by Saranya Rai
‘Yeah, I’d say.’
‘And did she say anything about me?’
Mini grinned again. ‘She said she’ll think about calling you later tonight.’
Vicky sagged with relief. Until then, Mini hadn’t even noticed how tensely he’d been holding himself.
‘Fuck, I . . . I’ll call her first. I’ll fix this! I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon while pretending to read this terrible script Aparna sent me. I have a plan.’
Mini sat up straight. ‘Oh no, what are you planning on doing? Bhaiya, Kriti told me to leave everything alone and that her team’s got it. I’m pretty sure the same goes for you.’
‘Hush, Mini, this has nothing to do with Kriti or you. I’m going to fix this if it’s the last thing I do.’
‘Pleeeease talk to Kriti before you execute any of your hare-brained ideas, please, I’m begging you.’
His expression softening, Vicky pulled out his phone from his back pocket, flipping it in his hand. ‘Of course, I’m going to talk to Kriti. But I am going to fix this.’
14
It had not been a week after Heer’s wedding that her father had begun regretting his hasty decision. The empty, tearless look on Heer’s face as she left her home haunted him every night. There was no doubt that Ranjha was unsuitable for his daughter. But . . . Khera had not proved any more suitable either. He had not been able to make a home for his daughter. Months after Heer’s wedding, a curt missive had come from Heer’s in-laws informing him that it would be best for all concerned if he agreed to take his daughter back.
Anxious, guilt-ridden, he had gone to fetch his beloved daughter himself. To no avail. She had refused to return with him. And he had not been able to bear inflicting any more force on his daughter. So, he had returned to Jhang alone, with a heavy heart, troubled by Heer’s slighter frame and the hard lines around her mouth. He had apologized to Heer’s in-laws, begging them to look after her. Finally, at the promise of gold, her mother-in-law had relented, saying Heer could stay, and it was she who sent him word occasionally. He had sent a couple of boys for word of Ranjha as well, after that incident, but they had returned empty-handed. Ranjha seemed to have vanished as suddenly as he had appeared in Jhang.
There was not a day that he did not think of Heer in her little house, living alone in the barren country of her husband’s village. And it was at the close of another such day in the early summer that an incredibly familiar rhythm of clinking anklets came to his door, knocking hesitantly.
Heer had come home.
At first, Chuchak and Malki had been so caught up in the joy of their daughter’s return that they had not noticed the grave-looking young man with the long hair who had escorted her. Assuming him to be a relative of Heer’s absent husband, it was not until Heer had caught his hand in a gesture that spoke of old comfort and familiarity that Malki had gasped.
Heer had not returned alone. Ranjha had brought her home.
A look of understanding passing between them, Chuchak nodded, dangerously close to tears. His Heer had returned, looking happier than she had in almost a year, and he would do whatever it took to have it remain so.
Even Kaido stepped up to express his joy, with nary a sour comment about Ranjha’s lack of background and prospects or Heer’s headstrong ways.
No one noticed the broken handle of Kaido’s pipe, snapped off in rage.
~
Kriti paced the perimeter of her living room, compulsively straightening her black-and-red khadi-covered cushions and adjusting picture frames by centimetres. She’d lit and blown out a set of fresh-cotton-and-sea-breeze candles three times already. She couldn’t decide if they were too much. They smelt lovely but she didn’t want to look like she was trying too hard. She’d managed to modulate the lights exactly right—cosy but not suggestive. With a shake of her head, she relit the candles. She was trying hard, and there was no point trying to disguise it. Not from Vicky.
For some reason, he’d insisted vigorously on meeting at her apartment on Friday during their very stilted phone conversation three days ago. Kriti knew she’d been too harsh on him during their last argument in Hyderabad, and even more so by refusing to talk ever since. She wasn’t proud of it and wanted to apologize but he’d been cagey and evasive on the phone, waving away any attempt at a serious conversation. And then, it had been three days of radio silence, except one text message this afternoon explaining he’d be an hour late because of a meeting that had been pushed back. The week’s scattered shooting schedule and other commitments had meant that she hadn’t seen him on set either.
