by Leena Nandan
‘Do you remember the picnics we used to organise during the winter holidays—and how you girls always became tearful?’ he asked with a teasing smile.
‘You idiot, that was because you gave us the lousy job of chopping onions,’ she replied, playfully taking a swipe at him.
‘And how about the time you actually burst into tears because you’d fallen off your bike?’ he said.
A shadow came over her sunny face. ‘What’s the matter?’ he said in quick concern.
She almost spoke about the torn photo of herself on a bicycle, and then told herself it did not matter, now that she had decided it was just a prank. He would just make a fuss. A small voice said she’d feel better if she shared it with him but she deliberately suppressed the thoughts and casually changed the subject.
‘What’s the latest with Rozy? Busy as ever with hubby and kid, I suppose. I haven’t spoken to her in ages.’
‘Well, Rozy is her usual scatterbrained self and Chintu is all of five now. But she and Vani managed to put together a good picnic today.’
‘Oh then you must have enjoyed yourself thoroughly all morning,’ she said with a stiff smile.
He kicked himself for having mentioned Vani and almost told her that he’d missed her too much to enjoy the picnic, but some perverse logic made him remain silent.
She glanced at her watch and sprang up. ‘It’s seven already. Raghav and I have to do the presentation and Neil will give me one of his special looks if I’m not well prepared.’
Something in her tone made him look sharply at her. Was she sounding more self-conscious and uncomfortable than she should have, or was he imagining it? He was oversensitive about that Raghav but who or what was this Neil? Pride forbore that he should ask so they parted with cool, polite smiles.
Tina came back to office but the picture of Jeet and Vani at the picnic, happy and carefree while she was greying by the minute, had put her off. Her mood had swung back to its original glum state. She had to pull herself up somehow and that too well before the meeting. She booted the computer and opened her files to access the presentation. It needed a bit of touching up, some more numerical and graphs. So she decided to retrieve the data from the report on Neil’s table which due to a server problem had not been put on the LAN. He was not in his chamber; she could see through the glass partition, but the distinctive blue sheets of the report were visible, so she pushed open the door and entered. There was a strange buzzing sound and at first she thought it was the UPS which had collapsed to give company to the server, and then realised it was from a cordless receiver on his workstation. She was looking at it with a puzzled frown when the door opened so forcefully, the glass almost broke.
‘What the bloody hell are you doing here?’ Neil shouted, his face mottled with anger. Too stunned to react immediately, she stared at him open-mouthed before replying in a small voice, ‘I came for the report.’
He made a visible effort to control himself and muttered, ‘I don’t like it when people sneak around.’
‘Neil, I think the company has always laid emphasis on complete access, and all of us move around quite freely when we need a document or some information. If you want a change in policy for your own private space, you’ll have to take it up with management. This is no way to react,’ and with that she left. He may be way above in the pecking order, but he had no business to yell at her. Darn it, she had left the report behind in the confusion, but she was in no mood to go back.
Raghav, Tony and Rita were watching as red-faced, she stomped back to her seat. Tony had a gleeful expression, Raghav looked back impassively while Rita made a small moue as if to say she sympathised but didn’t want to stick her neck out and say so openly. That hurt Tina more than anything else. She realised that friendship, camaraderie were only slick words and nothing more, for Raghav had not even bothered to empathise, let alone come forward and stand up to Neil. She suddenly felt she was among strangers who exchanged courtesies with her, but turned away when you were facing a sticky situation. She blinked back tears, angry with herself for this weakness.
‘You shouldn’t have, you know,’ said Shelly.
Tina stopped short of grinding her teeth. ‘You mean tell him off for lecturing me on entering his office? You could try and see it my way, instead of behaving like a bunch of old women.’
‘No, I’m talking about looking for an excuse to meet him, when you could have just sent him a mail. Actually, you were snooping around in his office, and what is worse, got caught in the act! I know the guy has a thing for you, but this is something no one will take kindly to.’
‘My God, you have a sick mind,’ said Tina, thoroughly disgusted by now with the turn the conversation had taken. ‘You’re welcome to him, the much married letch,’ she went on and catching sight of Shelly’s triumphant expression, looked up to see Neil within hearing range. He stalked away, but not before she had seen pure venom in his eyes.
‘Oh what the hell,’ she muttered. ‘I might as well get hanged for a sinner than a saint.’ Picking up her laptop and beyond caring that the data and graphs had finally not been loaded, she decided to make the presentation as it was, sans frills.
Curiously enough, the presentation went off rather well. The client was a large multinational scouting around for a good call centre that not only had the right manpower but also technical expertise in communication. Her presentation was on training analysis. In fact, her rapid rise in the organisation was due to the fact that despite being part of the management, she insisted on doing the graveyard shift too; that alone made her such a favourite. Shelly, though her peer, was forever besieged with some insurmountable problem, with the result that increasingly the bosses had begun to rely on Tina. It made her feel good but every now and then she wondered about Shelly and whether she harboured some resentment. There was always some underlying spite in her frequent faux pas.
