Let's Have Coffee

by Parul A Mittal

  Surprisingly, I find that I am not at all surprised. I can see that asshole changing colours at the sight of money. I strongly resist the temptation to say ‘I told you so’ to Mansi. She is not crying any more, but the pain is going to transform into a bruise, which will hurt for a long time. I can see that she is already blaming herself for having fallen for his charm.

  ‘Why is it always me, Meha? Why does it always happen to me? Why can’t I find one decent guy to get married? You know, even after he read the bitch’s message he said he loves me. Why?’ She looks almost childlike.

  I want to comfort her. I want to tell her that she will find a decent guy who will love her with all his heart, just like I want to tell myself that Samir loves me. But I can’t bring myself to give her false hope. I just hold her tight and hug her. She hugs me back and then after a while, she falls asleep on the floor, her head in my lap. I lift her head, set it on a pillow and lie down next to her. We both fall asleep.

  Next morning, I wake up to the sound of loud music playing on Mansi’s phone through an external speaker. She is standing in our balcony, drinking straight from an open bottle of vodka, singing loudly, and dancing wildly to her own tune.

  ‘Char botal vodka,

  Ass-fucked-up Sarika

  Na use koi roke

  Na Mansi ne roka

  Saari raat Sarika, subah Mansi honey

  He asked me to marry, but he only loves money

  kyunki kyunki kyunki…’

  I rush to the balcony. Mansi is now standing on a chair and yelling her version of the song. She is still wearing the red dress from last night, crumpled and tear-stained, but seductive nonetheless. I try to pull her down, as I see the uncle next door in white kurta and pyjama trying to locate the source of this wake up call in the morning. A couple of other guys are also staring up from the floors below. I put on a ‘he-he-she-is-a-little-high’ smile as I drag an inebriated Mansi inside the house. I take away the half-empty bottle from her hand and drain it down the sink. What a waste of Absolut! The sacrifices one has to do for one’s friends!

  I then sort of push her inside the bathroom. I am glad that she is rather light and much thinner than I am. Imagine someone having to drag a drunken seal like me. I open the shower and let the water pour over her. As the cold water hits her system, she sobers a bit.

  ‘Don’t sleep off in there!’ I warn her and go to the kitchen to fix some breakfast for us. It’s 8 a.m. on a Friday morning and I have to get to work. But there really isn’t a lot of work and Mansi needs me. Half an hour later, Mansi walks out to our small round breakfast table looking sorted. Wearing a blue, cotton palazzo and white spaghetti, her hair freshly washed and last night’s make-up all gone, she looks as attractive as ever. I wonder why any guy would leave someone like her for another woman.

  She gives me a grateful smile when she sees the food and attacks the sandwiches with the ferocity of a hungry pauper. I check my phone to see if Samir has messaged yet. No response. He has gone silent. What is it with Martians running up the hills when a woman shows interest? And they say women are complicated. At least we are consistently complicated.

  With the hangover washed down by carbohydrates and two cups of hot ginger tea, Mansi looks totally fresh and alert.

  ‘I am leaving Dream Wedding Planners,’ she says, her eyes focussed on the bird-feeder in the balcony. Her fingers toying with the empty cup in her hand.

  I smile at this awesome news. I have been telling her to work with me for months. She is well networked.

  ‘You don’t have to be an employee of course. You can come in as co-founder.’

  ‘I am going for the Everest Base Camp trek,’ she says, ignoring my suggestion.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Yes, I am flying to Kathmandu tomorrow afternoon. I just confirmed with the trekking group. They have a vacant spot. The EBC trek starts the day after.’

  ‘Are you mad? Don’t you need training for this kind of stuff? What if you die there? Have you told your parents?’ I bombard her with all random fears.

  ‘Meg, I have wanted to do EBC for a very long time, but the bitch would never give me a three-weeks off. EBC is an easy trek. It doesn’t require any specific training, only basic fitness. And no, hopefully I won’t die there. About my parents, there is connectivity all the way up to the base camp. I will keep talking to them. They won’t know a thing.’

  I stare at her determined self, totally dumb-founded. I am scared for her. And, I am scared for myself too—of being alone, without her. Girls can survive without a boyfriend, but not without a best friend.

