Swear You Won't Tell?

by Vedashree Khambete-Sharma

  She let out an unexpected yawn.

  ‘You can sleep a bit, if you like,’ Dhruv said, ‘I won’t take advantage of you or anything.’

  She grinned, ‘I don’t see how you could, with your hands on the wheel.’

  He gave her a look then and it made her toes curl. ‘Are you saying I could, when my hands are off the wheel?’

  Her mouth dropped open and she looked away to hide her confusion. How had that happened? Dhruv was smiling. He seemed to be enjoying himself.

  ‘Relax,’ he said, ‘I wouldn’t do that. Despite the temptation.’

  She cleared her throat, to get over the moment. Funny things were happening in her stomach.

  ‘Besides, I think your … friend … Uday, is it? He’d have something to say on the subject, if I did.’

  ‘I told you, he’s not—’

  ‘I’m sure you think that. But I’ve been friends with women. You don’t stay up the whole night waiting for some girl to come back from wherever, no matter how great a friend you are of hers.’

  ‘You mean you don’t stay up the whole night—’

  ‘Not just me. The kind of … concern … this guy seems to have for you? It can only mean one of two things.’

  ‘Really?’ she asked, eyes narrowed.

  ‘Yup. Either you’re eighteen and he’s your dad, or … at least as far as he’s concerned, you’re a lot more than just a friend.’

  Twenty

  ‘… and then, we went to Khar Social, but it was packed obviously, so I told Storm—that’s his actual name, you know, did I mention he’s an installation artist?—I said, let’s just go to my place and chill, but he was like, it’s just 1:30, babes, let’s do something fun, so we—’

  Avantika spun around, grabbed Shibani by the shoulders and shook her hard.

  ‘Are you on cocaine?’ she yelled. ‘Your social life puts Lady Gaga’s to shame! Have you no sense of decency at all?’

  Of course, all this happened in a matter of moments, deep in the dark corners of her mind. In reality, she turned calmly to her colleague and said, ‘That sounds amazing, were there jugglers?’

  It was hugely fulfilling to see the puzzled frown on Shibani’s face. But she had underestimated the girl. Refusing to be fazed by something she didn’t understand, she went on: ‘No, but funny you should mention jugglers, because we went to this bar—it doesn’t have a name, people just know where it is and show up, cool, na?—and the bartender, you won’t believe this—’

  From across the room, Uday held two thumbs up and gave her a happy grin. The bastard. She’d told him everything, of course, and after yelling at her a bit for a variety of things—falling asleep in Dhruv’s car, agreeing to keep everything she heard a secret, not even landing a few punches on Aisha’s face—he’d agreed that she didn’t have any solid proof and couldn’t do anything about it.

  ‘I wish I’d recorded that conversation on my phone,’ she’d groaned.

  ‘Wouldn’t matter, it’s inadmissible evidence,’ he’d replied.

  And that’s where the matter would’ve ended had Dhruv not put his silly assumption in her head. She wanted to ignore it as the stupid surmise of a man, who was, who was … alright, very nice to look at, but still.

  She’d have to talk to Uday about it. But wouldn’t that spoil everything? Look at him, sitting there and grinning at her misery. That’s what friends did. She’d hate it if this was replaced by some kind of stupid awkwardness. Ugh.

  Then, Nathan walked in and called the meeting to order. Avantika quietly watched him hand out the week’s assignments. She was determined to be a good girl in this meeting. It was important that she not fuck up. There was a lot hanging in the—

  ‘Pandit,’ Nathan said, peering over his glasses. ‘You’re very quiet today. Here, you can cover this.’

  He slid a press release towards her. She took it mutely, and was skimming it when he decided to give her a summary.

  ‘Some celebrity dietician—Megha someone—has a new book coming out, where she’s talked about going on an all-fruit diet. Go cover the launch.’

  Personally, Avantika thought it was bananas to pick fruit over, say, bacon. But she nodded sagely anyway. Nathan was still looking at her. Now he leaned forward, as if trying to watch her more closely.

  ‘The book’s called … My Experiments with Fruit.’

