‘Where?’
‘Here. You were sitting in the garden with Dadi, eating breakfast.’
‘And where were you?’
‘I had walked over to say hi to her, but . . .’
‘But you saw me, so you went back home.’
She nodded.
‘I used to visit Dadi all the time. It’s surprising that we never bumped into each other,’ Vikram said. Then he saw her sheepish smile and realization dawned upon him. ‘You avoided me on purpose?’
‘Yes.’
He gave an understanding nod. ‘Probably for the best.’
‘Why did Dadi call me “Billi”?’ Nidhi asked suddenly.
‘You don’t know?’ he asked, surprised.
She shook her head.
‘Because of your eyes.’
‘Oh,’ Nidhi said, disappointed by the simple explanation.
‘They’re beautiful,’ he said quietly.
And all of a sudden, Nidhi was no longer disappointed.
She cleared her throat. ‘How long will you be in Delhi?’
‘I can’t wait to leave,’ he groaned. ‘I hate this city.’
‘Why?’
‘I just do.’
‘You don’t hate Delhi.’
Vikram smirked at the conviction in her voice. ‘I don’t?’
She shook her head. ‘I think you have a lot of painful memories associated with the city. Your parents, Dadi . . .’ Her voice trailed off, and Vikram wondered if she had been about to add her own name to the list. ‘The day it stops representing pain, you won’t hate Delhi any more.’
Vikram nodded, agreeing with her logic. ‘I guess you’re right. I may not always hate it, but I could never live here again.’
‘Come on! Don’t you just love all this open space?’ she said, waving her hands at the large living room.
Vikram chuckled. ‘Yes, that’s one of the few perks. Also, my friend Singhal lives here.’ He then told her all about Rohan, from the first time they had met in Mumbai as teenagers to their most recent drinking session the previous week. ‘He’s madly in love with this girl and has been stressing about asking her out. Apparently, he took one look at her and knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.’
Nidhi scoffed. ‘That doesn’t happen in real life.’
An indescribable expression crossed his face. ‘Sometimes it does.’
She looked away. ‘In any case,’ she said, trying to keep the mood light, ‘you’re not the marrying type.’
Nidhi remembered the cosy photo of Natasha and Vikram from the previous day’s paper, and though it tore at her to think about it, she wondered if the right girl might make him the marrying type. And whether Natasha was that girl . . .
That damn photo!
‘Really?’ Vikram asked, keeping his tone blank. ‘What type am I?’
‘The type to entertain Brazilian escorts,’ she blurted before she could stop herself.
His eyebrows snapped together. ‘God, Nidhi! Stop reading all that garbage. You, of all people, should know that most of what gets reported by the media isn’t true!’
‘So they weren’t Brazilian escorts?’ she challenged.
‘They were,’ he said.
‘And they weren’t photographed leaving your apartment?’
‘They were, but I didn’t ord—invite them!’
Vikram was silent for a few moments, and she could see him struggling with a decision. He rubbed the muscles at the back of his neck and exhaled deeply. ‘Some of the married guys in the team invited them, and they obviously didn’t want their wives to find out, so I didn’t bother to correct the media reports.’
Nidhi stared at him, aghast. ‘You took the fall for them?’
He gave her a tight smile. ‘It’s called “taking one for the team”.’
‘It’s called “turning a blind eye”!’ she returned.
He took a deep breath. ‘Look, I don’t condone infidelity, but I would never betray my teammates. Those guys are the only family I’ve got.’
You’ve got me.
The words almost tumbled out of her, but she swallowed them back.
‘And while we’re on the subject,’ Vikram continued, ‘all those stories of my so-called affairs and one-night stands are grossly exaggerated!’
‘So you didn’t sleep with that MTV VJ with the five dozen tattoos and piercings?’ she asked sceptically.
He gave her a roguish grin. ‘I said “exaggerated”, not “false”.’
Nidhi threw a pillow at him and he laughed.
‘I think you’re feeling much better now,’ she said, standing up primly. ‘I’m going home.’
‘I’m feeling sick again, I want to cuddle,’ he said with a pout, raising his arms in a childlike gesture.
