Written in the Stars

by Divya Anand

‘Hi, Ash, do you have a minute? I’d like to run something by you,’ I said.

  ‘Sure, sure, come in,’ he said. I was thrown off to see Ash smiling so broadly. He could be charming when he wanted, but that usually happened after he finished chewing up some poor soul inside out. His charm was basically his way of erasing the trauma he caused when he lost it at somebody. Shirin often joked that we all had Stockholm Syndrome and that’s why we’re still here. I opened my laptop, and turned it around so he could see the screen.

  ‘So, Ash, I’ve been thinking about how we’ve been stuck at number two, and I wanted to discuss this idea to fight back . . . ’

  ‘Before we get into that Sitara, tell me, how are you doing?’ he said with a beatific smile.

  Ash never asked anyone how they were feeling or doing, ever. I blinked at him in surprise. ‘All OK with you? How are things with Harsh?’ he pressed.

  ‘Everything’s good, Ash,’ I said. ‘In fact, Harsh suggested that I come up with a proposal to address our market share problem.’

  ‘I see. Are you sure there’s nothing else we need to discuss?’

  ‘I do have some slides to outline my proposal, we could get into that?’

  ‘OK, let’s begin.’

  I heaved a sigh of relief and launched into my presentation. To my surprise, Ash was behaving completely out of character. Usually, he got into the details of every slide and asked pointed questions. Today, he was in some kind of trance where he kept nodding and smiling. He didn’t ask a single question. I wondered if all this silence was building up into one of his infamous epic rages where he would throw me out of his office for my stupidity.

  ‘To sum up, this beauty box will get us to number one and keep us there,’ I ended and looked at him expectantly.

  ‘Interesting . . . ’ he said, as he stared out of the floor-to-ceiling window behind his desk. I held my breath, hoping he liked my idea. He turned and looked directly at me. ‘We should explore this,’ he started and I cheered internally. ‘But I’m not the right person to take this call.’

  Um, what? I stared at him. What did he mean he wasn’t the right person to decide? Ash was such a control freak that he would get involved in picking the office lunch menu if he felt like, and now suddenly he was claiming he couldn’t take a call on something as big as a new product proposal? I struggled to find the words to ask him what he meant.

  ‘You’ll have to wait for a week. Our new marketing head starts on Monday. He’s an expert on the subscription business, as he’s worked for one of the world’s largest e-commerce firms. I’m going to rely on him to decide if this one makes the cut. If he approves, I approve,’ he announced.

  I had to stop myself from groaning. I would have to deal with a new ‘head’? I didn’t want a new person, who would take months to understand how anything functioned, to become the one to approve my project. This was really going to mess with my chances of getting promoted.

  ‘Why wait an entire week? I’d love to hear your thoughts right away,’ I tried to push Ash into taking a decision.

  ‘I think a beauty box makes sense. But the details have to be vetted by an expert and he decides if we should or shouldn’t launch this. Anything else?’ he asked pointedly as he opened his laptop and began working.

  ‘Anything else’ generally signalled the end of the meeting. I got up and left.

  I couldn’t believe I would have to wait a full week. And, I would have to convince some new person, whose quirks I couldn’t even predict. People from big companies always had a giant chip on their shoulder and took forever to understand how things worked in start-ups. I was walking toward Shirin’s desk in a daze when Dhruv suddenly materialized by my side.

  ‘We’re getting a new marketing head,’ he announced, with the air of someone who was doing everyone a favour by dispensing gossip.

  ‘I heard. Ash says he needs to approve my idea,’ I said. ‘Who is he? What’s his name?’

  ‘Really? I thought Harsh would let your idea fly by while I waited for the new person to join,’ said Dhruv, avoiding my question. He clearly didn’t want to give me any additional information. ‘Why is your project dependent on an approval from the marketing head?’

  I shrugged evasively and walked away. I didn’t want to engage in a longer conversation with Dhruv on this.

  Unfortunately for me, Shirin didn’t have any information about the marketing head either, which was surprising because it was so unlike Ash to manage a new hire silently. When Abhijit, our sales head, was being interviewed two years ago, Ash had forgotten to shut the door to his office. Shirin had ended up overhearing the entire conversation. There wasn’t a thing we didn’t know about Abhijit’s achievements or his eight-figure salary before he joined.

