After the Storm

by Lakshmy Ramanathan

  ‘You could have made some really important contacts!’

  ‘I wasn’t looking to,’ he said.

  ‘But why?’ she insisted, unable to fathom why Rakesh would let go off an opportunity to cater to the rich and the connected.

  ‘As it turned out I was busy on karva chauth day.’

  ‘Why, were you fasting too?’ Meenu asked frostily.

  ‘No, but I did go out on a date that day,’ he replied quietly. ‘With you,’ he added. ‘It was our first,’ he said, examining his fingertips.

  Meenu opened her mouth and closed it again. Of course, they had met on karva chauth day! Mami had even been home in the evening and not out walking with her friends as most of them were keeping the vrath.

  Forcing herself to focus with the issue on hand, she asked, ‘So what are you saying? That this was all planned to take you down?’

  ‘Meenu it doesn’t matter,’ he replied.

  ‘What do you mean it doesn’t matter? Of course it does!’ she said her voice high pitched and angry.

  ‘Do you think I am angry about the review?’ he asked leaning forward.

  ‘Of course and you have every right to be!’

  He gave her an odd look as if unable to understand her, running his hand through his mop of thick, wavy hair.

  ‘Are you still going out with the creep?

  ‘What?’

  ‘When I called you yesterday, it appeared as if you were still carrying on with him.’

  And now Meenu looked stricken.

  ‘Yes, but I swear it was to break it off with him!’

  ‘I thought you might have had the sense to break off with him right after your office party,’ replied Rakesh.

  ‘I wanted to but he left to Jaipur soon after and returned just yesterday after a whole month. When you had called me yesterday, he was taking me out. Little did he know it would be his last!’ explained Meenu.

  Rakesh looked into her eyes. Her big, brown unblinking eyes.

  ‘I swear. I just wanted to break it off in person,’ she now said beginning to cry, unable to understand how and what she had done had taken her further away from Rakesh.

  Rakesh’s throat went dry seeing her in this state. He wanted to reach out and comfort her but his fingers stayed on his lap and when he spoke, his voice was shockingly calm.

  ‘Meenakshi, I am not looking to bed a virgin, but I certainly look for some fidelity when in a relationship.’

  ‘I just told you I wasn’t carrying on with him!’

  Rakesh leaned his head on his chair wearily, his mouth set in a grim line.

  This summer life had been pretty simple. He was smart, successful and in society’s eyes, ready to settle down. He was about to let the sambhar mafia choose a wife for him when a light eyed beauty had fallen into his lap and knocked the wind out of him. He had been smitten enough to make a proposal which the said beauty had turned down. Being a thorough gentleman, he had taken it on his chin and tried to move on when she had walked right back into his life. Rakesh who had been intrigued by the fact that she had sought him out decided to risk another rejection and give themselves a shot. Gently but gradually, he would show her the man behind the proposal.

  Initially, the risk seemed worth it. They were drawn to each other and anybody could see that (and thankfully they hadn’t) the two could barely keep their hands off each other. Over the past few months in fact, Rakesh had begun to hope that they were headed somewhere. But in the face of another man staking his claim over Meenakshi (even if momentarily), he had seen red and shut her out.

  Now, as he stared at the woman seated opposite him, it made him wonder if she had ever been his? True, she had begun to genuinely enjoy his company, laugh at his jokes and moan under his touch but did that give him rights to stake his claim over her? On her part, Meenakshi had been clear she wasn’t ready to get married. She just wanted to have fun. He would never be hers. She wouldn’t allow it. The realisation turned his knuckles white and he stood up from his chair abruptly.

  As he walked towards his kitchen, he realised that he should have seen this coming – that a risk would lead to more problems, not solutions. Wasn’t this why the sambhar mafia planned every aspect of their life? Engineering at eighteen, masters at twenty-two, marriage at twenty-eight, PhD in between, First child before thirty, CEO by forty, so on and so forth … Risks were avoided at every turn and if undertaken, no guidance was rendered.