Nidhi smothered a giggle. ‘I’ll send Mangal, you can cuddle with him.’
Over the next two days, while Vikram’s health got progressively better, his mood got increasingly worse.
Since leaving his home that afternoon, Nidhi had been avoiding him. He hadn’t seen her around, she wasn’t taking his calls and her responses to his text messages were limited to monosyllables.
According to Bhimsen, her father had returned from Mumbai, and Vikram suspected that was the reason for her cold attitude. Balraj Marwah had never liked Vikram and it was possible that Nidhi was trying to prevent a confrontation between them. But Vikram had never been one to watch the game from the sidelines, so he padded up and decided to face his adversary head on.
‘I’m going to Nidhi’s!’ he yelled to Monty, walking towards the door.
‘Yes, yes,’ Monty said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, ‘go and enjoy the match on a fifty-inch flat screen LED, while I am stuck with this twenty-five-inch piece of junk. The picture tube is so bad, Dhoni’s jersey is appearing red!’
Vikram shrugged. ‘So buy a new TV.’
Monty gaped at him.
‘What?’ Vikram said impatiently.
‘How long are we going to stay here?’
Vikram gave him an impish grin. ‘Long enough to invest in a new TV.’
Monty shook his head in resignation.
‘Try Shopcart,’ Vikram called to him laughingly as he walked out of the house. ‘They have some great deals!’
At the Marwahs’ gate, Bhimsen rushed forward to inform Vikram how ‘very-very glad’ he was to see his health restored. Vikram just gave him a quick wave and a smile, too eager to see Nidhi to stop and make conversation.
‘Where’s Nidhi?’ Vikram asked Mangal Singh inside the house.
But Mangal Singh was so pleased to see him that he ignored Vikram’s query and asked a pressing question of his own. ‘Watching the match, na, Vikram Baba? Today Dhoni’s century is 100 per cent sure!’
‘Yes, yes, 100 per cent,’ Vikram said distractedly. ‘Where’s Nidhi?’
‘Look at that! Fours and sixers, one after the other!’ Mangal beamed.
‘Where’s Nidhi?’ Vikram repeated.
‘She is watching the match in the living room and . . .’
Vikram didn’t hear the end of the sentence because he was already halfway to the living room. He lingered in the doorway, studying her engrossed features as she watched a replay of the last shot while gorging on a bowl of popcorn. Dressed in a pair of yoga pants and a loose T-shirt, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, Vikram thought she was the most beautiful girl he had ever laid eyes on. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her.
He cleared his throat loudly.
Nidhi turned towards him and Vikram could’ve sworn that happiness flickered in her eyes for the briefest second before it was replaced by wariness. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I thought we could watch the match together,’ he said, casually walking over to the sofa and plonking himself next to her.
She leapt off the sofa. ‘Are you crazy? Papa is at home!’
‘So?’ He quirked an eyebrow.
Good question.
‘So, I don�
��t know. It’s late and he might not like it that I have company,’ she finished lamely, her eyes darting to the door.
Vikram patted the spot next to him. ‘Come on, Nidhi. It’s been years since we watched a match together. It’ll be fun, I promise.’
Nidhi sat down reluctantly, strategically placing the bowl of popcorn between them.
Vikram casually shifted the bowl on to his lap and scooted next to her, his leg grazing hers.
‘Stop being such a darrpoke,’ he said, tossing a kernel at her.
‘I’m not scared of anything!’ she protested huffily.
‘If you say so.’ He shrugged, shoving a fistful of popcorn into his mouth.
Nidhi returned her attention to the mid-match analysis.
‘I think India is still twenty–thirty runs short,’ said one of the panellists. ‘It’s a flat batting track and Sri Lanka has great power hitters at the top, so the target set by the Indians seems achievable. This is where Vikram Walia would’ve come in handy. He brings both pace and stability to the Indian middle order.’
‘Oooh!’ Nidhi grinned, elbowing Vikram in the ribs good-naturedly.
He rolled his eyes.
‘Yes, that’s true,’ another panellist added. ‘He is also great at giving his team those skyscraper overs at the end. Too bad he can’t keep his temper in check.’
