‘No, I don’t!’ she denied hastily.
‘Clearly, you do,’ he said, his voice deep.
‘I read it in a magazine,’ she clarified.
‘Really?’ he drawled, sounding amused. ‘Which magazine?’
‘Sports . . . something,’ she mumbled.
Vikram’s lips twitched with laughter. ‘Sports Something. Sounds important, I better buy a subscription.’
‘I don’t remember the name of the magazine,’ she said, flushing a deep shade of red. ‘Maybe it was in the newspaper.’
‘Not possible,’ he said blandly.
‘It’s not possible that a journalist asked you what food allergies you have?’
‘It’s possible they asked me. It’s not possible I gave that answer.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I co-own a seafood restaurant in Mumbai and the PR team has explicitly asked me not to mention the allergy.’
‘Oh.’
Amusement danced in Vikram’s eyes as he leaned in and murmured, ‘Why don’t you just admit that you remembered?’
Nidhi rolled her eyes. ‘Okay, so I remembered! What do you expect? It’s the first time I saw someone go into anaphylactic shock!’
‘So why did you lie about it?’ Vikram asked, wiggling his eyebrows.
‘Vikram!’ Dibakar’s cheery voice interrupted their conversation and Vikram groaned inwardly. ‘I must introduce you to someone very special,’ Dibakar said, dragging him away for another session of mingling.
Being kicked off the team was really beginning to suck.
The next time Vikram saw Nidhi, he was no longer just mildly concerned. He was extremely worried.
She was, to put it delicately, pissed drunk.
Vikram charged towards Sam, who was trying to help Nidhi into her car and failing miserably.
‘I’ll take it from here,’ Vikram told him.
‘But I need, need, need to get her inside the car,’ Sam slurred.
Nidhi guffawed even as she started singing, ‘Aaja meri gaadi mein baith ja, aaja meri gaadi—’
Vikram groaned. ‘I’ll handle it, Sameer. How are you getting home?’
‘. . . mein baith ja. Long drive jayenge—’
‘Car,’ Sam said.
‘. . . full speed jayenge—’
‘You’re not driving back.’ Vikram frowned.
Sam shook his head. ‘Never drink and drive. My chariot awaits.’ He gave Vikram a funny little salute and stumbled towards his cab.
‘Stop interrupting me,’ Nidhi growled. ‘It’s my favourite song in the whole world! Aaja meri gaadi mein—’
Vikram clamped a hand over her mouth and Nidhi’s eyes widened in surprise.
‘Shhh,’ he said softly, helping her settle into the back seat, before walking around the car to sit next to her.
‘Is she okay, Vikram Baba?’ Rao asked, flicking a concerned look at Nidhi.
‘She’s fine, Rao Uncle. Just drunk.’ Vikram sighed, closing his door. ‘Let’s go home.’
As the car sped down the highway, Nidhi whispered, ‘Vikramaditya?’
Vikram turned to her, startled by her use of his full name. ‘Yes?’
‘I’m not drunk.’
‘Of course, you’re not,’ he said, thoroughly amused.
‘No, I’m serious. I’m not drunk and I can prove it. Ask me anything,’ she demanded.
‘Anything?’ he asked softly.
‘Yes. Like the square root of 350.’
‘Okay, what’s the square root of 350?’
She furrowed her brow. ‘I don’t know.’
Vikram laughed.
Nidhi slid a little closer to him. ‘Can I ask you something?’
‘Anything.’ He smiled.
‘What’s Sachin Tendulkar like in real life?’
‘You know what he’s like on TV?’
Her green eyes widened with wonder. ‘Yeah. Super nice.’
‘He’s ten times nicer in real life.’
‘Kinda like you.’ Nidhi giggled. Oblivious to Vikram’s look of surprise, she continued, ‘I’ve never met Sachin. He’s too important to come to the NT office. Even when I worked in the Mumbai office, he never—’
‘You worked in Mumbai?’
‘Yes, for six months. But he never came to the NT Mumbai office. He only—’
‘Did you like it?’
‘Did I like what?’
‘Did you like Mumbai?’
‘Not really. Mostly because I didn’t get to see Sachin. He only visits important newspapers like the Times of India and Hindustan Times,’ she said, scrunching up her nose.
