured my nose, to make it look, well, less Pinocchio-ish. I’ve applied a double coat of mascara to lengthen my lashes and used a highlighter under my brow to bring out my eyes. I’ve dabbed generous amounts of pink gloss to my lips.
His chocolate-y voice brings me back to the moment. ‘Akshay Agarwal,’ he announces. The bouncer almost kisses the ground with reverence.
‘She’s with me,’ he says, casually snaking his arm around my waist.
The effect is so electric, I feel as if I’ve been dead all this while and Akshay’s touch is the defibrillator that jumpstarts me to life.
He ushers me inside. ‘T-thanks … for that,’ I say, feeling feverishly excited.
‘See, you’re not the only one who likes rescuing people,’ Akshay says, flashing me a gummy smile a la his namesake Khiladi Kumar.
Hoo boy, I’m slipping all over my drool.
‘I-I didn’t know you were going to be here.’
‘We are the title sponsors, you know. We have a store in Dubai.’
‘I didn’t know. I mean, I know now, of course. But I didn’t, you know, back in India … I figured when I saw the standees…’
Eeeeee! Must I launch into these silly explanations?
He smiles. I wait for him to detach his arm from my waist. But for some reason, it stays put. Tarunesh comes bounding up to Akshay and wraps him in an embrace that can only be described as ball crushing.
‘Agarwal, my man,’ he says affectionately, kissing him on the cheek.
Akshay’s arm falls loose and a red tint appears on his face.
I don’t know why people need aphrodisiacs. That, I sigh looking at him, that’s what we need more of. I scuttle over to the bar, shout out my order right away, but my drink takes ages to arrive. When it does, so does Akshay.
‘Is that what you’re having?’ He sniffs
‘Yeah, why?’ I retort, a tad defensively. I mean, rum and cola is the traditional non-hangover drink.
‘No reason,’ he says. But the smile playing on his lips gives him away.
‘Send it to my table,’ he tells the bartender and pivots me in its direction.
It’s in a cosy corner at the far end of the room. We slide into the cushy seats. There’s a bucket on the table with a bottle of Moet and Chandon Dom Perignon nestling in it. Figures why he found my choice of liquor funny. Snob.
The steward gets my drink over and I take a leisurely swig. Mmm. I lean back and enjoy the breathtaking view of the city’s skyline. Everything looks so magical, as if god has suspended an endless string of fairy lights from the heavens above.
‘This is amaze!’ I gush.
‘First time in Dubai?’Akshay asks, a curiously odd expression on his face.
‘First time out of the country,’ I beam at him.
‘I’m glad.’
Huh?
‘It’s so nice to be able to see things with new eyes,’ he explains, raising the champagne flute in a silent toast.
I lean forward and clink my glass with his. He smiles, displaying perfectly even teeth. ‘I like how unjaded you are.’
‘Are you saying you’re jaded?’ I say in a husky voice.
God, why can’t I just take a compliment and just shut the eff up?
He gives a helpless shrug. ‘I guess.’
We swig our drinks in silence. Suddenly, I gasp and sit up very straight.
‘Everything all right?’ he asks, a note of concern in his voice.
‘I totally forgot!’ I exclaim.
‘What?’
‘Selfie!’ I grin, yanking my cell phone out of my sling bag.
‘Let me,’ he says, reaching out for it. Our fingers touch and thousand volts of electricity course through me. The current of attraction is so strong, I half expect my hair to stand up in spikes.
The highway trucks back home are right. I must KEEP SAFE DISTANCE. I spring to my feet and position myself next to the glass pane. He gets up too, cradling my phone tenderly in his big hands. For a few seconds there, I actually resent my phone.
Then he starts reeling off a set of instructions and I’m momentarily distracted. ‘Chin down’,
‘Face turned slightly to the left’, ‘Now give me a smile, that’s a good girl’.
Click! Click! Click!
He doesn’t stop when he’s done shooting me. He turns around and clicks the skyline, the bar’s unbelievably starry ceiling, the crowd. When he’s done, he scrolls through the photos till he finds what he’s looking for.
‘So, what do you think?’ he asks, holding the phone up.
I gape at the screen. Is that really me? I look so different. So dewy and fresh and sexcited.
‘Like it?’ Akshay asks, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.
‘It’s all right, I guess.’ I say gruffly, reaching for the phone. ‘Hey!’
Unmindful of my protests, he coolly pulls it away and continues scrolling through his handiwork.
‘Wow, just look at the photography … hmm, the subject isn’t too bad either …’ he says teasingly.
I make a grab for the phone, but he nimbly ducks out of the way, and my fingers come up with a fistful of air.
‘Wait a minute, is that me?’ he exclaims incredulously.
He turns the screen towards me. I take one look at his picture—the one I’d clicked off the Indian Jewellery Journal that drunken night—and DIE.
6
Gosh, I’ve got to do something and NOW! I lunge at my phone and accidentally-on-purpose tilt my glass, spilling most of the contents on to his second-skin denims.
