by Vibha Batra
It’s all over for me. ALL OVER.
‘It’s not,’ he says.
And now he’s a mind reader too.
‘You can overcome low self-esteem, Misha. You can become confident, assertive, and develop a strong self of who you are. All you need to do is become more self aware, be mindful of your thoughts, nip negative ones as they occur. You need to evaluate your strengths and weaknesses, you need to spell out your needs, your wants, you need to set small goals and applaud yourself as you accomplish them…’
It’s been a week since that visit. And I’ve thought about what Doc D said. A lot. Correction, all the time. At home, at work, during the commute back home. I’ve listed down my needs and wants, I’ve done a proper SWOT analysis, I’ve stayed off stalking Akshay on FB and congratulated myself like mad over it, I’ve taken stock of my actions, I’ve mulled over the reasons behind them. Like I’m doing now.
Turns out, the good Doc’s right, about everything.
I want everyone to love me, but do I love myself? No! I’m always cribbing about my nose, complaining about my life, wishing my family was different.
I wanted Didi to welcome me with open arms. But I had such a hard time accepting Mom’s relationship with Ronit. I was judge-y, disapproving, cold and unfriendly. Not very different from Didi, actually.
I wanted Poulomi to understand my insecurities. But could I understand hers? What if she had blown off our plans every single week? What if she had abandoned me for a new friend? I sure as hell couldn’t have handled it.
As for Sammy, oh god, I can’t even bear thinking about the way I’ve treated him.
I’ve screwed up big, big time. I take a deep breath. I know what I have to do. And I’ve got to do it now. I’m in a cab, on my way home from work. But I don’t care what the cabbie thinks. I reach for my cell phone.
‘Misha?’ Mom answers at the first ring. ‘Where have you been? I called you so many times. I was beginning to get worried—’
‘I’m sorry, Mom,’ I say in a choked voice.
‘Hey, Mishy, are you okay? What happened?’
‘I broke up with Akshay,’ I burst out.
‘Oh, no!’
I pour my heart out to her.
‘I’m so sorry to hear that, Mish. I really thought you could make it work. Unlike me—’
The cruel words I’d inflicted on her come rushing back to me. I feel awful, godawful.
‘I’m so, so sorry, Mom. I shouldn’t have said all those things—’
‘—but I couldn’t give up the salon and move to Lucknow with your Dad.’ Mom keeps talking as if she hasn’t heard me.
‘Dad asked you to choose?’ I gasp.
Why didn’t anyone tell me?
‘It was complicated, Mish. Things were quite strained, heated arguments every day. His parents were old and ailing, they needed him. But they didn’t want to move to Pune…’
I nod. Our flat in Pune was tiny. Besides, they had their own house in Lucknow.
‘… and I didn’t want to uproot you and Nitin,’ Mom sniffs, ‘at least, that’s what I told myself in the beginning. It was much later that I realised, I didn’t want to move. The salon was doing very well … it had taken me years to get to where I was … and I couldn’t bring myself to shut shop and…’ she trails away to wipe her tears, I bet. ‘I know it was selfish—’
‘It wasn’t, Mom, it wasn’t,’ I snivel.
I chat with Mom all the way home and feel so much lighter.
I turn the key in the lock, walk into the flat and into something totally unexpected: the sight of Poulomi and Sammy hugging!
They jump apart, guilty expressions on their faces.
‘Oh my god!’ exclaims Poulomi.
‘Misha!’ gasps Sammy.
There’s stunned silence for a couple of seconds.
‘It’s not what it looks like,’ Poulomi says in a strained voice.
‘We were just,’ Sammy says in a pained voice. ‘I was just leaving—’
‘You’re not going anywhere!’ I cry out. I reach them in two big strides and fling my arms around them.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I tell Sammy, tears welling in my eyes. ‘I don’t want you to move out. I don’t care what Di … I don’t care what anyone thinks. You’re the best roomie I’ve ever had and my best friend…’
‘Misha,’ he begins.
I hold up a hand like his god Rajnikant. ‘… I’ll not let you go. I don’t care how much deposit you’ve paid.’
‘I haven’t,’ Sammy tells me sheepishly. ‘I haven’t found a place yet.’
‘Oh, thank god.’ I send a heartfelt thank you heavenwards before turning to Poulomi.
