‘So Vikram will need to make himself available on three days this month, Nidhiji?’ Monty confirmed, glancing down at his notes.
‘Four is ideal,’ Nidhi said, ‘but if he’s busy, we can work with three.’
Noticing the subtle emphasis she had laid on the word ‘busy’, Vikram raised an arrogant eyebrow.
‘Do you have a question?’ Nidhi asked formally.
It was the first time she had addressed him directly and Vikram’s jaw clenched in response. ‘Yes,’ he said shortly.
She nodded. ‘Go ahead.’
He made unwavering eye contact with her. ‘Why do I get the feeling that you’re not keen on me?’
Sukhi sniggered.
Nidhi’s mouth hung open. ‘Excuse me?’
Vikram gave her a bored look. ‘Is it correct that Aamir Khan walked out of this campaign at the last minute?’
‘Yes,’ she said tentatively.
‘Do you believe he was a better fit?’ Vikram challenged.
‘Of course, not!’ Dibakar chimed in. ‘We think—’
‘Just a second. I want Nidhi to answer the question. Do you personally feel that Aamir Khan was a better fit for this campaign?’
Nidhi turned to Dibakar helplessly. He mouthed ‘no’.
‘It’s a yes or no question,’ Vikram drawled.
Nidhi raised her chin a notch. ‘Yes.’
Anger flashed in Vikram’s eyes along with something else Nidhi couldn’t identify, before he turned to the other occupants of the room. ‘Maybe I should ask Aamir to reconsider.’
Laughter rang through the room, defusing the tension.
‘Can you?’ Nidhi asked hopefully.
‘She’s joking,’ Dibakar said with a nervous laugh, watching Vikram’s narrowed eyes.
‘Yes,’ Nidhi lied. ‘Joking.’
Vikram stood up and they all rose to their feet expectantly. There was a deafening silence in the room as everyone waited for him to speak.
‘I need a single point of contact. Who will it be?’ he asked, looking Nidhi square in the eye.
She didn’t flinch. ‘Me.’
‘Wonderful,’ he said dryly. ‘I can’t wait.’
March 1998
Diary of Nidhi Marwah
Age 10
I got into a big fight today.
Actually, I got into two big fights today. The first one was with the worst human being in the world: Raghav Reddy. That idiot bowled a yorker and made me lose my wicket, but that’s not what the fight was about. When I was walking off the pitch, he said to me, ‘Maybe you should start playing with me instead of Walia. That stupid orphan is ruining your game.’
So I punched Reddy. I hit him so hard that he went flying into the wickets. Then I tackled him to the ground and continued to pound him till my knuckles were bloody and swollen. Vikram came running from the non-striker’s end and grabbed me by the waist, but I kept kicking and screaming as he dragged me away.
To be honest, I actually wanted to hit Reddy with my bat, but Coach would’ve killed me for disrespecting the equipment. After that, both Reddy and I got sent to the principal’s office and now I have to write a 300-word essay on ‘The Effects of Violence in the Community’, and an apology letter to Reddy. Yeah, right, like I would ever apologize to that stupid jerk!
Then on the walk back home, Vikram got mad at me because I wouldn’t tell him why I punched Reddy. Maybe I should’ve told him and made him write the stupid essay instead.
And then—okay, so I just realized I got into three fights today—I had an argument with Papa because he said I’m wasting time on sports instead of concentrating on my studies. He was furious about the gash I got on my cheek during my scuffle with Reddy. And when I told Papa the reason I had punched Reddy, he was even more angry. ‘This is all because of that Walia boy—his bad temper is rubbing off on you! Look at the way you dress, look at the way you walk. Constantly wearing dirt-stained clothes and playing basketball with that ill-mannered ruffian. You never got into fights before he moved in next door. And now practically every week I receive a letter from your school about some skirmish or misdemeanour. I’m going to have a talk with his grandmother!’
I thought that was a bit excessive, but I know Papa sometimes takes out his work stress on me. So instead of arguing with him, I apologized for getting into a fight—which, I kind of did feel bad about—and went up to my room to do my homework.
After some time, Vikram started throwing pebbles at my window, so I opened it and asked him what his problem was.
