I had filled the box with things like a copy of Carnival of Dreams that was personally addressed to me, the hand written note T had written, a box that once held a muffin he got me, and lots and lots of dried flowers from his place. It was filling up and like my mind, I didn’t have space to properly place things there anymore.
There was no one I could talk to about this who wouldn’t blab, till Aisha came along. With her, I felt lighter and happier.
‘What if you guys end up going to Thimphu together?’ Aisha said, making a heart with her fingers. ‘Finally some alone time.’
‘With Farah? It would be like nightmare on each street. She’d make me plan everything, then get mad at me for not doing it her way’.
‘Whoa, Ruhi! Biased much?’
‘You’ve seen how she treats me.’
‘Yeah,’ Aisha said. ‘And Sonam and George and Vicki. Your interns.’
‘I’m not new. I’ve been working here for a year and at White Dog for another year before that. And more importantly, I’m her daughter. No respect.’
‘She may not want to play favourites in your office. Respect for you.’
‘She can play nice.’
‘What do you do at home together?’
‘Eat. Watch TV. Sometimes.’
‘Oh no. What about movies or meals out?’
‘We used to, before I joined Litracy. Not anymore. I like spending time working on Litracy. And now, Tejas and I catch up every night.’
‘I’m sorry. What will make you feel better?’
‘Tell me about this blog thingy, it sounds fun.’
‘So, three or four different outfits, two locations. We can shoot it here and maybe one more place. Are you writing that down in your list?’
‘No, Aisha, don’t!’
‘Is that – poetry?’
‘No, just...’ I sighed. ‘I can’t stop thinking about him, Aisha.’
‘Earth to Ruhi. We have a problem.’
4
Gritty and Indie
– TEJAS –
Tuesday, 27 June
I wonder if I can pull off horror. It’s not really my thing, but who knows? Anything to keep my mind off of the coming event.
Maybe a horror novel about public speaking. Hmm. Though I will have to address crowds in Bhutan, a change of place would be nice. Good thing it’s Mountain Echoes, not the crowded JLF.
I was on time. I blew on my coffee, waiting for Farah and the girls in the conference room, a floor above the girls’ office.
Situated in a cul-de-sac of Hauz Khas Village, it took me all of thirty minutes to get to the Litracy office from the other side of Delhi in the morning. It was raining. Ruhi had called me from the office at 8.30 a.m., an hour before office began, and told me to get there by 10 a.m. Her voice betrayed good news.
It had been six weeks since I’d been to the Litracy office. I didn’t like the place but always took an opportunity to meet Ruhi.
She’d spent the last two weeks hinting about Mountain Echoes.
Litracy was working on organising a book reading there.
Ruhi was the first to enter the room. She looked pleased with herself.
‘Mr Sahni. Good morning.’ Farah entered. ‘The newspapers and magazines reviewers have been swallowing your book like a happy
pill. Your reviews are stellar and the book is appearing in listings and recommendations. We want to confirm you for the litfest in Bhutan. The tickets are in ten days time, the first week of August. Is it okay for you to travel for a few nights?’
I nodded.
‘Very well. Aisha is available that weekend for live social media updates, and since you are the only Litracy author going to Mountain Echoes, Ruhi will be accompanying the two of you.’
I hadn’t expected on seeing Farah today. Ruhi hated these surprise visits or ‘snoopings’, as she called them. I knew, I had to hear her vent about it frequently. But this was good for Ruhi, a chance to get on the festival circuit on her own.
Farah wrapped up the meeting soon after and wanted to see the social media scheduling. She went to Aisha’s desk with her on the floor below us. I was pleased she didn’t ask me how my next book was coming along. But Ruhi did.
‘Are you thinking about going with the romance plot?’ Ruhi said when we were alone.
‘I’m going to comply with inspiration and see where it takes me.’
Over nights of endless chatting on the phone, I’d told Ruhi about my inspirational woes, having sugar-coated them of course.
