by Varsha Dixit
‘No thanks, not tonight! Some silly cricket series is beginning somewhere, in some part of the world, between some countries and of course Kit has to watch it!’ Sneha wholeheartedly grumbled.
‘That bad, eh?’ Nandini teased, well aware that Ankit’s obsession for cricket drove Sneha batty (pun intended). Soon, the two girls headed out of the building.
‘Crap! It’s raining,’ Sneha whined, covering her head with a purse.
‘Shuddup, it’s just a drizzle, you won’t melt,’ Nandini, an ardent fan of the rains, ridiculed. Just the sweet smell of monsoon was enough to give a hop to her steps, a smile to her lips and crave for chilled Baileys.
Shooting her an annoyed look, Sneha shot ‘You are so perfect for Bollywood. All you lack is a transparent chiffon sari and gigantic fake boobs.’
‘Not anymore. In the name of reality, even Bollywood is downsizing!’
Sneha cracked up. ‘That was good! I’m going to dash to my car.’ Her expression sobered, ‘Promise me, you won’t think of him. No more than say... an hour at the most!’
‘Him... who?’ The smile did not quite reach Nandini’s eyes.
‘Whatever! Just call me. We’ll talk!’ Sneha shouted, sprinting to her vehicle.
2
Naraaz
N andini, too, got in her car, waving to Sneha, pulling out of the parking lot.
'Do you want to grab a cup of coffee?’ interrupted a smooth voice.
'Nandini did not answer, concentrating instead on fastening the seat belt. Finally, raising cold eyes and in a voice reeking of disgust, she replied, ‘No thank you, Rochak.’
‘Nandi, I have some interesting news. You could be the first to hear it ,'Rochak cajoled. Playing pocket billiards, he had been lingering in the shadows for quite some time now.
‘It’s Nandini to you. Even more appropriate would be Ms Sharma. And please nothing you say could ever be of any interest to Me !’ Nandini noisily pushed the key in the ignition.
As few other employees sauntered in the car park,Nandini thanked her stars. She knew what this sleaze ball was capable of .
Rochak came closer to the window whispering, ‘Men can’t resist a tease and they say in bed—’
Nandini curtly and loudly interrupted, ‘Watch it! I’m sure the statue of limitations is not over, charges can still be pressed.’
Rochak recoiled as if slapped. Nandini knew his aversion to her was temporary. Just as a fish can’t live out of water, a shopaholic without credit cards, Rochak could not stay away from women. The wiring of his head was messed up; it was only dic-connected. Glaring at Nandini, he abruptly walked away; softly mouthing rude names. She overheard the words, ‘frigid bitch’.
Calmly reversing the red Swift, Nandini joined the ongoing milieu of chaotic traffic on the main business street, Birhana Road. Flashing neon signs of various international brands, plastered on old crumbling buildings, loudly proclaimed global commercialisation.
For just about everything else the populace stands divided, from where we pray to the water we use, yet as consumers, all are one – empty brains with loaded wallets! Nandini, a novice cynic, mused.
She turned the steering hard, just in time to spare a cyclist who out of nowhere, appeared bang in front of the car. Driving in these streets was a nightmare, but Nandini always experienced a sense of peace when she got behind the wheel. Tonight, it was sorely missing!
What will I do when he actually gets here, she worried. ‘Take the next right... to the railway station!’ her conscience, suggested. ‘Shut up!’ Nandini retorted. Sometime later, having parked the car in the garage, Nandini stepped into the foyer of her house. She struggled to keep her expression pleasant .
‘Nandi, you are late again? Why didn’t you answer your cell, I called several times!’ Her mother, Mrs Shruti Sharma, the last of the Mohicans (a title lovingly bestowed by her husband of thirty-five years) demanded.
‘Sorry Ma, I didn’t hear it. Must have been busy,’ Nandini said, dropping her bag and laptop on the table.
‘Why are you always so busy at work? If you want, I’ll talk to that lady boss of yours,’ Shruti suggested. It sounded more like a threat.
‘Ma, one is supposed to be busy at work... that’s what you get paid for,’ Nandini replied.
‘Sarkari job kar lo! Manmohan Singh has increased salaries in the public sector.’
‘Ma, don’t you have something useful to do?’
‘Go sit with your dad. Tullu, get the tea and sandwiches ready for didi!’ wailed the mistress of the house, marching off towards the kitchen.
