I wound my work and within 22 minutes I was out of the office premises with Samar. This man was a live clock, but that was something I admired about him. I hated to admit that despite his arrogance, I liked a lot of things about him, like the way he trained his team. Devansh was right, every day was a new lesson with him. He was as generous with appreciation of a good job as he was with criticism. And one thing I was sure of, he wasn’t a womanizer. Generally, people with such a dynamic personality can have a girl in each hand, but either he was oblivious to his charm or he just wasn’t that type. I looked at his face focused on the road ahead, his sideview couldn’t compete with his front view. His chiselled jaw and sharp nose looked more prominent this way. His perfectly made up hair; I just wanted to tousle it, just to see how he would look in anything that wasn’t formal. Then my gaze travelled to his perfect hands on the steering wheel, how would it feel on…? Gosh. Where was it going?
“Tia, I guess you know how hard it is to convince Taneja’s, so I hope you are ready with the minutest details.”
Thanks for the interruption.
“Yes, Mr. Dixit.”
I didn’t mean to sound like a self-obsessed narcissist, but nobody ever ignored me, and I meant nobody. I got along well with almost everyone, even people who others found rude were good to me. Be it a kid or an oldie, I could connect to everyone. But Samar was an exception, he was so closed off that it was difficult to talk about anything other than work. His intimidating personality kept people at bay, even me, but I couldn’t keep quiet for a long drive of 90 minutes. I was not wired that way. So, I did what I always did. I talked.
“Are you always like this?” I asked.
“Like this? What do you mean?” He looked at me for the first time that day.
Boring. Jerk. Idiot. Gorgeous….
A lot of words hammered my mind, but I chose a mild; “Serious.”
“Serious? Well, yes.”
That was it? I should have chosen jerk.
“I can’t stay quiet for that long. I mean, I might even die if I don’t talk. Have you ever heard the story of that talkative tortoise?”
He shook his head.
I took the next fifteen minutes to tell him the story of the talkative tortoise who even lost his life because he couldn’t shut up his mouth. I didn’t see a single reaction on his face. Then I began to tell him about my school friend Jenny.
“It’s been 12 years since we moved to India and…” I stopped midsentence. He wasn’t even listening. Why was I insulting myself?
A wave of embarrassment passed through me and suddenly I wanted to cry for acting like a fool, but before I could curse myself, he said, “And?”
I gaped at him. “And?”
“You moved to India 12 years back and?”
He was listening, and he wanted to listen more? Oh my god! I was not overreacting, but it was a miracle. Really.
“Stop staring at me and continue with what you were saying.”
Oh god... My hands instantly reached to my cheeks, of course, even though his eyes were on the road he knew where my eyes were. Was he aware of every time I gaped at him?
Did I see a smile curving up his lips? He smiled? At my expense. Ouch…
“And I miss Jenny so much.” I completed the sentence and for once focused on the road ahead and not him, and I didn’t speak for quite a while, of course, I needed time to recoup from the embarrassment.
“That’s all? No more stories, I thought the talkative tortoise never stopped.”
My jaw literally dropped at his sentence, but I didn’t look at him this time.
“When I was a little kid…”
“So, you think you have grown up now?” Was he teasing me? Or taunting me? but his voice was neutral so I ignored his comment and continued. “I am glad I didn’t, but nevertheless, my dad told me the story of a boy who only worked and had no fun and how he slowly became dull.”
“So?” He acted as if he didn’t understand. He couldn’t be that foolish. He wasn’t the youngest VP for no reason. But then a miracle happened again.
He smiled again.
“And the name of that boy was Jack right? All work and no play made Jack a dull boy.” He spoke the idiom and laughed aloud.
In that moment, with the laugh lines spreading over his cheeks, he looked so different. Like a layer of ice melted to reveal the greenery hidden beneath.
And he looked…reachable…
And the hope that grew inside me was so strong and yet so fragile that it scared me.
I couldn’t bring myself to speak another word for the whole journey because witnessing his laugh changed something inside me, and I was scared I would say something that I might regret later.
Fortunately, we reached our destination before I did something stupid. I had enough time to divert my mind and my emotions.
Samar allowed me to do all the talking for the first time. He spoke only when necessary. Mr. Taneja looked impressed and walked us outside after the meeting.
“You’ll need to visit our office in Dehradun if the deal is finalized.” He said.
My smile faltered the moment I looked at Samar. His face was ashen, his steps froze for a microsecond, for a stranger it might have gone unnoticed, but I could read him. Had I been spending too much time reading him?
“We’ll see what we can do.” Samar said without any enthusiasm in his voice.
On our journey back to office he was unusually quiet, though I thought he would at least say, “Good job Tia.” or discuss something about the meeting. No matter what a jerk he was, he was generous with his criticism and compliments.
“So, finally, Jack has turned dull.” I tried to cheer him up.
“Can you please shut your mouth for a while?” His scream was loud, sharp and so…so…emotionless that it broke the budding hope inside me to pieces. I wanted to shout back but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I was so shaken up.
