Deja Karma

by Vish Dhamija

  ‘Sorry?’

  Moment of embarrassment. Oh Lord! Now he’ll have to repeat the question.

  He could either change course to ask something irrelevant and save discomfiture or continue with his line of proposal. He chose the latter. ‘I asked if you were free this Saturday for dinner?’

  ‘Are you asking me out on a date?’

  He was indeed a generation behind. This wasn’t the eighties; they called it “Naughties”.

  ‘Dinner, date is there a difference?’

  ‘Of course there is.’ She may have wanted to add “old fool” but she gratefully did not.

  ‘In that case, dinner,’ he meekly uttered.

  ‘Not that I’m doing anything in particular, but may I ask the reason for this generosity?’

  ‘Generosity? That’s quite an exaggeration. I’m only asking you out for dinner.’

  ‘Only if it’s not too expensive a place and we split the bill.’

  It sounded comforting that she wasn’t after his money. He was almost certain she knew his financial standing.

  ‘Why should that be of significance?’

  ‘Because you asked me out for dinner, not a date.’

  ‘Is that the difference between dinner and date?’ No sooner had the words left his oral cavity did he realise he had actually put his foot in there by asking such a foolish question.

  She smiled. But, before she could respond her desk phone buzzed.

  ‘Yes, Anita, he’s here,’ she said looking up at him. ‘I’ll send him in now.’

  ‘I thought Anita wasn’t in yet.’

  ‘She is. She usually spends the first half hour of the day on things other than seeing clients, organising stuff you see. You may go in now.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll speak to you when I come out.’

  She winked.

  God, she winked. Doesn’t controlled coquetry come with practice? It wasn’t something Manavi could attempt without years of rehearsal. That or she had expected him to invite her out. That again, needed experience to estimate.

  Dazed at her move he walked into Anita’s office.

  ‘Good morning, Jay.’ Like in a black and white film of yester-years the professional countenance of Anita superimposed on the kittenish image of Manavi.

  ‘Good morning, Anita.’

  ‘You sound cheerful today. Please sit.’ She pointed towards the sofa.

  A dinner with Manavi three days later, almost finalized. I’m not just cheerful, I’m fucking ecstatic.

  Anita poured two coffees from her cafetière into expensive china cups, which were as thin as rice paper, and brought them along to the coffee table that was between Jay and her.

  ‘How were your past six-seven weeks, since you saw me?’

  ‘Hectic. But first, I owe you an apology—’

  ‘For?’

  ‘For being such a prick last time.’ He gave an appealing smile.

  ‘I thought we had gone past that stage. No worries, apology accepted. So, why was your time hectic?’

  ‘My mother passed away.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘How do you feel about that?’

  ‘I wasn’t surprised, but I am disappointed nevertheless. In one sense she is past all suffering now, which is the only silver lining. But, if there was even one per cent of hope lingering somewhere it is now gone. It’s over.’

  ‘What hope? I don’t think we discussed anything like that?’ She flipped pages on her pad to go through her notes.

  ‘I’m sorry. Did I not tell you that I don’t believe my mother killed my father?’

  Anita closed her pad, crossed her legs — sadly for Jay, she was wearing navy trousers so he couldn’t see any skin. She let out a loud whoosh. Perhaps only now she was gathering that there were more complications in his life, more issues bothering him than she had known hitherto,

  ‘Tell me why is that?’ she began.

  ‘Sorry, why is what?’

  ‘Why do you think your mother did not do what the courts convicted her of?’

  ‘I think it was a cover up.’

  ‘As far as you told me it was only you and your parents in the house that night, so… who was the cover up for?’

  Jay Singh took a sip of the coffee and exhaled hard before he started talking about Swamijee, the visits, his interpretation of Swamijee’s surreptitious relationship with his mother and the letter he had received in the post from his mother only after her death. He pulled out the letter and handed it over to Anita. It took him twenty-five minutes to provide the balance details to her that included the pinnacle that his mother wasn’t even his mother.

