The Promise

by Nikita Singh

  'Yeah, yeah,' Tutul said. 'Listen-I'll meet you outside their factory at 1:45 pm, okay?'

  'I dread those fifteen minutes before the meeting with you.'

  'You should.'

  'But I already know so many things about this man and his company,' Shambhavi groaned. She hated it when Tutul filled her up with technical details and other specifications of the company they were dealing with, before every meeting. But she grudgingly admitted to herself that those short sessions were necessary, if she did not want to make a complete fool of herself in front of other people. It is okay for customers to enter a plywood furniture store and ask for teak. But an interior decorator is expected to know such things.

  'I decide whether or not you know enough,' Tutul said smugly.

  'It's not in your job profile.'

  'I know. And that's why you don't need to pay me for it. But I've made it my job to educate you. Not just because it is so much fun to find out how little you know, but also because I can see you being a serious success as an interior decorator, if only you knew a bit more about the details.'

  'I have you to take care of details; you don't have to get all emotional,' Shambhavi laughed.

  'You think everything is a joke? I'm not kidding. I've studied this subject all these years and have never seen anyone who has such an amazing aesthetic eye. You have no idea how many designers would kill to just get to assist you in this assignment.'

  'Why are you getting so serious?'

  'Because you are not serious enough,' Tutul exclaimed. 'You'll never take anything seriously. I have to think for both of us.'

  'Okay, enough now. What is wrong? Why are you so worked up?' Shambhavi asked. She had never seen Tutul like that. Tutul was supposed to be a carefree child-just out of college, with a decent job and financial independence for the first time in life. She was supposed to go crazy shopping, not be a workaholic.

  'It's nothing; Tutul mumbled.

  'Tell me anyway.'

  'Nothing is technically wrong, but it's just that ... I was thinking about where my life is going, and I realized that I do not have much of an issue with my day job, but in the long run, I do not want to be working in this company. Or any company.'

  'So you don't like working for a company but you like working with me?' Shambhavi asked, wondering if it was what she thought it was.

  'Most of all, I like not having to answer to anyone, you know? So, yes, I like working with you.'

  'And that's why you've been trying to push me into getting all serious. Aha! Now I get your plan, you conniving businesswoman.'

  'It's not like that,' Tutul said.

  'It is. And you know what? From now on, I am going to make you work hard and when you fail to, you will have to answer to me. I think I've kept too loose a leash till now, eh?' Shambhavi said smugly.

  'Oh, you won't do that. You need me.'

  'That I do,' Shambhavi smiled, as she hung up.

  They stood outside the factory of Datta Enterprises. Shambhavi found it weird that Mr Datta didn't have an office somewhere in the city; just one at his factory, in the outskirts of Indore. But then she found out that ever since he started working a long time ago, he had expanded his workplace from a small rundown garage to a full-blown factory on the exact same spot. Even though their business had flourished with a formidable reputation around the country as well as abroad, they still had just the one factory.

  Shambhavi found that odd, but then she assumed it was Mr Datta's way of keeping stability. People usually do not like change. And maybe, over the years, he had developed some sort of extreme attachment to the place where he first started wood carving. It made sense.

  She was excited to meet the man she had heard so much about. She was an artist, all right, but she was not particularly blessed in the writing area, otherwise she definitely would have liked to write a biography of the man.

  'All set?' Tutul asked.

  'As set as I will ever be. I just hope he lets me complete my idea and doesn't think of us as a waste of his time,' Shambhavi replied.

  'Actually, that is a probability. They get much bigger orders-hotels, offices, resorts. We have a budget of just four crore rupees.'

  'Exactly. Plus we need something customized ...'

  'Is it still worth giving a go?' Tutul mused.

  'We don't have anything to lose.'