But what had upset him?
The meeting?
Or
The prospect of visiting Dehradun?
9. Sam
ar
The prospective visit to Dehradun jumbled up my thoughts. The deal was big, I couldn’t let it go, but could I visit Dehradun? Could I ever revisit those lanes without thinking of her?
It was almost 10 p.m. and the dimly lit streetlights did little justice to the dead dark of the night. Farther down the road I saw a girl kicking her car that broke midway. Why? Why did her car have to fail today of all days when I was already struggling to keep those memories at bay? That sight pushed against the weak restraints of my will and took me to another dark night six-years back.
“Hello, need any help?” I had pulled down my car window and peeped out in the middle of the bridge. The tall, slender beauty looked around the deserted road, maybe thinking about what was more of a risk. Taking a lift from a stranger or waiting at a dark hour on a deserted bridge. Her long wavy hairs, the big earring dangling down her ears, the small maroon bindi on her forehead, a small nose pin, and colourful bangles in her hand, and the simplicity she wore with her white chudidar and red dupatta had me spellbound. It was love at first sight. Well, maybe attraction at first sight. I didn’t’ know what love was then.
“Yeah, actually if you can drop me to someplace where I can get a rickshaw.”
“Sure, get inside.”
Her hands instantly clutched something in her purse, a pepper spray, maybe?
The moment she got inside the car her jasmine perfume filled in the air. Her hand was clutching and unclutching over her purse and when I strained my eyes, it outlined the shape of a gun.
“Don’t worry, you’re safe with me.”
“Hmmm.” She nodded nervously, her body tense and in alert mode.
I liked it that she wasn’t stupid enough to trust strangers and that she cared for her safety. Only after we reached the road with traffic, I saw her relaxing her back and her hands leaving her purse.
“Can you please stop on the side? I can g
et a rickshaw from here.”
“Sure,” I said, but before she could open the door and walk out of my life forever, I reached out my hand for a handshake.
“Hi, I am Samar, by the way. A decent guy, as you must know by now. Can we be friends?” The moment the words left my mouth I felt like a stupid teenager. But before I could pull my hand back, the soft but firm grip of her handshake surprised me.
“Simran.”
A loud horn pulled me from my reverie and I almost bumped into the divider.
I needed to get a grip before I could drive farther so I parked my car on the side and closed my eyes and took deep breaths. Simran was gone, that time was gone, but the secrets I harbour followed me. If only six-years back I hadn’t stopped my car for a girl in distress, I wouldn’t be running away, scared every moment that police would reach me with old videos caught on some random CCTV cameras.
10. The Dark R
oom
…Now
Tia feels lightheaded when she opens her eyes. Why is it so dark? Why is her head throbbing? She tries to open her eyes and it is when she fails to open them, she remembers. In that moment of realisation her heart sunk to the lowest point she’d ever felt; a scary darkness envelops her and conquers every part of her existence.
What time is it? How long has she been here? An hour? A day? A week? Her stomach grumbles and she thinks about how long a person can survive without food. She misses her mother who never allowed her to miss a meal, so much so that sometimes it irritated Tia. Now, tied up in this godforsaken place amid the pangs of hunger, fear and loneliness she craves her mother’s scolding “you can’t miss your meal dear,” her mother’s whisper almost brushes through her and she begins to cry. She cries, not only for her own suffering; but for her mother’s as well. She remembers the shadow of dread that passed her mother’s face every time Tia talked of the stalker. Then a weak hope raises its head; police must be searching for her. And immediately another thought, a stronger one that overrules her hope; what if she was taken far away from the reach of the people who love her? She holds onto the fragile thread of hope; they will find her, people who love her, they will save her. Samar will find her, her family will find her, Kiara will find her.
Suddenly, a leather gloved hand rests on her cheek and yanks her out of the faintest dreams she had begun to weave.
The touch passes like an icy blade through her. She tries to shout, but even her voice fails her. Unlike her eyes and her hands, her voice is restrained by something stronger, deeper, darker; Fear.
Dread creeps over her like tiny insects crawling over her, numbing her brain. With her brain frozen, her body spills out of control and begins trembling once again.
She is pushed downwards, and she feels something is being slashed. A big chunk of her hair falls on her hands that are tied behind her back. The scream that is locked in her throat echoes through every muscle, every bone. She is again trembling, sweating, and struggling to speak.
She is sweating so much that her silk top has stuck to her body. The smell of her own sweat disgusts her. The captor’s leather gloved hand again pushes her head below and her lips touch the food on the plate. She isn’t hungry, or maybe she is…it has been… she has no idea how long she has been lying in this jilted place, she was unconscious for most of the time. She shakes her head, but then a sharp knife touches the skin of her neck and then slowly penetrates the top layer, a cry escapes her throat, but when the knife begins to pierce, she picks up the food from the plate with her mouth.
Lasagne. Her favourite.
Not anymore.
Every time she stops, there is a slash, sometimes across her wrist, sometimes her hand, other times her calf.