  ‘I have some news,’ she said as she waved at Upasana to join us as we walked towards the elevator. There was a Starbucks on the ground floor of our office building, and we often went there to escape the muddy brown concoction our machine passed off as coffee, as well as the prying eyes and ears.

  ‘Guess where Ash went on his ten-day break?’

  ‘I don’t know! For the first time ever, he didn’t drown us in his usual Insta-spam,’ I replied. Ash had a penchant for adding every new employee as a friend on social media, which meant we were treated to about fifty new photos a day every time he took a vacation. He was like one of those LinkedIn gurus who created a life lesson out of their daily activities. On steroids.

  ‘Apparently, he went on a ten-day retreat with some organization called the “Shape of Success”. You spend ten days in silence, eat only organic vegan food, and do yoga, meditation and what not. After Azhar cited Ash’s anger issues as the reason for his departure, the board mandated him to attend.’

  ‘Are you serious?’ I asked. ‘Is that why he’s behaving weirdly?’

  ‘Yes! How did you miss the new list of commandments on his bulletin board?’ Shirin asked.

  ‘I saw a Post-it there,’ said Upasana. She scrunched her face up as she tried to remember. ‘It had a triangle with three words on each point: Listen, Empathize, Delegate.’

  ‘Yup,’ said Shirin, as she took a sip of her coffee. ‘That’s his personalized three-point triangle, designed by the guruji who runs the organization. You’re supposed to read this as LEAD: Listen, Empathize and Delegate. Ash is working on this “Triangle of Tranquillity”, and will report on his progress. Everyone gets their own shape, and once they work through their issues successfully, they’re inducted into the guru’s “Triangle of Triumph”.’

  ‘This is bizarre. Tranquillity and Ash? That’s trash,’ I laughed.

  ‘Whatever it is, expect more bizarre behaviour. I heard him talking to HR about setting up a minicamp for the team.’

  Oh God. HR’s leadership initiatives were bad enough without Ash adding shape-filled jargon into our lives. If he was so intent on ‘delegating’ the decision-making on my project, I hoped he would display equal enthusiasm at delegating this Shape of Success workshop. I couldn’t see Harsh and Abhijit buying into this mumbo-jumbo, and I figured the new marketing head wouldn’t either.

  We had no idea what we were all about to get into.

  ‘I know I’m late, but my day has been horrible,’ I announced as I walked into Nasi and Mee, my favourite Asian restaurant in Koramangala.

  I was only ten minutes late, but my sister, Sahana, was a stickler for punctuality. I did not want to be at the receiving end of a lecture on respecting someone else’s time. Sahana stood up and gave me a hug. She picked up the bag I had thrown by the side of the table and slung it across the back of a chair.

  ‘Someone could’ve tripped,’ she said.

  I ignored her. Sahana was obsessed with ‘a place for everything, and everything in its place’. She’d sung that to me through our childhood, and effectively put me off picking up after myself when she was around.

  ‘You saw the match?’ I said as I sat down, wanting to shove the elephant out of the room immediately.

 
She nodded.

  ‘I’m happy for Arjun,’ I began, hoping that all the practising in front of the mirror was making me sound sincere. I began reading the menu to avoid her piercing stare, even though I already knew what I was getting. This place had the best pad thai in the city.

  ‘Actually, I’m happy for both of them. Of course, I don’t really know this Prianca, but she seems nice. Or rather, she photographs nice? And Arjun is a good person. OK, he’s an ok person . . . ’

  Sahana continued to stare at me.

  ‘Fine. Arjun is a rat-bastard who stole my idea and used it to propose to someone else.’

  She gestured to the waiter and placed our order without bothering to ask me what I wanted. I held my breath, expecting her to say something to me, but she still didn’t say a word. She just continued to stare. It was a time-tested strategy, designed to get me to spill all my secrets.

  ‘I’m not jealous,’ I insisted. I began biting my nails, as I was wont to do when I got worked up.

