by Saranya Rai
A light patter of feet caught her attention. ‘What are you still doing here, you scamp? Didn’t I hear your mother calling for you hours ago?’
Their neighbour’s bright-eyed little girl who worshipped Heer strutted confidently into the room.
‘I’m staying the night with you. I told my mother.’
Heer barely suppressed her laughter at Shashi’s self-importance. ‘Is that so?’
‘Yes, and I have come with a present for you.’
‘Is the present that my mother has sent you to call me so I can go eat? I’ll faint if I have to wait any longer.’
With a giggle, Shashi shook her head. ‘No, but my present will make the waiting easier.’ She opened her fist and offered Heer the treasure within—a slightly misshapen bright yellow laddu.
Heer grinned, accepting the present.
‘Ranjha is almost done eating, and I’ll come call you soon,’ Shashi promised, darting out of the room again. Heer shook her head with an indulgent smile and raised the laddu to her mouth.
Before she could take a bite, with an agonized shriek, Malki ran into the room and slapped the laddu out of her hand. Heer sat shell-shocked, staring at the golden crumbs dusting her fingers, and her mother, bent over and panting for breath.
‘Didn’t I tell you not to eat anything before Ranjha was done eating?’
It took almost a minute for Heer’s shock to wear off and for her to respond.
‘Yes, but I thought that was because we couldn’t eat together—we can’t see each other before the ceremony, right?’
‘Yes. But you also may not eat anything until I personally serve you—it’s all part of a ritual. You can’t just go around eating laddus the night before your wedding! Promise me you won’t eat anything I don’t give you myself! Swear it on Ranjha’s life!’
Bemused but unwilling to argue the point, Heer nodded slowly until a satisfied Malki wiped her brow with her dupatta, carefully gathered up every morsel of the smashed laddu from the floor and went back downstairs.
~
Never in Vicky’s privileged life had a domestic chore carried so much importance. On the sun-bleached sand of the private section of beach belonging to his family’s old Madh Island farmhouse, he was sweating bullets while helping Meher Patel set out lunch. Meher was one of Kriti’s closest friends and she’d volunteered to cook for their little picnic. He knew that helping her lay out the food on a thick rug was a test of some kind, he just wasn’t sure of what. Meher appeared to be equally unimpressed with his conversation as with his napkin-folding skills.
Out of earshot but close by, Kriti lolled about on a beach towel, while in the distance, Jay and Mini ran circles around Meher’s son Shahzad. It was all very idyllic except for the grim executioner’s silence between the two of them. Vicky was seriously beginning to doubt his ability to make conversation. So far, Meher hadn’t responded very well to any of the topics he’d tried to introduce, a wide range that included styling in Hrishikesh Mukherjee’s films, favourite vacation spots and the benefits of drinking coconut water. Vicky morosely garnished a bowl of grilled vegetables with some pre-chopped fresh parsley. This was to be his permanent impression on Meher then—maker of poor conversation and the world’s worst napkin folder.
All of a sudden, a brainwave hit Vicky and he almost slapped his forehead for not thinking of it sooner. He did have at least one thing in common with Meher—Kriti! It was time to take the bull by the horns.
He cleared his throat. ‘So, Meher, Kriti was telling me that she’s known you from her early modelling days when you were Jazz Jairaj’s assistant. What was that like? Why did you move from styling to design?’
Meher paused in the act of cracking pepper over the chicken salad. ‘I just felt like it. I was tired of sourcing pieces for an outfit and had developed an interest in how the clothes actually come together. Took a break to get a diploma in fashion design and was lucky enough to get hired as part of Kiran Rathore’s team, even if as an intern at first. That was it, no looking back.’
‘Oh man, Kiran Rathore hates me. He once likened my style to that of a peacock in mating season, and it was definitely not a compliment.’
The corners of her mouth wobbled with the first smile he’d elicited, and Vicky immediately felt better.
He sighed dramatically, a soufflé in hand. ‘I’m not even going to ask you to deny that. Your answer would break my heart too much.’
