Nidhi’s eyes widened and she froze in her seat, praying to God that Vikram hadn’t heard her comment.
‘Hi, Vikram,’ Anoop said, struggling to keep a straight face, as he walked up to shake Vikram’s hand. ‘I’m Anoop.’
Nidhi stood up and turned slowly. ‘Uh, hi.’
‘Hello,’ Vikram said formally.
Phew. He hadn’t heard her.
‘I’ll show you to the green room,’ Nidhi said.
Vikram shrugged indifferently and followed her.
‘Were you stuck in traffic?’ she asked, attempting polite conversation.
‘No.’
Great. He didn’t even offer an excuse for being late.
‘Will Monty be joining us?’
‘No.’
Oh-kay! So he clearly wasn’t one for small talk.
A few minutes later, when Vikram made his way to the set dressed in jeans, a white button-down and a navy blue blazer jacket, Nidhi tried not to stare. Even in his casual attire, she thought he could easily be on the cover of Vogue.
Oh wait, he already was last month.
Nidhi was utterly surprised by his attitude during the shoot. Say what you would about his hot-headedness on the cricket field and his improper outbursts off it, in the studio, Vikram Walia was a complete professional. Aside from being extremely camera-friendly, he was responsive to the crew and, unlikely most celebrities, didn’t disrupt the shoot by constantly texting on his phone. Nidhi felt a reluctant stab of respect for his work ethic.
At the end of the shoot, they all gathered around Anoop’s monitor to go over his work.
‘The pictures look great, Anoop,’ Vikram said with genuine admiration.
‘Thanks, man,’ Anoop replied modestly.
The News Today creative director, Khalid, pointed to something on the screen. ‘How would you feel about airbrushing that?’
‘What are you referring to?’ Vikram asked, peering at the screen.
‘The scar on your eyebrow,’ Khalid clarified.
‘No!’ Nidhi burst out, before she could stop herself.
All three men turned to her in unison, surprised by the intensity of her protest.
‘Ummm,’ she mumbled, ‘I mean, I don’t think we should.’
Khalid shook his head. ‘We need a soft, happy feel to the campaign, and the scar makes him appear harsh. We should get rid of it unless, of course, Vikram has an objection.’
Vikram shrugged. ‘I don’t care, man. It’s your call.’
‘No,’ Nidhi said firmly. ‘We need the scar.’
‘Why?’ Khalid asked.
Because it’s a symbol of his strength. A talisman that represents everything he went through before he got where he is today.
Unaware of Vikram’s inquisitive gaze, Nidhi said, ‘Because it makes him seem more human. People like weaknesses and imperfections in celebrities because it takes them off their pedestal and makes them more relatable.’
‘Hmmm.’ Khalid nodded. ‘Fair enough. What do you think, Vikram?’
Nidhi thought she saw Vikram’s features soften briefly before his face became impassive and he said, ‘I think I need a drink.’
The men laughed and nodded in agreement.
‘You coming along, Nidhi?’ Anoop asked.
Protocol suggested that, as brand manager, Nidhi be present while—and pay for—entertaining the celebrity. But she didn’t want to spend any more time in Vikram’s presence than absolutely necessary, so she said, ‘Uh, I have stuff to do.’
‘What stuff?’ Anoop asked.
‘Office stuff,’ Nidhi evaded.
‘Sounds important,’ Vikram said dryly, before turning around and walking towards the green room.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ Khalid hissed in Nidhi’s ear. ‘He’s our brand ambassador. Stop being so rude!’
‘Fine,’ Nidhi muttered. ‘One drink.’
At the private room of a bar in Hauz Khas Village, seated across the table from Nidhi, Vikram watched her slender fingers wrap themselves around a lager glass. He had always seen her hands calloused from a match or swollen from a fight. He had never seen them like this—smooth, feminine, gentle. He wondered if they felt as soft as they looked.
With every subsequent minute he spent in her company, Vikram became more curious about the reason for Nidhi’s metamorphosis. Who was this prim, proper, graceful woman in front of him? And what happened to the combative little spitfire he had played sports with as a kid?
