He used the washroom and left, but what he said made me realise that it was true. I was liberated. Despite the mud-slinging I had to endure on account of my choices, I continued to do as I pleased because I was sure that my dressing preferences were harmless to others—I was truly liberated. That knowledge gave me the confidence I needed to get through the day.
That gentleman who welcomed me on my first day without hesitation was Mr Pandurang Tikre. I never thanked him for his kindness before and wish to take this opportunity to say thank you. He is a good person.
I know it sounds odd, but I feel supreme confidence when I dress as a woman. Heads turn and people see me. This visibility gives me a distinct identity. Otherwise, I might just be part of the woodwork and nobody would realise I exist. So, I spend an hour every day to dress up for work. I feel free to do that because nobody at IndeGen judges me. Thank you, IndeGen, for loving me and for not trying to change me.
Below, a smiling picture of Devyani with her name and social media address completed the write-up. After reading one pamphlet, they returned for the next one.
We were now dictating their thoughts and actions. That was stage two of our operation.
Right after reading the stories, they connected on social media. Everyone was eager to interact. They had questions they wanted to ask based on what they had read about us in the papers.
This was the difficult phase—telling other people our private tales. It was scary. The risk of misinterpretation was high, and even greater was the risk of all our efforts going to waste. But we persisted.
For me, this public Q&A session was doubly difficult because people objectified my relationship with Piyush. They saw me as the other woman out to ruin a happy marriage.
We had decided beforehand that none of us would say anything negative about anyone under any circumstances. Therefore I had to face the situation and keep my story strictly about my thoughts and feelings. It was excruciating. The going was tough for the others too.
Among the easier queries thrown our way was why we were doing what we were doing. Here we had a ready answer. We told them we needed help. We told them that we had been thrown out despite representing the very principles the company stood for.
IndeGen had been set up with the motive of making the world a better place to live. The company had always identified with its roots and remembered how it had grown to its current level. IndeGen loved its people and respected them for who they were, however unique they might be. Our suspension went against these values.
The media and other external stakeholders were attacking IndeGen’s values with full force since Piyush’s untimely demise. The beliefs that made us unique were being ridiculed by those with zero understanding of their essence.
Soon, IndeGen would become a clone of what was the norm in the market, and most of us who had been a part of this inimitable ecosystem would have to live with the changed identity. IndeGen would never be the same again unless we protested. This was a time for IndeGeners to show solidarity, we told them.
Many agreed with our perspective. They shared their views freely. We asked them to tell their stories. Several did. The most wonderful part was that all of them had a story. Each one had a beautiful reason for having joined our start-up and a personal interest in working there.
We had started a deluge.
Soon, former IndeGeners joined in the conversation. Just like that, people who had never heard of IndeGen knew about us and wanted to be part of our family. They loved us for being unconventional. The media, which had blacklisted our methods the day before, now had to endorse the opposite.
After work, several IndeGeners came over and chatted with us. Some of them joined us in our online chatter with the world. Many stayed back. It was a fun, informal atmosphere with lots of jokes and smiles all around—just as though we were working on a project whose deadline was approaching. Food was delivered, and the interactions continued through the night.
◆◆◆
When I returned at 6:00 a.m., I found my original companions fast asleep on benches in the park. A new batch of five people had taken their place in the tent. They informed me that they had volunteered for the morning shift. The implementation of shifts was unsurprising. I would have been surprised if our effort hadn’t attracted eager participation.
Hovering over them was the media—another thing I had expected. Seeing me, the journalists and photographers rushed to me with their mikes, cameras, and questions. They needed something new to report. Their targets were, after all, never-ending.
They began with a standard question—why were we doing this? I told them that IndeGen had received too much negative publicity. We had the time, so we were clearing the air about everything and giving back to IndeGen what it had given us over the years.
They wanted to know if we took pride in employing murderers and rapists. I clarified that we did not go looking for criminals to reform them. We did not judge anyone suitable or unsuitable based on their past. The scribes refused to back off. They insisted that IndeGen’s policy of extreme tolerance was a security threat to others working there.
I countered their view by telling them that at least IndeGen knew exactly where each IndeGener had been. When a mob becomes riotous and kills someone, who gets booked? Those people must also work somewhere. Do their employers know that their employee did not think twice before vandalising property and killing strangers in a rage?
Threats to life exist everywhere, I told them. A good majority of people die in their sleep. That risk does not deter us from sleeping. Similarly, every company has to live with the risk that an employee might be a poor choice. Courage lies in making tough choices and making those decisions work in the best interest of all.
An environment of tolerance had always worked for IndeGen, without exception. Being unique did not mean being dysfunctional, I pointed out. I reminded them about the productivity of each IndeGener and how all our products were exemplary. I pointed out that IndeGen was a market leader because of its people. So finding fault with these same people was a contradiction.
Chapter 23
I had an appointment with Pandurang that morning at 8:30 a.m. He met me with a sullen face, and I got the impression that he was unhappy with my work. As soon as I took my seat, he launched into a tirade about how I was destroying everything Piyush had accomplished over the years by keeping IndeGen in the news for all the wrong reasons.