The pain is so intense, so deep, that her body jolts out of the numbness that had consumed her. Wasn’t she the one who supported the theory that emotional pain was deeper than physical pain? How naïve she had been. The pain of the slashes is almost killing her. But then, in some corner of her mind, she is aware that every scar on her body is photocopied in her mind too, where it would stay forever.
After the torturous meals, she thinks her trauma for the day is over, but then those hands come for the button of her shirt. She finally finds her voice and screams, “NOOOOO”
She struggles violently… a thousand times more than a chained blindfolded malnourished girl can actually revolt. She even tries to bite her captor, but all she tastes is the bitter leather of his jacket. Then a hand pushes her down forcefully and she feels a prick in her arm. Her energy drains out and she begins to drift into a daze, lying somewhere between the land of conscious and unconscious.
A music plays in the background. This time the voice is of a little girl.
"I don’t know anymore
If I nurture my feelings or my feelings nurture me.
I don’t know anymore
If I destroy my feelings or my feelings destroy me."
Tia always loved kids; she had loved the lisp in children’s voice. But not anymore. She is vaguely aware of someone unbuttoning her before she drifts away.
She isn’t sweaty when she wakes up, she smells of roses. But she feels like filth. Garbage.
The loud wail that impregnates the air is alien to her own ears. The hatred coursing through her veins alters the very fabric of her soul. The innocence that defined her is shredded to pieces. She isn’t raped but is dishonoured.
And damaged.
Beyond repair.
11. Tia
Then…
Samar was tossing the paper weight on his table, lost deep in thought when I entered his cabin.
“Someone is sending you roses?” His expression was grim, and his eyes were fixed on the paperweight he was still tossing.
Who the hell told him and why the hell did he need to know? He didn’t have the courtesy to even apologize to me after insulting me so badly, not that he didn’t’ get a chance in the last 10 days. And now, when I decided to keep my conversation restricted to work, he was inquiring about my personal life.
You jerk, stay out of my life, I wanted to shout. “I think someone from the office is playing a prank on me.” My tone was flat.
“How can you be so sure?”
“I am not sure.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” His hands finally became stagnant on the paperweight and he looked at me. It was one of the rare moments when his eyes weren’t detached, the concern in them made me weak, made me want to share every little thing with him. Why the hell did he have that control over me? I needed to get free from it.
I folded my hands across my chest and tried to veil my emotions. “And why am I supposed to tell you?” My words came out harsher than I intended, but I didn’t regret them.
“Because I...” His gaze dropped back to that stupid paperweight on his table. His face tensed and his internal struggle showed in the creases on his forehead. When did I begin to understand him so well? Whatever, having some control over his emotions satisfied me. I wasn’t the only one lost here.
He got up and took three steps towards me, now he was just at an arm’s length, but he didn’t stop. One more step…and one more, now he was so close that his aftershave filled my nostrils and if I leaned just one inch, my head would rest on his chest. The thought was so tempting that I had to use all my restraint to not give in. He looked straight into my eyes and I swallowed because with every passing second, I was losing it and it was just a matter of time before…
“I am your boss.” He said indignantly.
Jerk.
I stepped back because no matter how much his statement pissed me off, I didn’t trust myself near him. “This is not work related, I am only obliged to report my office work to you.” I challenged his stare, tears stinging my eyes.
“Yes, but while you are in office, your safety is my responsibility.”
Arrogant. Idiot. Jerk.
“Don’t worry, I can take care of myself.” I turned around to leave because my tears were threatening to break free a
nd I couldn’t let him see how much he could hurt me. If only he could have said he cared.
“But it won’t hurt to be careful and to ask for help if you need it. Right?” His voice turned soft.
“I have people in my life to take care of me.” I hoped he didn’t notice the crack in my voice. I wasn’t sure why I turned around to look at him and why the hell the disappointment on his face affected me the way it did.
“Good for you.” His voice didn’t hint at any emotion, but I knew him too well to trust that now.
I stepped out of his cabin just in time, because one rebel tear had finally broken free.
He didn’t overload me with work that day. In fact, my work was finished way before my office hours and for once, I reached home before night had crept in.
The next day CCTV was being fixed in the basement, so I walked to the security man and taunted him. “So, finally someone complained that there was no CCTV in the basement?
His answer sucked the air from my lungs.
“No, Samar Dixit from Zenith Marketing firm paid for it personally.”
I never found any rose on my two-wheeler thereafter.
12. Tia’s Moth
er
It was a Sunday morning. I was baking lasagne. Tia’s favourite. I mentally prepared myself for a rambling from Avinash that I love Tia more and I always made her favourite. I also readied my answer that the day before yesterday I made garlic bread, his favourite, not Tia’s.
Despite being 16, Avinash sometimes acted like a 10-year-old. And Tia? Gosh, she was a still a baby. How did my kids grow up to be so innocent in a world where people had layers beneath layers?
Dev thinks I worry unnecessarily, especially about Tia.
Beyond Lies Page 3