The presenter chuckled. ‘As the winner of our Himani Navratna Cool Talc slogan contest suggested: “Keep calm. Unless you are Vikram Walia!”’
He waited for the panel’s hearty laughter to subside before adding, ‘On that note, up next is a collection of Walia’s temper tantrums over the last year brought to you by Eveready Batteries—Give Me Red.’
Vikram groaned as the screen cut to a minute-long montage of his on-field altercations. Cursing furiously at the Sri Lankan captain. Exchanging heated words with an Australian fast bowler. Verbally abusing cricketers from three other nations. Giving the finger to members of the crowd and the press.
‘Wow,’ Nidhi breathed, completely transfixed as the video montage played out to a heavy metal score. Vikram tried to grab the remote to change the channel, but she snatched it out of his reach.
In all these years, Vikram had never felt ashamed of his actions—on or off the field. The press had written all kinds of things about him—right and wrong, true and false—and he had borne it all with an indifferent shrug. But somehow, today, as he watched the look on Nidhi’s face, he had the unprecedented urge to defend himself. ‘You’re confusing my persona with my personality.’
‘I’m surprised that a person whose vocabulary contains words like that,’ Nidhi said, gesturing to the TV screen where Vikram was now giving a mouthful to the Pakistani wicketkeeper, ‘knows the difference between “persona” and “personality”!’
‘We had the same English teacher,’ Vikram tried to joke. ‘So my vocabulary is as good, or as bad, as yours.’
‘Clearly, your Hindi is much better,’ Nidhi commented as the montage came to a close with a dramatic back-to-back replay of Vikram shoulder-butting the umpire and muttering the choicest curses on his way out.
Vikram caught the smile in Nidhi’s eyes and relief shot through his pores. ‘So you don’t think I’m an ill-tempered jerk?’ he asked, still needing reassurance.
‘Of course, I do.’ She chuckled and, when his face fell, added, ‘But you shouldn’t feel bad about it.’
‘I don’t. Or I didn’t, until now,’ he confessed.
She shrugged. ‘You’ve always been aggressive on the field.’
‘Don’t judge me by my aggression on the field,’ he said in a husky whisper. ‘I can be very gentle off it.’
‘Nice innuendo,’ Nidhi said dryly.
He opened his mouth to make another teasing comment, but was interrupted by Balraj Marwah’s booming voice. ‘Good evening, Vikram.’
Vikram turned his head towards the door and saw Balraj enter the room. He rose to his feet languidly and held out his hand. ‘Uncle! It’s so good to see you.’
Shock crossed Balraj’s face at the warm greeting, and he shook Vikram’s hand automatically. ‘I heard you were in town, but I wasn’t aware that you would be visiting us today,’ Balraj said, insinuating that Vikram was an uninvited guest.
‘Actually, I’m staying next door,’ Vikram said cheerily, noticing the flicker of surprise on Balraj’s face before his features composed into a blank expression.
‘How wonderful,’ Balraj said, his curt tone belying his words.
‘Nidhi and I are watching the match. Would you like to join us?’ Vikram smiled, sinking into the couch with natural ease, as though it was his couch. His home.
Balraj stiffened. ‘Unfortunately, I cannot. I have a prior commitment.’
‘That’s too bad.’ Vikram grinned.
Balraj’s eyes darted to his daughter before locking with Vikram’s. ‘Will you be staying for the entire match?’
‘I would love to,’ Vikram said, deliberately mistaking the question for an invitation.
Balraj turned the blast of his frigid glare on Vikram and, as clearly as if he had spoken, commanded the younger man to get out of his house. It was a look that had sent Vikram scurrying out of the Marwahs’ home several times as a kid, avoiding eye contact and mumbling apologies along the way.
But Vikram was no longer a nervous teenager.
Very slowly, very deliberately, he propped his feet up on the coffee table and draped an arm on the couch behind Nidhi.
Balraj’s eyes flashed and he spoke in a silky voice. ‘I trust you will conduct yourself as a gentleman in my daughter’s company?’
‘Cricket is a gentleman’s game. And I,’ Vikram said, laying a hand on his heart, ‘am a thorough cricketer.’
The sarcasm wasn’t lost on Balraj and he raised an angry eyebrow in warning.
