by Saranya Rai
‘And Ranjha Ranjha is your Shatranj ke Khilari?’
‘Even I would not be so presumptuous.’ The ghost of a genuine smile flitted across her face and the camera clicked.
Arun took a break, mirroring her smile. ‘At any rate, I’m glad I got to be part of this “vanity project”.’
The warmth of his gaze made Sudarshana’s breath hitch ever so slightly.
~
‘I still think it’s more than a little narcissistic to insist on watching your own debut movie.’ Kritika wriggled into a comfortable spot on the couch, running her hands appreciatively over the soft chintz.
The Jahanara boasted a private theatre that seated thirty, but it was a smaller recreation room that Vicky had asked for that evening. Intricate chessboards and checkers sets lay around the room on tiny, beautifully carved rosewood tables. Bookcases filled with an odd mishmash lined the walls—yellowing, well-thumbed pulp from the ’80s, ancient editions of Good Housekeeping and Vogue from long before the Indian editions set up shop, racks of Harlequin romances collected over decades, a full set of Tintin comics, delightfully outdated encyclopedias—Vicky’s head spun trying to take it all in. Mini would’ve loved this room. At that moment, Kriti seemed to like it well enough. He congratulated himself on his decision.
‘You have absolutely no say in the matter, considering it’s been something like four years since it came out and you still haven’t watched it! I wasn’t lying during that CandyFloss interview. I really have seen Aaj Kal at least five times. You owe me this.’
‘I never asked you to watch Aaj Kal five times!’ Kriti protested, tucking her feet under herself.
‘You’re going to watch Mahi Ve, and you’re going to like it,’ Vicky promised, dimming the lights and pressing play.
‘If you insist.’
As the opening credits played, Kriti focused her attention on the large TV screen in front of them, and Vicky swore he wouldn’t spend the movie creepily staring at her, trying to catch every tiny reaction.
‘Oh, I love this song!’
Vicky immediately resigned himself to a broken promise, turning to watch the play of expressions on Kriti’s face. She was humming under her breath, slightly off-key, but entirely wrapped up in the peppy dance number on screen. Vicky forced himself to respond.
‘Yeah, that’s my favourite song from the movie too. I had a blast shooting it.’
He had a feeling she hadn’t even heard him. There was a broad grin on Kriti’s face and she snorted occasionally at the banter on screen. As his on-screen character dove into a lake in the dead of winter in the mountains on a dare, Kriti gasped with laughter.
‘Oh my God, Vicky, you basically played yourself in your debut movie! I call foul. You won all the best debut awards for playing yourself!’
‘Bullshit! Rakesh and I are completely different people. I would never jump into a freezing lake, no matter who dared me. I have way too much respect for my balls.’
Kriti rolled her eyes at him before returning to the film.
‘Ugh, it’s not fair how gorgeous Sasha is.’
‘Fishing for compliments, sweetheart?’
Kriti didn’t bother answering but her cheeks turned an interesting shade of pink in the glow from the screen. And despite all the pep talks and head shakes he’d given himself, Vicky felt a frisson of excitement.
‘You won’t believe how hard Sasha punches, by the way.’ He jerked his chin at the unfolding scene where the enraged heroine landed a couple of solid punches on Rakesh’s arm. ‘I legit had a bruise the next day after all those retakes.’
But Kriti was silent, absorbed in the drama, so they sat quietly and watched the film. Vicky couldn’t help but look at her out of the corner of his eyes. He observed how the emotions flitted across her beautiful face, completely absorbed in the movie. At one point, when the couple on screen were having a particularly emotional moment, to his consternation, he noticed a fine sheen of moisture in her eyes.
‘You’re . . . You can’t be crying over this!’
Kriti sniffled loudly and lied through her teeth. ‘Of course not.’ As a single tear slipped from her lashes and rolled down, Vicky clenched his hands, torn between tender heartache and amusement. Unable to stop the impulse, he scooted closer on the couch, put an arm around her shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. He immediately felt stomach-churningly nervous about it, so he removed his arm and forced an unconvincing burst of laughter.
