20
There was a bit of crowd at the entrance of the office. People had returned from their lunch and were considering how best to extend it. She walked past them and the cloud of smoke that loomed above them, towards the row of potted frangipani lining the car park. The sight and scent of the flowers that grew at her house had always brought a sense of comfort to her but not today she realised gazing at the white-and-yellow blossoms. The afternoon sun was beating down harshly and her head began to prick setting her up for one of those scalp splitting headaches she came down with. Nothing to be done about it, Meenu told herself brusquely. Not until she got her head around what Rishi had revealed to her moments ago.
Had Rathore deliberately ignored Maninder’s concerns surrounding the rains? And if yes, should she tell Mistry? Deep in the recesses of her brown pupils, she couldn’t see herself as a snitch. Couldn’t she just stand on the fringes and let events take their own course?
It took only a few seconds for her to realise that it wasn’t in her to stand by and watch. That was Krishna and even he had undergone a change overnight! Of the two, Meenu had always been the one who cared. She had always cared about other’s feelings, of making a difference, doing the right thing. So no, she couldn’t stand by and watch. There was a tiny niggling thought though. Was she going to spill the beans because it would help her push the Chennai rains story (now that a midfielder of the Hindustan Mega League had written about it) or expose Rathore’s high handedness? Both, she realised with a wry smile.
Having reached the end of the parking lot she turned around and traced her steps back to the office.
About 50 metres ahead, she spotted a red i20 and as she closed the distance between them, it made her wonder if she had ever known anything about the man behind the dishy, dashing desk head. Sure he had his faults. Everyone did. But during the brief time they had seen each other, he had never pushed for her stories without reason. He had always been professional despite his high handedness.
It made her feel sick just thinking about the drama that might unfold if she chose to reveal the uglier side of Rathore. And then Meenu stopped dead in her tracks. What in the world was she thinking? Neither Zoze, Rishi nor she had any proof that Rathore knew Maninder or that he had been ignoring the midfielder’s mails for personal reasons. If she did go to Mistry, it would be her word against his.
She took a deep breath and chided herself for letting her get ahead of herself. This would need more thought, more planning, she told herself when a deep, familiar voice cut through the crisp, still, afternoon air.
The i20 was two cars ahead and Meenu immediately crouched and inched forward.
‘Chutiya saala, midfielder jo ban gaya … what the hell does he think of himself?’ Rathore growled to someone. ‘Ek baarish kya ho gayi, pura inbox flood kar rakha hai.’ Then there was silence again. Clearly, he was on the phone with someone. ‘Haan!’ agreed Rathore, laughing loudly. ‘Ladki jaisa rota rehta hai ki yeh theek nahin hai, woh theek nahin hain … bhool gaya shayad ki Cross maidaan mein baarish mein practice hoti thi.’
Meenu inched further. She was now just a bumper away from Rathore’s car. She could see him sitting inside the car, elbow resting on the rolled down window, phone pressed to his ear.
He was nodding furiously to what the speaker was saying on the other end of the line.
‘Exactly! Kyun cover karu usko? DT ne abhi tak ek rain story nahin chhapa. Baad mein bolenge I gave him undue coverage. Have to be professional, na?’ he said, chuckling crudely.
Meenu straightened up, her lips forming a thin line. Her fingers were shaking and clammy but she knew exactly what she had to do. As she marched her way to the office, she wondered if readers ever got to know what they ought to know. Who decided what they read? Some pig-headed desk head?
Shahroukh Mistry had been contemplating the stories before him to see if any were lead worthy when Meenakshi appeared at the entrance to his cabin fixing him with her large brown eyes. The girl was breathing down his neck, he thought with a chuckle. She reminded him of his younger self: determined, passionate about small, everyday events. He waved her in, deciding to hear her out even if it meant foregoing his bowl of Swirly Noodles.
Quickly and with surprising calm, Meenakshi filled him on Maninder Chabra’s emails and pictures.