‘I’m so sorry, Poul. I know I hurt you big time. But I promise I’ll never do it aga—’
‘I’m sorry, Misha,’ Poulomi says, hugging me tight. ‘I said some really nasty stuff too.’ She wipes her eyes. ‘And I’m so sorry about you and Akshay. I-I really thought he was the one.’
‘Me too.’ I smile through my tears. ‘I can’t believe it’s over.’
‘Does it have to be?’ Sammy asks quietly.
I nod. Unfortunately, yes.
I proceed to tell them my dukh bhari adhuri prem kahani. Their eyebrows shoot up as I tell them about Jeejoo’s money troubles, about the private eye, about Akki’s showdown with Didi.
‘So that’s why you couldn’t meet me!’ Poulomi exclaims. ‘You were running around arranging funds. And you were meeting Rekha, not Deeya!’
‘So that’s why you needed the money,’ Sammy echoes.
‘So that’s why, I’m heartbroken and broke,’
I conclude. ‘I’m going to call Didi and tell her all about her loser hubby—’
‘No!’ I say vehemently. ‘You’ll do nothing of that sort. Promise me you won’t. Swear on me, Poul!’
‘Mrs Hoity Toity should know—’ Poulomi hisses.
‘Poul,’ I implore. ‘I don’t want to be the cause of another family showdown, please!’
‘Listen to her, Bhatta,’ Sammy says but not in his usual hostile way.
‘Fine,’ Poulomi pouts. ‘I won’t, I promise.’
Oh. My. God. Did Poulomi just do as Sammy asked? Is love in the air? OMG, they are going to be so cute together!
‘Oh, no no no,’ Sammy warns, reading my mind. ‘Don’t even think about it.’
‘Think about what?’ Poulomi asks, emerging with a bottle of rum and vodka each.
‘Um, nothing!’ I say quickly. ‘So, how are things on the work front, my up and coming celebrity stylist?’
Poulomi brightens visibly. ‘Am doing the double spread for Gracias this weekend.’
‘Yay!’ I exult. Gracias, a leading fashion mag and one of my faves. ‘Congrats, Poul! If you need a mundu, let me know. Yeah, that’s it. I think I’ll become a freelance mundu. Because with the peanuts I make…’
Poulomi frowns. ‘Last I checked, M.A.C.’s not a bad paymaster. How much did you make last month?’
I tell her.
‘That’s all?’ she asks, surprised.
‘But it’s okay, Poul,’ I shrug. ‘Vrushali has been fantastic the last few months. She’s helped me out with every customer—’
And just like that, Poulomi’s confusion gives way to comprehension. ‘Now I get it! The bitch is robbing you out of your commissions!’
18
I stare at Poulomi dumbfounded. ‘What? How?’
‘See, each time you make a sale, you enter your employee code on the invoice, right? So, each time Madam “helps” you out by taking your customer to the billing counter, she—’
‘Puts in her code on the bill and not mine,’ I finish, catching on.
‘Which is why, she makes the commission on the product and you make peanuts,’ Poulomi says gingerly. ‘Mish, I know I can’t help you on the personal front, but on the professional front, don’t you worry! I’ll take that bitch out!’
The old Misha would have meekly bleated, ‘Will you, please, Poul?’
<
br /> Eyes steely with determination, the new Misha says, ‘No, Poul, I’ve got this.’
I remember Doc Dhurandhar’s words. It’s time to take charge of my life. It’s time to believe in me. It’s time to kick ass big time.
I’m at the store five minutes before eleven. So is Candice. I called her last night and surprise surprise. Vrushali’s been conning her too. But not anymore. Because now, we’re ready. Our plan is simple. We’ll confront Vrushali, threaten to call the HO, she’ll know we mean business, and never ever dare to take panga with us again.
I go about the morning with the calm efficiency Dexter is known for. Vrushali breezes in shortly after twelve thirty.
I’m busy with a customer, a young executive on her lunch break. I sweep delightful iridescent powder along her cheeks. ‘It’s a light bronzer with a golden shimmer. Here, want to try it yourself?’
She hesitates for a bit, but I coax her into giving it a shot. She follows my instructions and steps back to survey the results. ‘I’ll take it,’ she says after a few moments, happy with what she sees.