Kriti surreptitiously wiped her face on the long sleeves of her oversized sweatshirt.
‘Don’t be embarrassed, Kriti, I am very touched that you’re so cut up about Rakesh’s heartbreak.’
‘I suddenly really sympathize with Sasha. You ask to be punched as hard as possible.’
She swatted half-heartedly at him, refusing to make eye contact. Vicky didn’t know which was worse, honestly—Kriti being mad at him and coldly polite, or Kriti being her earnest, adorable, vulnerable self around him. Both turned his insides raw in a way he couldn’t quite fathom or handle. He wanted this openness from her but he knew he wanted more of it, not just occasional glimpses.
Sensing his gaze on her, she threw him a questioning glance, and then bit her lip. Whatever she saw in his face embarrassed her more than her tears had, and she returned to the movie with determination.
‘Have you ever had your heart broken?’ Vicky regretted asking the question as soon as it slipped out. ‘Never mind, you don’t have to answer that.’
To his surprise, she nodded slowly, eyes still fixed ahead. ‘Several times. I give my heart away a little too easily, I think. I’m learning to be more cautious with it. You?’
‘Once.’ And suddenly, in that moment, Vicky knew. He didn’t care how cheesy it was but pretending to be content with Kritika’s friendship was exhausting. Reluctantly, she turned her face to his, waiting for him to explain. For once, there was nothing he wanted to add. He studied the tiny crease between her brows, the uncertainty wavering in her expression, the rising colour on her cheeks, and the luscious swell of her lower lip. And then he looked away first, focused unseeingly on the screen, hyper-aware of her slightly shaky breath.
The silence stretched taut between them and Vicky realized that they were nearing the climax of the movie when Rakesh and Sasha’s character were wrapped in a passionate embrace. He squeezed his eyes shut, mortified. Kriti was right. He was an impulsive jackass. How had he possibly thought watching this movie with Kriti was a good idea?
Desperate to alleviate some of the awkwardness, he opened his mouth to attempt a lame joke, but stopped short. Kriti was riveted to the action on screen—eyes glazed.
Consigning his lack of impulse control to the devil, Vicky brushed a thumb gently across the curve of her cheek, drawing her attention. For a moment, he was sure Kriti would either yell at him or leave, possibly both. He was completely unprepared for what followed.
With an exasperated exclamation of “fuck it”, Kriti grabbed the remote from his hand, switched off the movie, tugged him closer with a fistful of his t-shirt, and pressed her lips to his.
Mind temporarily short-circuited, he was slow to respond, and it was only when her hold loosened slightly that he unfroze. His wildest fantasies didn’t hold a candle to having Kriti in his arms and the luscious feel of her mouth. Cupping the nape of her neck with one hand, he angled her head, deepening the kiss and shuddering at the first brush of her tongue.
Kriti pressed closer, leaning into the kiss until she lay half-sprawled on his chest. Every time they broke apart for air, they sought each other out again, until his head reeled, drunk on her essence.
Finally, she pulled away, and buried her head in the crook of his neck. Vicky exhaled harshly, trying to calm his thundering heartbeat. Kriti was rubbing a hand on his upper arm in a circular motion, unclear whether to soothe him or herself, and that little touch twisted his insides more tightly than the kiss had.
Dropping another kiss on her forehead, Vicky cleared his throat. This w
as the time to make a heartfelt speech about how sincere his feelings were. ‘I’ve . . . seen a variety of reactions to this movie, but I honestly can say this was a first. And the one I’ve enjoyed the most.’
He was rewarded with a shaky gurgle of laughter from Kriti, who still refused to meet his eyes.
‘Kriti, you’re going to have to look at me some time or the other.’
‘Not if I can help it.’ The muffled words were spoken into his shirt, but a beat later, she raised her head, a very familiar expression on her face.
It struck Vicky that it was the exact same look she had when she cheated on her diet a little bit or half-assed her way through rehearsals because she was tired. She felt guilty.
