by Nikita Singh
But Shambhavi was not listening to her. She had her eyes fixed on one of Mr Datta's pictures in the search results, and his name on her lips.
'What?' Mili shook her.
'I ... like his name,' Shambhavi replied softly.
Shambhavi had never worked as much in her entire life as she did in the next two days. She woke up nights and worked tirelessly on the designs for the interiors of the Ahluwalia mansion. She had never before been so driven. But she had good reason to be so now.
Arjun Datta. The man had practically ruled every second she was awake-and asleep, for that matter-ever since she had come out of that meeting. She was a woman on a mission. A mission to impress. She worked and worked and worked on the design, and once done, she glanced through them. She knew the kind of wood carving Mr Datta did and the kind of designs he was particularly fond of. He was the only designer in his company. She had done her research, and she knew he was going to like her designs.
There had never been an occasion on which Shambhavi had given her hundred per cent to something and it hadn't turned out to be anything less than perfect. And there was no reason for her not to give her hundred per cent on the designs; she accepted that after the first few times Mrs Ahluwalia shot down her suggestions, Shambhavi had started to show her all the bad ones, just to get on her nerves. It was too risky for her to pull such a trick, but it had been so much fun. That was who Shambhavi was-reckless, independent, instinctive. And passionate-when it was about something she really loved.
And she was really loving designing and a certain Mr Datta at the moment.
'Go to the crazy woman and make her love my designs,' she told Tutul.
'How can I make her do that?'
'Well, hit her on the head if you need to,' Shambhavi said and perched on the kitchen counter and bit into a green apple. Tutul had been considerate enough to bring for Shambhavi's recovering-from-sickness father.
Tutul opened the folder and started flipping through the pages. By the time she reached the last sheet of paper, roughly but still beautifully sketched, she was in awe of Shambhavi. She had suspected some real talent underneath the rash demeanour that Shambhavi exhibited, but even she had never imagined her to be capable of what Tutul then held in her hands.
'What?' Shambhavi asked, studying the look on Tutul's face.
'How ...? When ...? Where did you steal these from?' Tutul managed to ask. She seemed to be in shock and was trying to find out ways to justify what she was seeing. It just didn't make sense.
'I drew those myself.'
'Yes, you put it on paper, but from where did you copy the designs?
'Why? Aren't they good?' Shambhavi asked, taking her folder back and browsing the pages to look at her designs.
'They are. I didn't know you were so good at this. I can see a lot of change since Nakul Verma's suite, and even that was pretty remarkable work you'd done.'
'Oh. I guess experience does account for something. I've worked on several projects since Nakul's, mostly since the last one year. I'll show you my portfolio, someday. Now, tell me-do you like it? I drew all of them myself. Had seen some of Mr Datta's pieces that day and designed these to fit Mrs Ahluwalia's needs and also to get the most of Mr Datta's talent. I hope he likes them. I mean-she. I hope she likes them. What do you think?'
'I think he will like it.'
'You mean she.'
'I mean he, Tutul said, tongue-in-cheek.'Ooooh! Someone likes someone.'
'Whatever. I don't want to know about those two someones. Just tell me what you really think of the designs.'
'I like them. They're good. Really good.'
'Really good as per my standards? Have I just superseded myself or do I stand somewhere in the real market, too?' Shambhavi asked, almost panicking.
'Whoa! For someone who once used to be so carefree and careless, you, girl, are awfully insecure.'
'Cut it, Tutul. Just tell me. You know about these things. Tell me what you really think of them.'
'I think,' Tutul began, sounding sincere this time, 'that you have not only overtaken your own good work, you have done an amazing job as compared to the professionals in the area, too. It's a good thing you don't have a degree in this-it basically ruins originality in thought. And that's your forte.'
Shambhavi nodded thoughtfully and asked, 'Do you think he will like it?'
'I'm sure he will.'