‘Good. Well, decide in a couple of weeks and start writing as your next book is due at the end of the year,’ Ruhi said, as she put in her Bluetooth device and started clicking away at her phone. On the conference room intercom she instructed the Litracy interns on the rest of the day’s tasks and then turned her attention back to me.
‘I can’t believe she’s letting the three of us go without her,’
Ruhi said. ‘It doesn’t seem like my mother.’ She glanced at the empty space at the table where Farah had been sitting.
‘Things change,’ I said.
She leaned back into the crook of my arm. It was only us on the floor, we could see if anyone came up the lift or the emergency staircase through the glass walls of the boardroom.
‘You know, if this goes well, I’ll be able to get on the core team for the Jaipur Literature Festival in January.’
‘Ruhi, that’s huge.’
‘Yes. In ten years, I want to be Festival Director of my own litfest.’
‘Considering your drive, you could get there sooner.’
‘There’s no Farah sitting on your head, is there?’ Ruhi said.
‘She’s not all that bad now, maybe this will help you. You could try being at ease around her, one day at a time.’
‘I’m good now that she’s not here.’
Ruhi had been tense all through the meeting in Farah’s presence.
Now she was like a kitten lounging around.
‘What do you talk about at home with Farah?’
‘Oh office gossip, author tantrums, the news. It’s only at work she gets unbearably bossy and annoying.’
We heard the noise of the lift coming up and Ruhi jerked herself away from me. It was only Aisha.
‘I had some things to go over with you, Tejas. He’s free now, right?’ Aisha asked Ruhi. ‘Or I can come back later,’ she winked.
‘It’s okay. I, uh, I was just leaving,’ Ruhi said. ‘I have to speak to Farah before she leaves.’
All through the meeting, I couldn’t stop looking at Aisha. I knew she’d been trying to put on weight. Over the past weeks Ruhi couldn’t stop talking about how well Aisha was handling the diet, with her blog and office. The way she went on, it was as if she was infatuated with Aisha. True, Aisha had put on a little. Not that I was one to judge, but it suited her.
Today her hair was carelessly tied up, bangs were falling over her face and the back of her neck. Her face had more definition.
Aisha whipped out her notebook.
‘I’ve been talking to Ani – it’s tough to get any info out of her, so fill me in if I miss something.’
‘Yeah, she has a personality.’ I omitted the word ‘attitude’. Ani was the PR and marketing manager at White Dog, Gurgaon, who divided time between WD and Litracy and had helped Ruhi organize my launch.
‘Is that a web-chart?’ I said, looking at clouds with words like Twitter, Blog, Insta inside them. ‘Reminds me of school.’
‘It’s a mind map,’ Aisha teased. ‘Get with the times.’ She was sitting on my right.
‘You don’t have to do a thing. Just talk to me time to time. I know you aren’t into sharing details about your personal life.
I’ll help you filter what to put out there. You can just tell me about a typical day in your life.’
‘Well, I don’t have any typical days.’
‘Hm, how about what you eat, where you like to chill with your friends, your weekends.’
‘I�
�m not gonna do th—’
‘Hey, I get it. You need your creative space. But think of all the readers who idolise you, who’ve spent money on your work.
It’s to keep you in their memories. If you want to stick to your writing influences, that’s cool too. Traditional works. I promise everything I post will be gritty and indie, like your book.’
‘I can work with that.’
Then Aisha spent way too long looking at what I was wearing. Top to bottom.
‘Real subtle.’
‘Yeah, I’m just trying to get a sense of your style.’
‘I don’t have a style. I’m a guy. I have a wardrobe.’
‘Little do you know. There are guys out there, straight guys, obsessed with themselves and what they wear, to the point of annoying even me.’
‘It’s hard to believe. And how exactly do you intend to use Pinterest with my writing?’ I pointed at her chart, my hand bumping into hers, which jerked like she’d been electrocuted.
‘Sorry I, uh, sort of bumped it. You know, when I fell,’ Aisha said. That ‘fall’ was more than a month ago.
‘I want to reach your readers through all the platforms they might be using,’ she added.
‘Hm. Here’s something for you: spin it however you want,’ I said.
She leaned in, and I caught a whiff of leftover cigarette smoke.