‘Wanna shoot hoops?’ he hollered, dribbling a basketball in the driveway. He gave me a goofy smile, like we hadn’t just fought a few hours before.
‘Sure!’ I called out from the window.
We never stay mad at each other for long. That’s why we’re best friends.
March 2014
10 a.m.
From: Nidhi Marwah
To: Monty Bhalla
Subject: News Today EducateIn Marketing Plan
Dear Monty,
Please find attached:
1. Marketing plan (as discussed during the meeting)
2. Minutes of the meeting
Vikram is required to be physically present on the following dates:
(a) Stock photo shoot: March 3, i.e. tomorrow (confirmed as per our conversation on Saturday morning—the studio has been booked accordingly)
(b) Rural school visit: March 8
(c) CEO meet-and-greet: March 11
Please let me know if these dates work. Please also share the address where I can send the promotional material for Vikram’s approval.
Warm regards,
Nidhi Marwah
Sr Brand Manager, News Today
4.45 p.m.
From: Nidhi Marwah
To: Monty Bhalla
Subject: Re: News Today EducateIn Marketing Plan
Dear Monty,
I haven’t heard from you all day and you’re not answering your phone either!
Please confirm that Vikram will be present at the shoot tomorrow morning at 11. I’ve texted the address to your phone.
Regards,
Nidhi
8.30 p.m.
From: Nidhi Marwah
To: Monty Bhalla
Subject: Re: News Today EducateIn Marketing Plan
Dear Monty,
Please confirm about tomorrow asap! I’ve already paid the advance for the studio. We’ll lose a lot of money if the shoot doesn’t happen tomorrow!!!
Nidhi
8.32 p.m.
From: Nidhi Marwah
To: Risha Kohli
Subject: Meet me downstairs in five . . .
. . . I need a drink.
‘This is exactly why I hate working with celebrities. They are inconsiderate, egotistical and completely unprofessional!’ Nidhi said emphatically.
Risha nodded in agreement. ‘Thanks to my Page 3 beat, I constantly have to deal with self-proclaimed celebrities who have a tiny brain and a huge sense of self-importance.’
Tanvi, Nidhi’s college friend and temporary colleague, grunted in agreement before gulping down her beer, signalling their waiter to bring another round by moving her index finger in a rapid circular motion.
‘What’s with you, Shorty?’ Risha asked Tanvi.
‘“A tiny brain and a huge sense of self-importance” sounds like someone else we know,’ Tanvi grumbled, pushing back a curly black strand of hair into the clip that held together her mane of unruly locks.
‘What did Lady K do now?’ Nidhi asked, referring to the owner and chairperson of the News Today group, and Tanvi’s current client, Kamini Singhvi, nicknamed ‘Lady K’ by the NT employees.
In the early nineties, Lady K had inherited the media group from her father,
newspaper mogul, Bhanu Bhandari. While old BB had been an equanimous sort of man, his only child, Kamini, was hot-tempered, impatient and extremely demanding. And even though Lady K only visited the office for three hours every weekday (11.25 a.m. to 2.25 p.m., including a twenty-minute lunch break), anyone on the seventeenth floor could tell you that it was the most stressful three hours of their day—especially the current secretary, because Lady K went through secretaries faster than most women went through nail polish. Past examples included:
Ratna Dinkar, aged thirty-five, fired for forgetting to remind Lady K to initial the annexure pages of an acquisition contract.
Shivshankar Laxmipathy, aged fifty-seven, retired early. But in truth, fired for having a weak bladder.
Kiran Sandhu, aged twenty-six, fired for giggling when she handed Shah Rukh Khan his misplaced cigarette lighter during a meeting with Lady K and he thanked her with, ‘Tu hai meri Kiran!’
And then there was poor Peter D’souza, aged forty-nine, who had stood up abruptly during the board meeting, turned to his employer and said, ‘God is watching you,’ before collapsing to the floor.
Allegedly, Lady K had calmly asked the CEO to have Peter’s unconscious body removed from the boardroom before proceeding with business as usual.
Her current secretary was fifty-one-year-old Bushra Syed, who had, by some miracle, managed to hold her position for the last six years.