  ‘So, if I understand this correctly, there was a fourth person in the house that night who, in your opinion, did the hideous deed and your own mother sought to protect him rather than tell the police?’ she asked after a few minutes of contemplation.

  Jay nodded. The last dregs of coffee were in his mouth now.

  ‘Is that what bothers you?’

  Nod again.

  ‘Does it bother you more than your father’s murder and your mother’s plight?’

  ‘Yes. While I know nothing we do now can give me back my parents or my lost years it would still be a relief to know the truth. Don’t you think?’

  Anita revealed no signs of agreement or disagreement. Talk about professionalism.

  ‘But how would you find anything now? It was a lifetime ago.’

  ‘I’ve always had an inkling that she didn’t kill him. Her letter states that she didn’t—’

  ‘She also advised you not to go looking for the killer,’ Anita interrupted.

  ‘I know, but the buried truth wouldn’t let me live in peace. It was okay when I assumed she didn’t kill him, it’s quite different when I know that she didn’t. And if she didn’t, who did? And why should he get away?’

  ‘Why do you think it was a “he”?

  ‘Just a figure of speech, though I won’t lie, everything points towards that Swamijee.’

  ‘The truth can devastate you, she’s told you in her letter.’

  ‘If she thought I was too young to remember or know about her and Swamijee, she was clearly mistaken. If the rascal has got away with my family’s ruin, I swear I will bring him to justice.’

  ‘I appreciate that, Jay, but being a successful lawyer why wouldn’t you concentrate on other positive things rather than go digging for dirt, something that happened a lifetime ago?’

  ‘Sorry Anita. Success isn’t always about career or money. I can expand my practice, and I already have more money than I could ever spend. There aren’t many more toys that I want. What would I do with more money and a bigger law practice if it cannot even buy me sleep? Maybe I should have a second bite at the cherry…’

  ‘You mean reopen the case?’

  ‘If required, yes.’

  ‘How do you even start?’

  ‘Bhīma is looking for the police officer who conducted the enquiry, that would be my first call.’

  ‘Bhīma? I thought he was your driver.’

  Jay gave a succinct account of Bhīma’s cousin, and how Bhīma came into his life and his loyalty and his dedication and his secrecy and his technical skills and his investigations without letting out the illegal methods employed. He concluded by admiring how Bhīma quadruplicated as a friend, chauffeur, security and valet.

  ‘So you trust him?’

  ‘With my life.’

  ‘Amazing, isn’t it… that you can trust someone with your life, someone who you met by a quirk of destiny?’

  ‘It is. He takes care of me like my dad should have.’ There was a smile, a pretended smile to cover up an old hurt, but a smile nevertheless.

  Jay waited till Anita absorbed what he had just said. The discussion ahead wasn’t going to be cheerful, but it was good that he talked about his father and the past. There was a long pause.

  Anita leaned back expansively.

  Was she in a listening mod
e? To allow him to divulge more?

  ‘More coffee?’

  ‘That would be lovely, thanks.’

  ‘Did you witness a lot of altercation as a child?’ Anita began after refilling the coffees.

  ‘Frequently.’

  ‘Would it be too far-fetched to assume that, in some perverse sort of way, you were glad that your father’s death ended those fights?’

  ‘I wasn’t glad. Relieved? Perhaps. But that was not how I had anticipated that they would end.’

  ‘Of course not.’

  Neither of them spoke for another full minute.

  ‘Have you met any of your friends since your mother’s death?’ Anita looked into her pad for the names. ‘Akbar Ali or Sam Cooper?’

  ‘I didn’t get a chance to see Akbar.’

  ‘And Sam Cooper?’

  ‘He came to see me when he found out about it.’

  ‘How? I thought you said you didn’t tell anyone.’

  ‘I didn’t. But Cooper has sources, more sources than I have. He knows everything about everything, especially me.’

  ‘Interesting,’ she muttered. ‘How?’

  ‘We have been close friends since college.’

  ‘But that should reveal all your past, how does he know what happened now?’ she probed.

