by Vikram Bhatt
‘Please ask him to wait in the lounge, Lucy. I will be there in two minutes,’ I said in as collected a voice as possible while my heart raced ahead of my procrastinating mind.
‘Who is that?’ Dad asked pointedly.
‘A friend from my business school . . . must be visiting Mumbai.’ It amazed me how my mind could manufacture a lie so quickly to cover up for my heart that was defying all common sense. ‘Will be back in ten,’ I added, then scurried away leaving the cup of coffee behind. I did not need it. I suddenly felt more awake than ever.
Lucy had been efficient enough to show him into the waiting lounge. He turned when he saw my reflection in the glass. He looked at me and smiled. I could see that he had not slept; his eyes were a tired red. He could also be an alcoholic, my rational mind interrupted. He wore a chequered red shirt, a pair of jeans and a lot of angst. He looked handsome and forlorn and I had to suppress a huge urge to give him a hug. God! Why was I responding like that?
He started, ‘I am sorry about last night; I behaved like a complete idiot.’ To his credit, he did sound sorry. ‘I am not sorry for how I feel or what I said. I’m just sorry that I messed up your date and probably scared you . . .’ he let the sentence hang midway, his eyes searching my face for some sort of encouragement.
I was intrigued and it was all very intense, but I couldn’t embark on a getting-to-know-him session without knowing if I should be getting to know him at all! So I chose to act evasive.
‘Look, I understand that you might feel very strongly about this connection that you seem to feel, but from my point of view this is extremely shady. For instance, should I not be worried that you traced me to my office in less than a day?’
‘Depends on how you look at it.’
‘Is there any other way to look at it?’
‘I can think of a few—you could be flattered, intrigued, embarrassed . . .’
‘Embarrassed?’
‘Yeah, you could be embarrassed for being caught with the kind of date you were with last night,’ he said with a straight face.
‘I couldn’t help noticing that you were with nothing but legs draped in red,’ I retorted, and I couldn’t believe I had just said that.
His eyes grew wide with surprise, only to light up in amusement a moment later. He noticed that I had noticed.
I continued, a little exasperated now, ‘Look, I am flattered by this—your finding a connection, searching for me and then coming to meet me here, but now it’s going too far. The truth is, you don’t know me, and your appearing here is downright creepy, so this is where this freak show ends.’ I was firm in my response, though as shaky as a leaf in the wind from within.
He didn’t say anything. I turned around and began walking away, his eyes boring through my back.
‘Does anyone really know anybody?’ he called out after me.
‘What do you mean?’ I spun back to look at him.
‘What’s the deal with this let’s-get-to-know-each-other-first bullshit? How well do you really know the person that you think you know? Birthdays, favourite colours, zodiac signs, favourite food, favourite holiday spot, favourite colour, favourite song, favourite restaurant . . . It’s just a damn list of nonsensical information, like a cheap online quiz. That’s not knowing someone!’
The man was on a roll, but in the bargain he had provoked the headstrong me. ‘Oh, so your idea of knowing someone is telling them you know them from several lives and then on the next occasion thinking of them as imbeciles. So are you saying that you have known me from several lives to be an idiot?’ I must have sounded seriously miffed because I noticed him back off a bit.
‘Okay, I see this is not going the way I planned, but would you humour me and tell me how well you know the frat boy you were out with last night?’ He seemed to have a way of tossing my composure around. ‘It seemed more like a date you were conned into than a date you wanted to be on.’ Well, he’d got that one right. He deserved some serious perception points for it, but that would mean giving in a bit. My heart was in for the ride, happily singing to itself, ignoring my mind which was blaring the siren like a crazed ambulance. I had to bring this to a stop.
‘All right. It’s a Monday morning and I have to get back to work. So, please tell me what brings you here.’
‘You.’ He looked straight into my eyes.
‘I inferred that. What do you want from me?’
‘I want to spend the rest of my life with you.’