  And so Rakesh stood in the middle of his kitchen, feeling way out of his depth. His fingers shook as they made their way to his back pocket and came out clutching air instead. He eyed a carrot on the counter and started dicing it instead. His sous chef watched him from the corner of the kitchen with concern. He hadn’t seen his employer reach for a smoke in the last two-and-a-half months.

  19

  When Meenu walked into the office on Monday she fought the urge to throw the review at Ria’s face. She couldn’t fathom how Night Out had carried it in the first place. Pinky Sabharwal was revered for her no nonsense attitude sharpened over years of dealing with Bollywood’s buffoonery. How could she have allowed this rubbish to pass for a review? Meenu wondered. Clearly, Pinky couldn’t have known about the intern’s motives.

  Settling into her seat, Meenakshi pulled out the Sunday’s supplement that she had stuffed into her tote in the morning. She read through the review for the nth time, cursing and swearing in a voice loud enough for a colleague to look up with raised eyebrows. Clearly, Ria Mulchandani had no clue about international food trends or Heston Blumenthal – the man who had inspired Chutneyed’s owner– but she sure knew how to take a man down.

  Meenakshi considered telling Pinky the set of events that had led to the malicious review but how could she prove it? It was Pinky who had sent Ria to review the restaurant and even if by some miracle Meenakshi was able to prove that this was a case of personal vendetta, what action would be taken against the owner’s niece? Zilch, she wagered.

  Still, she had made a decision and was going to stick to it. She looked over to the entertainment desk to see if Pinky had come in. No she hadn’t. So she turned to her computer and logged into the business desk’s email account. The morning list which she no longer helped put together had come in. She clicked it open to find that her follow up on the sexual harassment case that she had tried filing (and failed) on Saturday had been listed.

  Sometime after lunch she heard Pinky’s dry drawl cutting through the chilled air of the office. Meenakshi who was half way through filing her copy got up immediately and strode up to the entertainment desk, review in hand.

  ‘Toh photo chahiye Mrs Khan ka Kapoor ke saath! Khan ke saath nahin. Samjha?’ Pinky was saying to a photographer who had a loopy grin across his face and a Canon 7D slung over his shoulder. Meenu watched him walk away quietly not before rolling his eyes to Pinky’s brief.

  ‘Yes, Minaakshi?’ she said looking at her rum coloured cold shoulder top approvingly but failing to elicit a smile from the friendly girl.

  ‘Did you read this review?’ Meenu asked.

  ‘Not yet but I did notice the inordinate amount of space it was allocated. Will be pulling up the sub who was overlooking it for me.’

  ‘This review is a clear lack of judgement,’ stated Meenu in a cold, clipped voice.

  ‘Then … why don’t you file a counter review and host it on our website?’ asked Pinky.

  For a moment Meenu looked dumbfounded by the unexpected offer. ‘Won’t that just confuse our readers?’ she asked.

  ‘No. It’ll tell our readers that we respect difference of opinion.’

  ‘But … but … what about the damage already done?’ she asked waving the paper in the air. ‘We’ve ruined a man’s livelihood not to mention his reputation.’

  Pinky’s lips twitched from amusement. Biting back the sarcasm that had risen to her throat, she said, ‘Minaakshi, if we people went by what critics said, then no film would get to 100-plus crores.’

  ‘Okay… but there was
no reason for Ria to be so caustic.’

  ‘Was she? Hmm … I think the girl was attempting sarcasm.’

  ‘I don’t know what the hell she was attempting but it clearly wasn’t a review. I am surprised you let it pass.’

  The desk head narrowed her eyes. No one dared to speak to her like that. Not even Mistry. The girl had always been outspoken but not disrespectful, at least not to her seniors. Obviously, she had taken the review personally.

  Meenakshi who was bristling and fidgeting while Pinky had lapsed into silence now shoved the paper into her hands. ‘Read it.’ she ordered. ‘She’s referred to dishes as pale white concoctions and brown, sludgy broths! Clearly, she knows nothing about food or the many techniques this guy uses.’

  ‘Which guy?’ Pinky asked cutting in shrewdly.

  Meenu flushed and then blushed a deep red that matched the top she was wearing.