‘Dammit!’ he cries out.
‘OMG, I’m so sowwiee!’ I gasp, clamping a hand over my mouth. ‘Here,’ I grab the napkin from the table and thrust it into his hand.
Akshay dabs ineffectually at the rapidly spreading stain. He gets to his feet. ‘I’ll be back,’ he mutters, before hurrying towards the washroom.
Whew! That was close.
It’s time to get rid of the incriminating evidence. I tap the phone screen and hit the delete button below the photo. Then I click on the selfie cam. I check for stuff between my
teeth, dab at the corner of my eyes, reapply my gloss, and finger-brush my hair, just in time for Akki boy’s reappearance.
‘Everything under control?’ I ask solicitously.
He nods.
‘So,’ I begin brightly, smoothly steering the subject boat into safe waters. ‘The other day, on WhatsApp, you said something about the right composition. I take it you’re something of a photography buff?’
‘Something like that,’ he concedes with a dazzling smile.
Whoa!
‘Hot, I mean, cool. It’s a cool hobby,’ I say.
‘Hobby sounds too mild for what I feel towards photography.’
‘Passion then?’
He gives me a radiant smile. ‘I studied it back in college, in the US. Got myself an internship too,’ says a tad wistfully.
‘And then what happened?’
‘Life,’ he says simply.
My eyebrows furrow.
‘I came back to India and joined my family business.’
‘But why?’
‘My Jeejoo had been running the show single-handedly, shuttling between Mumbai and Dubai, managing everything for too long. He needed me.’
‘But did you try talking to him and your sister? Explain that it wasn’t the career you wanted?’
‘After all they had done for me? How could I? No,’ he shakes his head, ‘that would have been wrong.’
‘So you gave up on your passion?’
‘Let’s just say I found another passion.’
‘But what about photography?’ I persist.
‘Oh, I still indulge in it from time to time. Of course, not as much as I want to,’ he admits.
‘Why not?’
‘Not enough time, I guess.’
‘You’ve got to make time for the things you like, Akshay,’ I say firmly.
For a second, he doesn’t react. Then he locks eyes with me. ‘Yeah, I think I’ve started doing that.’
The way he says it! My breath gets stuck in my throat and I get gooseflesh all over.
‘What about you? What do you do in your spare time?’ He asks abruptly.
‘Me? Oh, a bit of Brazilian jiu-jitsu.’
‘Wow, remind me not to rub you the wrong way.’
A disturbingly delicious visual springs up in my head and I rush forward to assure him. ‘Oh, please! I’m sure you’ll always rub me the right way…’
He chokes on his drink.
Oh god!
‘So, um, jiu-jitsu,’ I blab on. ‘It’s awesome. Good for relieving stress too, you should try it. Not that you seem highly strung or anything.’
‘No?’ he teases.
‘No, but I’m sure you’ve got tons on your plate.’
Sheesh.
He leans back in his seat and watches me intently. ‘What about you?’
‘Me, I don’t like doing too many things. I’m one thing at a time kind of a girl.’
‘Really, so what’s the one thing you’re all into?’ It’s so distracting, the way his eyes are glued to my face.
You. I purse my lips. No way I’m letting that escape my lips.
‘Make-up,’ I mumble, my breath uneven.
‘You’ve been doing it for long?’
‘Ever since I can remember. My Mom owns a beauty salon back home, in Pune. Growing up, it was so much fun, watching her wave her magic wand and transform right in front of my eyes. I couldn’t wait to do it and make all my imperfections disappear.’
‘Imperfections?’
‘This,’ I say pointing to my Pinocchio nose.
He frowns.
‘Mom’s gorgeous,’ I explain. ‘So I grew up listening to “Such a beautiful Mom, whatever happened to the daughter” kind of stuff, you know?’
His face darkens. ‘That’s not nice.’
Oh, it was awful. I remember hearing relatives, neighbours, random strangers, and wondering why I was the way I was. I wanted to look different, like Mom, like anyone but me. And I thought make-up could help me do that.
‘I think comparisons suck,’ Akshay says, his face contorting with distaste.
‘Especially if they are unflattering.’ I say it lightly, but he senses my inner turmoil.
‘You’re unique,’ he says assertively.
Am I? I don’t know. I’ve never felt unique. Just ordinary. So bloody ordinary.
‘I’m sorry you’ve had to deal with that kind of stuff.’ His voice is soft and kind and soothing, like a balm over my wounded soul.
‘Dealing, present tense,’ I correct him with a laugh. ‘People still tell me stuff like that.’
‘To hell with those people,’ he mutters. ‘Don’t listen to them, Misha. You’re beautiful.’
Beautiful? Me? A delicious warmth spreads all over me and I feel all squishy. Akshay finds me beautiful. I want to hop over the table, I want to break into an impromptu jig, I want to whip my ganji off and swing it over my head.
And then a sobering thought strikes me. Akshay’s a perfect gentleman, he’s merely being polite. In all likelihood, he’s saying it because he’s feeling sorry for me. But god, it feels good, so good.