Perhaps he’d decided against their relationship, Kriti thought morosely, continuing to pace around the room. While he had broken his word by telling his sister, now that she had the whole story, she recognized it wasn’t as much his fault as a series of bad coincidences and slip-ups. After all, she’d unthinkingly shared the news with him first, hadn’t she? And that was much before they’d had . . . something. Or perhaps, she’d subconsciously recognized that they did have something which is what had prompted her to share. If only he’d told her the whole story—if only she’d given him a chance to explain later and asked more questions! It wasn’t fair to hold their whole relationship hostage every time a problem cropped up. She had committed in good faith, hadn’t she? Maybe he’d decided she was more trouble than she was worth. Kriti raised a thumb to her teeth, and the sight of the dark plum nail paint made her drop her hand. She would not revert to biting her nails just before Vicky arrived and potentially broke up with her. Also, Meher would have something to say about her nails if she saw them like that.
Her doorbell rang, making her stomach flip-flop unpleasantly. Smoothing her hands over imaginary creases in her cream linen drawstring pants, she answered the door, both inordinately relieved and painfully anxious that he hadn’t stood her up.
Vicky stood on her doorstep, thumbs hooked into the pockets of his acid washed jeans, wearing the loudest pink-and-neon-yellow graphic printed T-shirt created and the world’s most earnestly hopeful expression.
Kriti knew it was biologically unlikely, but her heart thumped extra loudly. Surely, he wouldn’t look so . . . excited if he was here to break up with her? He barely waited for her to close the door behind him before pulling her into his arms and holding her the way she’d missed being held all week. With a shiver of relief, Kriti nestled deeper into the embrace. Everything was going to be okay.
~
Vicky physically felt the muscles in his shoulders relax for the first time since Mini’s ominous phone call, the moment Kriti returned his hug. God, he’d missed her. He reached for the clip holding her top-knot in place and removed it, releasing the fragrant mass of her hair. He’d especially missed this intoxicating mix of citrus-scented shampoo, a hint of Clinique Happy, and a warmth that was all Kriti.
‘I’m so sorry, Vicky.’ The words mumbled into the crook of his neck startled him and he pulled away to look at her. Her eyes shone with a film of tears and her sadness twisted his insides in an ugly way.
‘What the fuck are you apologizing for?’ His words came out harsher than intended, and her eyes widened a little. She tried to take a step away from him, but he was having none of it. He tightened his arms, holding her in place, and after a moment, she stopped trying to move.
‘I’m apologizing for threatening our relationship over the first problem that came up. That wasn’t fair.’
‘Yeah, well, I’m sorry for putting you in a position where you felt pushed to do that.’
‘Mini told me everything, you know? It wasn’t as simple as it being “your fault”. And honestly, no one except Joshi is responsible for the trash he writes.’
‘Yeah. Mini is a precocious brat, but you’re right.’
‘Mini’s not precocious, you’re ridiculously overprotective and a little bit of a busybody.’
Vicky fidgeted with the hem of Kriti’s tank top, looking increasingly like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.<
br />
‘We’d better sit down for the next bit and I’m really hoping you don’t consider my plan busybody-ing.’
Frowning with bemused exasperation, Kriti followed him to her sofa. ‘What did you do, Vicky?’
‘I . . . really wanted to fix this, okay. And I’ve been thinking about this plan for days. What is the quickest way to ensure that people move on from talking about News X? Give them News Y, right?’
Kriti nodded. ‘Yeah, Samiya’s been working on carefully feeding pretty much any other gossip she can find to her media contacts. I regret that Kanika Rajput’s recent faux pas at a store launch is going to see more traction than strictly necessary, but I didn’t get to where I am without some sacrifices.’
Vicky was momentarily diverted. ‘Kriti, you stone-cold killer.’
Kriti shrugged with a small smile.
‘Wait a minute, is this because Kanika once said how sweet it is that you have the wardrobe of an insecure teenage girl?’
‘Vicky, you’re the worst gossip I’ve seen. And no. She just happens to be the most recent person to put her foot in her mouth.’