‘Very likely. Though, I suppose not any more than the heartbreak Kriti caused me recently by wearing that ridiculous geometric pattern body-con dress that she told me you gave her.’
‘Hey, that dress was an Ashlyn Kelly! Actual art!’
Meher shuddered a little. ‘Americans. They have less subtlety than, if you’ll forgive me, a peacock in mating season.’
‘Just what have peacocks done to you all, is what I want to know. What is this anti-peacock propaganda going around in Indian fashion design circles?’
Meher couldn’t help her broad grin.
‘They’re too obvious, na. Also, very ’90s. No doubt peacocks will come back in fashion again in the next decade, if it’s any consolation to you.’
‘Well, what about the blue scarf I got Kriti from Hermès? Surely, that is refined enough for you?’
Meher looked heavenward, at the cloudless blue sky for a moment. ‘It was cerulean. The one shade of blue, perhaps, that Kriti should never wear. It makes her complexion look sallow.’
Vicky laughed nervously, setting out forks with a little more energy than warranted. From the corner of his eye he could see that Mini had gone to sit by Kriti, leaving Jay and Shahzad alone. Perhaps he could make an excuse and disappear to hang out with either of the other two groups soon.
‘Is that why you don’t approve of me dating Kriti? I lead her into fashion faux pas?’
Meher slowly finished positioning a block of Camembert on to the cheese board and sighed.
‘To be honest, Kriti doesn’t need a lot of help in making fashion faux pas. For such a gorgeous woman, she’s strangely insecure about styling herself and that shows in her outfits sometimes. And I’m not sure I approve of you, Vicky, because of your weird need to have everybody like you. It makes you look shallow and I’m sensing that’s not entirely true. Not to mention your compulsive need to pick outlandish clothes and pair loud colours together.’
‘Of course, I want you to like me! You’re Kriti’s best friend!’ Vicky protested.
There was a mischievous twinkle in Meher’s eye. ‘Well, yes, I can’t say I’m not enjoying the attention, even if that means refolding all the napkins. It’s more your general rep with other people that I’m talking about.’
Vicky picked up a shred of ginger from an apple-and-potato salad and ate it defiantly. ‘Yeah, I do have an almost pathological need to be liked by other people, but I promise you, what Kriti likes matters much more to me than what other random people like.’
‘So I’m beginning to see.’ Meher nodded. After a beat, she laughed a little. ‘Okay, I’ll tell you a widely known secret. I didn’t move from styling to design quite so organically. I had a huge blow-out fight with Jazz Jairaj soon after Kriti became Miss India. The woman was determined to put her in these weird corsets that made her look positively square. I won that round, but knew I’d have to skedaddle soon. And Jazz was just bitchy enough to deny me a decent reference to any other stylist in the business.’
Vicky’s eyes widened. ‘How have I not heard of this before? Does Kriti know?’
‘Kriti’s the one who put in a word for me with Kiran Rathore. Kriti had modelled for him once, then, and he has always been fond of her. She helped me get my foot in the door. I was an administrative intern at first—not even design, while I got my part-time fashion-design diploma on the side. Several months after graduating, I moved on to assisting the design team and made my way up from there.’
‘Meher, you rebel! And you and Kriti with your goody-two-shoes personas!’
‘Please,
Kriti is the only goody-two-shoes around here. She’s a worse people-pleaser than you. If anything, being with you is making her slightly more selfish, and that’s a good thing.’
‘So . . . you approve?’
Meher laughed again at Vicky’s hopefully waggling eyebrows. ‘Let’s just say, I’m not entirely opposed. God, please don’t do that in front of Shahzad. The last thing I need is for him to waggle his eyebrows at me when he wants something.’