His words flew across the room and knocked the breath out of me. Was he really saying that? To me?
Couldn’t be. These things were supposed to happen to other people, the ones who gave interviews on true romance and appeared in Vanity Fair. How the hell was this happening to me?
I had always thought admissions like these were made after a dozen or more dates, after some hand holding, some passionate kissing and in romantic places like under a starlit night for instance. The waiting lounge of my office after just one seriously disturbing meeting had never been how I had imagined it.
And then when I looked into his eyes, I could see that he did want to spend his life with me. I believe that I have in me an efficient and accurate bullshit detector, and that detector couldn’t detect any bullshit coming from him just then.
I just stood there, speechless. He walked across the lounge, picked up a pen from the coffee table and scribbled a cell phone number on a writing pad.
‘This is my number,’ he handed me the scrap of paper. ‘I don’t know how to make it possible to meet you again. I have no excuse, but I don’t need one. I suppose you do. If you do find one, please call me.’ He smiled and began to walk away, then paused and turned around, the smile still lingering, ‘The perfume you use—it has the fragrance of a life I have always dreamed of. What is it called?’
I couldn’t think straight for a millisecond. Then the question registered. ‘Chance,’ I half-whispered. ‘It’s called Chance . . .’
He whistled.
‘How apt,’ he said softly, as if to himself.
VEER
Thursday evening
I looked at the cell phone again. Then I looked at the digital clock flashing insensitively on my bedside table, and calculated. It had been eighty hours since we’d talked. Must be a record of sorts. I had taken all the precautions—the battery was always charged, the network excellent and I’d even carried a portable charger everywhere I’d gone—just in case she decided to call.
But she never did.
I’d been told that I had handled the office meeting with Mira terribly, by Love Guru Prady, who had driven me to Mira’s office on that occasion and waited in the car park.
As soon as I got back in the car, Prady had started the debriefing session. He was extremely disappointed with me and had concluded that even if Mira had a bad case of sapiosexuality she was never calling me. ‘Are you trying to get a girl to date you or are you trying to win a debate, you ass?’
It was obviously a rhetorical question to which I did not venture an answer.
‘As far as I can make out, all you told her was that it is not important to know a person to fall in love with them, which belittles love somehow, that her date was a douchebag, which insinuates she has bad taste, and that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with her, at which she has every reason to freak out. To add to that, you scribbled your telephone number on a piece of paper to seduce her into calling you!’ Prady summed up with a flourish, but I did not think it was fair on his part to water down my efforts to such a frivolous level. In any case, I was in no mood to argue with him. I just needed her to call me.
Eighty hours later, the status was the same, and my mood too was pretty much the same. The past eighty hours had been an agonizing wait for the cell phone to ring, and now as the wait entered its eighty-first hour I was beginning to think that perhaps Prady was right. Perhaps I had just screwed it up. I had an image of the future me at an airport duty-free, picking up a bottle of Chance and then persuadin
g my future, disinterested wife to wear it so that I could at least smell, if not experience, a life with Mira. It was a morbid thought.
Suddenly, I heard the phone ring.
Ah! Damned Murphy’s Law!
I was midway through a shower, shampoo steadily sliding down my head on to my face and into my tightly shut eyes, adhering to the don’ts pasted on the shampoo bottle. I raced to the phone, my wet feet slipping on the bedroom floor as I did my best to keep my balance. There was no way of knowing who was calling with my eyes shut, but I knew it was her. My mad scramble to the phone could have shamed an experienced ice skater. I picked up the phone, steadied my voice and answered, ‘Hello?’
‘Hello! Is that Veer?’ a soft voice spoke.
It was her! Was it her? It sounded like her. God, please let it be her!
‘This is Mira,’ she said softly.
It was her!
The shampoo suds stealthily flowed into my right eye as I held the phone. The burning sensation went from zero to hundred in two seconds. God really had a whacky sense of humour to bless me with a stinging eye and a singing heart at the same time!
