The Promise

by Nikita Singh

  Sometimes, it is not so much about the things that we say, as it is about the things we do not. For those who try to listen, silence speaks louder than words.

  t first, she thought she had imagined the sound that woke her up. But then it happened again. She blinked and got half up on her bed, turning on the bedside lamp as she did so. She thought maybe it was the thirst that woke her up; June 2010 was one of the hottest summers Indore had seen. It took her a moment to realize that it was not the thirst, it was a noise-a wail. An old man's wail, coming from the adjoining room. Dad.

  Shambhavi jumped out of her bed and rushed to his room. She flung the door open and fumbled with the switchboard to turn on the light. Her father was sitting up on his bed, groaning. He seemed to be in agony and she ran to his side.

  'What's wrong? Dad, where does it hurt?' she asked.

  Her father kept groaning.

  'Do you need to see a doctor? Are you feeling strong enough to come with me to the hospital? Can you hold on till that long?' she shot a flurry of questions at him. It was not a time to panic, but she could not help herself from doing so. Her mind started working overtime as she started coming up with ways to solve the problem at hand.

  He shook his head and let out a yowl.

  'Do you need water? Where are your pain meds?' she inquired and poured out water from the jug into a glass.

  'I ... don't ...' Mr Sen tried to say something but did not seem to be able to put words together.

  'Where did you keep them? Don't you remember? Please, at least try to ...' she paused what she was saying when she saw the look on his face. He seemed to be in more pain than she had first thought. 'I'm calling an ambulance.'

  'I'm never going to forgive you. You know that, right?' Shambhavi asked, hands on her hips, staring down angrily at her bedridden father, in his hospital ward.

  'Why? What did I do?' he asked, with his best innocent-look on.

  'You don't know what you did? What about that little stunt you pulled last night?'

  'I didn't do that. It happened to me. Can't you see-I'm the victim here?'

  'Cut it out, Dad. I know you were seeking attention from me. You could've just said so, you know? You didn't have to make me drag you to the hospital.' Shambhavi pouted and sat next to him on the bed.

  'What can I say? I was desperate. My precious little daughter was so busy with work, she ignored me all month,' he smiled.

  'Week, not month. And I was seriously busy with work.'

  'That's what I said.'

  'Whatever. You keep continuing your drama, and one of these days, I'm going to get you a private room at the hospital. Then I will be able to live my life in peace,' she threatened.

  'Hasn't that been your lifelong dream?'

  'Hmm,' Shambhavi said and got lost in her thoughts. In the panic of the previous night, she forgot that she had a meeting at the factory that dealer she met had referred her to. Her client would not be happy.

  While Shambhavi wore a worried expression and her brain got to work, trying to find a way of rearranging the meeting, her father studied her. She had never been so serious about work and life, in general. Recently, she had been too driven to get everything in place. There was an invisible power pushing her every second.

  'So, what's going on with work?' Mr Sen decided to prod.

  'Huh?' Shambhavi came out of her trance.

  'Work. Weren't you decorating a rich man's new mansion?'

  'I was, till yesterday. I'm sure he's going to fire me if I don't deliver even today ...'

  'Fire you? That bad, eh?' her father asked.

  'Pretty bad. It's not him; it's his wife. The woman just doesn't like anything I show her. I have shown her the catalogues from every single furniture manufacturer and seller in the city. Imported, she won't accept. She doesn't like the pieces some freelancers from around the area had sent over. God knows what she wants.'

  'Get her something custom made. These big people-they just want to have everything unique. Give her something no one else has.'

  'It's easy to say. I have tracked down some local carpenters, but their work isn't that neat. Those who deliver decent results, take months to develop designs into the final product,' she complained.

  'And who's designing these pieces for you?' Mr Sen asked.

  'I am.'

  'Oh, so this is going to be permanent-interior designing?'