‘How do you know all this? Have they moved you to the sports desk?’ he asked with a bemused smile.
Meenu had had time to prepare her reply.
‘Is it important how I came to know of this sir?’
‘Yes! As your editor, how you reporters source your news is extremely important to me.’
‘What is important to me, sir, is that till date DT hasn’t chosen to respond to the midfielder’s updates on the rains. He has already mentioned in his mails that if the weather keeps up, he fears the league might have to be cancelled.’
‘Tell me something – when did chennai FC last play?’
‘On the twenty-fourth, sir, three days back.’
‘Where?’
‘Chennai.’
‘What was the result?’
Meenu thought he must be joking.
‘Chennai FC won.’
Mistry smiled. The girl had done her research.
‘And prior to the twenty-fourth, were any other matches played in Chennai?’
‘On the eleventh and on the twenty-first.’
Mistry leaned back on his chair, his eyes not leaving her face for a moment.
‘So what you are saying Minaakshi is that despite Maninder’s fears and concerns, which in all likelihood maybe valid, the HML went ahead and conducted three matches in Chennai in the past three weeks.’
She nodded reluctantly.
‘This could be the reason why his mails went unanswered you know,’ he said leaning forward.
Meenu thought she had something to retort but nothing came up. She felt stupid standing in front of her associate editor just staring and swallowing air. Just half an hour back, the confrontation with Mistry had played very differently in her head. But now a simple examination of facts seemed to point that Maninder’s worries were unwarranted. After all the matches were still being played. Rathore might have ignored Maninder for personal reasons but to someone who didn’t know the two knew each other, it would appear as a simple case of a lead not worth pursuing.
‘Meenakshi I am thrilled that you care,’ Mistry said in a quieter, gentler voice. ‘I wish more people were like you and less cynical like me. However … I believe you are reacting to this story because you are from Chennai.’
‘No—’
He held up a hand. ‘It’s not a bad thing. It’s just not enough. Every story, reporter or deskie peddle their story to me so that it’s carried in the next day’s paper. How do I decide which story deserves a place over the other?’ He ran his fingers through his greying hair.
Meenu stared unblinking. Not shocked by what he was saying but over the fact that her editor was sharing this predicament, undoubtedly his biggest with her.
‘Take for instance today’s paper. Do you know the Kashmir Valley is experiencing early and unprecedented snowfall?’
‘Huh? Yes … I read something about it today.’
‘And how did we cover it? With a deep caption! A four-column picture with a three-line explanation. Do you think it is enough?’
She nodded her head from side to side.
‘Last year, just like every other year, the Brahmaputra flooded twenty of the thirty-two districts in Assam,’ continued Mistry. ‘Close to four thousand villages were affected. Do you remember receiving a daily update in any of the Chennai papers?’ Mistry asked his voice steady but piercing.
Meenu mouthed a silent no.
He now leaned forward into an upright position. ‘It’s become something of a bad habit in India you know? Unless there is a great level of loss to life and property, we do not sit up and notice because worse things keep happening all around us. Look around you. Every other day, there are blasts
, rapes, honour and hate crimes. Which one would do you want your readers to take notice? Tell me Meenakshi ‘cause I could do with some help here.’
Meenu found that she had taken two steps backward. She walked out of his cabin, sobered.
When she settled into her diwan later that night, she felt numb and drained of every emotion. She wished she was already home wrapped in the warmth of familiar sights and smells. She picked up her phone and dialled her brother’s number on an impulse.
‘Yes Meano?’
‘I’m coming to the wedding.’
‘Really?’
‘Why … is the situation that bad?’
‘No, no. I mean yes the situation is bad but we are still carrying on.’
‘Then why the surprise?’
‘You know … you and weddings don’t really.’
‘Go together,’ finished Meenakshi with a shaky laugh.
‘It might be a bit of hassle getting home though. The roads are terrible and there are traffic snarls everywhere! Don’t know how the festivities are going to take place on time.’
‘Hmmm … How are Appa–Amma?’