  ‘Told you, he has sources.’

  ‘I’d like to meet him.’

  ‘Why? He’s sane,’ Jay chuckled.

  ‘For the record, I don’t see insane people and you aren’t insane either. The reason I want to see him is to know more about you, that’s all. An outside view from someone who’s been so close to you might give me a better insight or, at least, a different perspective,’ she answered sagely. ‘As a matter of fact, I want to see Akbar Ali too… if you permit me to.’

  ‘I can ask, but I’m not sure it they’ll come.’

  ‘If they want to help you—’

  ‘I’ll ask them, no promises though.’

  ‘Of course.’

  It had been more than an hour now, but Anita hadn’t bothered to conclude the session till it paused naturally. There wasn’t much else to talk about at the moment. She, he was aware, would need to analyse what he had articulated today, and he had given her lots to digest: his trust in Bhīma, Swamijee, his mother’s letter and that she wasn’t his real mother. And the poor therapist would also have to work out how to bring him back to normalcy, to a life without alcohol.

  Out of her office, Jay stopped at the reception desk. There was a middle-aged lady waiting for her turn. Manavi smiled when she saw him.

  ‘Good session?’ she asked looking at her desk clock indicating it had taken longer than the usual hour slot Anita dispersed.

  Overrun by twenty minutes. Did that mean she was engrossed in his conversation? Or had she figured out some answer to his problem?

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ***

  Manavi, disinclined to speak in the presence of another client in the reception area, passed a slip with her number on it and lip-synched: “Call me later.” She gave a playful grin.

  Jay folded the piece of paper, thanked her and walked out happy.

  She waited for him to go out of sight before she rushed to Anita’s office.

  ‘I’ll only take a minute, Anita,’ she gently said.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘I’ve been invited to dinner by one of your clients.’

  ‘Let me guess. Jay Singh?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Manavi, I am bound by an ethical code, but you are not governed by it at all, especially if he’s the one who initiated it. I know he’s single and it is entirely up to you to make that choice. I won’t discourage you, but I want you to understand you should not be doing this for our clinical practice. Personally, if you want to, please go ahead. If anything untowardly happens, anything you’re not comfortable with, walk away. I hope you’re meeting in a public place.’ Anita saw a grave impression emanating on Manavi’s face. ‘Don’t take me wrong, I’m not saying he has any wrong intent, but it doesn’t harm to play safe. And, of course if you see or hear or observe something that you think might be important to report back for his own benefit in any way, please tell me.’

  Manavi felt like the hostel warden had just granted her late night permission. Excited, the only thought that crossed her mind was what was she going to wear?

  ***

  Jay had a lot of work at the office at the moment and recognised that despite the desire, he wouldn’t be able to see Akbar Ali immediately. Moreover, Akbar, too, would be somewhere under some banyan tree toiling hard for his bread. Back at the office around eleven-thirty, he first visited the discrete windowless room set up for Kumar’s case. It was usual practice to set one up whenever they signed on a client on a potential big case: the Case Room — Jay colloquially referred to it as the War Room at times — was festooned with scene of crime photos, medical and police summaries, witness lists and statements, police investigations, clandestine private investigations so far, client profile, and various other exhibits. The white walls were completely covered with charts with information and then some.

  Walking into his own cabin, he flung his jacket on the coat hanger from a distance and winked at Julie when it wedged on the hook.

  Double-O-Seven style.

  He could bet Julie noticed the jubilance in his countenance.

  ‘Coffee, please.’

  She looked amazed at his cheery demeanour; she nodded and smiled back.

  ‘Actually, bring in two coffees, Julie. I haven’t had a coffee with you for quite some time. Also, convey to the team working on Kumar’s case to gather for a briefing at 2pm, please.’

  ‘See you in a minute, Jay.’