As soon as Tutul left to meet with the Ahluwalias and get the designs approved, Shambhavi felt sleep tugging at her rather fiercely. She picked up the basket of assorted fruits Tutul had brought for her father and made her way to his room. He had just been discharged from the hospital that morning and was resting in his bed.
'Dad?' she whispered softly to check if he was up.
'Mmmm?' he answered in a coarse voice.
'Oh. Go back to sleep. I'm keeping this fruit basket here. Tutul got it for you.'
'Are there oranges in there?'
'Yes.'
'Do you think they are sour?'
Shambhavi peeked at the oranges. They were yellowish. 'I guess.'
'Perfect,' her father smiled in his half-sleep.
'Wait. Don't go back to sleep yet. I forgot your afternoon medicine. Which one is it?'
'I've taken it.'
'Have you really? Or are you just fooling me again? Because if you are-be warned-next time you need me to call you an ambulance, I won't,' Shambhavi threatened.
'Got it.'
'Good. Now I'm going to sleep in my room. Buzz me if you need me,' she slid the remote of the intercom under his pillow, kissed him softly on the cheek and made her way to her room. She had been spending her nights at the hospital with her father ever since he was admitted there. That, along with the hard work on the designs, was taking its toll on her. She knew she had only a couple of hours before she needed to head to DE to show Mr Datta her designs. By that time, the designs would be approved by the Ahluwalias and Tutul would bring them over to DE with her.
She was excited about the Ahluwalias and Mr Datta seeing her designs. She was excited about meeting Mr Datta. But most of all-she was tired and just wanted to sleep. She went into her dreamland as soon as her head hit the pillow.
Jealousy is sometimes the first indication of love brewing between two people. Envy might be one of the seven deadly sins, but it's also one beautiful emotion to see.
his time when the girls met the secretary at Datta Enterprises, they were both invited inside Mr Datta's office. Shambhavi was grateful about that. No matter how excited she was at the prospect of being face to face again with the man who ruled her dreams, and to show him her designs, she was not sure she could face him again without Tutul. 'Terrified' was the word that most perfectly put across what she was really feeling.
Till that point, things had turned out considerably smooth. Mr Ahluwalia had loved the designs and even Mrs Ahluwalia had grudgingly approved of them. (Tutul said she knew that Mrs Ahluwalia had another designer in mind-one who furnished some movie star's place-and that's why she shot down everything Shambhavi proposed. But this time, her designs were too good to be rejected and poor Mrs Ahluwalia had no other option.) Tutul had corrected some technical flaws in the designs and some concerning the dimensions. So they were officially set to meet Mr Datta and blow his mind, that's how Tutul put it.
But the problem was that Shambhavi realized that he was not the kind of man who was blown away so easily. What if he hated her designs? The thought crossed her head more than once. For all the confidence she had in her work, she was almost shaking out of fear, as they made their way to his office. The secretary knocked on the door twice and pushed it open.
There he was.
Once she set her eyes on him, she could not look away. She was stumped. She had prepared herself for the man dressed in a sharp suit and crisp shirt waiting for her, but his casual demeanour gave her a pause, big time. He was dressed in a worn out grey tee, which was faded and scuffed at the edges and collar, with a barely visible labe
l printed on his left chest. His jeans were dull, spoiled and cut at places. At first glance, she thought they were bought in that condition, but it slowly dawned upon her that they had become so over time. Those were obviously his work outfit; he seemed to have been building something.
'Hi,' Shambhavi whispered, when she found her power of speech back. She looked around the office to see what he had been working on, but there was nothing. He must have been working elsewhere, and had returned to the office to meet them.
He looked up at her.
'Hi. Tutul Jain. It's a pleasure to meet you,' Tutul introduced herself swiftly and held out her hand for him to shake.
'Hello,' he drawled.
As soon as he let go of Tutul's hand, Shambhavi put hers forward. She did not want to miss any chance to get closer to him than normal.
'Didn't I ask you to call me?' he shot at Shambhavi.