Her mother ran the house smoothly, in spite of the few rough edges she possessed, particularly for those, who in her I-know-it-all opinion did not treat her children right. That scope covered every known living organism.
‘I’m sure it’s always the mother who is the root cause of people turning psychos or brilliant successes. Both highly abnormal!’ muttered Nandini. She took refuge in the family room, with the only person besides Sneha, who got her from the word ‘Go’.
The first love of Nandini’s life, the only man she had, in all the wisdom of a five-year-old, publically proclaimed to marry... her father. Nirbhay Sharma. A retired CFO of a financial company, running his own business consultancy, was Nandini’s one-stop-shop of pure love and solace .
‘There you are Chotu, you look tired,’ Nirbhay observed her, over his beige rimmed glasses. He quickly went back to one of his three addictions – the Discovery channel. The second was Khana Khazana and the third, sanjeevkapoor.com. No, he did not have a man-crush on the above-mentioned chef, just a plain, simple, Indian obsession with food. Why are Indian men so much into food? Even when, most of them cannot cook Maggi, which comes with written instructions.
‘What are you thinking Chotu?’
‘Papa, I have already lived around twenty-two percent of my life. I am no Chotu,’ Nandini quipped, collapsing in her favourite chair, right next to him.
Mr Sharma quickly did the math. ‘Eighty-five years or so! Not, if your mom lives hundred percent of her sixty-five years.’
‘Oh! You are mean!’ Nandini giggled.
Affectionately patting her knee, Mr Sharma then went on to repeat the age old, beaten to death cliché, ‘You will always remain a child—’
‘For your parents, no matter how old you get,’ finished her mother entering with Tullu and tea in tow.
‘How come you never think in similar terms when you want my room tidied or have me married off to any stranger, literally off the streets,’ Nandini retorted, directly to her mother.
‘You and your silly remarks! I have some good news,’ Mrs Sharma said handing her the cup.
Keeping her head bent, Nandini sipped the scalding liquid. Her body tautened anticipating the lightning strike.
‘Vibha Didi called; she and Aditya are coming here and guess when?’ Shruti didn’t wait for any response. ‘Day after tomorrow, by the afternoon flight! ’
Nandini clutched the cup, lest it might meet the same fate as the pencil and nearly the files. So it was confirmed – her worst fear was about to come true, she even knew its ETA.
‘Arre say something, aren’t you happy? You will finally get to meet your Badi Maa, what after three years,’ Shruti said.
Three years, seven months and the number of days I am a little confused about, Nandini quietly deliberated.
Badi Maa! Aditya’s mom, Mrs Vibha Sarin was and is best friends with Nandini’s mother. They only refer to each other as sisters born of separate mothers.
Their husbands, Nirbhay Sharma and Paresh Sarin, as providence would have it, were childhood friends. In a strange coincidence, two best friends married two best friends. Tragedy struck close twice ... just kidding!
‘No Maa, of course I’m happy.’ Nandini assured. ‘And anyway, I already know. I heard it in the office earlier today.’
‘Why didn’t you immediately call up and tell me?’ Shruti admonished.
Shrugging her shoulders, Nandini
finished her tea in a gulp. ‘I’m a little tired, can I go upstairs and chill?’ She got to her feet. The excited plans her parents were laying out for the Sarins’ homecoming, pricked her ears.
‘Go ahead Nandi, do as you please, this is your house,’ Nirbhay replied watching his daughter with thoughtful eyes.
Nandini climbed the stairs to the three-bedroom apartment, on the first floor. Earlier occupied by her elder brother and his family, it had come to her once they had moved to Mumbai.
Elder to her by five years, Namit Sharma, an IMA Ahmedabad passout, was currently a financial head honcho of a leading infrastructure giant. He was married to an absolute sweetheart, Meghna aka Mugs. A pediatrician by profession and an adroit multi-tasker, who managed the job of a mother, doctor, wife, daughter and daughter-in-law in the best possible way known to mankind. They were blessed with two lovely twins, a six-year-old boy and girl, Piya and Piyush, cheesy names but adorable tots.
Wearily, Nandini flopped on the sofa, resting her head in her hands. She unconsciously massaged her scalp, vividly recalling Aditya’s painful grip on her hair, the blazing hatred in his eyes accompanying the vicious words, ‘You greedy back! I will come b#@!*! I promise... to destroy you and everything you ever held precious.’