  In a gentle but firm voice, Pinky continued. ‘Taste is what matters, isn’t it? Not whether it is hydrogenised or soaked in a bain-marie. Ria probably hated what she tasted.’

  ‘Impossible! The food at Chutneyed is simply divine.’

  ‘And how can I take your word against hers?’ asked Pinky.

  ‘You can because you have eaten his food,’ she said simply.

  And now Pinky did look surprised.

  ‘Remember the starters at the office party?’ asked Meenu in anticipation.

  ‘Of course, I do! They were fucking fantastic’.

  ‘They were from Chutneyed,’ she replied with a smile bordering on victory.

  ‘This guy’s kitchen? Really?’

  ‘Yes! How can Ria review him so badly?’ she asked her voice full of despair.

  ‘Frankly … I have no clue,’ Pinky said quietly.

  ‘See! That’s wha—’

  ‘Be that as maybe,’ she said cutting in. ‘This review is a matter of taste and unfortunately of only the reviewer’s – not yours or mine.’

  Meenakshi gulped back air. She knew defeat when it stared her in the face.

  ‘Don’t look so distraught, Minaakshi. Any publicity is good. If the guy is half as brilliant as we both think he is, he is sure to tide this.’

  Meenu didn’t reply but just looked away quietly.

  ‘Someone’s taking this review badly and we haven’t had one phone call from team Chutneyed yet,’ Pinky observed in her dry, draughty voice. This time, the comment did elicit a slight smile from Meenakshi.

  When she went to work the next day, she knew there was nothing more to be done about the review. The confrontation with Pinky had however helped dissipate some of the anger she felt. It also made her realise how much she cared about Rakesh. Through the day she jumped every time her phone beeped or rang. She both half hoped and dreaded a call from him.

  Later that night when she was waiting for the drop service in the corridor outside the reception, her phone beeped. The pit of her stomach lurched, queasy with anticipation. She grabbed her phone and saw that her brother Krishna had WhatsApped her some photos.

  ‘Super tired but wanted to share this,’ his message said.

  A couple of pictures followed. As she downloaded them, she could make out red and brown catamarans jutting out of each of them.

  Another message said:

  ‘Coast guard, corporation and fire dept. carried out rescue operations today. Two Cheetah helicopters from the Tambaram air force base were sent where boats couldn’t go.’

  ‘That bad?’ Meenu typed back.

  ‘Worse. Poondi Reservoir’s floodgates have been opened. Yesterday, water was released from the Chembarambakkam reservoir,’ came the reply. ‘Talk to you soon. Gnite’.

  Meenakshi got up from where she was sitting and went inside again past the biometric glass door straight into Mistry’s cabin. The associate editor did not appear surprised to see her.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked her looking up from the page print outs before him.

  Meenu pushed her phone towards him along the desk.

  Mistry picked it and went through the pictures.

  He seemed to take an awfully long time going over three pictures. And then he pulled out his own phone and called someone. It was nearing 1 a.m. on his desk’s time piece. This better be important Meenu thought for the sake of Mistry’s own good.

  ‘Hi Guna, good evening,’ he said unnecessarily.

  Guna who obviously seemed used to such late night calls greeted back.

  ‘Yeh Chennai rains ka kya haal hai?’

  ‘Kucch nahin sar,’ the man drawled on the other end of the line, loud enough for Meenu to hear him.

  ‘Achha?’ Mistry asked rhetorically. ‘Send me something na by tomorrow.’

  The man said something in reply and Mistry cut the call.

  ‘Minaakshi, this is good stuff,’ he said returning the phone to her. ‘I have asked Guna to get us an update. Hopefully we’ll carry something soon.’

  On the third morning after Mistry had given his word, Meenakshi along with the rest of Mumbai read a hundred words on the massive rains in Chennai. It was carried in the front page right alongside the arrest of Peter Mukerjea, the fourth in the sensational Sheena Bora case.

  Still, The Daily Times had at least covered the Chennai’s rains. Two other leading dailies had missed it. The feeling of helplessness was complete – no one was taking the matter seriously; Rakesh hadn’t returned any of her calls and The Daily Times was considering another edition.