  ‘It’s no big deal that she’s younger, looks like a Barbie doll and was described by a newscaster as India’s sweetheart. I have a great job, my team is kicking ass at trivia, I have amazing friends, and what does she have? A PR-worthy engagement, followed by a wedding. And, of course, a pretentious spelling for the world’s most ordinary name. Congrats, Prianca!’

  After that rant, I took a big gulp of water and looked around. It was still early in the evening and there were very few other guests. Sahana and I lived in opposite ends of the city, so we typically met in the middle and timed it to work around the traffic.

  ‘Did I tell you? I think I’ll finally get promoted this time. I’ve figured out just what I need to do! I’m doing much better now that I’m single. Arjun was such a distraction, no?’

  Sahana raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow and made a non-committal sound.

  ‘Well? You studied psychology, so you’re my counsellor,’ I said. ‘What’s your professional opinion?’

  ‘I may have studied psychology, but I’m a practising chartered accountant. If you want my professional opinion, bring me your tax returns,’ Sahana replied.

  I blinked at her, finally at a loss for words. The waiter chose this moment to bring over our food—cucumber and avocado sushi for the table, a pad thai for me and a Thai red curry plate for her. There was also a side of honey chilli lotus stem, Sahana’s favourite. She immediately reached out to serve herself.

  ‘Come on, Sahana, tell me what you think,’ I said, as I struggled with the chopsticks, trying to ensure I got the sushi into my mouth and not splattered across the front of my dress like a toddler who needed a bib.

  ‘As though you’ll listen,’ she retorted.

  ‘I promise I will. Tell me what you think,’ I begged.

  ‘Remember my advice is that of an older sister who is concerned her younger sister has completely lost her mind.’

  ‘Fine. And your advice is?’

  ‘You’re overreacting and suffering an extreme case of FOMO, as Inaya would say. You need to get over Arjun.’

  ‘So, your best advice is basically to quote your ten-year-old daughter?’ I said.

  ‘I knew she wouldn’t listen,’ Sahana said sotto voce, as she spooned out rice and curry on to her plate. Only Sahana could find a combo of items that was as close to a home-cooked south Indian meal as possible. It looked like she was eating some version of sambhar and rice with honey-chilli chips.

  ‘Why has nobody ever proposed to me like that?’ I insisted as I twirled the pad thai around my fork. ‘I mean, it was my idea!’

  ‘Oh God,’ she sighed.

  Sahana was a great older sister. She was the apple of our parents’ eye, and smarter than me but she couldn’t help that. She was six when I was born and did not take the news well. Apparently, she had expressly requested a brother. Or a fish. Her exact words were: ‘Return this baby to the hospital shop, immediately.’ Sadly, our parents didn’t comply and I ruined everything. Or so she claimed.

  I think she got her own back by picking my name. Thankfully, she only got as creative as ‘Sitara’, a name that confused many neighbourhood maamis*, who thought my parents meant to name me ‘Sita’ and insisted on calling me that, no matter what I said. I shuddered to think what she would come up with now.

  ‘I haven’t had a promising date in months,’ I whined, wanting to change the subject. ‘I’ve stopped waxing my legs above my knees and I’ve forgotten how to kiss.’

  ‘It’s like swimming and will come rushing back when you’re confronted by the moment,’ she said dryly. ‘And waxing above your knees is overrated. I don’t either.’

  Ugh. My poor brother-in-law, I thought. And then gagged because who needed mental images of their sister having sex?! Ew.

  ‘Sitara, if you wanted to be in a relationship, you would be looking for one. You never fail once you’ve decided to go after something. Which isn’t a compliment!’

  I looked at her, my cheeks bulging with noodles.

  ‘Why not?’ I asked her, puzzled.

  ‘Are you coming on Saturday?’ she said, delicately dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. ‘We can talk in detail. Unlike today when we’ll both have to rush immediately after we finish eating.’

  ‘Actually, I have to work,’ I began. ‘I’m working on this new proposal, and Ash asked me to get the approval of the new marketing head. He hasn’t joined yet, so I’m not sure what it’ll take to convince him.’

  ‘A project approval from some new marketing head is more important than spending time with your niece?’ Sahana said. She gave me the look that I imagined got the accounting teams of companies that she audited shivering in terror and ready to spill all their secrets.