Hers or mine, I wasn’t sure.
‘I can read people.’
‘What now?’ She was taking notes.
‘I’m not an extrovert but I’m good with people. I spend hours observing people, it transforms my writing. I can plug my ears, look at two people talking and explain the dynamic between them.
It’s useful when I’m around someone who likes me.’
Aisha inched away from me instantly. ‘Uh. Um. Okay, in Thimphu, I’ll follow you around a bit, see what you do,’ she said,
consulting her notes. ‘We can post pictures, interact with your fans.’
‘I value my privacy.’
‘I value your sales.’
‘Touché. Here’s what. You still haven’t read Carnival . Read my book and we have a deal.’
‘Done. Oh and I never thanked you for that night, taking me to the hospital.’
‘Ruhi made me. But yes, anything to get out of a party.’
‘The friends I came with turned out to be complete ditchers.’
‘Ruhi is a good friend to have.’
‘I’m happy for her. She really likes you. Maybe crossing over to the dark side is good for her.’
‘It’s not that dark, she’s still rainbow Ruhi,’ I said. ‘You should have seen her before we met. She was like a walking-talking publishing house. On cocaine. She wouldn’t go anywhere without her computer and Bluetooth device.’
‘Do you ... do you think her work would ever affect her life? I only ask you because, I mean, her mother...’ Aisha paused. ‘We need lives outside of work too. Farah is great, but she’s married to her job. And Ruhi may be going the same route, I think.’
‘Yeah?’
‘I’m not trying to gossip, just—’
‘I think Ruhi’s problem is not callousness, it’s the opposite.
It’s being too concerned with other people’s feelings. She’s the most passionate and also one of the most stressed people I know.
She likes her status as the youngest managing editor in town a lot. But yes, chilling out would do her a world of good. Like you. I know it seems like the world is eating out of your hand and it must take some work. But there’s no drama.’
A blush was making itself evident on her cheeks.
‘Thanks. Okay so this is what I’ve worked out,’ she said, pointing at her chart, brushing off what I’d said. Was I making her uncomfortable? I imagined she’d be used to attention and it would be the other way round.
‘This is how I’ve linked all your social media together, through an app called Hootsuite.’ She explained what the best kind of posts were and what grabbed the most attention and at what time.
‘Though you don’t have to worry about that,’ she continued. ‘All you need to do is write. And spend a couple of hours each week interacting with your fans and approving what I email you.’
‘Whatever you need.’
‘This was super easy,’ Aisha said, snapping her notebook shut.
‘Not at all the cryptic author everyone says you are.’
‘I am,’ I grinned. ‘You just have to get to know me.’
5
Better Ugly Than Dead
– AISHA –
Saturday, 6 July
What ’s on your mind?
How awesome is it to be working with the most eligible bachelor in publishing? Find out in my Q&A with author @TejasSahni
@TheLiterateWhiteDog – Litracy Books ’s official blog.
#LitracyBooks #WhiteDogBooks #TejasSahni #Travel #Fiction My hands were shaking uncontrollably and for the past ten minutes, I had been struggling with my mascara in Maya’s office loo.
Makeup was my best friend these days. My clothes had stopped looking good on me a while ago. As of today, even my fans had forsaken me. I could not be home alone. I didn’t know how to deal with all these feelings, I had not had this kind of problem before. All I could do was touch up my face every half an hour to avoid having a panic attack. I couldn’t get my mind off all the nasty comments I’d seen on Instagram today.
My friend Kareena, the model, wasn’t answering her phone. Neither was Kartik. Ruhi was tied up with work till afternoon, so I decided to meet Maya. At this point, talking to anybody would do.
I hadn’t met her for a while and she’d been on my case to visit her this week.
At the beginning, she’d been super nice, but crazy strict, worse than any teacher I’d ever had. She wanted to meet me every week, know every ingredient I’d ingested, and would keep calling and calling till I actually got to the appointment. She’d stalk me on Facebook and Instagram, to see what I was up to, liking everything, till I began to fear I’d see her wherever I went.