  No. What? She could hear hysterical laughter in her head. So. Many. Jokes. Avantika sniffed, then cleared her throat. ‘Super,’ she said, struggling to keep her voice from shaking.

  Nathan gave her an odd look. Uday was carefully looking at the ceiling, trying not to laugh.

  ‘Are you sure you heard the name correctly?’

  ‘I did,’ she said, drawing a huge breath. ‘It sounds … interesting.’

  Nathan nodded, shooting a suspicious glance her way. He was about to move to the next item, when a voice said, ‘Er, I had a story idea.’

  To Avantika’s horror, she realized it was her voice. Nathan was peering at her again, as was the rest of the room. No doubt, they were wondering what fresh pile of dung she was about to step in.

  ‘A story idea?’ Nathan asked. ‘Could this be the story you were, what was it you called it, yes, “chasing”?’ You could almost hear the air-quotes dropping into place.

  ‘Yes,’ Avantika said meekly. Then she took a deep breath and said, ‘WardboysaredoingautopsiesatBhagwanwadi Hospital.’

  There should have been some kind of effect. A respectful hush, perhaps or the loud silence of every pair of ears in a room straining to hear what would be said next. But no, that kind of thing doesn’t happen to everyone. So all Avantika got in return were a few half-hearted whats and a suppressed giggle. One person yawned, without even bothering to cover it up. She looked helplessly at Nathan. Surely with his experience, his fervour for journalism, he would’ve heard and understood what she said. Surely he wouldn’t just sit back and say—

  ‘What?’ Nathan asked. ‘What did you say?’

  Avantika slumped back in her seat. Then she leaned forward again.

  ‘I said…’ she began.

  ‘Ward boys. Are doing. Post-mortems,’ Nathan said slowly. ‘Are you sure?’

  Avantika nodded furiously. ‘I have a source and everything. He was there. He’s probably done a few himself. He—’

  ‘Can you trust him? Is he reliable?’

  Avantika thought of Ganesh, with his tobacco-stained grin and henna-tinted hair. ‘Practically a Gandhian,’ she said.

  After the meeting, she accosted Uday, who greeted her with a high-five.

  ‘Nice going,’ he said. ‘It’s a hell of a story. Let me know if you need any help.’

  She nodded, then began fidgeting. This was it. This didn’t have to be it, did it? Couldn’t she just not ask the question? No, she had to. It wasn’t fair to Uday if he was being nice to her because he … liked her. It was too much like using a guy and she didn’t want to be the kind of woman who did shit like that.

  ‘Do you have to go to the loo?’ Uday asked, watching her practically vibrate on the spot.

  ‘No, what? No, I have to ask you something.’

  ‘Okay?’

  ‘Do you … are you…’ she waved her hands vaguely in the air.

  ‘Confused? Little bit, yeah.’

  ‘No. Idiot.’

  Then she lowered her voice and looked around. They were standing in the balcony outside the office, which was usually colonized by smokers. Today, blessedly, there wasn’t a single soul around.

  ‘Look,’ she said. ‘Do you have … feelings for me or something?’ She made a face.

  For a moment, Uday was absolutely silent. Then he looked at the ceiling. ‘Yeah. Kind of.’

  ‘Kind of?’

  ‘Well, I have feelings of …’ he looked into the distance, as if seeking inspiration or perhaps just the right word, ‘exasperation? Amusement? Sometimes even a bit of violence. Nothing serious, you understand, just a tap across the head when you’re being
an ass—’

  She punched his arm. Nothing happened. She punched it again. This time, her knuckles twinged a bit. She massaged them with a frown.

  ‘I did mention I go to the gym, you know,’ Uday said reproachfully.

  ‘Whatever,’ she said, drawing herself up. ‘Bloody Dhruv Juneja, saying things—’

  ‘You called?’ said a voice nearby and of course, it was Dhruv, dapper as usual, familiar smirk firmly in place.

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Tell me the truth,’ she said and he raised his eyebrows, ‘Can you teleport? Is it a superpower they hand out with BMWs in case the car breaks down? Because you’re always popping up without warning.’