‘Okay, forget about Kanika. Point is, my plan doesn’t rely on other people making a scandal. It relies on us being the scandal.’
‘Vicky!’ Kriti’s tone was shocked as though he’d suggested parading through the streets naked. ‘I have dedicated my life to creating as little scandal as possible and it is very annoying that I get caught up in so many of them without meaning to.’
Vicky’s expressive features twisted into a smirk that was far too sceptical for Kriti’s liking.
‘Face it, Kriti, you’d be bored to bits without drama. That’s why you became an actor. Anyway, hear me out. I haven’t set anything irrevocable in motion yet. I’ve had a bunch of meetings with Sudarshana, my management and PR, the team from CandyFloss . . . and it actually has everyone’s tentative approval! Yeah, I know, I couldn’t believe it either.’
‘I’m both terrified and intrigued. What on earth did you come up with that has Sudarshana’s approval?’
‘An extension of the promotional campaign we did for Ranjha Ranjha. With help from CandyFloss, you and I are going to launch a campaign with a hashtag. We’ll shoot three or four short sketches pretending to be a real-life couple, which CandyFloss will write and direct. Maybe a concluding interview too. And each sketch will end with asking people to share the love with the tag #PyarKar. We’re basically asking people to share their own love stories on social media, bonus points if they talk about challenges they’ve faced in their relationship. CandyFloss will pick a winner at the end who’ll get passes to Ranjha Ranjha’s premier. They’ll still be talking about you, but specifically about this campaign.’
Kriti chewed over his words for a long time.
‘You do realize there is the possibility that this sort of thing might generate rumours linking us?’
‘I’m counting on it. I’ll play your boyfriend so well in these sketches, I’ll be mildly insulted if people don’t gossip about us. If . . . you’re okay with it, of course.’
‘It might also generate “fake relationship” rumours. People may assume we’re doing this to sell Ranjha Ranjha.’
‘Ah, but there lies the ingenuity of this. We are ostensibly doing this to sell Ranjha Ranjha. There are no wrong assumptions people can make here. We’re neither confirming nor denying anything. We’re just inviting people to speculate. On our terms. As a team. We make a good one, you know? But if you or Samiya have any concerns, we’ll scrap the whole thing. That’s a conversation I’ve already had with Sudarshana and CandyFloss.’
Kriti gaped at Vicky until he began shifting uncomfortably.
‘Oh man, you hate it. It’s okay, we don’t have to do this. I have a Plan B which involves me doing something outrageous by myself.’
‘No . . . that’s not it, you’re a goddamn genius! A film promotion on paper that serves a second purpose of changing the direction of gossip? I love you!’
‘You do?’
‘Vikram Behl, it would be my pleasure to get gossiped about with you.’
Vicky started laughing, grabbed Kriti and dropped a clumsy kiss on her lips. ‘I love you, Kritika Vadukut. What about Samiya?’
‘I employ Samiya, she does what I tell her to.’
‘Really?’
‘Okay, fine, I do what she tells me to. But she’s going to love this. Samiya secretly dreams of orchestrating media coups. This kind of manipulation is straight up her alley.’
‘Most importantly, I hope this gets Abhimanyu Neogi off your case and you can proceed with his film in peace.’
Kriti shook her head, a militant light in her eyes.
‘I’m not doing that movie any more. I sent the contract back, unsigned, a day ago.’
‘What? Why?’
‘Because it dawned on me through this silly circus that working with him is going to be a nightmare. He has the temperament of a teething two-year-old.’
‘Oh, excellent metaphor!’ Vicky high-fived Kriti.
‘Yeah, I want that kind of indie-cred, but not at the cost of my mental health over six to twelve months. Neogi can shove it. I’ll find something else I like.’
The thrill on Vicky’s face faded a little. ‘So . . . we don’t actually need to do any of this? The main problem with that article was that Neogi got mad, right? Do you want me to cancel everything?’
‘Are you kidding me?’ Kriti sat up straight, turning her body to face him. ‘I just said yes! Nothing’s changed in the last five minutes. Let’s do this.’
‘But . . . why?’