Frequent phone calls interrupted his monologue; they were from clients, board members, investors—the works. His day had begun on a sour note long before our meeting. Instead of keeping an open mind and listening to what I had to say, he blamed me and my team of IndeGeners for all the flak he was getting. He was in a tough spot, but blaming others for his hardships was too childish and unbecoming of IndeGen’s chief operating officer.
Without mincing words, I accused him of having failed both Piyush and fellow IndeGeners by acting in haste. Because he sucked at his job, we, the people he had unceremoniously dumped, were compelled to fill in for him. Instead of blaming him for his mistakes, we had taken it upon ourselves to offer a valid clarification for every allegation. I reminded him that he should thank us for making his life easier instead of spreading slander about us.
For two days I had taken extra care to keep my persona and thoughts positive. While speaking to him I almost zoned out and forgot my resolve. I somehow got through the meeting without breaking his head. The net result: our tête-à-tête was a major disaster.
As I returned to my band of crusaders, I wondered what I would tell them. They had put their faith in me and done as I told them. They would now want to know what we had accomplished, and all I could tell them was that we had rescued Pandurang, but he had refused to rescue them in return. I had failed.
All my life I had been many things: a difficult child, a demanding teenager, an uncaring young woman, a girlfriend to a married man—everything that could be termed a failure—but I had never been a failure at work. Ther
e, I had always been perfect. I worked around the most difficult situations and fixed things. My iron armour, as Piyush had called my official facade, had never slipped even in the face of the greatest adversity.
On any of those occasions, I could risk failure because there was always a parachute handy to break my fall. Today, I had needed to succeed. I had needed to shove Pandurang off his make-believe pedestal and tell him that he had to get his act together. I had failed miserably at that. Added to that, I had failed my team who were counting on me to get their jobs back.
Today, I took a leap of faith without a safety harness and missed—by a long mile.
How was I going to tell my hopeful team that Pandurang did not appreciate what we had done and that IndeGen was not welcoming them back into its fold?
There were other ways of reversing his decision, but all those ways tarnished our company’s image. I had wanted to save both. Now I had to decide if I could risk the future of all the IndeGeners to help five. An unfair choice, if ever there was one.
The knowledge of what lay ahead drained me to the core, and I wished there was at least one person to whom I could turn for guidance.
◆◆◆
Lost in my own morose thoughts, I walked straight into someone and almost fell over. Strong hands gripped and steadied me. A concerned voice asked if I was hurt. It felt like a lifetime since anyone had shown concern for me—not since Piyush.
Of late, everyone around me was there only for their personal gain. Nobody was in my life because he or she cared for me, in even a small way. Who was this caring soul? Where had I heard this voice before?
My heart skipped a beat. Before my eyes was an all-too-familiar face, causing all my hopes to die a premature death. I was staring at Creep Choudhary.
Why he was here? Not to discuss the weather, surely. I suspected that Pandurang had called him to restrain me and the others. That idea left a bitter taste in my mouth. Was there to be more unsavoury drama?
The hands gripping me relaxed as I caught myself staring. He was still holding me, and I was staring at him. It was embarrassing. I could feel the blood rush to my face; I must have been blushing like a bride.
That was when I noticed the media, cameras, and mikes pointing straight at my face. Their aggressive approach took me aback. My confused brain registered that these nosy cameras had captured me blushing with the Creep’s arms around me. This juicy scene would likely have their imaginations running wild. The thought horrified me, and I quickly straightened myself and stood unaided.
The Creep was right next to me. He stepped away from his position in front of me and moved to my side, raising his arm over my head and shoulders to stop others from ambushing me. He had brought his entourage. I recognised the woman who never spoke and one or two others. He was not touching me, but his arms and stance, along with his team, were sufficient to contain the media’s surge and shield me from them.
What was all the fuss about? Had they come to arrest me again? On what charges? Something was up though, and the journos knew the details. That did not surprise me. They could smell potential news.
The Creep whispered into my ear, ‘Nalini, this way, please.’
I was shocked. He was standing close enough to whisper into my ears! It was a funny feeling. For a change, I did not feel threatened by him, nor did I feel anger. Instead, I felt safe.
Considering the direction of my thoughts, I had to admit that I had lost my senses. I cursed my unborn child, which was the cause of all my hormonal imbalances and bizarre emotional reactions. It was making me irrational. I wondered what more absurdities I was likely to imagine before this kid was born.
Focussing on the moment, I did as the Creep directed. The only problem was that the pitiable vultures around me were sticking their mikes and cameras in my face and asking me something about how I was feeling about the turn of events, my plans for the future, and how Piyush would feel about the development. I wanted to say something colourful and snide in response.
Instead, I ignored them and followed the Creep’s lead. We progressed at a snail’s pace, but finally I was standing in front of a police vehicle. My heart sank. He was definitely arresting me. Did I need to inform my lawyer? What would he think of me?