  'Yeah, I presume. As permanent a career option as anything can be with me. This is my ... thirteenth project, I guess. And I'm having fun with it. Plus it has a decent pay packet. Thank God I did that first stint at the Vermas' place,' Shambhavi mused. The Vermas were a reputed, rich family in the city and their son, Nakul, was friends with Shambhavi. When they were renovating their townhouse, Nakul was against everything their designer suggested. He did not have a problem with that designer doing anything with the rest of the house; he just didn't want her interfering in his space. So when he heard that Shambhavi was interested in interior designing, he offered her the job to furnish his personal suitea living area, a bedroom, a study, a walk-in closet and a huge washroom-and she grabbed it. He hated his decorator with a passion. 'Anything would be better that that crazy woman's rich and sophisticated choices. Please, do anything with the room ... just don't pick anything elegant and tasteful. That designer mom hired is a lunatic.'

  Shambhavi had replaced the refined (read-dull) furniture for vibrant chic designed, picked up pieces from several showrooms across the city and it had turned out to be awesome fun. Everyone had loved it. She felt like she had cheated; it had all been so very easy to achieve. Finally, she figured that art is just overrated. You just need to have an aesthetic sense and an eye for beautiful things and everything else falls into place. Shambhavi had seen it as an opportunity to spend bucketsful of cash on buying really expensive stuff and arranging it beautifully around the mansion and actually getting something more than fun out of the process - an income and reputation as an interior designer. She had no reason to refuse. And that was how her stint with interior designing started.

  Truth was that she was really good at it. Interior designing was just a bigger canvas for her to paint on and as she began doing more of it, she eventually fell in love with it. Her most recent job was furnishing Mr and Mrs Ahluwalia's massive mansion, which they wanted to convert into a bed-andbreakfast.

  They offered her twenty per cent to help furnish their entire mansion, from their budget of four crore rupees. That was her biggest offer till date. Her growth as a designer showed in her work and she was driven to give her best in every assignment she took up. Her passion had begun to grow, as she began getting better at it. She was excited about the Ahluwalia project.

  Although, what she had not foreseen was the amount of trouble Mrs Ahluwalia would cause.

  'So, what is the plan now?' Her father's voice brought her back to reality.

  'I was supposed to meet Mr Datta this morning. He is the owner of Datta Enterprises.'

  'Oh, DE? I've heard of it.'

  'Everyone has. It's a national brand. They also export classical Indian pieces abroad, I guess. Anyway, they have a different way of working. Mr Datta started the company all by himself, in a rundown garage a long time ago. He used to do everything himself. It is said that there is no match to the kind of wood carving he does, and so his business began to grow. Now they have this reputation of being really exclusive and expensive. It's hard to get even one of his pieces; they are all pre-booked since months before they are built. The weird thing is that they still operate from their first, and only, factoryhere at Indore.'

  'Wow. Someone seems to have done her research. How do you know so much?'

  'Tutul briefed me yesterday. She does that to me before I meet people,' Shambhavi explained. 'So, the thing is-these people have a different way of operating. Also, their furniture isn't the imitation of modern-day Western style of furnishing. They have the Indian ethnic touch to it, along with the sleekness of state-of-the-art designing.'


  'You know what-it's all very impressive, but it sounded rehearsed. Have you by-hearted their brochure?' Mr Sen chuckled.

  'You don't get it, Dad. You need to be serious to do serious business and make big bucks.' Shambhavi laughed with him.

  'Of course. Who would know that better than you?'

  'Exactly. You just wait and see how I build my empire, not slowly and steadily, but aggressively and furiously. Just like this Datta guy. I don't even know his first name, by the way,' she frowned.

  'Very serious about work, I see,' her dad poked.

  They played around for a bit, which was followed by a silence. They both knew what the other was thinking. They had kept the topic closed, but she really needed to know.

  'How are you feeling, Daddy?' she asked slowly. She looked at him, her questioning eyes a little sad, as she waited for his response. He did not reply. He never did.

  He just nodded silently.

  'Take care of her, okay?' Vikaas asked Shambhavi.

  'Yes, yes, I will. She's safe in my hands, I promise,' Shambhavi laughed, pulling a crying Mili to herself. She was amazed that she had found time to meet the lovebirds at the airport. But she was glad she could make it and be there for her friend.