‘Oh Padu’ma is in her element,’ chuckled Krishna.
‘Really?’ she asked.
‘Yep! Waiting to show you off.’
‘Nothing new,’ sighed Meenu.
‘Can I ask you something Meano?’ Taking her silence as a yes, he asked, ‘I know you are young but what are you afraid of exactly? About getting married, that is. Are you afraid the man will turn out to be a bore?’
‘Maybe,’ said Meenu slowly, surprised at having this conversation with her little brother.
‘Then why don’t you give him a chance?’
‘Who?’
‘Rakesh.’
Just hearing his name knocked the breath out of Meenu. How had Krishna zeroed in on Rakesh of all the men?
‘Why Rakesh all of a sudden?’ asked Meenu carefully.
‘Because he is here, helping me with relief work.’
‘What?’
‘He arrived on the twentieth. He said he was on a break; had closed down his restaurant for a menu upheaval. He is here for the wedding.’
There was silence from Meenu’s end so Krishna continued,
‘We caught up the same day he landed and when he heard I was helping with relief work, he jumped right in. We meet at a common point every morning, collect food parcels and other relief material and help distribute it.’
‘Did he ask about me?
‘No.’ And then in a softer voice asked, ‘Does that bother you?’
‘A little bit,’ she admitted. ‘We’ve been going out,’ she blurted unable to hold back any further from her brother.
‘I guessed as much,’ came the reply.
‘We had a bit of a misunderstanding and … he’s not been picking my calls.’
Krishna waited for his sister to finish and then said, ‘Were you two serious?’
‘Well we have kissed and al—’
‘Stop! Stop! I don’t need the details,’ he croaked.
And Meenu couldn’t help but break into a grin.
‘What I meant was did you like being…’
‘Kissed? It was heavenly. Sexy and…’ she replied animatedly.
‘Aiyo rama! I was going to ask did you like being with him? You and I will not be continuing this conversation,’ he said in a voice befitting an imperious older brother, which made Meenu giggle even more.
Krishna was a bit relieved to hear his sister laugh. She had sounded quite low when she had called.
‘And Meano … Set it right.’
‘I will.’
‘He’s a great guy.’
‘I know,’ she said with a smile.
21
On the morning of 29 November, Meenakshi found herself waking to the noise of traffic down the road and not to her mother’s groovy-loony aerobic routine that she should have been, since it was the start to her four-day break. But her leave had been sanctioned so close to the wedding that the only affordable ticket she had been able to secure was on a Sunday evening, forcing her to waste the morning in Mumbai.
She looked at her e-ticket again. A 6.55 p.m. departure from the Chhatrapati Shivaji International Airport, Mumbai. She would be reaching Chennai by 9 p.m. although Krishna had mentioned that it would take a good two hours to reach home given the pounding rain and potholed roads which even the ‘all roads lead to wedding halls espousing’ Padu’ma had found a bit unsettling.
‘I hope it doesn’t get too late to reach home,’ she had said.
‘Amma, I come home well past midnight here. Every single day,’ scoffed Meenu.
‘But you take the drop service there! Who’ll come to pick you up here? Waters entered our car’s engine a long time back.’
‘Not our house I hope.’
‘How could it?’ referring to the bizzare mound on which Paduma had insisted on building the house twenty years back. Since the mound hadn’t been large enough, the house on 56, Olcott Road had ended up having a narrow column as its base with rooms bursting out from the two floors above. The structure had earned it the odd but probably well-deserved nickname ‘Mushroom’ among Meenu and Krishna’s friends.
Sensing Paduma’s concern, Meenu suggested staying at the airport if it got too late and making her way home first thing in the morning. Her mother finally relaxed. The past few days had been difficult coming under the attack of her usually reticent husband for her marriage mongering ways.
‘I’ll keep a key under the mat in case you arrive early.’
‘Okay,’ replied Meenu who had begun to scan her balcony for things she needed to take to Chennai.