  They shared a brief look and got into the building, which had an office section in front and manufacturing behind it. It was almost like they had entered another world. The environment inside was completely different from the one outside. As the cool, conditioned air hit their faces, they looked around themselves and ogled at the world-class furnishing. Whoever had done the interiors of this place must have been the best there was. They let every detail sink in, taking mental notes and learning. The building stood tall-easily over twenty stories-and that was when the ceilings were about fifteen feet high. The plush red carpet complemented the pale yellow furniture perfectly. There was a hint of gold at the edges, which gave the place an exquisite look. The warm lighting falling over the room from the ceiling and lamps brightened up the room, the glass reflecting it around, giving it a luminous glow. It looked like a royal palace, far different from the monotonous beige and grey furnishing they saw in every office around town. They felt like they could stay there and stare forever.

  When they realized that they were going to get late, they finally made their way to the receptionist's desk. They asked the hyperactive receptionist for directions and minutes later, found themselves outside Mr Datta's office, face to face with his secretary.

  'May I help you?' the secretary asked.

  'We have a 2 o'clock appointment with Mr Datta?' Tutul said to the secretary, who-Shambhavi was amazed to find out-was a male. She had assumed that all rich people have hot female secretaries. Whom would he have an illicit affair with? she wondered briefly.

  'Name, please?'

  'Shambhavi Sen and Tutul Jain,' Tutul replied.

  'I'm sorry-there's just one name registered with usShambhavi Sen.'

  'So, what do we need to do to get her in?' Shambhavi asked, pointing towards Tutul. She was alarmed; she would not be able to handle it without Tutul's help.

  'I'm afraid you would need to get another appointment,' the assistant said, with a fake-apologetic expression on his face.

  'And how soon can we get that?'

  'Well, I'm not sure how much you know about the way Mr Datta operates, but he does not agree to many personal meetings.'

  'But we-' Tutul began, but Shambhavi stopped her.

  'It's okay,' she whispered in her ear. 'We don't have much hope anyway. Let me see if I can convince him, but I don't think he is going to be that flexible.' She turned to the assistant, 'When can I go in?'

  He spoke over the intercom briefly and showed her the way to his boss's office. As soon as she got inside the office and the assistant closed the door behind him, Shambhavi got confused. She was standing right in front of a man-a well-built one, slightly older to her in age and with a glum look on his face. She turned to look at the door she'd come in from and then back at the man.

  'Ms Shambhavi Sen?' the man asked.

  'Yes,' she smiled nervously. She had no reason to be nervous around a man she did not even know, but for some weird reason, she was. She wished Tutul was inside with her. 'Hi. You must be ... Mr Datta's ... son?'

  'Technically, yes.'

  'Oh, hello. It's a pleasure to meet you. Umm ... Where is your father? I have a meeting with him.'

  'He died when I was seventeen,' the man replied curtly.

  'What? I mean-I'm sorry ... for your loss.' She was shaking in her shoes. How had Tutul missed to fill her in about Mr Datta Senior's death and Mr Datta junior's succession?

  'Don't be. It was a long time ago. Been twelve years.'

  'Umm ... okay. So, I should discuss my proposal with ... you, right?' she asked.

  'Yes. Sit.'

  She looked around and sat down on one of
the royal looking sofas placed across from where Mr Datta sat down. There was no revolving armchair and no teak desk with a glass top. The room looked like a king's living space, with green and silver curtains, complementing the silver carpet and bottle green furniture. She felt like she had entered a time machine and come right through to the eighteenth century, into a king's manor.

  But she had no time to gawk at her surroundings, starryeyed. She looked at the man sitting in front of her and wondered if he always spoke so sternly and shortly. She calculated him to be twenty-nine years old. And if he was seventeen when his father died, then Mr Datta Senior could have been something around forty years old. That's an early death. She thought that maybe that's why Mr Datta Junior had reconsidered meeting her when he got to know about her own father's medical condition. But it still did not make sense- he did not seem to be the kind of marshmallow-ish person she had pictured. There was something off. All the small snippets of information she had gathered did not fit together to form a big, clear picture. She would have to wait for a while and ask Tutul about it when she got out.