3
Jab we met
B ut Pappu can’t dance saala!’ Her cell phone’s blaring ring jolted Nandini, back to the present. Rummaging inside her bag, she grabbed the phone, ‘Hello?’
‘You are thinking about him, aren’t you?’ sounded Sneha’s reproachful voice on the other end.
‘No Sneh.’ The lie, shuffled from tight lips.
Ensuing silence loudly proclaimed, ‘Liar, liar, thongs on fire!’
Okay fine! Just like you, I, too, am a little concerned,’ Nandini confessed, heavily.
‘Honey, our concerns are totally different. It is not my hide that Aditya Sarin might be gunning for.’ Sneha’s words were blunt, not her tone.
A crooked smile teased Nandini’s lips. ‘I agree it’s only mine he plans to skin. ’
‘Don’t worry so much. Maybe it’s all over and done between the two of you. We constantly read about his dating of some socialite, actress or model in an unending succession. Aditya always liked to play the field. I am sure he has forgotten all about you.’
‘I hope you are right.’ Another lie, the thought that Aditya might have forgotten her, struck in the artery closest to the pumping beats. ‘Listen Mom is coming, I’ll talk to you later... don’t worry about me Sneh. Go and make your man happy.’ Nandini hung up on the rude cackle. ‘Maybe I should change the ringtone to Hanuman Chalisa. That might just keep him away!’ Bad one, her conscience pointed.
‘What a mess? Why did it have to be like this?’ She whispered, tormented. After a long bath, and avoiding her parents, Nandini curled up in her bed. Sleep, unlike the memories, eluded her.
Flash back! (True Bollywood style)
Twenty-one-year-old Nandini, a fresh commerce graduate of Christchurch College, excitedly strode inside the Sarin mansion adjacent to her house.
‘Gosh it’s mind blowing!’ ambling through the driveway, she reflected for the millionth time.
Surrounded on either side by lush, green, beautifully landscaped gardens, lolled the majestic house. The two-storey spread was impeccably white in colour, its exterior shaped befittingly like a Rajasthani palace. Adding to the grandeur, a lofty several-tiered fountain sat at the entrance.
The senior Sarins, Vibha and Paresh, had flocked to Kanpur only a couple of years ago .
‘Ajit and Seema, overseeing the business, are constantly accumulating frequent flyer miles. Aditya, for the last eight years, has been living in one hostel after another. It is just Vibha and me most of the time. Sometimes it gets very lonely,’ Paresh had confided to Nandini’s father.
‘Yaar Paresh, then why are you sitting so far in Cochin? Come and live here. All of us will make sure that you and Vibhaji don’t get a single moment of peace,’ Nirbhay coaxed.
That is it. The decision for the Sarins to move was literally made overnight. Several properties next to the Sharma residence were bought, consolidated and in the next ten or twelve months, an army of workers, similar to the ones employed by Shah Jahan, had constructed the grand abode. The palatial house boasted of tennis and basketball courts, Japanese gardens, two swimming pools—outdoor and indoor, a state of the art gym, a media room, ten bedrooms and god knows how many bathrooms.
The Sarins were quickly becoming an essential part of Nandini’s life. In fact, Vibha insisted that she address her as ‘Badi Maa’; after all, she was a year older to Shruti. Nirbhay and Paresh shared a common dread at the thought of Nandini’s inevitable bidai.
The only person from the Sarin family, Nandini had never met was Aditya Sarin, the younger scion studying in America. Having completed his MBA, Adi had finally come to live with his parents and join the family business.
Yesterday, due to a close friend’s wedding, (no, not Sneha, she did have other friends) Nandini could not attend the lavish bash the Sarins had thrown to celebrate Adi’s homecoming. Almost all the city hotels and available farmhouses, legal or illegal, had been reserved to house the who’s who of the country and outside, in attendance for last night’s shindig.
Since morning, Nandini’s parents and the TV channels, had been broadcasting truckloads on Aditya and the lavish bash—some good and some even better. Heightened curiosity and Badi Maa’s phone call persuaded Nandini to overcome her stranger anxiety and show up to meet the ‘man’.