  ‘Oh! You will be fine, honey,’ she says reading the fear my eyes. ‘In fact, you will be more than fine. I am going to make you happy and rich. Very, very rich.’

  I cannot fathom anything she is saying anymore. Either she has gone crazy with shock or I used vodka instead of water while making tea and we are both drunk.

  She picks up her phone and calls someone. ‘Hi Sonia,’ she says warmly. I see a very pretty face appear on her screen. It is a video call.

  ‘I hope you were not busy,’ she asks, still warm but formal.

  I see Sonia is sitting and smoking in a luxurious hotel room.

  ‘I am always free for my proposal designer,’ Sonia says in a sweet, Kat-like anglicised voice—dressed in a short, spaghetti-strap dress, she looks model-hot.

  ‘Sonia, I am leaving Dream Wedding.’

  Sonia’s eyes grow wide with alarm at this unexpected news. She takes small, quick puffs of her cigarette.

  ‘Don’t worry. Your proposal will be in safe hands.’ Mansi assures her.

  ‘You know how comfortable I am with you,’ Sonia sort of complains. ‘Can’t you stay on for two weeks more?’

  ‘I really can’t,’ Mansi says earnestly. ‘But I have Meha here, who can do your proposal better than me.’

  I totally understand the discomfort on Sonia’s face. I still don’t know what game Mansi is playing.

  ‘Sonia, Aseem has been sending you all the ideas from Meha’s blog. The presentation he had me mail you was designed based on a wedding Meha planned in Thailand last year.’

  Both Sonia and I look aghast at this revelation. Mansi had used pictures from my blog for her company.

  ‘Honey, its competition!’ she informs me, putting the call on hold for a moment. ‘Aseem got a junior to do it. Besides, to be fair, not that I want to be fair to the asshole, it’s out on the net. Anyone can use and copy it.’

  I have no idea what to feel right now. Flattered like Picasso at being plagiarized or angry like the HarvardConnection.com whose FB idea Mark Zuckerberg had stolen.

  ‘And she can do it at much lower price,’ I hear Mansi say, as she continues to give the spiel about my services to Sonia.

  Sonia’s eyes sparkle at this latest information. ‘I am not the one to compromise quality for money, but I am always interested in encouraging upcoming talent. If no one had encouraged me when I was a newcomer, how would I be a top model today?’

  ‘So Meha, can you design a surprise proposal for my boyfriend, in about two weeks from now, at Phi Phi island?’ Sonia asks, this time looking at me directly.

  I will deal with Mansi later on plagiarism. Right now, it’s time for business. I get down to understanding the details from Sonia. She tells me her mom is planning her dad’s sixtieth birthday in eighteen days from now. It’s a two-day-long event, which her mom is organizing. She expects her boyfriend to join her. With all her family around, she wants to propose to him on the second day, before dinner. She needs me to do only the proposal design, a post-proposal dance and a photo story the morning after. She asks me how much I can do it for.

  I calculate the expenses roughly for a twelve-member crew, flights and an extra day for shopping at Bangkok. I won’t go so far and not shop at Bangkok. All costs included, the project should be doable in about twenty lacs. I am about to say thirty lacs adding a fifty percent service fee, when Mansi shushes me.

  ‘Sonia,
Meha can do it for a crore, with a twenty-five percent advance,’ says Mansi in a business like tone. ‘You’ve got to agree that it’s a steal. And you will get work of better quality.’ That’s my personal guarantee to you.’

  Sonia walks around the room, considering the price, while I hit Mansi’s feet under the table for overpricing. I am about to reduce the price when Sonia says, ‘It’s a really great deal Mansi, but what about ethics? You know I have verbally committed to Aseem. Only the paper work is left, which is to be signed today.’

  ‘Sonia,’ Mansi is personal and intimate now. ‘I am the first to honour a commitment. You know that “I” in my dictionary stands for integrity. But, I realized that some people don’t know decency from dick-sense. Not only did Aseem steal Meha’s ideas and present them as his team’s work to you, which is in itself unscrupulous, he also proposed to me last evening and then went and obliged Sarika later in the night.’

  Mansi Luthra is in full a ‘Man-ass-i-Lootera’ (I will rob the guy’s ass) mood, while Sonia looks horrified.