Vikram smiled. ‘You can come to one of my matches. I’ll introduce you to him.’
The words were out of his mouth before he realized what he was saying. Did he just invite her to come watch him play?
What next, Walia? Blowing her kisses from your bat?
Nidhi inched closer to him. ‘Can I ask you something else?’
‘Sure.’
‘What hair products do you use?’
Vikram choked. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Because your hair always looks so perfect!’ she complained, throwing an envious look over his well-coiffed brush-up.
‘I, uh, have a regime,’ he admitted awkwardly.
‘Yes, I saw the photo essay in Delhi Today this morning: “How to Get the Walia Look in Under 5 Minutes”,’ she said, raising her hand and spreading her fingers wide to indicate the number five.
Vikram gave an embarrassed laugh and laced his fingers in hers, bringing their interlocked hands down to rest on his knee. ‘I happen to have a good hairstylist.’
‘Can I tell you a secret?’ Nidhi whispered, resting her head on his shoulder.
‘What?’ he whispered back.
She giggled. ‘You smell really good. Like waves crashing on the beach at night.’
‘You smell really good too,’ he said with a tender smile.
‘But you smell much better than me!’ she protested.
Vikram’s features softened. ‘That’s impossible.’
Nidhi slanted him a sceptical look. ‘Why?’
‘Because nothing in the world smells better than you.’
‘Nope. You smell twenty thousand times better than me.’
Vikram laughed. ‘You’re always saying stuff like that.’
She gave him a quizzical look. ‘Stuff like what?’
‘“I’ve told you five million times”, “I’ve been waiting for seventeen hundred hours”, “You smell twenty thousand times better than me.” Stuff like that.’ He grinned.
‘Well, you do smell better than me. Although . . .’ her voice trailed off.
‘Although?’
‘Although I liked you better when you smelt like a cricket field,’ she confessed.
‘So did I.’
She shook her head. ‘Not the smell of you, but the you of you.’
Vikram felt a pang of emotion. ‘I’m still me, Nidhi.’
She snorted. ‘You pose on magazine covers and date Bollywood actresses. You’re hardly the Viks I used to know.’
A thrill of pleasure shot through him at her use of his childhood nickname. ‘You called me Viks.’
Nidhi smiled and broke into the all-too-familiar jingle at the top of her lungs. ‘Viks ki goli lo, khich-khich door karo!’
Oblivious to Rao’s look of unconcealed delight in the rear-view mirror, Vikram draped his arm around Nidhi and pulled her close. ‘That’s my favourite song in the whole world,’ he said with an affectionate smile.
Nidhi’s eyes lit up. ‘You should be the brand ambassador of Vicks ki goli!’
‘Great idea.’ He chuckled, pressing his lips to her forehead.
She peered at him curiously.
‘What?’ he asked.
‘Your smile is quite . . .’
Vikram raised an eyebrow. ‘My smile is quite . . . ?’
‘Awry.’
‘Yours is quite perfect,’ he said so
lemnly.
She snuggled into his chest and sighed contentedly.
By the time they pulled into the Marwahs’ driveway, Nidhi was fast asleep in Vikram’s arms. Careful not to wake her up, he said softly, ‘Rao Uncle, can you please get the door? I’ll carry her.’
He scooped her up in his arms, carrying her out of the car and up one flight of stairs.
He laid her on her bed, took off her earrings and heels, and tucked her into the block-printed dohar blanket. He perched next to her on the bed and brushed his knuckles over her cheek. Her eyes fluttered open and she gave him a sleepy smile.
‘Go back to sleep,’ he whispered.
Nidhi’s eyes widened. ‘Risha is right.’
‘About what?’
‘You are hot,’ she said in disbelief.
Vikram muffled a laugh. ‘I am?’
She nodded and raised her hand to his face, gingerly tracing the outline of his rugged jaw with her fingertips. Her eyes darkened as she placed her thumb over his scar, rubbing it softly.
Vikram inhaled sharply, and she withdrew her hand with a shy smile. He leant down slowly, his lips mere inches from hers, his breath mingling with hers.
‘You can’t kiss me!’