  Two days before heading to Chennai, Meenakshi found herself neck deep in work. She was typing one of the four stories she was required to hand in before she went for her four-day break. Rishi had come by her desk in the morning but she had shooed him away. Post lunch, he came again and hung about till she looked up from her typing.

  ‘Do you know your city is getting whipped?’ he asked without any preamble.

  ‘Do I know if Chennai has received close to 1,100 milimetres of rain? Yes. Has OIa procured boats to rescue people from their flooded homes? Yes. Is it…’

  ‘Whoa! Hold on, Hema Malini,’ said Rishi with a grin. ‘Sorry I asked. I just want you to see something. Come.’

  He led her to his desk, which was fairly empty. Meenu suspected the timing was planned for he wasted no time in logging into the company’s virtual private network and typing Rathore’s official id and a password.

  Meenu gasped realising what he was about to do and debated hanging around or scooting before they were both busted.

  ‘How do you have access to his id?’ she whispered, half scared, half thrilled at what Rishi was doing.

  ‘Well, Zoze was in charge for a whole month remember?’

  Meenakshi nodded.

  ‘He was given the task of clearing all the mails cause Rathore was busy in Jaipur.’

  ‘Still, how did you…’ she asked pointing to the screen.

  ‘Zoze had no time to clear mails from readers and God, a lot of them write to Rathore,’ Rishi said with a snort. ‘So he asked me to do it. Now look at this,’ he said and showed a string of emails from a person called Maninder Chabra.

  Rishi then clicked out of Rathore’s official id and logged into his own personal id. The same guys’ emails popped up here too.

  ‘I have been forwarding his mails to my account,’ he explained.

  ‘Who is this guy?’ asked Meenakshi.

  ‘He’s a midfielder with Chennai FC.’

  ‘He’s been mailing you guys for quite some time, isn’t it?’ asked Meenu. ‘Look, he’s mailed you even three days back on the twenty-fourth,’ she said, tapping on the screen.

  Rishi opened it and showed her the pictures that were attached in the mail. Chennai’s international stadium loomed into focus, waterlogged in parts. There were also pictures of flooded streets.

  ‘Does the team stay in Chennai?’ enquired Meenu.

  ‘When the matches are happening there. Maninder worries that if the weather keeps up, there will be no more matches played in Chennai. He’s been writing to us that the
team isn’t getting enough practice.’

  ‘Have you informed Rathore about this?’

  ‘From the time he started mailing us,’ he said through clenched teeth.

  ‘And?’

  ‘No response as usual. Rathore feels it is not important enough.’

  Meenu chewed her lips thoughtfully.

  ‘Why don’t you or Zoze take it up with Mistry directly? Show him the pictures?’

  ‘Have you gone mad?’

  ‘Hmmm?’ asked Meenu who was still staring at the pictures.

  ‘Don’t you know Rathore? You can’t do anything without checking with him first.’

  ‘Even peeing. Yeah I know,’ Meenu said wryly.

  ‘Seriously! Last year Zoze had gone after a story without checking with him first. There had been fireworks and Zoze had to fetch Rathore his tea for an entire month.’

  ‘What is his problem with covering the HML?’ asked Meenu chewing her lower lip.

  And now Rishi’s eyes positively gleamed.

  ‘I just found out after some poking around,’ he said in a much lower voice now that people had started returning to their seats after lunch. ‘Do you know the two actually know each other?’ he practically whispered.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Rathore and Maninder’

  And now Meenu’s large brown eyes did look like they were ready to pop out.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  Rishi nodded.

  ‘How do you know?’ she asked.

  ‘Zoze told me. He used to play professional football too. That’s what brought him here from Goa,’ he explained. ‘He, Rathore and Maninder used to train in Cross maidan under the same coach though Zoze was much senior to both of them. About ten years back, since there wasn’t enough money in football, Rathore called it quits and turned his hand at sports journalism though he was a damn good player. Maninder however hung around playing club matches and coaching local schools till HML rolled out. Now he’s in the spotlight and Zoze reckons Rathore resents it.’

  After what seemed like a whole minute Meenu got up from his seat and walked towards the reception. She needed to digest everything that had just been laid out before her.