The jeep door opened, and somebody pushed me inside and jumped in after me—the familiar mute female cop.
The Creep climbed into the passenger seat in front. Beyond the media, on the roadside, I spotted my crusaders. They were anxious and worried. From their serious expressions, I knew they had guessed what had happened in my meeting with Pandurang. This dejected me more. All my best-laid plans lay shattered. I looked away as tears threatened to flow.
The ride to the CBI office was uneventful and accomplished in record time. There another band of camera-wielding vultures welcomed us. Each of them wanted a pound of my flesh, preferably the first pound. Again the Creep prevailed, and I found myself indoors, safe and unhurt.
They escorted me to the now-familiar room where I was usually taken for processing before questioning. I knew the drill and prepared to rattle off replies to their standard questions. As I sat down, my lawyer joined me, as I had guessed he would. He had already proved his efficiency.
He shook my hand warmly and smiled as though I had won an award. Then he turned to the Creep and told him to hurry so that he could leave ASAP. Another pressing case and another demanding client, I presumed.
Some papers were shoved in his direction. He vetted them while I waited with bated breath, bewildered by all the happenings. I had no inclination to peep over his shoulder and try to read the contents. He would explain anything I had to know soon enough. Besides, he was the lawyer, he needed to know the specifics.
After a few minutes of patient waiting, I was ready to kick my nonchalance and demand an explanation for the high drama. My plan was cut short by the booming voice of a man who had a misguided sense of authority. From his raised voice it was evident that he assumed that he owned everyone in the building. He was bellowing in a demanding voice, and, to my shock, everyone including the Creep jumped to their feet in deference.
Having nothing better to do, I turned around to peek at the important man who had everyone on their toes. When I saw who it was, I almost fell off my chair.
I was looking at a furious, red-faced Bharat Desai.
He was shouting at the top of his voice and giving every uniformed person in the room the highest compliments—of the wrong kind. The Creep, a meek shadow of his usual self, stepped forward in a mellow and obedient way and offered him a seat.
Even doting IndeGeners had never addressed me with this level of benevolence. So, this was how ministers were treated at CBI offices, I mused. Why was he creating a racket? I was happy about his behaviour, though. He was giving the Creep an earful for his atrocious behaviour, for thinking he could do anything and escape scot-free.
Wow! Maybe this wasn’t too bad a day after all! I had never hoped to see the day when the Creep would have to endure a dose of his own medicine.
I felt rejuvenated. I felt like eating a rasgulla... well, maybe more than one, actually. I considered taking the request to the man sitting beside me, my lawyer. Would he be able to arrange a can of rasgullas for me in prison? He would, I was sure. Maybe I would ask for a cake too—and ice cream, definitely ice cream.
As I was happily contemplating eating the delicacies in jail, I heard Desai address my lawyer. He demanded to know why his lawyer was wasting time with me, a lowly criminal. He emphasised in the most pleasant manner how he was, by any standards, more important and so was his case.
No wonder my lawyer had been in a hurry. His other client was Bharat Desai! Nobody messed with him, not even the Creep. What could my lawyer do?
To my utter shock, he admonished Desai and told him that he was not helping matters by storming into CBI offices spewing obscenities, especially since the media was within earshot. The building walls were not soundproof, my lawyer reminded him. He asked Desai to shut up and sit
down while he finished his work with me. Then he resumed reading the document that the Creep had handed him a few minutes before, leaving me gaping in disbelief.
He was Superman! Who else could stand up to Bharat Desai? The scene playing out before me was the most enjoyable treat I had had in a few weeks. Then, Superman knocked me out of my idyllic bliss. He handed me the papers, saying that everything was in order. He indicated the places where I had to sign and watched me as I complied.
My heart pounded. I could sense that the end was near. It was probably close to the time when they would take me back to that horrible, smelly... even the thought of ‘smelly’ reminded me that I should probably pee before they took me to jail. I should also ask for a single room or whatever that was called there. I also had my rasgullas, cake, and ice cream to order. I made a mental list of all that I needed to do before being locked up.
My thoughts were shifting and surfing in a million directions simultaneously when I realised that my lawyer was shaking my hand and saying something. Before I could list my requirements, he took his leave and went to speak to Bharat Desai. After that, before my very eyes, he got hold of the irate minister and led him out.
They departed immediately, and I was left grappling with the reality that I had not brought even a single item on my list of essentials to his notice. I was doomed. A feeling of déjà vu enveloped me. I felt weak and tired just imagining what lay ahead. A bleak reality stared back at me.
◆◆◆
The Creep resumed his seat, and I noticed that the others who had been on their feet until then did likewise. I sat there staring at him, and he glared back at me. I was loath to back down first, and he was clearly in a very sour mood, as was the tradition when I was around. Why was he looking daggers at me? Bharat Desai was the one who had infuriated him. I wished I could just get up and leave, but I knew how far I would reach if I tried.
The Murder Suspect Page 18