‘Um, you … you’re not so bad yourself.’
His mouth twists. ‘Thank you, Misha, you’re too kind.’
I like the way he makes it sound, my name. Like it’s a hot-blooded woman’s and not a bloody bear’s.
‘I mean, you are at least a seven on ten … seven and a half maybe…’
Outright lie! He’s a hundred, no, make that thousand. But how can I possibly say that and not sound demented. But he’s nodding so seriously that I feel compelled to elaborate.
‘Why, from a certain angle you even look like Fawad Khan,’ I say, bobbing my head vigorously. ‘Now there’s your doppleganger,’ I assure him. ‘Did you know each one of us has six?’
‘Six, really?’ Akshay asks, raising an eyebrow. ‘I’m sure there’s no one like you,’ he declares.
Hoo boy. Any second now, my bra will pop open, any second.
‘Thank you, same to you.’
WTF? I did not say that.
‘Or maybe not,’ I backtrack. ‘Maybe you’re just like your Mom … or … Dad … or…’
‘Well, people do say I remind them of my Dad. I wouldn’t know—he passed away shortly after I was born.’
‘Gosh, I’m so sorry,’ I gasp. ‘And your Mom?’
‘Lost her when I was ten.’
My heart goes out to him. He’s a tragic case. A hot tragic case. No wonder my hormones and my protective instincts are in overdrive.
‘My sister—she’s eleven years older—brought me up.’
‘Oh!’ I say, digesting that bit of information. ‘You guys must be pretty close.’
‘She’s like a third parent.’ His face crinkles with laughter. ‘Didi, Jeejoo, and my niece, they are the only family I have.’ He extricates his wallet, ‘Here’s a family photo.’
I lean forward at the same time he does and our heads bump.
‘Oww!’ I cry out, rubbing the spot.
‘I’m so sorry, here let me.’ Akshay reaches for my forehead just as my head bobs forward. An unruly guest pushes past me to the glass pane and I end up head-butting his rock solid chest. And suddenly, his steadying hands are on my back and my head is tucked under his chin. He takes a deep breath and I, I completely forget to breathe.
Then his arms fall to his side and I step back. Our eyes meet and something passes between us. I’m not sure what, but it’s strong and powerful and thrums with urgency. The air between us is electric, the space between more alive somehow.
A collective gasp goes up in the crowd. Gosh, is the chemistry between us that obvious? I look across the room just in time to see a spectacular display of fireworks light up the sky.
‘Hey, did you see that…’
My eyes swivel to his and I see the flame of desire leap high in them. The crowd may not have reacted to our unspoken connection, but Akshay certainly does. Before I know it, his head dips and his lips lightly br
ush against mine.
The kiss is so soft, his touch so light, but the total impact is dynamite. My heart somersaults out of my chest and my knees buckle. A strong hand goes around my waist and he draws me closer. The other hand travels to my hair and long, tapered fingers tug at it gently as he deepens the kiss. My hands find their way up and lock around his neck. My eyes flutter close as I pour a lifetime of pent up passion in the kiss.
The crowd bursts into applause—not at the fireworks we’ve created, at the decidedly tamer ones in the sky—and the spell breaks. He tears his mouth away and releases me abruptly from that deliciously warm embrace. My eyes fly open as I go from Sensuous Cinderella to Piddu Pumpkin. There’s an ‘I don’t know what came over me’ look on his face.
Bade bade deshon mein aisi choti choti galtiyan hoti rehti hain? My heart threatens to explode out of my chest as I gawk at him.
‘Akshay? I thought it was you!’ a voice exclaims.
We spring apart.
A tall woman in a bright coral full length dress glides up and envelops him in a bear hug.
‘Aunty!’ he exclaims, his eyes widening in surprise.
‘You know I hate it when you call me that!’ she admonishes.
Akshay quickly extricates himself from her embrace. ‘Aunty, meet Misha. Misha, this is Re Aunty, a dear family friend.’
I finally catch sight of her face and my jaw slams to the floor. It’s Rekha, my client and store regular, Rekha.
‘Ma’am,’ I say a trifle breathlessly, holding out a hand.
She peers in the dark before blinking rapidly. ‘Maya? You? Here?’
‘I … yeah, I’m here for the fashion show … I mean, not to walk the ramp … obviously … haha! I mean, to do the make-up…’ I trail off.
Jeez, I’m acting as if she’s walked in on us having full blown sex. Wrong thought, wrong thought. Too late. A shot of me doing really nasty things to Akshay pops into my head. I blush in the dark.
‘Wait a minute, you know each other?’ Akshay asks, looking from me to Rekha.
‘She comes to the store—’
‘M.A.C. Connection, baba—’
Rekha and I say at the same time.
‘Wow, small world,’ Akshay murmurs, running a hand through his hair.
I tear my eyes away from Rekha and follow its movement. Was my hand really up there, plowing through those lush tufts, merely seconds ago? It all feels so surreal.