He raised a questioning brow, baffled. ‘Are you going to apologize for kissing me?’
‘No! Though I probably should. Never have I been so flaky in my life.’
‘Are you going to tell me this was a one-time thing because you’ve had your fun and are ready to move on to the next gullible dude-in-distress, while I cry into my pillow every night?’
Kriti choked. ‘Stop it. This is serious.’
‘I hope so. I don’t think I’d like being your casual fling.’
That sobered her up instantly. ‘What do you want, Vicky?’
‘What do you want, Kriti?’
She sighed, trying half-heartedly to disentangle herself from his arms, and giving up when he refused to let go.
‘I want too many things to have them all.’
‘Tell me.’
Closing her eyes, she rested her head on his shoulder. ‘I want you. I also want to not be subjected to endless gossip and speculation regarding my personal life just when everything seems to be working out so well for me, career-wise. I want the rest of the schedule to progress smoothly without any problems arising from any potential relationship between us.’ She lowered her voice until Vicky had to strain to make out the last words. ‘And I want to not have to deal with heartbreak again.’
Tightening his arms, Vicky sighed. ‘Shall I tell you what I want?’
‘Please.’
‘I want to be able to kiss you without the camera watching. I want to hang out with you like this whenever we can manage it. I want to promise you that I’ll do everything I can to make sure this doesn’t jeopardize your work or your public image in any way.’
‘Samiya will have your head if you do.’
‘Consider me appropriately scared.’
‘So, what now?’
‘Sit here with me a little longer?’
‘And then?’
‘Maybe we’ll go on another date. Something low-key. Also, hopefully something that will get you to say “fuck it” and kiss me. That was really hot.’
Kriti shook her head with a tiny smile. The anxious lines on her face had dissolved. ‘And then?’
‘Then, I will let you have your wicked way with me, because I don’t put out on the first date.’
Giving up, Kriti breathed in the faint scent of his cologne, no further questions asked.
10
All her tears had finally dried, but her feet were leaden. The henna staining her hands was a vibrant red, an insult to her broken heart. Heer was almost too tired to walk to her bridegroom, her heavily embroidered wedding clothes weighing her down. Determinedly avoiding her parents’ eyes, she made her way to the centre of the crowd that had gathered in her home’s courtyard.
She hadn’t asked anybody what her prospective groom looked like and even now, she barely looked at him in curiosity. It did not matter what he looked like. He was not Ranjha.
As the village priest smiled upon the couple, Heer closed her eyes, sending a silent apology to Ranjha. She had failed.
The ceremony wore on and she barely registered the wishes and blessings that were offered at the end. She stopped for a token moment in front of her parents as they raised their hands in blessing. Then, without pausing to take a last look at her childhood home or her father, she followed her new husband out of the door and into the midday sun.
~
In his heart, Ranjha had a bad feeling. He’d woken up at the crack of dawn to slip out of Heer’s bed, dress and leave the house as silently as he had entered it. Every fibre of his being protested the idea of leaving Heer behind, but she had insisted. She had promised that she would come to him.
He waited on the stairs of the old temple, his flute a comforting instrument in his hands. But for the very first time in his life, he couldn’t bring himself to play it. The hours wore on and the sun climbed the heavens but Heer did not appear on the horizon.
No one did.
His stomach growled with hunger and he tightened the band around his waist. Heer had promised she would be here.
The sun was well on its way past the highest point of the sky, when he saw a slight figure appear in the distance. Heart singing, he stood up, only to realize that the person making their way towards the temple was too small to be Heer.
A young boy skipped through the field, whistling tunelessly. Seeing Ranjha, he waved enthusiastically and ran towards him. Ranjha and his music were both popular among the little children of the village.
‘Ranjha! What are you doing here? Why didn’t you come to the wedding? The laddus were as big as my fist!’
And Ranjha knew he should never have listened to Heer and left her behind.
‘The wedding?’