She asked me to send her photos of every meal I ate, refusing to believe I was following her diet.
The only thing that made her happy was the increasing numbers on her weighing scale. So I went to her appointments wearing my baggiest jeans with chunky jewellery beads stuffed into the pockets, my iPod and iPhone in the back pockets, and clothes layered with tank tops and tights. I’d sweat till I reached her office, but God, she had a powerful AC. She thought I was in a weird emo-fashion phase. This got me through for a while.
Of course, I was eating fruits, drinking water, my weight was increasing a few hundred grams every week, but I did not want to put on real weight. Why would I?
I had planned to continue with the charade until one fateful day, when I was driving home from work – contemplating buying little weights to put in my shoes – when I lost control of the car and blacked out in the lane leading out of Hauz Khas. Then I heard the knock on my window. I had been blocking traffic for ten minutes. I told the policeman my head was spinning, and took nearly half an hour to recuperate. He assumed it was that time of the month for me. ‘Lady police officer ko bulaoon ?’ he had said.
The car had a nasty scratch, which was a small price to pay –
literally. But I couldn’t handle the feeling of losing control.
That was when I realized that the only way out was trusting Maya and changing my weight. I tried not to think about when things would get ugly. I’d probably have to work out like crazy every day. Oh well, better ugly than dead.
I was Aisha Oberoi. I had created my brand out of nothing. I was one of Vogue India’s ‘most sought-after Delhi bachelorettes’. I could deal with the situation. Taking a deep breath and smiling at my perfectly-made face in Maya’s loo, I headed back into her waiting room.
Maya was finishing up with a client, a skinny, pimply teenage boy, who couldn’t take his eyes off me. In recognition or admiration? I couldn’t tell anymore.
&
nbsp; She signalled for me to come in. Two green potted plants framed her desk and behind it was a poster of fruits and vegetables in the shape of a heart. I felt queasy just looking at it.
‘Aisha, you didn’t have an appointment today. All okay?’ Maya said.
‘I didn’t want to be alone,’ I said after a moment. ‘I’m sure you saw.’
‘I have been noticing some of the things people are saying.’
There were scores of people commenting on my latest blog post. It was called ‘Working Beautifully’ and was a montage of my best office outfits shot at various places within the Litracy office.
True, I was visibly chubbier than I’d ever been before, but I did
not look unseemly from any angle in those pictures. It was only now, in July, that I truly felt like I was a little on the fatter side of the population.
It had gone live this morning and I’d had to spend every waking minute moderating the malicious comments like: Big, fat and juicy. Don’t work so hard, just work out. Fat-ass Aisha. You’re not confident or interesting anymore, I’m out.
‘I feel sick,’ I told Maya.
‘Did you eat today?’ Maya said, taking off her glasses, looking younger instantly.
‘I mean, I feel disgusting. Fat. I can’t deal with this anymore, I can’t. People are posting shit, I don’t fit into my clothes, I have cellulite. I don’t know what to do. I don’t look like myself.’
‘It’s hard, I know. Weight is an emotional issue for most people,’ Maya said. ‘Not physical.’
‘I am not most people. I just wish my stupid followers didn’t have to care so much about how I look. And judge me for it. I’m not forcing them to look at me.’
‘Have you thought about writing about anything other than yourself?’
‘No. That’s me, it’s what my blog is about.’
‘Body-shaming.’
‘Huh?’
‘Body-shaming. That’s the term for what people are doing. You’re under direct attack as your blog is about lifestyle.’
She pushed a bowl towards me. ‘Almonds?’
I took one.
‘People do that to singers, dancers, news anchors, makeup artists, anyone who puts themselves out there. If you’re an RJ or a poet or a doctor and you’re on social media, it’s going to happen to you. I want to say you are catering to people who are obsessed with looks and you shouldn’t expect any better, but it’s just not true. You could be an editor-in-chief like your boss Farah, put a video of her online, people will be commenting on her appearance. In fact, it’s not just body shaming. People are intolerant of each other in general. It’s something you’re going to have to get used to on social media.’
Adulting Page 3