Neil hardly spoke during the presentation. The marketing and content teams made their pitch and the deal was wrapped up in record time. They engaged in desultory talk after that over black coffee—another pseudo-American touch, she thought waspishly. Surprisingly, Raghav though from the marketing side, seemed to know all about tech support.
‘Our company has V-Sat and a recent tie up with an Italian firm has given us an edge over our competitors, as we will soon have access to the most sophisticated systems of communication,’ he said smoothly.
‘What is the range of the short-term signals?’ asked the team leader interestedly. Neil said, ‘We haven’t yet started testing the equipment,’ while Raghav answered simultaneously, ‘5 kilometres.’ There was a short silence before Neil added, ‘The most basic set is presumed to have a 5-kilometre radius but we will know for sure after we have the government’s go-ahead for testing.’ Everyone shook hands to sign the deal and there was much back-slapping on this hugely promising collaboration. Tina slipped out quietly. Her job was done for the day.
When she left office, a chill wind had sprung up and she hugged her jacket closely about her as she walked to the bus stand. It was half past eight but the gathering clouds had made everyone hurry home. The street was practically deserted without the shoppers and evening walkers. Her footsteps sounded unnaturally loud in the silence. She had worn high heels to match her formal ensemble, chosen specially for the presentation and her pace was slower than usual. ‘Tina,’ whispered a voice, and she jerked around to see a figure in a hooded jacket walking towards her. It was the most commonplace thing to do, but somehow there was unspoken menace in the air and suddenly her heart was giving palpitations. She tried to think sensibly and wish away the terror that seemed to be paralysing her limbs. Suddenly, the moonlight glinted on something that looked like a knife. There was a swishing sound as the knife was raised.
Throwing embarrassment to the winds, Tina kicked off her shoes and ran as fast as she could. She slipped on the slushy road and fell hard; jarring her shoulder, but leapt to her feet and ran on in desperate search of a rescuer. The
footsteps behind her gained in speed and now there was a chuckling sound. It sounded inhuman, insane, that a person should laugh while hunting prey. Her breath came in short gasps and there was a stitch in her side now. It was no use, she thought, when all of a sudden she realised that the noise of pursuit had abated. Risking a backward glance, she found that there was no one behind her; ahead loomed the bus stand and there were a bunch of people rushing to board the bus. The cold seeped into her bare feet as she quickly walked up, trying to ignore the stares aimed at her unshod feet. As she sat back in her seat, she felt the panic ebbing.
Rozy and Jeet were at a party when Tina called him. It was a dinner thrown by their favourite cousin on the occasion of his promotion. The usual gaggle of aunts and uncles had turned out and they gossiped away about in-laws and the share market respectively, while the girls admired each others’ outfits with high-pitched squeals of laughter. Emboldened by his upgraded status as a guy fit enough to move ahead in life, the cousin in question was actually attempting to sing a song, so Jeet had both his hands over his ears and could hardly hear Tina above the cacophony.
Finally, he got the gist of what she was saying and the entire merriment of the evening vanished in a trice. ‘But why on earth didn’t you mention a word to me when we met today?’ he said angrily for the third time. More than angry, he was hurt and couldn’t resist adding, ‘What does your pal Reggie say?’ emphasising the name with an American twang.
‘I haven’t mentioned anything to him,’ she said in a voice that sounded weary beyond words and he immediately felt remorseful.
‘Look, I’ll come with Rozy and she’ll stay the night. Barun is away and I guess she’ll enjoy talking to you rather than to her cat—and no arguments from you.’
She did try to discourage him but felt glad he didn’t agree.
They were as good as their word and reached in an hour. Chintu said sleepily, ‘Hi auntie,’ and she gave him a quick kiss before tucking him up in bed. ‘Now tell me from the beginning,’ commanded Jeet and so she did. They listened in complete silence as she narrated the calls which had started coming in, followed by the photograph that day and now the stalker.
‘Is it someone fixated on you?’ asked Rozy and though hating to acknowledge the fact, Tina nodded. It made her feel so very angry and helpless but she had to concede that her attempt to ignore the whole thing had almost led to her being seriously attacked. ‘Shouldn’t we go to the police right now?’ said Rozy worriedly, but luckily for her Jeet answered immediately, ‘No, I don’t want any ham-handed investigation. I’ll talk to my friend, Sub-Inspector Menon. He’s one of the best and won’t trample around, messing things up.’
Rozy and Tina had some more coffee after he left. Rozy launched into an elaborate description without comma or full-stop, of a white-washing exercise she had undertaken that winter. ‘It was nothing short of World War when it came to deciding the colour of the walls—the same uninspiring white which makes our guests yawn the moment they step inside, or something dashing like the brilliant red we see in television soaps? Barun and his family rallied around as one—all ranged against me, of course. So we settled for blue for the guest room (they need to keep their cool after putting up with the cooking) and eye-catching golden brown for the master bedroom. Well, the eye-catching golden brown is more akin to the look of burnt toast and I haven’t heard the last of it. Barun is usually good-humoured you know, except when I sing and then he’s quite rude…’ she went on, quite happy at getting a rapt listener, even though it was an uninterrupted monologue. It made Tina feel good just to hear all that non-stop chatter. It was like she had been living with silence for so long, she had forgotten the music of words.