‘Hello, Mira,’ I said casually.
‘So . . . my friend Natasha is having a party at her place on Saturday night. I thought . . . perhaps . . . you might want to come?’
This was as tough for her as it was for me; it kind of levelled the playing field and shot me some much-needed confidence.
‘Yeah, sure! I am doing nothing over the weekend in any case,’ I winced inwardly at my not-so-cool show of eagerness.
‘Great! Let me text you the address. It’s easy to find.’
‘Okay. Shouldn’t be a problem.’
Then there was a pause, where according to Prady I should have asked her if she wanted me to pick her up for the party. Instead I kept quiet and prayed that I wouldn’t lose my right eye to the shampoo. I did not want to go on my first date with her looking like the Crimson Pirate.
‘Saturday night then?’
‘Saturday night!’ I confirmed.
She ended the call and I rushed to rinse my burning eye with a bounce in my step.
Mira’s friend Natasha had a penthouse on the Worli Sea Face in one of the new apartment buildings with marble foyers, expensive security and automated elevators—quite swish.
A couple that was probably headed for the same party rode up in the elevator with me. They obviously could not wait for the darker hours of the night and embarked on their business in the elevator. I did a good job of ignoring them and studied my reflection in the shiny elevator doors. A pair of black denims, my favourite black slim-fit shirt and a pair of black moccasins; I liked what I saw in the reflection. I could have done with another thirty seconds of reflection time to set my hair in place but the elevator doors slid open and I stepped out, albeit without the kissing couple. I suppose they had decided to repeat the ride.
I was greeted by lounge music and candlelight. The scene did have a touch of class, a relief from the nouveau riche kind that could rattle your sensibilities. My eyes scanned the room for her amongst young couples still on their first few drinks and singles clearly ensnaring their willing victims.
‘Veer, right?’ asked an excited voice behind me.
I turned around to find a slim and tall girl with long, flowing hair. She had a charming smile that made the black skimpy dress she wore tilt the scale in favour of sexy instead of vulgar.
‘Natasha. I am Mira’s friend.’ She extended her hand and I quickly accepted.
‘Yes, it’s Veer. Good guess!’
‘Oh! Not really. We have heard all about you from Mira, more than once.’ She laughed with ease and I joined in. ‘Come, let me take you to her,’ she offered.
We have heard all about you . . . The words jangled in my head. She had been talking about me? I hoped not, ‘Hey friends, do you all want to meet the weirdo who has been stalking me?’ For a moment I was rattled by my own thoughts, but I tried to calm my nerves and reread the note to myself in my head, ‘Dear Veer, do not to screw this one up at any cost. This is your last chance!’
I followed Natasha to the open terrace. It had the most stunning view of the city. The candles on pretty bronze candlesticks flickering in the light wind against the twinkling lights of the city cast a pale halo on the gathering. And then I saw her.
She was in the far corner, talking to some friends very passionately about something. She took my breath away. In a turquoise blue dress that ended just above her knees and accentuated her waist, her hair flying gently in the wind and the candlelight making her hazel eyes twinkle.
‘Look who’s here!’ Natasha announced.
Mira stopped mid-sentence and turned to look at me; her face broke into a smile.
‘Hello you!’ she said.
‘Hi!’ I responded.
Her friends sensed that I was Mr Special Attention for Mira and smiled at me the ‘what’s-going-on’ kind of smile. Natasha ran through the introductions and I did the polite smile with the handshake routine, but I could not remember any name and I did not care. I was just happy to see Mira.
Natasha excused herself to look after her other guests while the other nameless friends did the slow distancing of conversation at first and then gave us space. Mira and I stood awkwardly next to each other smiling, each waiting for the other to start a conversation.
‘Have you heard of this thing called Google Earth?’ I had made the worst start to a romance in the history of mankind!
Oddly, she did not mind. ‘No. What is it?’ she seemed genuinely interested.