  'I need to check-in now. There's no time left,' Vikaas looked at his watch and said.

  Shambhavi immediately let go of Mili and turned around on her feet, with her back towards them. 'Kiss and do your gooey stuff quickly. I'm counting to ten. No more than that.'

  'Shambhavi!' Mili chided.

  'Fine, fine. I'll count up to fifteen.'

  'No.'

  'Seventeen, then. Final,' Shambhavi declared and started. 'One ... two ... three ...' She ended up cheating-she turned around by the time she counted five; curiosity got the best of her. Also, she feared that they would play a prank on herleaving her there, counting like an idiot, while they chose a spot to hide and laugh at her.

  When the couple were done holding each other, Shambhavi hugged Vikaas briefly and they bid him goodbye. As he turned around and pulled his luggage away with him, the girls watched.

  'Where's his family?' Shambhavi asked.

  'In Delhi. They'll meet him there.' Mili did not take her eyes off his back even for a second. He turned to her and blew her a goodbye kiss. Seconds later, as they watched, he became a tiny spec and eventually disappeared.

  'Come,' Shambhavi whispered in Mili's ear and put her arm through hers. It was getting too emotional; she felt like tears were not too far away even for her. The only thing was that she was not allowed to cry; she was supposed to stop her friend from crying. And that was possible if she kept her own tears in check, so she pulled Mili away from the airport. Also, from the amount of tears Mili had shed, she feared that something had gone wrong the previous night, with Vikaas. Maybe what Mili had feared ...

  The taxi drivers at the airport started assaulting them for a ride and they brushed them off. They made their way in silence to where Mili's car was parked; once the cabbies got a clue, they left them alone.

  'Do you want some ice cream?' Shambhavi blurted.

  'What? Are you bribing me?' Mili turned to face her.

  'No, I'm just offering you ice cream to make all your troubles go away,' Shambhavi stated matter-of-factly.

  'Listen to yourself. I'm not a child who has just been to the doctor for a tetanus injection.'

  'I know that. But trust me-ice cream does make it all okay.'

  'If you say so,' Mili chuckled at her hopeless friend, who was still just a child at heart.

  'At least you laughed. See? The ice cream's working already,' Shambhavi said happily and they got into Mili's tiny red car-a cute little Chevy Spark. It was a gift from her father, which she received a month ago, the same day she joined her first job.

  'My car's battery is still down. Sometimes I wonder why I even bother with it,' Shambhavi made a face. She drove an old Esteem, which her father had bought some twenty years ago. The car was almost as old as she was, and it had no life left in it. But since she had no other option, she was bearing with it. Even though she had been working for a while, she had never made more than one lakh on a single assignment before. She desperately needed to do something about the Ahluwalia's interiors or she might lose her chance to do something really big and really awesome. 'You know what-even I deserve an ice cream. Now we are definitely going.'

  'Where to?' Mili smiled.

  'Whatever is closest from here? My mouth has already started to water, so I cannot wait much longer.'

  'Okay,' Mili said. 'And by the way, you still owe me a big treat.'

  'For what, exactly?'

  'The Ahluwalia's mansion. This is a huge opportunity. You can even buy a new car after this. I'm so happy for you.'

  'I'm not counting my chickens just yet,' Shambhavi made a face.

  'What do you mean? Is there a problem?' Mili started fretting almost immediately.

  'Things are not going as well as I would have liked them to.'

  'Why? What happened? I did think you looked worried last night ...'

  'Don't ask. I'm fed up of it. Let's change the topic,' Shambhavi quickly changed tracks and rubbed her palms together excitedly to distract Mili. 'How was last night? What all happened? I want details, quick!'

  'Nothing happened. I told you - we were just spending some time together. Generally talking-'

  'Talking, huh? Liar. TELL ME.'

  'Fine. We maybe, perhaps, kissed a little. Just a little,' Mili winked.

  'Aha! AND?'

  'And-nothing. A little kissing, a lot of talking. That's all.'

  'You think you can fool me, eh? If you just kissed a little, then why do you have that stupid grin plastered on your face?' Shambhavi inquired.