Anoop and Khalid were in an animated debate about the Indian cricket team’s performance on foreign soil, and they were occasionally drawing Vikram into the discussion. Nidhi, on the other hand, was staring into her beer. Vikram had tried to initiate conversation with her several times, but to no avail. She wasn’t being rude—no, far from it. On the contrary, she was nodding interestedly at whatever he was saying, and responding to his questions with unmitigated politeness. And her reserved cordialness was starting to annoy the hell out of Vikram.
‘I’m guessing it’s frustrating to sit around when the rest of your team is out there playing,’ Anoop said empathetically, when the inevitable subject of Vikram’s suspension came up.
‘Yes, it’s quite frustrating. But then that’s what I get for being an arrogant, self-entitled, first-rate jerk,’ Vikram said, deadpan.
Nidhi choked on her beer. Anoop and Khalid burst out laughing. And Vikram broke into a lazy smile, enjoying the flush that crept up Nidhi’s cheeks. She looked up at him, the guilt evident in her jade eyes. And the expression instantly took him back to that night twelve years ago.
Is it true, Nidhi? he had asked.
And the same guilty expression had snuck into her eyes. Yes.
Vikram’s jaw hardened and he turned away from her.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said with genuine remorse.
‘Sorry that you said it or sorry that I heard it?’ he challenged.
‘Both,’ she admitted.
‘It’s okay,’ he responded brusquely.
An instinct told Nidhi that something other than her rude comment was bothering Vikram. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asked.
‘I have a dinner appointment and I’m running late,’ he lied, irritated that she could still read him so well.
‘Does that mean Natasha Sahay is in town?’ Anoop grinned.
‘Why would . . .’ Vikram’s voice trailed off.
Right. He was supposedly dating Natasha.
‘Come on, Vikram. You can tell us—off the record,’ Khalid chuckled.
Vikram feigned a mysterious smile. ‘With you press folks, nothing is ever off the record.’
Nidhi stared into her glass, running her thumb over its rim.
Vikram stood up and reached for his wallet, but Nidhi shook her head. ‘I’ve got this.’
‘It was my idea, I’ll get it,’ Vikram said.
‘Absolutely not! You’re the brand ambassador, we can’t let you pay,’ Nidhi argued.
Vikram tossed two thousand rupees on the table. ‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said, his tone clipped.
Wary of the sudden chill in his attitude, Nidhi acquiesced. ‘Okay, I appreciate it. Thank you.’
As soon as Vikram disappeared through the back exit, Khalid turned to Nidhi. ‘What the hell is your problem with him?’
‘You are very chup-chaap today,’ Monty said between mouthfuls of butter chicken and garlic naan. Vikram had taken pity on the cook, and on poor Monty, and ordered dinner from Moti Mahal.
‘Not quiet. Just tired from the shoot,’ Vikram lied.
The truth was that his thoughts were occupied by a pair of radiant green eyes. And beautiful, slender fingers. And stunning long legs.
Did the woman have anything in her wardrobe other than short skirts? Vikram wondered irritably. Then he remembered the first night she had climbed over her gate in jeans, and a reluctant smile formed on his lips.
He looked up and found Monty watching him closely. ‘What are you thinking?’
‘How
was your appointment with the journalist?’ Vikram asked.
‘I met two of them actually—one from Hindustan Times and one from Times of India. They both think you and Natashaji look ultimate together,’ Monty said, dipping a piece of naan in his bowl of dal makhani before popping it in his mouth.
‘Yeah, maybe cool it with the Natasha stories for a bit,’ Vikram said absent-mindedly.
‘Lekin why? She is Bollywood’s switty pie and being seen with her will portray you in positive light.’
‘I thought that’s what the News Today campaign was for,’ Vikram pointed out.
‘Haan, haan. Just let me get one solid photo of you both in newspaper. Uske baad, bas!’ Monty promised, biting into a succulent kebab.
‘Which reminds me, can you call Donna and make an appointment for Nuts on the same day?’
‘Already done.’ Monty winked.
‘Thanks.’
Monty crunched a pickled onion. ‘By the way, I got a call from Mukka Supari. They want to sign you for TV campaign.’
‘No,’ Vikram said succinctly.
‘Lekin listen at least, free ka ek crore hai! They don’t even want to do shoot or anything. Just slow-motion scene of you punching Shaan Kapoor along with tagline: “Mukka Supari. Shaan Se Khao.”’