Vikram’s eyes snapped open and he raised his head in confusion. ‘Why not?’
‘Because,’ Nidhi confessed in a clandestine whisper, ‘I’m not a good kisser.’
‘I seriously doubt that,’ he said with an indulgent smile.
‘No, it’s true,’ she assured him. ‘Remember the last time we kissed?’
Did he remember!
Vikram nodded. ‘We were fourteen.’
Laughter lurked in her jade eyes. ‘It was so bad that you decided to never speak to me again!’
‘That wasn’t the reason and you know it,’ he said coolly.
‘I mean, it was one thing to break my heart, but you didn’t have to come barging into my room to tell me—’
‘WHAT?’
‘. . . that I’m the worst kisser in the world!’ she finished.
Astonishment swept over Vikram’s features. ‘Nidhi, what the hell are you talking about?’
‘Okay, maybe I’m not that bad. I’ve had some practice since then.’ She giggled, sliding her arms around his neck.
His voice went up an octave. ‘What did you mean by that?’
‘I’ve kissed four boys!’ she said proudly. ‘And I’ve had sex with—’
‘Nidhi!’ he snapped in annoyance. ‘What do you mean I broke your heart?’
Nidhi tugged at the front of his shirt, jerking his head down to hers. ‘It doesn’t matter. Let’s kiss and make up.’
Vikram grabbed her wrists and pressed her hands firmly above her head. ‘Stop it!’
‘Fine.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I’ll just kiss someone else.’
‘The hell you will,’ he growled.
A minute ago, Vikram had wanted nothing more than to kiss her, but her unfair accusation had thrown him completely off course. Now he wanted—needed—to know what she had meant by that statement. What did she mean he had broken her heart? What strange and twisted version of that night did she believe?
Vikram debated whether to prod further or to postpone their discussion. A moment later, she made the decision for him when she wriggled free from his grasp and murmured, ‘My head is spinning.’
Vikram nodded and stood up. ‘You should get some sleep.’
‘Goodnight, Viks.’
‘Goodnight, Nidhi.’
As he walked out of the room, he thought he heard her hum in her sleep. ‘Viks ki goli lo . . .’
January 1991
‘Please, Arti,’ Balraj begged. ‘Don’t do this to us.’
She stared at him with the same vacant expression she had worn for over a year. ‘I’m not doing anything.’
‘The doctors said that the medication takes time. It’s a phase—a difficult one—but it will pass, sweetheart,’ he pleaded.
Arti gave a mirthless laugh. ‘You don’t understand. I don’t feel anything.’
‘Is it because her first word—’
‘You don’t get it. I don’t care that she said “Papa” instead of “Mama”. I really don’t,’ Arti said without emotion.
Balraj’s voice was strained. ‘It takes some women several years to recover, Arti. And until you feel better, you don’t have to be around Nidhi. I’ll take care of her, I’ll do everything.’
‘You already do everything,’ Arti said with a hollow laugh.
‘Please, sweetheart. Just give it some more time,’ Balraj choked, realizing that he was about to lose the battle. Realizing that he was about to lose his wife.
‘You are a kind man, Balraj—the kindest I know. You are funny and sensitive and handsome. Someday, you will make some woman very happy,’ Arti said, her expression blank.
‘Arti, no! Don’t say that,’ Balraj implored, dropping to his knees before her. He darted a glance at the crib where their daughter slept and lowered his voice. ‘I’ll do anything.’
‘There’s nothing you can do. I have dreams.’
‘Dreams?’
‘Dreams beyond this life—’
‘And I will support those dreams!’ he promised fiercely.
‘I know. But I don’t trust myself to pursue them while I am still your wife and still her . . . mother,’ she said, choking on the word.
‘Take some time for yourself,’ Balraj said, trying desperately to make her stay. ‘I’ll give you your space. I’ll give you the money to spend your time anyway you like. I’ll give you—’
‘I don’t want anything from you except my freedom,’ Arti said, the stone-cold expression never leaving her eyes. ‘I’m sorry for any pain I’ve caused you.’
‘Don’t do this to us,’ he whispered, his voice strangled with anguish.
‘Goodbye, Balraj,’ she said, quietly walking out of the room.