~
Kriti dug her toes into the sand, watching the proceedings from a safe distance. Vicky was ‘helping’ Meher set out lunch at her request, after she’d shooed away everyone else’s offer to help. No adult was fooled for a second, and Kriti grimaced in sympathy at the scrupulously polite and devastating silence Meher was subjecting Vicky to. To say Meher hadn’t been thrilled about Vicky would be an understatement. And she hadn’t even been privy to all the details. Kriti somehow hadn’t been able to explain the complications of the last months. Maybe some day she would, when Meher wouldn’t be determined to dislike Vicky so much.
That was why Kriti had suggested they spend some time together—Kriti and Vicky, Jahan and Mini, Meher and her little Shahzad. And Vicky had come up with the idea of a picnic on the beach, at the very same farmhouse that had hosted Mini’s infamous twenty-first. While Meher gave Vicky the third degree, Mini and Jahan were apparently teaching Shahzad how to fly a kite. Their primary task, however, seemed to be to stop Shahzad from running around and unravelling all the kite spools in advance. There was a little more string floating around than strictly necessary. With a tired shake of her head, Mini seemed to give up and jogged up to her, sprawling down on a beach towel next to Kriti.
‘Do you now see why I wanted no part of this kite-flying business?’
‘He’s a very sweet boy,’ Mini hastily assured Kriti, who chuckled in response.
‘He is. He’s also a holy terror and I don’t pretend for a second that I can keep up with him.’
‘I’m sure Jay’s got it under control.’ Mini’s voice did not sound very convincing and she joined in Kriti’s laughter after a second. ‘I remember being asked to watch a couple of my cousins, a few years ago. Mom and my aunt were going to some exhibition that they’d suddenly discovered and I was supposed to babysit the twins in place of their nanny who was on leave. I can’t believe I’d forgotten how horrifying that afternoon had been.’
‘Horrifying?’
‘Two identical six-year-old girls running loose in the house? I think “horrifying” is an appropriate adjective.’
‘What did they do, but?’
‘To begin with, they played this stupid game where the floor is lava so they’re only allowed to jump from one piece of furniture to another to get around. Then, they both wanted the last cupcake and cutting it in half wasn’t an option. I got so tired, I ate it myself, and then they accused me of “breaking their feelings”, and ran away in tears so I felt like the world’s worst monster. They would only stop crying if I let them play with my German doll’s house, which I’d had since I was five and kept in a glass case like a showpiece. I did and they destroyed it. Basically, I was in actual tears when my mom and aunt came back.’
Kriti winced in sympathy. ‘Yeah, I’ve watched Shahzad for short periods and I usually need a nap right after. I don’t know how his nanny and Meher do it.’
In the distance, Jahan gamely tried to reel in a spool while holding the small squirming boy under one arm.
‘No, but jokes apart, Jahan seems great with kids.’
Mini nodded at Kriti’s quiet comment. ‘He’s a great guy in general! I’ve known him since I was fourteen, so I can tell you.’
‘And how long have you crushed on him?’
Mini bolted upright, looking at Kriti with such undisguised horror that she had a lot of trouble keeping a straight face.
‘Oh my God, how did you know? Do I make it that obvious? Does everyone else also know?’
‘Calm down, Mini, no, I don’t think everyone else knows. At least, Jahan and your brother positively don’t. I only figured it out when I saw the way you look at him. I’m afraid I’ve felt that very expression on my own face several times in the past. Plus, the way you reacted when Jahan told you to apologize to me.’
Mini lay back down on the towel, covering her face. ‘I hate it. I wish I could stop. He thinks I’m a child still—always calling me his little sister and best friend and stuff. I want to both kiss and punch his pretty face.’
This time Kriti did laugh, despite Mini’s woebegone voice. She stretched out a foot to nudge Mini’s knee. ‘As someone with a few years on you, you will find this is a sentiment that never quite changes. Crushing is exasperating. More so, when one crushes on men.’
‘I just . . . want him to see me, you know?’
‘I do. And look, maybe he will, some day. Never say never, right?’
‘No, I really don’t think he ever will. He seems determined not to. I know I have to move on. And I will, eventually . . . ’ Mini dropped her hands from her face and sat up, her expression so sweetly wistful that Kriti wanted to pull her into a hug.