  'So?' Mr Datta asked.

  Shambhavi put her business mode on. 'I have a clientowners of a mansion here at Indore, which we want to convert into a bed-and-breakfast. I need to get customized furniture for them. I have done my research-I know the quality, cost, kind of goods your company manufactures. And I am interested in offering you the sole contract for the interiors of the mansion in question. I will be giving you details about the kind of furnishing I have in mind and consider your suggestions, if any. If this was any other company, I would simply have talked to the employees working under you to get this done. But I have been told that at DE, you build the first sample of every design yourself and it is put into manufacturing phase at the factory only after that. So I wanted to meet you and talk to you personally about the possibility of us working together on this assignment. '

  After she completed her monologue, she breathed out. That was it. It would be either a yes or a no. She also continuously kicked herself for telling him about how his own company works. What was she thinking?

  'I see,' Mr Datta said slowly. 'And you are saying you will be designing the furniture yourself?'

  'Yes. I mean-I and my team, which consists of one subordinate and two students who have signed up with us for training,' she blabbered.

  'Well, I will have to take a look at the designs you have in mind to confirm.'

  'Or maybe you would consider looking at some other work I have done before?'

  'And why would I want to do that?' Mr Datta raised an eyebrow unkindly.

  'Umm ... you know-as a sample? To see the kind of work I do?' she said and pushed her portfolio onto the low centre table between them.

  'Is this a joke, Ms Sen?'

  She decided to stay shut, not knowing what she had done to anger him.

  'I do not have time to look at pictures of pieces of furniture I do not have anything to do with. Show me what you want from me and I'll decide whether or not I want to do it. I do not want to look at samples. Understood?'

  'Yes,' she murmured, but it did not come out loud enough to reach his ears. She repeated. 'Yes. But doing all the designs will take time. I'll get back to you in-'

  'I do not mind looking at the samples of work you want me to do. I just have a problem looking at the work you have previously done and has nothing to do with me. You can show me a preview of your vision for this mansion in question.'

  'Sure. I'll get back to you in a couple of days with a sample of my idea for the mansion. Thank you,' she looked up and smiled at him, wanting some of the tension in the room to evaporate. Now that the worry of getting him to listen to her plans was off her shoulder, she observed him closely for the first time. The broad, muscular frame-no doubt built from all the wood carving and furniture-building-covered by his crisp light blue shirt looked vast and very inviting. What? Did she just think 'inviting'? Where did that come up from?

  His eyes were deep set, jet-black, with eyebrows that looked stern, but in a half-good half-bad way. A long, straight nose, over the thin, perfect lips and a strong chin. Dark complexion and hair which made her want to run her fingers through it. A square jawline and high cheekbones, which made him look like a ramp model.

  She was astonished that she had not noticed all of that in the first glance. Maybe she had been too nervous about her proposal, and he had done nothing to make her feel comfortable. In fact, he had done everything to make her feel unwelcome and anxious. But when the apprehension faded somewhat, she finally did notice the killer looks and could not take her eyes away from him. She had never been beautiful. If she dressed up and put on a right amount of make-up, she agreed she would look pretty, but she could still not use the word beautiful. She just wasn't born to look good.

  And when she saw him, she almost felt jealous of his good looks. Some people just have it all. He was born as Mr Datta Senior's son, that too looking like Adonis. What more can anyone ask for? Though, she agreed that it was a good thing he had decided to keep the legacy going and build every design himself before sending it to the manufacturing department. The kind of muscles one makes from physical labour is unmatched.

  'Anything else?' Mr Datta asked, looking at her expectantly, a little annoyed by her presence, she thought.

  'Oh ...? No. No, no. I'm good. I should ... I should take my leave now,' Shambhavi stammered.

  'Let me know when you are done with the designs. Here's my card.'

  'Thanks,' she said and got up. She contemplated picking up her portfolio, but decided against it, not risking infuriating the man further. 'Just one thing -do you want me to get in touch with you directly?' she pointed to his visiting card and asked.