Right on cue, Vrushali appears by my side. ‘Look, there’s your regular client, Misha. Why don’t you attend to her, ya? I’ll be happy to take care of Ma’am here.’ She gives the executive a syrupy smile. Oh god, how could I be so blind. Butt out, Daku Rani.
‘Thanks, but I’ll take care of it,’ I say firmly. I lead the executive to the counter and bill the purchase.
I wait for the other customer to leave and then I round on Vrushali. Candice hops across to us.
‘Game up, babe.’
She gives me a startled look. ‘Sorry?’
‘I know what you are up to,’ I tell her.
‘So do I,’ Candice chimes in.
Her eyes bulge. ‘I-I, I don’t know what you’re talking about!’ She’s trying to act all cool and calm, but it’s evident she’s shitting bricks.
I whip my cell phone out of my pocket and dial the Delhi Head Office number. But I stop right before I hit the ‘Call’ button. ‘Don’t even think about doing it again, Vrushali, or we’ll make one call, one teeny call, to the HO—’
‘You wouldn’t dare!’ Vrushali shrieks, snatching my phone.
I hit the back of her hand, the phone flies up and lands safely back into mine. ‘—and tell them you’ve been cheating us out of our commission for the last few months.’
‘Hello? Vrushali? Misha? Candice?’ comes a voice from my phone. ‘What’s going on there!’
We gape at each other for a few stunned seconds. Then realisation dawns. Some time during the scuffle the call got connected, the speakerphone got activated, and HO got to hear everything.
‘So, they sacked Vrushali?’ Poulomi screeches into the phone.
‘She put in her papers before they could fire her.’ I sigh, stepping out of the store.
What a crazy day. It started with a confrontation and ended with a resignation.
‘Good riddance,’ Poulomi says with feeling. ‘Okay, how long will it take you to get to town?
‘What’s happening in town?’
‘A shoot’s come up,’ she explains. ‘Your offer to be a freelance mundu still stands, I hope?’
‘Of course! Where’s the shoot?’
‘Hotel Four Seasons.’
Whoa! From grubbing about at Hotel Decent to glamming it up at Hotel Four Seasons, my bestie’s going places.
‘I’m so proud of you, Poul! Give me an hour or so?’
I reach the hotel around ten, make my way to the thirtieth floor, and ring the doorbell. The door opens and I experience sudden death!
Because it’s Akshay behind the door! I’m so shocked to see him, I just stand there, forgetting to blink, forgetting to breathe.
‘Hi,’ he says, a pleasant smile on his face. ‘Poul mentioned you’re running late.’
Well, Poul failed to mention anything to me! Specifically, that she was hiring him as the photographer!
‘Sorry, I-I just remembered I’ve got be some place else,’ I mutter, turning around.
‘Don’t tell me,’ Akshay drawls in a chocolate-y voice. ‘You’re scared to work with me!’
My nostrils flare. Oh, please.
‘Scared? Me? I’m a killing machine, a highly trained Brazilian jiu-jitsu warrior,’ I say loftily.
‘That’s what I thought,’ Akshay says with a straight face.
I march in with my head held high. My heart’s so thunderous, it’s wondrous it’s beating at all.
‘You haven’t set up the camera,’ I say, plonking down at the edge of the bed.
‘All in good time,’ he says with an easy laugh.
‘The model isn’t here.’
Oh, enough with the Sherlock-type deductions already.
‘Nope,’ Akshay says, flashing me a lopsided smile. ‘Just you and me.’
Not that ashleel-vichaar provoking smile.
He rolls up his sleeves, exposing in what can only be described as a titillating manner. My eyes zoom in on his forearms. Oh my, they look as sinewy, as juicy as ever.
He ambles across to the minibar. ‘Get you something to drink?’
Only if I can drink from your lips. God, I’ve got to invoke Doc Dhurandhar’s last words. Not his last words, just the words he said on my last visit. I’m a strong, independent woman. I’m a stroooong, independent, turned on woman. Jeez.
‘I don’t drink on work,’ I say as frostily as I can.
‘We could always mix business with pleasure,’ Akshay says suggestively, pulling out a JD miniature and pouring himself a drink.
And suddenly, I feel the urgent need to pour buckets of cold water on my head.