And fortunately for Tanvi, she got along with Bushra just fine. As the wedding planner of Lady K’s son, Tanvi was temporarily stationed at the News Today office, and permanently at Lady K’s beck and call.
At 5'2", the only thing small about Tanvi was her frame. Which is why Riya Sridharan, Tanvi’s boss and owner of the prestigious Iris Wedding Planners, had nominated Tanvi to ‘handle’ Kamini Singhvi. Tanvi had a big personality that intimidated most people; she was blunt, outspoken and, her famous Punjabi temper notwithstanding, an absolute professional.
Her professionalism, incidentally, was pretty much the only thing Tanvi had in common with Nidhi’s other best friend, Risha.
Risha, at 5'8", was naturally responsible for coining Tanvi’s moniker, ‘Shorty’. Risha’s wavy, glossy brown hair fell all the way to her waist, while Tanvi spent most days struggling to tame her shoulder-length raven curls. Risha’s big, expressive hazel eyes against smooth olive skin were in stark contrast with Tanvi’s elf-like features—almond-shaped brown eyes and a dainty nose on a beautiful, dusky complexion.
And as far as dissimilarities went, the girls’ physical appearance was just the tip of the iceberg.
Risha had an open personality and was quick to make friends, whereas Tanvi’s attitude was sceptical at best, mistrusting at worst. While Risha was gentle and tactful in her dealings with people, Tanvi spoke without a filter and her vocabulary was punctuated by several four-letter words. And though Risha always chose to look at the bright side of life, Tanvi preferred to call herself a ‘realist’.
But Nidhi loved both girls equally, and was grateful for the balance they brought in her life.
‘What did Lady K do now?’ Nidhi repeated.
‘She threw the latest invite in my face,’ Tanvi answered.
Nidhi and Risha laughed.
‘No, seriously,’ Tanvi continued, her tone resigned, ‘she crumpled it into a ball and threw it in my fucking face. It narrowly missed my eye.’
‘Kameeni Singhvi,’ Risha muttered, angry on her friend’s behalf.
‘By the way,’ Nidhi remembered suddenly, ‘rumour has it that the budget for the wedding flowers is thirty lakhs?’
‘That rumour is inaccurate.’ Tanvi snorted.
‘Of course, it is. No one can spend thirty lakhs on flowers!’ Risha said, rolling her eyes.
‘Yes, because some people can spend ninety lakhs on flowers,’ Tanvi deadpanned.
Nidhi choked on her beer. ‘No way! What kind of flowers cost that much? A zillion orchids?’
‘“Orchids are so middle class,”’ Tanvi said disdainfully, in a perfect imitation of Lady K. ‘“We’ll import flame lilies from Madagascar.”’
Risha’s mouth hung open. ‘What the hell is a flame lily?’
‘Some bullshit overpriced flower.’ Tanvi shrugged.
Nidhi, having googled the flower in question, turned her phone to show Tanvi. ‘Wikipedia says it’s available in Tamil Nadu! Why import it from Madagascar?’
‘Because it’s on the verge of extinction in India, and if anyone finds out they tried to procure a protected species, it won’t reflect well on the Singhvis.’
‘What a waste of money. Why don’t they just get standard genda phool? They’re so pretty!’ Risha contended.
‘Because it’s beneath Kameeni to use normal flowers like genda phool,’ Tanvi explained. ‘Which is why she also made me order three thousand super-rare Dutch tulips that only bloom in March and have a two-week life span. So we’re gonna store them in a specially built air-conditioned greenhouse until the goddamn wedding.’
‘It says here,’ Nidhi said, reading off her phone, ‘that the flame lily is fatal if ingested and has been used to commit murder!’
‘Thanks for the idea, but I’ve already considered and rejected it. Unfortunately, Lady K only takes food and drinks directly from Bushra’s hands,’ Tanvi said dryly.
Risha gave her a sympathetic look. ‘I’m sorry, Shorty. Want a bite of my chocolate mousse?’ she asked, eating a spoonful and washing it down with beer.
Tanvi cringed. ‘How can you have dessert with beer?’
Risha shrugged, tossing back her French braid. ‘I can have dessert with anything.’