  'Yes. Is that a problem?' he held her eyes with his and asked.

  'No, of course not. Just that-your assistant and secretary said you were pretty much booked for life, so ...'

  'Call me, Ms Sen. I'll remember you.'

  She almost fainted when she felt the touch of his hand on hers. A handshake had never felt so heavenly.

  It is amazing how a person's talent surfaces, when properly motivated. The drive to impress often yields unmatchable outputs.

  ili, you won't believe this,' Shambhavi shrieked, as soon as she saw her friend, partially hidden by the stained glass partition in her office. She walked happily towards her friend, who looked like she could faint any second.

  'Shambhavi? What are you doing here?' Mili whispered loudly in return.

  'As of now-walking towards you. Duh.'

  'But why?'

  'Because it would not be appropriate if I keep shouting from the other end of your office, would it?' Shambhavi replied. She looked around herself and motioned to the employees at their desks, in tiny cubicles and said, 'People are working here. I don't want to disturb anyone.'

  'Shut up. You know what I mean. Why are you here?' Mili asked.

  'I had something exciting to tell you.'

  'Can't it wait till I get out of office? It's just a few hours.'

  'Why do you worry so much? Your boss will not eat you up and swallow you whole if she found you talking to me for a few minutes, you know?' Shambhavi teased. She knew Mili took her work seriously-a bit too seriously-and she enjoyed having fun at her expense.

  'She might; you don't know her. Now tell me quickly what it is and leave.'

  'Never mind. It's not important. It can wait.'

  'No. Tell me,' Mili exclaimed, and held Shambhavi's arm to stop her from leaving. The fact that Shambhavi came to her office to tell her something'exciting' had definitely piqued her interest in the whole thing, even though she was still worried about her boss.

  'Okay,' Shambhavi jumped back on the horse immediately. 'Get this-I went to Datta Enterprises today to meet Mr Datta. And guess what I found out?'

  'No idea.'

  'Mr Datta is not an old man. He's twenty-nine, and totally gorgeous. I first thought that he was the son of the man who started the company. But I
was wrong. Tutul told me later that he started the company, not his father. It has been just twelve years, and by everything I heard about DE, I had assumed that it must have taken them several decades to get there. But nope. Just twelve years. The man is a total legend.'

  'Wait-I'm confused-are you gushing about this Datta guy as an entrepreneur or a man?' Mili interrupted.

  'Both. More as a man, though. You should see him-he's so ... perfect. Though, he looks older than he is. Mature. Maybe because he has seen so much in his life-death of his parents as a teenager, poverty, starvation, betrayal. I think that's why he's so ruthless.'

  'Betrayal? What do you mean?'

  'I don't know much, but I heard a girl broke his heart. She was there when he first started out; they were close. And she left him for someone else, or something like that,' Shambhavi said. 'But whatever. The point is that ... he is something out of this world. Nothing like anything I have ever seen before.'

  'Aah! Shambhavi Sen has fallen for a guy. This should be interesting to see.'

  'Shut up. I have not fallen for him or anything. I just ... like him.'

  'That's the first step. Wow. I can't believe this. Finally,' Mili said, grinning from ear to ear.

  'It is going to be a one-sided attraction, Mili. He did not even look at me properly, you know? Why would he? I look like a toad in front of him. He's handsome. I'm ugly'

  'You're not ugly.'

  'Compared to him, I am,' Shambhavi said sadly.

  'Really? I would like to see,' Mili said and they both rushed to Google images of the man. 'What's his first name?'

  'I don't know,' Shambhavi said.

  Mili rolled her eyes and typed 'mr Datta owner Datta enterprises' in Google search bar. The name immediately popped up. Arjun Datta. Mili went on to search for his images, while Shambhavi murmured the name over and over again. She rolled it over her tongue; it felt oddly nice.

  'Wow. He really is stunning,' Mili breathed.