‘Well, you know Google has these satellites up in space, circling the Earth, and you can download this app and see how every bit of Earth looks from up there. You could zoom in close enough to see your own house from up there.’ I smiled at her like I owned Google.
‘And that is interesting?’ she wondered.
‘Not all the time, though it would be today.’
‘Why today?’ Her brow crinkled and made my heart jump again.
‘Because I wonder how we would look, the two of us, from up there, standing in a corner on a penthouse terrace lit by candles.’ Prady’s image suddenly flashed into my mind, frowning in disappointment at my conversational skills.
‘Are you sure you haven’t smoked up before coming here?’ she giggled, and I burst out laughing.
Then, just like it was the most natural thing to do, she held my hand, ‘Mister! You need a drink to brighten up and I need one to calm down.’ I couldn’t have agreed more. She led me to the bar, ordered two tequila shots; we did not clink our glasses, simply downed the stuff.
Twenty minutes later, the nerves had settled, and Google Earth seemed too trivial to discuss. We had moved to matters like the implications of technology on national security. I could see that she was a step ahead of me in taking things personally. I had found someone who could be emotional about technology. Now that was rare!
We were busy chatting when suddenly we heard a voice.
‘Hello, Mira!’ I saw a clean-shaven, hawk-nosed, beady-eyed reveller approaching Mira for a warm embrace. Mira seemed happy to see him and the party of four that accompanied the guy. A lot of hugging and kissing the air around faces ensued. I stayed out of it and smiled at no one in particular. Mira introduced me to them, scantily dressed girls and boys with expensive cologne; the loud music drowned most of the introductions, but I registered that the clean-shaven one was Dev Kapoor.
‘So what do you do for a living?’ he inquired, already expecting that I wouldn’t be worth a conversation.
‘I work as a copywriter for an advertising agency,’ I answered with a patient smile. I could see that it was new information for Mira and she nodded approvingly.
‘Oh! Which one?’ he beamed with interest. I might have stirred his interest after all.
‘Pearl and Grey.’
‘Dev runs an advertising agency as well,’ a black scanty dress chipped in and I nodded.
‘You must have hear
d of Brothers Illuminati?’ Dev asked with great pride.
‘Yes, of course!’ I was already cautious, knowing the rivalry between the two companies.
‘I run it!’ he proclaimed like it was a country he ran. ‘Anytime you’re sick of Pearl and Grey and want to work for a real advertising agency, give me a call.’
I noticed that Mira did not like that statement. I did not like it either but let it pass.
‘I am all right where I am,’ I laughed.
‘Really? So tell me, what campaigns have you worked on?’ I could see that Dev had taken my rejection a little too seriously. Mira was beginning to get uncomfortable with his behaviour but the scanty dresses and colognes were beginning to enjoy the evening at my expense.
‘Many campaigns, really. My latest one was Healthfirst water filters.’ I smiled.
‘You mean you wrote the copy, “Your family needs Healthfirst”?’ He was struggling to hold back his laughter. I nodded. ‘I am glad you are working at Pearl and Grey. They deserve such lame copy.’ Dev lost control of his laughter and so did his gang. Mira’s smile faded away. She did not like that one bit. I decided to continue smiling, not wanting to make a mess for Mira.
‘Which other ones?’ He was on a roll.
‘Many other lame ones,’ I answered self-effacingly.
‘Oh, come on! Tell us!’ he coaxed.
‘I did the copy for the soap company Warm Springs.’
‘You mean you are the guy who came up with the copy “A Handful of Sunshine”?’ Dev and gang were now laughing uproariously.
‘Yes,’ I smiled back.
‘Oh my God! You are the king of bad copies!’ Then he turned to Mira, who by now was staring at Dev unblinkingly. ‘Are you dating this guy, Mira? I mean, please tell me you are doing this for sheer amusement?’
‘What I am doing is none of your business, Dev!’ she exploded. ‘What you must really concentrate on is what you are doing or going to do.’ Dev stopped laughing, and the gang followed suit.