Vikram gave him a dirty look. ‘Wouldn’t that tagline work better if Kapoor had punched me?’
‘Chalo, at least your sense of humour is intact.’ Monty chuckled. ‘Vaise, Vikram, you should seriously consider changing your jersey number. This thirteen number is very bad luck!’ he said with an exaggerated shudder.
Vikram rolled his eyes. ‘You and your superstitions, Monty. It doesn’t matter if thirteen is unlucky for the whole world, it’s lucky for me.’
Monty kissed the large garnet ring on his middle finger. ‘Bhagwan bachaye.’
‘When’s the next News Today appearance?’ Vikram asked casually.
‘On Saturday at rural school, seventy kilometres from here,’ Monty said.
Four days before I see Nidhi again.
Annoyed that that was the first thought to cross his mind, Vikram dragged himself up to his room and lay down on the bed, trying to rationalize his thoughts. Why did he suddenly give a damn about Nidhi?
So what if she had pounced on Khalid for suggesting they Photoshop Vikram’s scar? And so what if it had brought back a potent memory that Vikram couldn’t get out of his head?
They were fourteen years old, sitting on his grandmother’s porch after an emotionally turbulent day. Rao Uncle had driven them to a dog cemetery where they had buried Odie. Nidhi had been crying for hours and Vikram had been trying to repress his own tears. He stroked her back and whispered soothing words to her as she buried her face in his neck and wept. When the harsh sobs subsided to feeble whimpers, he turned her chin up to face him. ‘Don’t cry, Nidhi. When you cry, your eyes look like algae floating in dirty water,’ he teased, and his heart filled with pride when she gave a small, brave smile at his attempt at levity.
‘Odie was the only one who loved me unconditionally, Viks,’ she whispered. ‘He never tried to change me.’
‘That’s not true, Nidhi,’ Vikram said, his voice clogged with emotion. ‘I also . . . I don’t want you to change.’
In a gesture of gratitude, Nidhi reached up and touched his face, running her fingertips over his jaw, gently rubbing her thumb over his scar.
That’s when Vikram leaned in and kissed her. It was a soft, fleeting kiss, with their lips barely touching. It was her first kiss, and his too.
When they parted, Nidhi looked down at her hands shyly, waiting for him to speak.
Vikram remained silent, trying to process the flood of emotions that was suddenly raging through him. In one week, Vikram had to decide whether or not to accept the scholarship to the Mumbai Cricket Academy. So far, it had been a no-brainer—of course, he would move to Mumbai and fulfil his dream of playing professional cricket.
But that kiss had changed everything. That kiss had proved that they were more than just friends. That Nidhi too felt something for him far deeper than just friendship. Vikram couldn’t desert her now, when she clearly needed him. But the strangest thing was that even at that young age, Vikram knew that he needed Nidhi more.
‘I’m leaving for Dehradun tomorrow,’ he said, struggling to remain calm under the storm of feelings that seemed to be engulfing him.
Nidhi nodded. ‘For the cricket camp.’
‘I’ll be back in five days,’ he said gruffly. ‘Can we talk then?’
‘Okay, Viks,’ she said softly. ‘Thanks for coming with me today.’
‘Odie was as much mine as he was yours,’ he reminded her with a smile.
Vikram’s chest tightened at the memory. For years, the crux of his relationship with Nidhi had been defined by what had happened on the dreadful night that had followed five days later. On the rare occasion that he did allow himself to think about her, that night was all he chose to remember. And invariably, it always drudged up the virulent hatred that he had convinced himself was the only emotion he was capable of feeling for Nidhi.
But thinking about their first kiss had reminded Vikram of all the other things he had forced himself to forget—her earnestness, her tenacity and her loyalty. It had reminded him of all the reasons they had been best friends.
Maybe, Vikram thought rationally, it was time to let go of all the negativity. Perhaps Nidhi hadn’t really meant what she had said about him back then. After all, she had been a mere teenager herself.
Whatever the case may be, Vikram realized he couldn’t keep pretending that they were strangers. It was time to put the past behind them and move on.
‘Hi, Papa,’ Nidhi said, striding into her father’s study. ‘You wanted to see me?’
Balraj Marwah nodded, gesturing for her to take a seat. He spent the next few minutes finishing the email he had been typing, before turning his attention to his daughter. ‘You have a lunch appointment with Kuku this Saturday.’
