Tinsel
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“See, Rita and Zasha are here to see you. Your Dad and Gracy are also here. And the entire staff of ZMI is waiting outside. You are one hell of a popular guy, my friend.”
Roy held on till 29th November, Chika was with him throughout.
“Nine of the terrorists have been killed and one caught alive.” Chika broke the news to him.
“I hope we hang him!” replied Roy feebly, “Thank you for everything Chika. Please look after Zasha and don’t ever trust Ballu. If we had had those fifteen minutes, all of us would have escaped.”
He smiled “Six bullets and plenty of broken bones in one lifetime, what more could one ask for?”
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Then he closed his eyes and let himself go.
As he poured out another drink in the dark, Chika remembered George’s face. The poor man was almost eighty and had lost his wife and both his sons in his own lifetime.
Steven Phillips of DreamToons had flown down for the funeral. Chika had conveyed Roy’s wish that Zasha be educated in the US to him.
“Please send me her academic records and tennis certificates, we will ensure that she gets admission in the best institute in California,” he had promised.
‘I will take care of that tomorrow. But first I need to take care of something else.’ he thought.
He switched the light on and opened the safe in his cupboard and took out the folder that Ram Shastri had handed him a few years ago.
There were twelve 10x12 photographs in the file. It showed a man climbing up to the first floor of Hotel Night Palace, entering the room and talking to a pretty girl. In one shot, the lights were on and the man’s face could be seen clearly. It was Ballu.
He had an appointment with the Commissioner of Police the next day.
Epilogue:
____________________________________
September 2025
The transcontinental Boeing 797 superliner had landed in the plush Mumbai’s Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport 15 minutes ago.
Rita glanced at her hand held ID and touched the screen. The screen illuminated and an impersonal voice said, “18th September 2025, 6:30 am”
“She should be out anytime now,” Rita said to herself. She was nervous, she was about to see her daughter after 5 years.
She looked at the man next to her. The man smiled at her sensing her nervousness.
“Is that a new ID?” He asked, deliberately changing the subject.
“Yes! It was just delivered yesterday. I am still getting used to the functions,” she replied enthusiastically, falling for his trap.
“Remember the time when these devices were called phones? Now they are simply Internet Devices. First
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internet based text messaging replaced SMS then internet based voice calling replaced the GSM and CDMA networks. Satellite transmitted ultra Wi-Fi is all that you require. No networks, no towers, no radiation and minimal charges. Times have changed very quickly and you have adjusted well Rita,” the man continued.
“Yeah, but I still don’t approve of having children without getting married!” Rita replied, knowing exactly where he was leading the conversation.
He smiled knowingly again. He knew she was upset with Zasha for having a child out of wedlock. But he understood that marriage was passé in USA and ‘living together’ these days had all the legal sanctity of marriage.
He also knew, she would forget all her anger the moment she saw her granddaughter.
Then they saw them. They were driven out with their luggage in a small gearless, electrical buggy with the colourful Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport logo printed on it.
The woman was in her early 30s, slim, fair complexioned with sharp features highlighting her pretty face. She was dressed in designer jeans and
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a smart pink turtleneck top. Along with her was a tall, good looking Caucasian man in mid-thirties with honey blond hair and ocean blue eyes.
But the cynosure of Rita’s eyes was the 3 year old living Barbie doll on the man’s lap. She was the perfect blend of East and West. She had her mother’s features and her dad’s hair and eyes. She was dressed in a pink and yellow polka dot top with matching skirt.
“Good morning Mom,” she said “sorry to get you to the airport so early in the morning.”
“I missed you, my baby,” Rita hugged her.
“Hi, Chika Uncle, you are looking dapper as usual,” she greeted the man as soon as she got free.
“Great to see you again Zasha,” Chika responded and hugged her warmly.
Then she turned to her partner, “Mom, Chika Uncle… this is Walden Fairway. Walden, meet my lovely mom Rita and my Uncle Chaitanya Shetty.”
They shook hands warmly. Rita, despite her misgivings, felt an immediate liking for the Senior Partner in Fairway & Philipose, one of the fastest growing creative shops in the world.
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“And you my little poppet, must be Tiara,” Chika picked her up and swung her around.
Tia squealed in delight and instantly took a liking to the elderly man.
On the way home in their hydrogen powered A20 Super sedan, Rita said “I am glad you could make it for your Dad’s 60th Birth Anniversary.”
“Barely,” explained Rita, “The CLIO Awards was held late this year and even after winning the Campaign of the Year, we could not attend the celebratory party as we had to rush to the airport.”
“Yes, I saw the web cast live on my ID,” said Rita, “Congratulations to both of you!”
Zasha looked around as they sped through the maze of flyovers with imposing skyscrapers all around.
“Wow! Mumbai has changed,” she remarked.
“Yes,” replied Chika, “There is no room for the poor in the city any more. All slums and middle-class housing have been redeveloped and bought over by the rich. It is a city that’s gone from deprivation to decadence ... without bothering to create a civilization in between.”
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En route, they stopped at the cemetery at St. Peter’s Church and Rita led them to a grave. Engraved on the ornate marble cross were the words…
“A Hero lives forever”
Roy George Philipose
18 Sept 1965 – 29 Nov 2008
They lit candles, offered flowers and prayed for Roy’s soul.
“Roy would have been so happy to see you so successful today. And so would have Zaheer and Shameem,” Rita had tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Zaheer and Shameem are my biological parents,” explained Zasha to Walden, “they were killed before I was born.”
“Before you were born?” asked a puzzled Walden. “Yes. I was born post mortem,” explained Zasha.
“Chika Uncle, I want you and Mom to tell me all about those days. I am going to write a novel about your lives through the decades.”
“Sure, sweetheart,” replied Chika, “It would make one hell of a story!”
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“Have you thought of a title?” her mother asked. “Thought?” Zasha smiled, “I’ve registered it!” “What have you named it?” asked Rita. “TINSEL”.
************** THE END **************