  'The stupid grin is not because we did something; it's because he's the sweetest guy ever and he loves me for real.'

  'What do you mean? What did he do?'

  'Proposed,' Mili said in a barely audible voice.

  'WHAT? NO WAY. YOU'RE KIDDING.'

  'No kidding. Check the inner pocket of my wallet. It's in my handbag,' Mili said, pointing to the dashboard of her car and continued speaking fondly of her beau. 'Out of nowhere, he just went down on one knee and told me he wants to keep me forever. We'll marry as soon as he gets back. So that's one year. We're going to have a long engagement. Now I feel so -I'dsilly been thinking that he would leave me once he went away and he did the exact opposite of that. He made a solid commitment.'

  'Oh my goodness. This looks expensive!' Shambhavi exhaled as soon as she found the ring. 'I'm so happy for you. You're so lucky.' She bent over and half-hugged Mili excitedly, until she feared ending up causing an accident by distracting her friend.

  'You know, I was thinking-since you are always so pumped about trying out new things, why don't you try love? Get yourself someone who adores you. I tell you-it's the best feeling in the world.'

  'I can imagine. And I would love to try, but the thing is that love isn't really a one-player game. I will need a partner, and sadly, Ranbir Kapoor is already taken.'

  'Ah! So that's why you've always been single?' Mili played along.

  'Yep. Now you understand,' Shambhavi joked, even though she was secretly wishing for someone like Vikaas to come along and make her life perfect. Someone she could shed tears of happiness and (sometimes) sadness for.

  Meeting someone for the first time ... it sometimes feels like we have known each other forever, like there is a deeper connection somewhere. There is no rational explanation-it is a matter of the heart.

  pm today-final,' Tutul told her over phone.

  'Are you for real? How did you do it?' Shambhavi questioned, almost shocked that her subordinate had been able to fix another meeting with Mr Datta, after she missed the first meeting the previous day, and even forgot to inform him about it in the panic of her father's health condition.

  'I just got off the phone with his assistant. Apparently, 'he understands your situation and sends his best wishes for you
r father's health' or something of the same implication. Sounds like a good man.'

  'Oh, Tutul! You are god-sent,' Shambhavi exhaled. DE had been her last hope and she needed to meet Mr Datta at the soonest. It was a good thing that he turned out to be a marshmallow at heart and understood where she was coming from. Old men always are like that-they put families and relationships before work. But she realized that if not for Tutul's persistence, his assistant would not have reconsidered the meeting herself in the first place, let alone ask Mr Datta about it. She wondered what she would do without Tutul.

  Shambhavi had first met her about two years ago, when she was doing the interiors for Nakul Verma's suite. Tutul-a young, sharply dressed girl with a tight ponytail and nerdy specs -was a part of the firm doing the interiors of the Vermas' place. Since Shambhavi was working on the interiors of Nakul's suite, Tutul offered her assistance. Mrs Verma wanted Tutul to deal with the budget and other details of Nakul's suite too, as she was doing with the rest of the house. So, while Shambhavi handled the aesthetic front of designing, Tutul took care of the technical point of view-Nakul's suite was ready in two weeks' time.

  As soon as Shambhavi got offered to do the Ahluwalia's mansion, the first thing she did was ring Tutul for help. Shambhavi had worked on the eleven projects in between, alone. That was how she had managed to come out with literally empty pockets, even though her assignments went through beautifully. Because her expertise was only in designing and not in the technicalities that go with it, she had never known how to make the most of her chances. Her quotes were always accurate, leaving no room for commissions. She left no room in the given budget for damage, and sometimes, she even had to pay from her own pocket to make up for the loss.

  All in all, after working on eleven projects on her own, she still did not have anything worth showing in her pocket, and therefore, she called in Tutul for help. Tutul brought with her two juniors to help them through the job. Shambhavi figured that the job would pay her enough to take care of three people working under her, especially when the two others were just students working to gain some practical experience. Plus she knew that designing the entire mansion alone was an impossible job; she needed people who knew about these things to help her out.