‘Who?’ Nidhi asked, stifling the sudden urge to laugh at the name.
‘Kamal Kukreja, junior partner at Marwah & Mehta. I informed you about him last week.’
‘He goes by Kuku?’ Nidhi asked, bewildered.
‘He shares his first name with one of the senior partners, so we call him Kuku to avoid confusion.’
‘Oh,’ Nidhi said, biting back a smile. ‘Unfortunately, I have a work commitment on Saturday during the day, but I can do dinner instead.’
‘Why are you working on a Saturday?’ her father asked, raising a suspicious eyebrow.
‘Because we’re visiting a rural school for a social-marketing campaign, and Saturday works best.’ No point telling her father about Vikram; Balraj had never liked him much.
‘Where is this place?’ her father demanded, standing up to his full height of six feet.
Nidhi immediately recognized the intimidation tactic, and since she didn’t want to be forbidden from going, she shook her head reassuringly. ‘It’s not very far. I’ll be back before dinner.’
‘Okay, but take Rao with you,’ Balraj said in a tone that invited no argument. ‘I’ll be operating from the Mumbai office for the next two weeks and you can make use of Rao’s services while I’m away.’
‘Will you be back in time for your check-up with Dr Krishnan?’ she asked, referring to his cardiologist.
Balraj nodded distractedly.
‘Great.’ Nidhi smiled approvingly. ‘Is there anything else?’
He shook his head. ‘I’ll ask Kuku to touch base with you. You can mutually decide the mechanics of your meeting.’
How romantic, Nidhi thought, slipping out of her father’s study.
In her room, she kicked off her heels and dialled Risha’s number.
Risha answered on the first ring. ‘How was the shoot with Wicked Walia?’
‘It wasn’t bad, actually. He was quite well behaved,’ Nidhi said, walking towards her window.
‘That’s a surp
rise,’ Risha replied.
Speaking of surprises, the next-door neighbours’ lights suddenly came on. The window was shut so Nidhi couldn’t see who was inside. Had someone moved into the Walias’ house? Had Vikram sold the house? Nidhi made a mental note to ask the Trio about it.
‘I’m thinking of throwing a party at home,’ Nidhi whispered into the phone. ‘Wanna help me plan it?’
‘No, thanks,’ Risha said dryly. ‘Talking to your dad is like taking the witness stand in court.’
Nidhi chuckled at the rather accurate description of her father’s conversation skills—a strange combination of perfunctory and peremptory. ‘Papa is going to Mumbai for two weeks, so I have the house all to myself.’
‘Oooh, sounds like fun! We can invite a bunch of NT folks and Shorty and the rest of your DU friends.’
‘Exactly. I was thinking we could do a barbecue in the garden. Do you think it’s chilly enough for a bonfire?’
‘It’s more angeethi weather than full-fledged bonfire weather.’
‘Okay, how about Friday night?’
‘Works for me!’
‘By the way, the guy my dad is setting me up with—guess his name.’
‘Ranbir?’
‘I wish.’
‘Hrithik?’
‘Guess again.’
‘Akshay?’
‘Kuku.’
Risha burst out laughing. ‘As in “Choli Ke Peeche Kya Hai”?’
‘What?’
‘Don’t you remember the prelude to the song? It went “Ku-ku-ku-ku-ku-ku-ku-ku”!’
‘Oh, God! Thanks, Rish. Now every time I say his name, I’ll hear the song in my head!’
August 2001
Diary of Nidhi Marwah
Age 13
Vikram is such a child sometimes.
The fact that Dadi calls me ‘Billi’ is something I have to live with. But now Vikram has started calling me that too! And the worst part is, the two of them keep giggling about it, like there’s some big inside joke. I asked them why they call me that, even though they know I hate cats; they said it’s a secret.
Anyway, that’s not the only reason he’s a child.
Yesterday, I gave Gaurav Sinha a photograph of me. Gaurav said he wanted to make a portrait of me because I’m pretty (which, by the way, is the first time a boy has EVER used that word to describe me), but since Papa won’t let me invite him over, I gave Gaurav my photograph instead. What I didn’t get was why it made Vikram so upset.
Man of Her Match Page 6