  ‘I hate cheaters,’ Sonia is vehement. ‘Meha, you are on. I will have the paper work sent to your email in an hour and the advance wired within the next twenty-four hours.’

  There is a knock on Sonia’s door and a vaguely familiar voice calling her name. ‘My boyfriend is here. We will discuss the rest later,’ Sonia whispers and immediately disconnects.

  ‘Ooh Mansi. I love you!’ I jump in delight and kiss her. I have suddenly gone from brooding like a bounced cheque to glowing like a million bucks.

  An hour later, as promised, I get an email from Sonia with all the paper work. She has also sent her personal details like her favourite colours, songs and brands, her family background and other necessary information. The deal is signed and confirmed.

  I still can’t believe that my luck has turned. I feel like I have stepped into The Land of Take-What-You-Want from the Faraway tree in the novel Enchanted Woods. I am drinking from a Frappuccino fountain. Sonia is like Silky, the Fairy.

  Few hours later, I get more good news. Samir has replied. He is busy travelling for the next couple of weeks and then guess what? He is also going to be in Phi Phi Island on the same dates as me, shooting a sixtieth birthday celebration.

  There is just a slight hitch. Samir has got changed to a hot-bod model Sonia for a girlfriend and I am their official proposal designer.

  Dear bad luck, let’s break up!

  The Surprisee and To-Be-Surprised

  Right now, I am on a ferry to Koh Phi Phi, trying to fall in love with my new boyfriend. I can’t believe I finally got Samsung. To tell you the truth, it’s not been a great experience so far. I mean I like my guys to be grounded, simple and open source, but I am having trouble adjusting with this new phone.

  I hope you didn’t confuse Samsung for Samir Singhal. Did you? Haven’t you heard jokes about the phone being the other girl in a guy’s life? Tell you what. We are a generation of equal rights. For a girl, this smart piece of hardware has become very much like a phoney boyfriend. I realized this only a few days back, when I broke the screen of my really cool, but a bit too sensitive Xiomi for the third time. Do you think it’s normal for a person to break their phone’s screen thrice in three weeks? But then, not a lot has been normal since Sonia got added to my client list.

  So, for last few days I am trying to get familiar with my new boyfriend. It’s not been easy. I have to admit I miss my old one and wonder why it had to break. The new one doesn’t know any of my previous conversations. No context, no understanding, no auto-correct. Communication is so hard and I end up pressing the wrong buttons. I also don’t like the boring clothes it wears. I must get it a flowery, colourful cover from Bangkok, on my way back.

  The only plus point is the show-your-palm-to-click-selfie feature in-built in the camera. Sitting on the open deck of the ferry, I can see endless vast, deep, blue ocean all around me through the phone’s camera lens. It’s an amazing photo opp. Mesmerized by the scenic beauty, my mind wants to hum ‘Aaj blue hai paani…aur din bhi sunny…aa jao on the beach yaar, photo meri kheench’, but my heart is not cooperating. The mind can’t understand why the heart is being so moody when everything is so perfect. Our FB page has seen unprecedented action with the Yourstory article coming out last week. My latest FB post titled, ‘If you want to know how committed your girlfriend is in a relationship, see how often she changes her phone’, has also been doing rather well. My beachwear is sneaked out of its hibernation and is looking forward for some action, while my parents believe I am in Ooty for work. I got a tight grip on my new phoney boyfriend. Vir is only a touch away. Even Surya is being friendly despite the rainy season.

  I ought to feel exhilarated. Yet, I am a bit gloomy. I know it’s not sea-sickness. It’s not even the fear of losing the insanely expensive, most exquisite, heart-shaped engagement ring that has taken the outstanding balance on my credit card up by twenty-five lakhs. I wish it was mine, but it’s Sonia’s. I am only a-Frappuccino-a-day rich. But I am not miserable because she is sixteen-warehouses-full-of-chocolate rich. It’s something else. I can smell its dampness. I can feel its lingering presence, like a shadow lurking in a corner. I think I recognize its blue, sulking outline. It’s sadness. Sadness that a story is going to end soon. The story of a young girl and a handsome boy. The story that started out with a hot and steamy affair on the beaches of Goa, but got lost in the haste of youthfulness. I should be glad I am getting to write the final act. And I have done an excellent job of the same.