'What? Oh, I thought talking to your secretary about an appointment first seemed more appropriate,' she replied. Her breath was erratic, for some reason. Maybe because of the slightly dangerous sounding tone of his voice.
'Did you?' he raised his eyebrow. She kept silent, not knowing how to respond to that. He continued, 'So, are you done with the sample designs?' he asked once they took their seats.
'Yes, we are. The living space, one bedroom and the hallway. Since it's a bed-and-breakfast, all the rooms will be more or less of the same design. Take a look.' Shambhavi immediately took the folder from Tutul's grip and shoved it towards him. She was getting impatient and was really, really nervous. Her fingers shook, when his hand moved forward to take the folder from her. As soon as he gripped it, she shoved her hands into her pockets; she did not want to let her fear show through.
'Let me see,' he mumbled, more to himself, as he opened the folder and took in the first page. He poured over the designs half- curiously and half-surprised-he clearly had not expected what he was getting. In a good way, though. He turned page after page, carefully scrutinizing the designs she had been so confident about, when she had first drawn them. But when she saw him inspecting them, she did not feel a single shred of that confidence from before.
There was a long, scary silence, during which time Shambhavi's heart jumped up to her throat and threatened to choke her. She could barely breathe. Everything depended on what Mr Datta thought of her designs. If he hated them, she did not know where she would be able to find another firm with artists who could do that level of carving. She needed a certain gracefulness and perfection that she had seen in Arjun Datta's work. She wanted no one else working on turning her designs from paper to wood. But that was not the only reason why she was so nervous.
For some indecipherable reason, that man had an unexplained impact on her. She cared about the Ahluwalia mansion assignment, but not more than she cared about what Mr Datta thought of her designs. She did not even want to think of the reason why. It was silly to use the word 'love' so prematurely. After all, she barely knew him. She had met him just once, and love-at-first-sight did not really work in real life. This was hardly a Bollywood movie.
She tried to gauge his expression, but his face was oddly impassive. It made her realize that she had not seen his face give away any emotion the last time she met him either. Maybe he was always like that-expressionless, blank. She felt like shaking him and asking him to come back to life.
After what seemed like two lifetimes, he finally looked up. He met her eyes and ... just that. He did not say anything.
What the heck? Does that look mean he wants me to get out of here? she shouted in her head, but maintained her outward calm. She met his eyes and stared right back at him, equally coolly.
Finally, he said, 'When can I get the complete set?'
'Does that mean you like these?' Shambhavi asked slowly, letting her hopes soar. Her heart did a backflip and she already started to feel excited about working with him, even though he still hadn't said any such thing. But the implication that he would like to see the rest of her idea was enough to put her back at ease. She was herself again.
'They are interesting,' he replied shortly.
'Interesting, eh?'
'Very.'
'Great. So what's the game plan from here on?' Shambhavi asked, failing to hide her excitement.
'Game plan? Interesting choice of words, Ms Sen, but this is not a game. Now, if we can get back to business-since we have reached the conclusion that I approve of your sample, I will need you to get back to me when you have completed your designs,' Mr Datta said curtly.
'I can complete them in about three weeks, but I think I have a better game pl-I mean-suggestion.'
'And what might that be?'
'Let's take a look at the Mansion together. We'll get an estimate of dimensions and a mental picture of what we want where. Then, we can browse through the prototypes of your previously created designs and find pieces that will fit the mental picture. Meanwhile, I can start working on the remaining pieces-the pieces we'll need you to build-and you can start working on the items I've already designed for you to build,' Shambhavi concluded with a flourish, pointing to the folder he still held in his hands. Even though the man's behaviour was barely social, she could not help but feel excited about working on that assignment. Everything was finally falling into place.
'Well, that sounds like a good plan,' Mr Datta nodded thoughtfully.
'And if we make you build every bit of furniture that'll go into the Mansion, we'll need a year to get it done, anyway. And I don't know about you, but I do not have that kind of time. No offence, of course.'