Frantically trying to think of a way to defuse the situation, Nidhi jumped in with, ‘What time will you be back, Papa?’
‘Late,’ Balraj said vaguely, and without moving his eyes from Vikram’s, he emphasized, ‘I’m meeting the police commissioner at the Gymkhana.’
Vikram gave him an amused smile. ‘Tell him I said hi.’ Satisfied when astonishment momentarily cracked Balraj’s icy facade, Vikram continued, ‘We collaborated on a traffic campaign two years ago, and he just couldn’t get enough selfies with me!’
Shocked and annoyed that his attempt to goad Vikram hadn’t affected him in the least, Balraj turned around and left the room, fists clenched at his sides.
Nidhi exhaled audibly and Vikram turned to her. ‘Why are you so high-strung around Balli the Bully?’
‘No, I’m not,’ Nidhi denied automatically.
‘Yes, you are. You’re very different around him and very different around me or any of your other friends,’ Vikram said.
‘Childhood habit, I guess.’ Nidhi smiled weakly.
Vikram nodded. ‘You were always careful around him as a kid, but it seems to have gotten worse, when it should’ve gotten better.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘People are supposed to open up to their parents when they grow up. Ironically, you seem even more reserved, almost timid around him. You’re less like a billi, more like a chooha in front of him.’
‘I’m not scared of him. I just . . . don’t want to upset him,’ Nidhi said.
Vikram watched her carefully, sensing that she was holding something back. He was about to gingerly probe further, when Nidhi said with an admiring smile, ‘The confrontation was clearly a breeze for you, though.’
Basking in the warmth of her approval, Vikram forgot his original concern and slung an arm around her shoulders.
They watched the second half of the match over pizza and hot chocolate fudge sundaes from Nirula’s. As the post-match analysis drew to a close, Vikram helped Nidhi clear the table. Mangal had already retired to his quarters and Bhimsen was snoring away happily at his station.
‘Walk me home?’ Vikram said, unwilling to leave her si
de.
Nidhi giggled. ‘Why? Scared you’ll get lost?’
‘Yes, without you,’ he said, his tone sombre.
She shifted under his gaze. ‘Stop saying stuff like that.’
‘Why?’ he said, taking her hand and raising it to his lips.
Because I’m just another girl for you. But you’re not just another guy for me.
‘Let’s go,’ she said, snatching her hand away.
Confused by her sudden aloofness, Vikram followed her out.
‘Oh, look, we’re here! It only took three seconds,’ she said dryly.
‘Tuck me in?’ he said, his eyes twinkling with humour.
‘Fine,’ she muttered and followed him up the stairs, too tired to argue.
As soon as she walked into his bedroom, Vikram grabbed her wrist, spun her around and pinned her against the door.
Nidhi gasped. ‘What are you doing?’
‘We need to talk,’ Vikram said firmly, placing his hands on either side of her.
Nidhi paused. Then she sighed. ‘We do.’
‘We do?’ he repeated, surprised by her concession.
She fiddled with her hair. ‘Yes.’
‘Okay, you go first.’
‘I’m getting engaged.’
He dropped his hands. ‘What?’
‘To Kuku,’ she said, looking at the floor.
Vikram’s entire body went rigid with shock. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ he snapped, trying to contain his rage. And his fear.
He couldn’t lose her—not now, not again. Not ever.
Nidhi raised her eyes to his, surprised by his tone. ‘Kamal Kukreja, the guy I—’
‘I know who the fuck he is!’ Vikram snarled. ‘Why the fuck are you getting engaged to that piece of shit?’
‘Stop cursing,’ Nidhi said calmly.
He took a deep breath. ‘Why are you getting engaged to him?’
‘Because Papa thinks he’s a good match and—’
Vikram’s hands clamped down on her shoulders with such force that Nidhi thought her head would snap off. ‘For once in your life, Nidhi, stop thinking about what your father wants and focus on what you want!’
Unshed tears stung hers eyes and she shook her head. ‘He only wants what’s best for me.’
‘Bullshit!’ Vikram exploded. ‘Why the hell do you let him dictate your life like this?’
Man of Her Match Page 15