‘Heer’s wedding, of course! Hadn’t you heard? Her groom took her away not an hour ago.’ The boy gestured with his hands. ‘He was this tall and fair and had a great moustache.’
‘Heer is married?’
‘That’s what I just said. I’ll tell you about the wedding later, but I must be going home now. I brought an extra laddu for my sister because she is too sick to leave the house and she’ll be waiting for me.’
The boy continued skipping across the field and Ranjha sank on to the worn stone steps of the temple. Heer had not kept her word.
~
Kriti stood in front of her mirror, fidgeting with her floral printed wrap blouse and khaki cotton shorts, reapplying her favourite pale-pink lip tint, and fluffing up her hair. Vicky had texted her a little while ago to say that he was on his way to her room with ‘the evening’s entertainment’. Kriti was charged with nervous anticipation and kept rearranging things in her already immaculate hotel room. This was their first official ‘date’ and Kriti had insisted on keeping things low-key and staying in. It was far too early in their relationship to appear together in public anywhere. At first, she’d hoped to reuse the same rec room they’d watched Vicky’s debut movie in, three days ago, but they’d been unable to reserve it for the time they’d wanted. Instead, she’d tentatively suggested hanging out in one of their hotel rooms and watching something there and Vicky had agreed instantly, offering to pick something out for them.
Now that it was almost time for their date, however, Kriti couldn’t help but wonder if it had been a bad idea to invite Vicky to her room. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for things to move forward too rapidly. God, it had been so long since she’d been on a date with someone she wanted to pursue a relationship with. What if she had forgotten how to be on a date? It was too late to cancel, and all she could do was keep her head.
At the discreet knock on her door, Kriti ran to let him in. Vicky had followed her unspoken dress code of comfortable-casual and was wearing one of his innumerable brightly coloured T-shirts. This one was a traffic-cone orange, and he’d swapped his jeans for dark grey sweats. He filled out the T-shirt and sweatpants rather well, Kriti noted with interest. He held an unmarked black cardboard box in one hand and in the other, a single pink oriental lily, which he offered to her with a sheepish smile. Kriti recognized the flower as the same delicately scented ones in the cut-glass vase in her own room.
‘Thank you!’ Oddly touched by the thoughtful gesture, she took it from him and busied herself in arranging it among the rest of its brethren in the vase. She didn’t trust he
rself to say anything else, not even offer a hug in welcome. Everything sounded stilted in her head. The large suite seemed to have shrunk the moment he’d entered it and Kriti couldn’t help the heat blooming in her cheeks though he hadn’t done or said anything to warrant it.
Behind her, Vicky must have been looking around her room because it was several moments before she heard the telltale creak as he sank into an armchair.
‘Your room is almost as neat as mine, good job.’
The comment made her stop fiddling with the flower and turn back towards him, nervousness forgotten.
‘Excuse me? How could your room possibly be neater? I don’t have a shoe out of place.’
‘My toiletries are arranged in height order on my table.’
‘You’re totally making that up,’ Kriti scoffed.
Vicky raised an eyebrow in challenge. ‘You’re welcome to come take a look.’
Sensing this was a battle she would lose, Kriti shook her head and went to claim the armchair facing his. She noticed he’d placed the little black box on the coffee table between the chairs.
‘What’s in the box? I take it we’re not renting a movie.’
‘Nope. I have something much better.’ With a flourish, he took the lid off and Kriti leant forward to examine its colourful contents. A plastic board with lurid-looking snakes and rickety black ladders was at the bottom, folded in half. Counters and die and a pack of playing cards filled the rest of the box.
Kriti looked up at him in delight. ‘Snakes and ladders? Do you know how many years I haven’t played in?’
‘I’m glad you’re excited because this was all the rec room had left. A group of American kids on a college trip or something have taken over the room and there was not a checkers or chessboard to be had. I managed to salvage these because none of them know how to play Snakes and Ladders, apparently, and the hotel has enough packs of cards for all of Hyderabad to play teen patti with.’