  ‘Do you want me to lie and say I’ll come?’

  ‘Your priorities are all wrong,’ she said, and I felt a rush of anger.

  ‘My work is important. This promotion is the most important thing in my life right now.’

  ‘Sitara, nothing should be more important than spending time with family. Work will come and go, but family is forever.’ I struggled not to point out that she sounded like someone who wrote subtitles for cringey Bollywood movies. That line would work perfectly for a Hum Saath Saath Hain remake. Or was it Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham? At times like this, I couldn’t fathom that the two of us were even related.

  ‘Why can’t you be supportive?’ I whined, hating myself for regressing to the child she made me feel like. ‘I’ve just had to deal with Dhruv rubbing it in my face that his project is likely to get approved overnight. Meanwhile, Ash is sending me on a wild goose chase . . . ’

  ‘I get it. Work politics are a lot to deal with, especially when you’re up for a promotion. But you have to find balance. Don’t go overboard to win. We all know how competitive you can be.’

  ‘All the evidence suggests that I am not being competitive enough at work!’

  ‘Sitara. The school banned you from the relay race in fourth standard because you kicked that other girl in the shins to stop her from participating.’

  ‘Actually, it was a lemon and spoon race. And it was an accident,’ I defended myself hotly. ‘You keep bringing that up every time you want to have the last word.’

  ‘Was hitting me in the eye with the “Q” tile in Scrabble also an accident?’ she went on, making sure to use air quotes for the word accident.

  The problem with sisters is that they know exactly which button to push. And then they push so hard, they leave a dent that remains for a few days.

  ‘I have to go,’ I said, pulling up the Uber app on my phone. I sneaked a peak at my inbox. Shit. Fifty unread emails. I’d have to do a round of clean-up tonight.

  ‘I’ll WhatsApp you about Saturday.’

  ‘You can’t disappoint Inaya,’ she said, using her ten-year-old as bribe. She pulled out her phone and called her driver.

  We went to the front of the restaurant. I looked out and realized that it was raining. As usual, I hadn’t brought an umbrella. And I
was wearing my favourite white Anokhi kurta. I would soon be looking like a vamp who’d performed a rain dance in a B-grade movie.

  Sahana quietly reached into her bag, pulled out an umbrella and handed it to me. It was definitely Inaya’s, since it featured the entire cast of My Little Pony. I silently thanked God that it wasn’t a Hello Kitty umbrella.

  ‘What about you?’ I said, suddenly wondering if my sister was sacrificing her umbrella for me. She pulled out a stylish raincoat with a hoodie. Of course, she had a raincoat and an umbrella. I was willing to bet she had spares for both items in her bag too. My sister was the perfect Girl Guide; she was always prepared.

  ‘You’re a good sister,’ I said as I hugged her. ‘Even though you quote your ten-year-old and pass it off as advice.’

  ‘You don’t listen to me, so it’s pointless to give you any advice.’

  ‘Bye,’ I called out, walking towards my cab. ‘I’ll WhatsApp you about Saturday.’

  ‘No, you’ll see me on Saturday,’ she said. ‘You complete nutcase.’

  ‘I love you too,’ I said, blowing her an air kiss as I jumped into the cab.

  5

  Your Career Will See New Beginnings

  ‘He’s here,’ Upasana announced breathlessly as soon as I walked into the office.

  She looked hassled, which was uncharacteristic for someone who was normally unflappable. Shirin was looking equally flustered. The way they were standing guard by my desk, it seemed they had been waiting for me to arrive. People were clustered into small groups all around our bay. Something was up, but I didn’t have the time. I was late and needed to get started with the day. I began checking my email.

  ‘Sitara, he’s here,’ Shirin repeated, stretching out each syllable so I was forced to pay attention.

  ‘Who?’ I asked irritably, without looking up.

  ‘Abhimanyu,’ she replied.

  ‘Abhiman-who?’ I said, finally looking up.

  ‘The new marketing head! He’s been in Ash’s office for over an hour. We’re waiting for them to surface.’

  That got my attention. Clearly, nobody was getting any work done today.