  ***

  Kumar’s defence case file was growing thicker by the day. Though he had had a chequered past, what with all the drinking and womanising, nothing indicated violence or any conviction. That Vinay Kumar was Gina’s paramour and her unborn child’s father was something Jay had decided to present in his opening statement at the court rather than letting the prosecution checkmate them. Concealing that bit of info would indicate guilt and if found guilty on one count it would be a hole in the defence strategy left open for the prosecution to exploit. On the contrary, if Vinay Kumar wasn’t concealing his relationship why would he resort to anything as violent as murder? However, Kumar — given his political ambitions — had to accept having a mistress in public life. But that could be cloaked as an isolated mistake. There wasn’t much choice in that matter.

  The basic structure of the case was ready, the bare bones. Truth was that Jay prepared much of such a case — one with no alibi or any other suspect to build a real defence strategy — as the prosecution started calling the witnesses. It was the best time to create holes in their strategy, not giving them time to recover. As they say, things don’t just fall into place, a good advocate fits them into place, and that was what Jay Singh was very proficient at. The only element that could spoil the party was if the missing gun turned up. However, with Kumar incessantly insisting that he was innocent, even if the gun turned up there was no reason to fret that it could be traced back to Kumar. Ironically, it was Kumar’s persistence of innocence that bothered Jay. You don’t hire the country’s best and most expensive defence advocate if you’re not guilty. Then again, if Kumar was the murderer why wasn’t he answering the door when Jay knocked and promised to represent him even if he was guilty? In fact, if he pleaded guilty to his own defence advocate and Jay still agreed to represent him then Jay could never call that out in court.

  The day in the office ended with success. Bhīma’s pigeons had finally located the retired Superintendent of Police.

  Better still, retired SP Amrit Saxena was in Delhi.

  FOURTEEN

  They finally met.

  Jay had garnered enough confidence to make that all-important call to Manavi after she had given him her number on a slip of paper. He had never actually dated anyone before, although he had had
a bit of a romantic liaison when in college, but it all evaporated post that dreadful evening. Then suddenly, there was no time, no inclination and no one to date.

  He was casually attired in jeans and linen shirt. He deliberated leaving Bhīma behind and to self-drive, but Bhīma wasn’t willing to let Jay be on his own in a public place. When he had hired Bhīma for his security Jay had wholeheartedly agreed never to jump the latter’s advice. And rightly so. Merely because there hadn’t been any untoward incident in the recent past, it didn’t mean that all the adversaries had renounced the very idea. To avoid letting his date see he was chauffeur-driven for the dinner, Jay arrived a good twenty minutes before seven. However, he knew that Bhīma would follow him like a shadow, watch him from a distance and it might be difficult, if not impossible, for anyone to miss King Kong in the Claridges’ lobby. Like a teen, Jay disappeared into the washroom for a final coif. Then he briskly walked into the restaurant to check if the table he had booked was in the less crowded corner.

  As he walked back into the lobby he saw her.

  Manavi had pulled out a little black dress that would have done Coco Chanel proud. The pencil dress was crafted from stretch fabric with a sweetheart neckline with lace — chic, not revealing. Nude legs in the Delhi weather were parked in patent croc black leather stiletto shoes. She looked a lot taller than he had imagined her in the clinic. Almost as tall as him, but that, for once, did not bother him.

  Manavi wasn’t merely another slim, petite lass. She was a hard-bodied hottie who looked like someone who regularly visited the gym and spent a few hours there. The muscles of her thighs — she flashed them from her short dress that melted Jay like chocolate in the oven — were indicators of the same. The diminutive triceps were well toned to show them off along with miles of alabaster skin. Her stride oozed confidence, what with a body and face like that; her style exuded élan and raw sexuality that could raise the testosterone level in any male within a ten mile radius. She looked anything but a shrink’s receptionist. She could walk the ramp, but for her height.

  Was that one of the attractions for the short advocate?

  “Mesmerising” was the only thought that crossed Jay’s mind. She was so well dressed — her sensuality was extreme — and for an instant he wondered if he was too casually attired, but she was already walking towards him. Her perfume hit him before she came close and pecked him on both cheeks.