  He was holding a large brown paper bag before him. Its handles were made from a navy blue satin ribbon. You didn’t have to reach the contents of the bag to see that this was going to be an expensive exercise. He held the bag out to her.

  ‘Like all good things in life,’ he grinned.

  She took the bag and reached into it, shooting suspicious looks at Dhruv the whole time. She wasn’t the only one—Uday was sizing up Dhruv as well, giving him a stony-faced look for good measure. Under a layer of tissue paper, her fingers touched smooth leather. She pulled away the last of the wrapping. It was a purse.

  To be precise, a messenger bag made from rich brown leather, with dull brass fastenings. On the handle, hand-stitched in dull gold thread, were an A and J, capital, serif, interlocked. Yet it was nothing like Aisha’s other colourful creations. It was a working woman’s bag, and wouldn’t have made it through the door of a high-tea or a kitty party. It was made for rough handling, ups and downs, dropping and picking up and stuffing with the kind of things that makes a woman’s handbag such a mysterious object for men. It seemed made for her. And yet—‘I’m sorry, I can’t accept it,’ she said, handing it back to Dhruv.

  ‘You don’t like it?’ he asked, genuinely surprised.

  ‘No, it’s lovely, it’s perfect,’ she said, eyeing it longingly, ‘but … it’s too much like a bribe.’

  ‘No, no,’ he said. ‘Don’t misunderstand me. This isn’t some kind of … thing to keep your mouth shut—’

  ‘But if it’s from Laxmi and Aisha, then—’

  ‘Them? Hah,’ said Dhruv, ‘It’s from … me. Think of it as a sorry-my-stupid-sister-tried-to-kill-you gift.’

  Avantika shot him a sharp look and he wilted a bit.

  ‘Too soon?’

  ‘Yes. And stupid isn’t the word I’d use.’

  ‘Probably not,’ he agreed, ‘self-centred may be more accurate. But that’s what love does to people, I guess.’

  Avantika strangled the urge to correct him. Love, real love, she wanted to say, is about thinking about someone else to the extent that you put yourself in second place. Mothers understood this instinctively. The rest of us, she felt, plod along trying to pretend that we get it, while being laughably clueless the whole time.

  On the other hand, a treacherous voice inside her piped up, isn’t loving someone and then thinking only of them, of protecting only that love, to the exclusion of everyone and everything including family, friends, values and country, also a kind of selfishness? She shook her head to clear it. Shakespeare had got it totally wrong, she thought. Perhaps love doesn’t make fools, so much as selfish assholes of us all.

  ‘Thanks for the bag,’ she said to Dhruv. ‘It’ll be a nice … reminder.’

  He grinned cheekily. ‘Not of me, I hope. I just talked to Nathan and I’m going to be doing a running photo-feature for you guys. You know, parts of Mumbai that rarely get shot. I’m thinking of calling it “Unseen City”. What do you think?’

  Avantika was about to nod approvingly, when Uday piped up. ‘It’s a bit … first thought, don’t you think?’

  Dhruv looked a little taken aback at this casual rudeness, but he recovered quickly. ‘Right, thanks,’ he said with a knowing smile to Avantika, ‘I guess I needed …ah … a neutral third person opinion.’

  And with a cheery wave, he was gone.

  ‘Arrogant asshole,’ Uday muttered to his retreating back. ‘I’ll give you this, Avanti, at least you have the good taste not to date someone like that.’

  Deep inside Avantika’s mind, something sat up and went, hmmm.

  ‘Oh, he’s not all that bad,’ she said, watching Uday’s face carefully. ‘He was a total gentleman the whole time we were at that bungalow.’

  Uday looked stormy for a second, but it passed quickly. ‘I’m just glad you’re back alive,’ he said, giving her an affectionate hug and messing her hair. ‘It would’ve been a bitch covering features till Nathan found someone new.’

  Just then, his phone rang and he held up a finger, indicating that he had to take it. Talking rapidly on the handset, he walked away from her. Avantika watched him thoughtfully, as he walked out of the balcony and into the main office. That hug had been … different. Not entirely platonic. Maybe just a little bit protective. Or was it possessive? She’d have to think about this. But it would have to be later. Right now, she had work to do. She dialled a number on her phone.