So true.
‘I wish I’d saved yesterday’s leftover banoffee pie for you,’ Nidhi said. ‘You should’ve seen Dibakar, he practically doubled over with gratitude when Vikram signed the deal. The only person unperturbed was Sukhi. For some reason, Vikram was treating him with utmost respect. For a man known for abusing journalists, he was being way too deferential to Sukhi.’
Risha laughed. ‘That’s not because Sukhi is a journalist, silly! It’s because he’s an ex-cricketer. He played a few international matches before his shoulder injury rendered him useless. Cricketers have this weird bro code.’
‘That explains it. Vikram kept calling Sukhi “Paaji” and nodding along reverentially to everything he said. While leaving the conference room, Vikram asked Sukhi if they could catch up, and Sukhi swept Vikram away to his cabin where, according to Sam, they sat for thirty minutes. Sam thinks they went out for drinks after that.’
‘You and Sam sure talk a lot,’ Risha said pointedly.
Nidhi shrugged. ‘Mostly just water-cooler conversations. He’s fun to hang out with.’
‘You should totally date him,’ Risha suggested.
‘He’s not my type,’ Nidhi said.
‘Who the hell is your type?’ Tanvi asked.
Involuntarily, Vikram’s face appeared in front of Nidhi. She took a long sip of her drink, processing the day’s events.
Her intense reaction to seeing him earlier that day had caught her off guard. On television, his intentionally groomed stubble and perfectly styled hair had always seemed too metrosexual for Nidhi’s taste. But in real life, it made him appear elegantly masculine and devastatingly handsome. And then there was that incredible, chiselled physique. Even in his simple white t-shirt, Nidhi had been able to trace the hard contours of his body with her eyes. No wonder fashion brands were throwing money at him to pose on their billboards. Come to think of it, he would be perfect for a sexy underwear ad—muscular biceps, well-defined pecs, rock-hard abs . . .
‘What are you thinking about?’ Tanvi asked suspiciously.
‘Nothing,’ Nidhi said guiltily.
Risha narrowed her eyes.
‘I have to tell you guys something,’ Nidhi said, taking a deep breath and wondering where she should begin.
Maybe at age eight, when the boys in school had refused to let Nidhi play with them and Vikram had said, ‘I
f she doesn’t play, I don’t play.’ That, in the boys’ eyes, was the worse of the two evils because Vikram was the best player on the team. So they had reluctantly conceded to let Nidhi and Vikram open the batting together.
Or age ten, when Nidhi had nicknamed him ‘Viks ki Goli’ and driven him crazy by singing the ad jingle every day for a month. ‘Viks ki goli lo, khich-khich door karo . . .!’
Or age twelve, when the girls in school had started badgering Nidhi for information about Vikram.
Or age thirteen, when Vikram had used shoe polish to cover an obscene mural of Nidhi in the boys’ toilet.
Or age fourteen, when he had kissed her for the first time. When he had held her in his arms after burying Odie. When she had cried herself to sleep every night for several months after he had callously demolished her young heart and disappeared from her life.
Maybe it was the alcohol. Maybe it was all the memories that suddenly swam up from the recesses of her heart, even as she fought to suppress them. Maybe it was the overwhelming amount of history they had shared in the six years that they had been best friends.
Or maybe it was the fact that Nidhi had locked away the chapter of Vikram Walia so deep inside her that talking about it would entail completely baring her soul.
So Nidhi chickened out.
She went instead with another update she had been intending to share with her friends. ‘Papa wants me to meet a boy.’
‘Oh,’ Risha said, sitting up with interest. ‘Who?’
‘A lawyer at Papa’s firm.’
‘And?’ Tanvi prodded.
‘I don’t know much about him, but Papa thinks he’s pretty great. His exact words were “focussed, diligent and enterprising”.’
‘Basically, a dead bore,’ Tanvi said with her characteristic candour.
Risha, the eternal optimist, turned to Nidhi with an excited smile. ‘Did you see a photo?’
‘Yup. He’s tall and beefy. Too beefy, in fact. Looks a bit like a gym instructor, actually,’ Nidhi said.
Man of Her Match Page 4