‘No, thanks,’ I manage to croak.
‘Suit yourself,’ Akshay shrugs. He places the glass on the bedside table and flops down on the bed.
The laws of physics prevail. The action has an equal and opposite effect: I spring up.
He leans back against the headboard and props his feet up.
‘Hot in here, isn’t it?’ he murmurs. His hand goes to the top button of his shirt and he undoes it slowly. His hand slips lower, another button comes undone.
I whip around before I’m undone too. The glass window accords a spectacular view of the sea. I sigh before turning around.
‘Where is that Poulo—’ the words lodge in my throat.
Because silent panther Akki has stalked up to me.
I step back in agitation and come up against the glass window. Great, now I’m stuck between the devil and the deep sea. Literally.
‘What’s the rush?’ he says softly, leaning down to tuck an errant strand of hair behind my ear.
The light touch practically singes my skin.
His mouth twists. ‘You okay?’
‘Of course,’ I mutter. Some people fake orgasms, me, I just fake confidence.
‘What’s that,’ he says suddenly, pointing to my face.
‘What?’ I ask self-consciously.
‘On your mouth.’
‘What, here,’ I touch my bottom lip tentatively.
‘An eyelash,’ Akshay tells me. ‘Want to make a wish?’
‘I-I don’t think so.’
‘Okay.’ He leans forward and brushes it off with the pad of his thumb.
ZINGGGG!!! Volts of electricity zip through my body.
‘Why are you doing this?’ I blurt out, leaning as far back as possible.
‘What, photography?’ he asks in a silky voice, his eyes glinting. ‘You always said I should do it.’
‘Did I? I-I don’t remember,’ I stammer.
‘Really?’ Akshay drawls, placing his hands on the glass, on either sides of my face. ‘I find that kind of hard to believe.’
I duck neatly and scamper to the other side, my heart beating faster than a Shatabdi, bullet train, and Concorde combined.
‘I don’t know what you’re playing at—’
‘Believe me, Misha,’ Akshay says in a maddening voice as he turns around to face me. ‘I haven’t sta
rted playing yet.’
And suddenly, I’ve a mental picture of playing strip poker with him.
‘So, did you or did not ask me to pursue my passion?’
‘And so what if I did!’
‘Well, this is me pursuing my passion.’ The way he says it, I know he’s not talking about photography.
‘Anyway,’ I hasten to point out. ‘That was then.’
I’m about to turn away when he grabs my wrist. My hand feels scorched, my face aflame, and my skin on fire.
‘When?’
‘You know, when! When we were together.’
Without warning, he yanks at my hand and I come up hard against his chest. ‘Remind me why we aren’t together anymore,’ Akshay murmurs as his other hand goes behind the nape of my neck and tugs my head back.
‘Oh, you know why!’ I cry out, ineffectually (half-heartedly?) attempting to wiggle out of his grasp.
‘That’s the funny thing, Misha, I don’t,’ he whispers, gazing deep into my eyes. ‘I know you love me…’
Oh, so, so much.
‘… I know you care about my family…’
I wish I didn’t, but I do.
‘… and I know you’ll do anything to keep their secrets safe.’
I raise startled eyes to meet his. He shakes his head. ‘Sweet, kind, loyal, Mishkin.’
Oh. My. God. Poulomi told Akshay! I’m going to KILL her!
‘So, you know,’ I say huskily.
‘I know.’ Akshay replies. ‘But I wonder if you know how much I love you.’
And then, it’s a scene straight out of those Discovery Channel shows. We’re like two starved beasts attacking each other. Soon, we’re devouring each other, biting flesh, drawing blood, even making loud slurping sounds on occasion. And it’s as if the last four weeks never happened.
TRINGGGGG!
The doorbell rings.
We reluctantly draw apart.
‘Must be Poul.’ I pull my top down and get to my feet.
‘You decent?’ I ask Akshay, smoothing my hair down.
‘Depends,’ he grins, buttoning up his shirt. ‘How loose is your definition of the word?’ He grabs a cushion and stratetigcally places it against his trousers to shield his, um, modesty.
‘She’s had it from me,’ I mutter, stomping up to the door. ‘It hasn’t been twenty hours since I told her. She promised she wouldn’t open her big fat gob—’