Rozy settled down with a comfortable cushion and launched into a narration of the parent-teacher meeting, with some mimicry thrown in for good measure. ‘School,’ she said, ‘always makes me shudder because it reminds me of math. I was mortally afraid of the subject. My nemesis were those trains which insisted on starting from two different stations and moving inexorably towards each other, while one hapless student tried her damnedest to figure out when they would cross one another and holler recognition in a burst of shrill noise. Why both the trains couldn’t play catch me if you can and run in the same direction was beyond me. Every time the question stared up from the examination paper, a cold sweat trickled down my spine. They never did manage to meet—not on my watch, for sure. Probably believed staunchly in Kipling’s theory that east is east and west is west and ne’er the twain shall meet.’
Tina said, ‘Gosh, I do hope Chintu is brighter than you! Of course, I’m no math wizard either, but history was my real problem. I could never remember dates. Guess I inherited the flair for forgetting from Mummy. Did I tell you about the time Uma Aunty came to visit? One Sunday, we had just finished lunch when there were familiar noises of a car drawing up. We looked out the window and lo and behold! Papa’s cousin Uma Aunty and her husband, who had never visited us before, were getting out of the car with both their sons. The gas cylinder was empty and the fire, lit in the morning, had died down. Only some dying embers and ashes remained. There was no milk in the fridge and the dear old market opened only at six in the evening, so there was no scope of purchasing even the most godforsaken brand of biscuits. Mummy looked at me and I tried hard not to look at anyone else!
‘It was left to my innovative skills to rustle up something. So I mixed some milk powder with water. There being no chance of any heating, energetic efforts on the mixing front were made, but the milk powder got a cold response from the water and decided to float frostily on top. Coffee and sugar were stirred in, the whole thing poured into decorative glasses, ice added generously and with an impassive expression, I served the concoction. ‘Aha, cold coffee,’ said one of the cousins with evident delight, before taking a large sip from his glass. He put it down with the speed of a striking cobra. The others gingerly tried theirs, and moved like greased lightning to put down their respective glasses. Silence fell on the group and conversation languished noticeably. Eventually, the sweets they had brought were served in this TINA (There Is No Alternative) situation; the guests took leave soon after.
‘When we had recovered sufficiently to attempt a post-mortem, it emerged that Uma Aunty had written to Papa a month ago and he in turn had informed Mummy right then, that they would be reaching our home around lunchtime that particular Sunday. He’d blissfully overlooked her absent-mindedness, and not reminded her even that morning, assuming that she’d remember to prepare a special lunch for the guests. Mummy, who was such an enthusiastic hostess, was mortified at her oversight, especially because these were formal relatives on their maiden visit to our home. I fancied I detected a less-than-warm smile on Uma Aunty’s countenance when we met again.’
Rozy was in splits by now. More reminiscences followed, till they realised how late it was and decided to call it a day. The last waking thought Tina had as she drifted off to sleep, was that she had almost forgotten the unpleasantness of the previous evening.
TWELVE
Mumbai, 6 February
The morning walkers were out on Juhu beach, breathing in the crisp morning air. Birds circled lazily overhead. The waves crashed gently on the shore, setting off a fine spray which framed the blue horizon like delicate lace. The joggers in colourful outfits busily ran past, enjoying the invigorating breeze that lifted tendrils of hair from sweating foreheads.
A shrill scream stopped everyone in their tracks—except for the birds, which emitted squawks of protest and took flight, flapping their wings in displeasure. They all rushed towards the source of the scream. She was a young woman, neatly dressed in a grey tracksuit, shivering with shock. Mutely she pointed to the rocks and then they all saw the object of horror—an outflung arm leading to a still body and a completely battered face. The body had been wedged between rocks and only when the unfortunate jogger had sat on one to catch her breath, had it rolled away, revealing what lay behind.
It was like e
veryone was frozen in a tableau. They stood around in groups, waiting for the police. Even youngsters with ghoulish fascination for the macabre shuffled their feet as though embarrassed about their initial bout of curiosity. The ambulance arrived and trying not to disturb anything that could have a bearing on the crime scene, the paramedics lifted the body with a gentleness that was ironic. The police cordoned off the area and began the tedious task of sifting through the rocks whose hard surfaces seemed to say implacably that they would yield no clue. The sand was equally treacherous, already beginning to blow in all directions, as if mocking attempts to bring it to the witness stand.
The inspector took out his diary and began to note down the details, grateful that the young woman who had uncovered the ghastly secret was not in hysterics. He also thanked God for the smaller mercies, in that this did not appear to be a sex crime. Nevertheless, it was premeditated and meticulously planned, down to placing together rocks that almost melded together without a crack. The trail, it was obvious, was cold. This was going to be an arduous investigation indeed.
The news item on television was hardly noticeable. A correspondent, obviously a new recruit, tried to enliven it by asking the morning joggers what they felt about seeing the ‘body on the beach’. No spectator was overly excited about being in front of the camera; the sight of the battered face and deadly stab wound was too gruesome for them to relish talking about it…