  But I don’t feel good. I wanted to be the girl who gets the guy in the end. I wanted the lead role. I even resisted being sidelined as a supporting cast.

  The night before Mansi left for the EBC trek, she, Tanu Di and I went to a pub. I told Mansi that I don’t want to do this project and she said I was being stupid.

  She said, ‘Sonia is going to propose any way. The only variable is who gets richer in the process, Sarika or you?’

  When she put it that way, there really was no choice. What else was I supposed to do? Call up Sonia and tell her that I can’t design her proposal, because I love your boyfriend. In fact, I think he might love me too, although we haven’t spoken in the last five years. But he mentioned something about a bittersweet treat on FB, which can only be me, because you are all so sweet and can’t possibly be bitter. Well, I almost did. In my thoughts at least. And every single time I tried to imagine the scenario, it never ended with Samir saying he loves me.

  So, I am just doing my work and taking the people out of the picture—don’t even articulate their names. They shall be the Surprisee and the To-Be-Surprised. It’s the healthy and cheaper option to maintain my sanity and it lends a whole secretive flavour to the project. It works most of the time. Except when Sonia starts to rave about the charm bracelet with stiletto, purse and dress charms that Samir gifted her. Or how he made a photo puzzle with her pictures and although she hates puzzles, she loved it because her pictures were amazing. Or how he calls her baby doll and told her that this is the longest he has been with any girl. She thinks he was hinting they should get married and so she has decided to propose.

  It is at these times that my heart takes refuge in the land of ‘Take-What-You-Want with seventy-five lakh rupees’ in the Enchanted Woods, while my mind continues to pencil in details of the Surprisee and To-Be-Surprised. I am so often wandering in this dream land that even my virtual boyfriend is feeling neglected, my weighing machine is feeling lighter and I have no idea that a certain rat is wrecking havoc in the office, having already chewed and gnawed the butts of over six dozen HB pencils. I am stuck with Blue Cloud as a constant partner.

  The boat reins in sharply and I am summoned from my wool-gathering expedition. I see these giant black rocks looming ominously over us and our ferry heading for a fatal collision into the rocks. Oh God! I lied to my parents and ventured into the dangerous waters. Now I will die unmarried and my mom will never get a big star in her mommy journal. I am just about to call m
y mom and tell her I love her when it suddenly appears, almost like a mirage, concealed behind the high rocks. The popular, picturesque paradise of Phi Phi islands with its famous white-sand beaches and turquoise blue water.

  I sigh as I take in the beautiful view. I look around for my team. They are all happily scattered. The seasick ones are holding their stomachs in the cabin below. Amit is clicking his selfie and WhatsApping his newly wed wife. Pyare is holding NetGen’s hand so her slight frame doesn’t get carried away by the strong wind, while she shoots a video of the approaching island for our FB post.

  ‘It’s OK, you will have fun,’ I assure myself. ‘Just avoid a five feet ten inch tall, extremely handsome guy, with a wild-rose fragrance that can set you back by seventy-five lakh rupees.’ I turn around, smile and click a picture-postcard selfie.

  As I get up to disembark the ferry, I sneak one last look at the ring, inside my purse, to make sure it’s there. It is designed as two diamond-studded S’s, facing each other. The two S’s, representing the Surprisee and To-Be-Surprised (TBS), which are joined at the top and the bottom to form a heart. Ever since I got it, the ring has been weighing me down like the Hobbit. I really didn’t want to shoulder this responsibility, but I couldn’t refuse. The Surprisee told me to buy the ring on my card, as she didn’t want her dad to be alert by the expense and foil her surprise proposal. I shall be glad to soon unburden my purse. Acting confident, but feeling nothing like it, I walk out of the ferry to meet the Surprisee.

  Thirty hours later, I am stationed in a snug, tree house, about ten feet above ground, on a strong sturdy tree. I take a swig of beer, munch on some cheesy chips and look through binoculars. I can see the partially covered patio of the bar and lounge, minimally decked up for the evening cocktail party. The lounge is mostly empty right now. An SMS from NetGen informs me that we are all set for lights, camera and action. She sends me pictures of all the ten crossword clues of Sonia’s treasure hunt proposal, hidden around the newly built, boutique Zeavola resort. Clues that will lead TBS to the precious ring. Good job!