‘Because it’ll be fun.’ Kriti shrugged, smiling serenely. ‘That CandyFloss interview with you was the most fun I’ve ever had doing a promotional thing. And I meant it when I said I’d like people to gossip about you and me. Let’s see if our collective reputations can handle being linked together.’
Vicky held his arm out, inviting Kriti to cuddle by his side. ‘I don’t know if you’re doing this just to make me happy, Kriti, but I’m not going to argue. Welcome to media hell with Vicky Behl. It’s the price of falling in love with me.’ Tracing his thumb over the delicate line of her cheekbone, he pressed his mouth to hers, kissing her leisurely and thoroughly.
Kriti broke away, flushed and just a little mussed up, the way Vicky liked her.
‘It’s not going to be that bad. It’s actually a very . . . sound proposition.’
Vicky laughed, drawing her into his arms again. ‘Uff, you make me sound so respectable and responsible types, I’m going to start getting rishtas any second.’
Kriti grinned, fisting his collar and pulling him closer till he was a breath away. ‘Let anyone just try sending you a rishta.’
~
Mini took a deep breath before pressing the call button. Part of her almost didn’t want him to answer. The rest of her knew she wouldn’t have the courage to call back later if he didn’t pick up now. Luckily for her, he did on the third ring. Jahan’s raspy ‘hello’ never failed to make Mini’s heart race just a little faster. It was the only incongruous bit about his wholesome image—a chronic smoking habit that perpetually made him sound like he’d just woken up. While disapproving of the smoking in general, Mini had to admit it gave him an unexpected edge that made him so much sexier, no matter how ridiculous that trope was.
At the moment, however, Mini couldn’t focus on anything other than the fact that the last time she’d spoken to him, he’d expressed his clear disappointment in her. She still cringed while thinking about that conversation and the memory made her voice a lot more timid than usual.
‘Hey, I just wanted to let you know that I went and spoke to Kriti, and she was really cool about it. I think bhaiya and she will work things out.’
‘Oh, way to go, Mini! You’re a good egg.’ She could hear the smile in his voice. Mini closed her eyes, falling back on to her bed with a silent sigh.
‘And thank you for telling me to get my shit together. I don’t think I�
�d have done it without you pushing me.’
‘I’m sorry if I came across as a little harsh, Min. I hated seeing Vicky so upset and the solution seemed so obvious to me!’
‘No, you weren’t harsh at all. You were just straight. I like that about you a lot.’ A deep blush heated Mini’s cheeks and she was extra grateful they were having this conversation over the phone.
Jahan chuckled softly. ‘You’re the best for my ego, have I ever told you? I don’t know why you aren’t my best friend, instead of your insufferable brother who only gives me grief.’
‘Yeah, why aren’t I your best friend, Jay?’ Mini hoped desperately that the flippancy of her tone covered how she really felt. First ‘little sister’ and now ‘best friend’, jeez.
‘It’s because Vicky only introduced you to me after he’d taken the “best friend” spot. He’s very chaalu like that.’
‘And what are you going to do now that Vicky bhaiya has given the “girlfriend” spot to Kriti? Are you jealous?’
‘Only very slightly, but don’t tell Vicky.’
Mini giggled, slapping herself on the forehead for it. Giggling, for crying out loud?
‘Although . . .’ Jay continued, ‘Vicky doesn’t have a monopoly on girlfriends, and one of these days, I’ll produce one of my own. No wait, that sounded very wrong.’
Mini didn’t laugh this time. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I refuse to sully your young ears with dirty details from my personal life.’
‘Jay!’ Mini tried to sound as plaintive as possible, to cover the shaft of hurt that had lanced through her.
‘All I’m saying is, I have this date with a friend of a friend this weekend.’
‘What’s she like?’ Mini hated herself for asking the question.
‘Hmm? Oh, she’s so hot. I know I sound like Vicky when I say it, but really, I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t noticed. She’s a vet associated with the Mahalaxmi stables, shares my fondness for Kurosawa and is . . . really sweet.’ Jahan’s voice softened towards the end, which landed a punch to Mini’s stomach again.