  ‘Hello? Ganesh?’ she said. ‘When does your shift end?’

  NOTES

  One

  1 To the naked eye, matrimonial sites are like non-alcoholic beer—they both seem to take something fun and interesting and remove all possibility of it leading to sex. But lust always finds a way. So while parents think enrolling on a matrimonial site can allow their darling son or daughter to get to know a prospective spouse, they often have no idea that the young people in question are also getting to know each other, well, biblically.

  2 In Mumbai’s hot and humid weather, helmets are to bikers what underpants are to toddlers. They know they’ve been told to wear one, they know they’ll get into trouble if they don’t wear one, but left to their own devices, they’ll take it off the first chance they get.

  3 It is commonly believed that the architects who designed the structure screwed up the plans and so the hotel was built with its backside facing the sea. It’s not true. Although interestingly enough, thousands of Mumbai citizens find themselves in the same position every morning, without any assistance from architects whatsoever.

  4 What Slumdog Millionaire conveniently forgot to mention in its poor-India-exotic-India photo essay, is that Dharavi is also home to dozens of leather boutiques, which sell everything from Mulberry knock-offs to made-to-order jackets, at a fraction of the original price. You’re welcome.

  5 A.k.a designers. Also, stylists. Also people who don’t mind being mocked to death in college.

  6 It’s unclear who invented this form of address in Indian convent schools. One can only hope that the person is engaged in a life-and-death fight with sharks at the moment.

  Two

  1 When grammatically confused students ask, ‘What is irony?’ they are told that the answer is the Bandra–Worli Sea Link. It is possibly the only stretch of road in the city empty enough to test the mythical fourth gear of your car. It is also a place where you can cannot, by law, drive over 60 kmph. This is why Delhi laughs at Mumbai.

  2 Opinion is divided on the famous Ambani residence. There are those who declare Antilla an eyesore, and there are those who require an urgent appointment with the optometrist. And then there are those who say, with an enigmatic smile, that perhaps the greatest luxury unimaginable wealth offered you, was the luxury of not having to look pretty.

  3 Kolkata might brag about its Kathi Roll, but if greasy street food is what you seek, you cannot ignore the Frankie. A refined flour paratha fried in questionable oil, stuffed with nameless stuffing, it is nevertheless a triumph in mindful eating. In the sense that your mind is so full of the taste, you don’t mind the fact that you’re not eating anything even remotely healthy.

  Three

  1 In Mumbai, people routinely rent out their homes, while keeping their own nameplates firmly nailed to the door. Wanting your own nameplate if you’re renting someone else’s home is like wanting a man who’s
deeply attracted to you, just for your well-preserved collection of 14th century history books. You can keep wanting, but it’s not going to happen.

  2 The stainless steel coffee filter is to the traditional south Indian household what a Tumblr account is to a millennial. You’ve totes got to have one, bro.

  3 While it is debatable whether Indians invented artificial insemination and nuclear weapons like some political parties claim, it can be said with some confidence that we were recycling before the world turned green. The scrap man or raddiwala would come around with a pair of scales, weigh your old newspapers and magazines and glass bottles and plastic oil cans and pay, I repeat, pay you to take them away. At some point, these enterprising folks began to moonlight as old booksellers, which meant you could buy anything from old chemistry textbooks to back issues of Playboy from a dingy little shack with heaps of newspapers piled outside. In other words, what goes around, comes around to someone else, and possibly makes them come.

  Four

  1 And in many ways, some are.

  Eight

  1 Before cub reporters become cub reporters, they usually go to journalism school where they are taught the basic elements of any news story: What happened? Who did it happen to? Where did it happen? When did it happen? Why did it happen? How did it happen? They forget to mention that if you ask these questions relive and assertively enough, you can make a person relive their childhood without resorting to hypnotherapy.

  2 The Squeeze-E was a soft, squishy revolution in the age of hard thermos-like water-bottles. It had freezable ice-packs to keep your water cold, came in a range of exciting colours and shapes and made you sway like a pendulum, when slung around your neck.