'None taken.'
'So let's meet tomorrow at the Mansion and take a look around,' Shambhavi said and jumped out of the super-soft sofa she had almost sunk in. If Mr Datta was shocked by her behaviour, he did not let it show. She did not care about it either. There was just so much extent to which she could stay composed and business-like, after which the instinct to turn back into herself overtook her. 'I'll text you the address, you can text me the time. Ciao!'
'Dad, I'm leaving,' Shambhavi shouted from her room, pinning up her curls on her head, so they wouldn't fall all over her face. And then, taking some strands out of the clips expertly so that they fell perfectly over her face. Carefully careless.
'Okay. I'll just stay here till you come back,' her father's voice said over the intercom. He sounded weak.
As soon as she was done with her hair, she took a brief look at herself in the mirror, picked up her handbag, stuffed her cell phone into her pant pocket and walked out of her room. She filled up a pitcher with water and took it over to her dad's room.
'How are you this morning?' she asked.
'Great. Couldn't be better,' he replied cheerfully. She saw right through it.
'Listen-no getting up from the bed and walking to the other room, okay? You have a TV here and I'm sure something is on. Call me whenever you need me. Don't try to be a hero and do everything by yourself. I'll just be gone a couple of hours. You have your phone with you.'
'Look who's acting all grown up and responsible.'
'Well, someone has to. And since you decided to get sick, it's my job,' she replied.
'I get it. Go work,' he said and bid her goodbye.
As she locked the front door behind her, she wondered why he never asked her to stop working so hard. She had never seen her father ask her not to push herself too hard when he had seen her killing herself working. Maybe that was just the way he was, she shrugged and made her way to her ancient car. She was expected at the Ahluwalia mansion in forty minutes and she really did not want to be late.
The bad news was that when Mrs Ahluwalia got to know that they were deciding the final layout of her mansion, she decided to tag along with them. And the even worse bad news was that since Tutul was stuck with a project they were working upon in her office, she could not accompany Shambhavi to what would surely turn out to be an awkward encounter between Mr Datta and Mrs Ahluwalia. Shambhavi wondered what his reactions would be like if sh
e said she did not like his ideas or work.
The thought brought a smile to her face. She wondered how some people managed to live without smiling at all. Take Mr Datta for example. He's all business, all the time. Shambhavi decided that her crush on him had ended and she just thought of him as a deeply scarred mysterious man who didn't laugh or interact casually with other people. Not everyone liked to be social.
'Where is the carpenter?' Mrs Ahluwalia asked Shambhavi, when she pulled in at the Mansion.
'Where's who? Did you just say what I thought you just said?' Shambhavi was shocked.
'Depends on what you thought I said, doesn't it?'
'Did you just call Mr Arjun Datta a carpenter?'
'That's what he is, right? You said he will build what you ask him to,' Mrs Ahluwalia said stupidly.
'He does build furniture. But that's just his way of working. After he builds a piece, tonnes of similarly designed pieces flood the market. He just likes building the first prototype himself, of all new designs. Other furniture designers ape his style and designs. All his designs are made into thousands of copies. He's a trendsetter.'
'So, he's a designer who likes to build?'
'Plus the owner of Datta Enterprises,' Shambhavi added, exasperated. She gave up trying to make Mrs Ahluwalia see sense. After explaining so much about him, she still pictured Mr Datta to be some kind of a small time carpenter who built some designs he liked and had a few labourers working under him.
That explained the look on her face when she finally saw Mr Datta get out of his BMW X5, a silver beast which must have cost somewhere around seven million rupees. Shambhavi wished she could buy something like that one day. And once she laid her eyes on the man who got out of the car, she decided that her crush on him was back. She had no hope of getting together with him someday, so she decided she would be just one of his fans and love him eternally from a distance, just like she loved Tom Cruise. He looked like a movie star-all six feet of him in his glory, walking towards them, slightly distracted, observing the building he was entering.