Several minutes passed and Balraj stayed hunched on the floor, staring at the carpet Arti had bought on their honeymoon. He watched the rust paisleys swirling against the beige background, like fiery rebels in his idyllic world.
Nidhi gurgled, interrupting his abstract thoughts. Balraj panicked. When did she wake up? What did she see? Although he knew that his daughter was too young to have grasped very much of his argument with his wife, he was still anxious.
Balraj stood up and walked to the crib. He gathered Nidhi in his arms and gave her a little kiss on the cheek. ‘Good morning, my Needle-in-a-Haystack!’
Nidhi giggled at the nickname, taken from a bedtime story they had read. ‘Why you caw me that?’
‘Because I spent years looking for you and then I finally found you.’
‘Oh. I thaw because Needle sounds like Nidhi,’ she said.
‘That too, baby.’ Balraj smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
‘Where Mama?’
‘She’s . . . gone,’ Balraj said.
Nidhi nodded. ‘Okay.’
‘Do you miss her?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘Nope.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I gaw you,’ Nidhi explained with a toothy grin.
Balraj gave her a tender smile. ‘And I’ve got you.’
And, he promised himself silently, I’ll never let you go.
March 2014
At the Starbucks located in the Outer Circle of Connaught Place, Risha and Tanvi sat at a corner booth listening to Nidhi’s phone conversation with matching expressions of incredulity.
‘Yes, Papa. Okay. Of course, I will. I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have left if it wasn’t important. No, that’s not what I meant. Of course, his time is important. Yes, I will. Okay, right away. Did you take your medicines? I’ll call you again at night to check. Yes, everything is fine at home. Yes, I have. No, of course, I haven’t. I’ll see you next week. Bye, Papa.’
Nidhi hung up the phone and took a large swig of her vanilla soy latte. She looked up and saw the looks on her friends’ faces.
‘What?’
‘That conversation was more painful than my morning meeting with Lady K,’ Tanvi said dryly.
‘He wants me to go out with Kuku Kukreja again!’ Nidhi groaned.
Tanvi choked on her macchiato. ‘That is the worst name ever.’
Risha took a bite of her double chocolate chip brownie and nodded her agreement. ‘The worst.’
‘So why does your dad want you to meet him again?’ Tanvi asked impatiently.
Nidhi bit her lip. ‘Because he thinks it’s unfair to make up my mind after an incomplete date.’
‘Come on,’ Risha said. ‘When you know, you know.’
A shadow crossed Tanvi’s face. ‘And when you don’t, you don’t.’
An uncomfortable moment passed.
Risha spoke softly. ‘Hey, Shorty. That’s not what I meant.’
Tanvi forced a laugh. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
Nidhi and Risha exchanged a concerned look. Tanvi and her boyfriend Udayan ‘Uday’ Sen had been together for nearly three years, but Uday was unwilling to commit to anything serious. In the entire duration of the relationship, Nidhi and Risha had met Uday all of two times, which was still two times more than Tanvi’s family had met him. The girls didn’t know him all that well, but sensed strife in the relationship, and since Tanvi wasn’t really one to talk about her feelings, they wisely avoided the topic.
Risha popped the last bit of the brownie into her mouth and responded to Nidhi’s unspoken request for advice. ‘I think you should be honest with your dad. Just tell him that Kuku is not the right guy for you and meeting him again won’t change your mind.’
Nidhi nodded, even though she knew she wouldn’t be having that conversation with her father anytime soon. He had sounded extremely upset on the phone and Nidhi didn’t want to stress him out further. She would meet Kuku once more and give him a fair chance.
Risha saw the range of emotions play across her friend’s face and guessed, quite accurately, Nidhi’s next words.
‘Maybe that evening was an outlier and he’s actually a nice guy,’ Nidhi said, forcing a smile.
‘Maybe,’ Tanvi said, even though she didn’t believe in ‘nice guys’, and doubted that Kuku was one.
‘Hey, if all else fails,’ Risha said with a grin, ‘there’s still Sam!’
That evening, when Nidhi reached home, Rao Uncle opened the door for her with an exaggerated flourish.
Man of Her Match Page 11