‘Oh and the current keeps going off so torchlight kondu va. The ones at home aren’t working.’
Typical, thought Meenu.
‘And don’t knock down the sweet and gift boxes lining the stairs.’
‘Why are there boxes in our house?’ asked Meenu curiously.
‘Water entered Deepa’s house during Deepavali itself. Her mother and I decided not to take any chances so we moved the wedding trousseau and all gift boxes to our house the moment they arrived.’
‘Oh! Okay.’
‘We put some stuff away in your room too. Hope that’s alright.’
‘Of course it is,’ reassured Meenu.
And then very oddly, Padu’ma coughed and faltered a bit.
‘There might be some other changes in your room too,’ she added cryptically. But before Meenu could ask her what, she hung up.
She didn’t waste time decoding what her mother had said. Experience (and some really bad ones) had taught her to treat her mother’s kooky ways with amusement. Not anger. She now turned her mind to packing. She grabbed her make-up and toiletry kit; a pair of jeans, shorts and a couple of t shirts. She borrowed a duffel bag from her mama, tipped in a few sets of underclothes and zipped them all in.
Later, when she was having lunch her mama walked in from the hall where the television had been blaring non stop since morning. Mama tended to catch up on a week’s worth news every Sunday. Especially news about Chennai.
‘All set?’ he asked drumming his fingers on one of the chairs.
‘Yes, Mama.’
‘News channels are not very encouraging, Meenu,’ he said. ‘Do you have to go? There is water yeverywhere,’ he added.
‘Neither Amma nor Krishna sounded overly concerned,’ she said shrugging her shoulders.
‘Leave Padu. She left her brains the day she ran away,’ he snapped in irritation though his face softened immediately after. ‘Actually your father is the best thing that happened to her.’
‘I know,’ said Meenu breaking into a smile.
‘Is anyone coming to pick you up? I wish I had gone with you but you know, Varun is coming down for his thanksgiving break…’ he began to explain sounding a bit helpless.
‘No, no one is coming but don’t worry. If it gets too late, I’ve told Amma I’ll stay at the airport till mor
ning.’
That seemed to soothe her mama’s anxiety and he tottered back to the hall, back to his tv.
Right then, her phone buzzed. There was a message from Commodore Patil. The Dufferin Cup had been held in the morning though no reporter had turned up, it said. Meenu sent a sympathising reply and rushed to give the update to her mama. If the situation had been bad, the sailing regatta wouldn’t have been held, she pointed out. Later, she logged in to the HML website to find that their Dec 1 match to be held in Chennai was still on schedule. Slowly but surely, her spirits begin to rise again. Chennai wasn’t sinking after all.
An hour before leaving for the airport however she got a message from the airline stating that the flight had been rescheduled to 9 p.m. No explanation was given. Meenu called her mother to give her the update.
It was half past eleven by the time Meenu made her way out of the Anna International Airport to join the line for prepaid taxis. It wasn’t raining but the air felt chill and cold on her cheeks. The sky above glinted and growled like it always did when held to ransom by a low pressure system over the Bay of Bengal.
As she waited in the long, slow moving line, the cries of a baby caught her ears despite the earphones she had plugged on. She turned around to spot a very harassed looking mother two places down trying to quieten an infant while speaking to someone on the phone and manage her two suitcases. Meenakshi stepped out of line and went up to her.
‘Do you need some help?’
‘I need to feed her,’ said the mother sounding desperate.
Oh alright,’ said Meenu blinking. ‘Do you want me to get some baby food? Do they sell it there?,’ she asked pointing to the terminal inside.
‘No, no. I meant I need to nurse her,’ the woman said pointing at her breasts. ‘But the baby feeding rooms are inside and…’
Meenu felt a but stupid listening to the mother and not knowing how to help. Then her eyes picked out out a row of chairs behind one of the many large pillars that supported the newly redesigned airport.
‘Why don’t you go there and feed her? I just have this one bag. I’ll stay in line and take care of your bags too.’
After the Storm Page 13