Nandini waited in the humongous living room as one of the servants rushed to fetch Vibha. From the arched, stain glass windows of the living room, she could spy several workers milling about in the lawns, cleaning up after last night’s revelry. ‘Party for some, pain for others!’ she declared softly.
‘Who are you?’ questioned a suave voice, echoing in the otherwise silent room.
Nandini got startled, and whirled around to see where this voice was coming from. She immediately recognised who stood in front of her. No sillies! No past-birth memories like in Karz or Karrrrrzzzzz (did I miss a Z?)! Nandini recognised Aditya Sarin from his photographs.
Aditya was taller in person, definitely six feet or more. The thick, dark, crop of hair—well cut, and miraculously gel free, unlike the metro sexual men who in the disguise of being hip, have gone from gole ka tael to tael ka gola.
His black pupils framed with long curling eyelashes, studied her with no hint of recognition. After all, Nandini was no Paris Hilton or a child successfully rescued from a borewell. Aditya’s face cradled a wide forehead, a Greek nose, and a sensual mouth with a hint of dimples in his chiselled cheeks. His broad shoulders and mouth watering body, was clad in a white, probably ridiculously priced, designer T-shirt, dark blue jeans and tan shoes. Aditya Sarin loomed large as an epitome of oozing masculinity .
Holy cow, he is bloody gorgeous, sprung the sudden thought in Nandini’s mind. ‘You are Aditya, right?’ she stuttered, blushing furiously.
‘And you are about to faint?’ Aditya mocked, in a deep and cultured baritone. His eyes crinkled at the ends and his dimples deepened.
Humour served in arrogance, a typical trademark of children brought up by the philosophy: Spare the child and break the rod or better still, sell it to the raddiwala. Nandini’s expression awkward, she asked, ‘What do you mean?’
‘Your face is redder than a beet root.’
The snub definitely ruffled, more than imaginary feathers.
‘Were you pursuing an MBA or a cookery course?’
For a moment, Aditya’s eyes narrowed and then he burst out in a full-throated laugh. At the sound, Nandini felt like curling her toes.
‘Okay, Ms Smarty Pants, introduce yourself.’
‘Nandini... Nandini Sharma,’ she answered lifting her chin, unconsciously defiant.
‘So, you are Nandini? My parents’ adopted daughter.’ A thorough gaze sized her up from head to toe. Aditya liked what h
e saw... who wouldn’t?
Almond-shaped eyes perfectly sized, with a pert nose trailed by pouty pink lips, sat pretty in a heart-shaped fair face. Bereft of any make up, Nandini appeared to be a tall teenager, except, her body was that of woman. Her curves, clearly visible in a tight yin-yang, powder pink and silver coloured T-shirt and figure hugging jeans.
Aditya’s amusement grew, as he noticed Nandini’s flush become more pronounced, at his minute inspection. My stares are actually making her uncomfortable, he thought, surprised. In the circles Aditya moved, there was not one woman, married or single, who would not botox or lipo herself to her very bones just to emerge good enough to catch his eye. But Nandini, discomfited to the core, literally hopped from one foot to another.
Nandini, experienced strange tingles, as Aditya’s eyes freely roamed over her. Even though thoroughly covered, she felt completely exposed. To break the eye contact, Nandini abruptly swung her face away, bringing the ‘wow’ feature to his notice.
Aditya, riveted, gazed at the poker straight, shiny black tresses, cascading down the shoulders, ending at the waist. Ms Dimple Kapadia and Demi Moore, your days are numbered! His hands twitched to touch the black velvet.
‘So you’ve met Nandi?’ Seema, Aditya’s sister-in-law’s voice broke the moment.
‘Nandi? Isn’t that the name of the bull a god rides on,’ Aditya baited the spitfire.
‘Yup! The one with the horns sharp enough to shred just about everyone, especially the lecherous kinds,’ Nandini shot back. Damn! My comeback was super lame, I suck at this witty repartee a@#%, fretting she bit her lip.
Aditya was not backing down; he opened his mouth to fire another salvo. Nandini braced herself for the next zinger.
‘Hey Nandi, Maa is looking for you. She is in her room,’ Seema interrupted, giving them each a closer look.
‘Thanks Bhabhi, ’ Nandini murmured, quickly climbing the marble stairway, happy to escape the not so extinct T.Rex.
‘So what do you think of Nandini?’ Seema asked softly of Aditya, whose eyes remained pegged on the other girl.