‘Please don’t tell Vicky bhaiya, though. The last thing I need is to explain this to him.’
‘Vicky has enough problems of his own at the moment, I don’t think he needs to know about yours.’ They both looked over to the massive rug a few yards away where Meher and Vicky were setting out food. Vicky was still laughing and grinning but there was a slightly manic look in his eyes. Meher was unimpressed.
‘Ouch. Do you think Meher will ever like Vicky bhaiya?’
‘I’ve yet to see Vicky’s charm fail in real life.’
‘You are such a besotted girlfriend, Kriti. You’ve only known him less than a year.’
‘Fair. You’ve known him all your life. How often has Vicky failed to make someone like him despite his best efforts?’
Mini rolled on to her stomach. ‘As far as I know, only Father David who always saw through all his shit. But even he, I think, liked bhaiya well enough in his way.’
‘There you go. And Meher is no Father David. She’ll come around. Even now, I can see her trying to fight a smile. It’s that expression she has when Shahzad has done something so outrageous but funny that she must scold, when all she wants to do is laugh.’
‘I’m really happy you and bhaiya decided to get back together, you know?’
Kriti drew circles in the sand, contentment washing over her.
‘So am I, Mini. So am I.’
~
‘I can’t do this any more.’
‘Can’t do what?’
‘I can’t take it any more.’
Kriti was looking at their director and cinematographer standing a few meters away, going back and forth on setting up the shot of Heer and Ranjha appearing over the horizon as they return home.
Comprehension dawned on Vicky’s face. ‘How long do you think they’re going to fight it?’
Kriti turned back around at their lunch table to face Vicky. ‘The way they look at each other, it drives me up the wall.’
Vicky nodded in sage agreement. ‘The other day, Arun was figuring out the lighting for a scene in Tilla Jogian while Sudarshana supervised. I had to sit still and watch them do this.’
Kriti shuddered lightly. ‘I feel like a child in those cartoons where the kids will pick up two dolls while playing house-house or whatever, and smush their faces together making them kiss. It’s gross and so inappropriate to feel like that about your director and DoP.’
‘Do you think they leave from set separately and then sneak into each other’s rooms back at the hotel? No, wait, that’s us.’
Kriti slapped his hand lying on the table. ‘We don’t sneak around half as much any more. Not since the CandyFloss campaign.’
‘May I say, I really enjoy playing this game of do-they-don’t-they with you for public gratification. I even love being the flashy half of #Vickriti.’
Her dimples flashed. ‘I ca
n’t believe I have my own hashtag-ed ship name! And I’m deliberately creating gossip! About myself, I mean.’
Vicky leant forward, placing his elbows on the table, blowing her a kiss. ‘It’s one of the things I love most about you, sweetheart—your commitment to things you decide to be a part of.’
Kriti laughed, leaning forward to match his posture. ‘Okay, but tell me seriously, do you think Sudarshana and Arun are getting it on yet, or nah?’
‘Vicky, Kritika, wardrobe’s ready for you, go get changed. But before that, I want you to mark the sequence once or twice. If you’ve finished eating, come over.’
Kriti and Vicky jumped a foot in the air. They hadn’t even heard Sudarshana come up behind them. Kriti reddened visibly while Vicky wore his trademark guilty expression. There was no telling how much Sudarshana had overheard. She started moving without waiting for a response when she hesitated and half-turned.
‘Oh, and Kritika, you never rush a good thing. Haven’t you two learnt anything from my three-hour films?’
Hiding a smile at the twin expressions of horror on her lead couple’s faces, Sudarshana walked away.
Epilogue
The air was redolent with the scent of jasmine and late roses, woodsmoke and ghee. Malki watched misty-eyed as her daughter, draped in heavy silk and gold, placed her hand in Ranjha’s. There was a glorious smile on Heer’s face, one that put all her finery to shame. Ranjha, hair and beard shorn again, though body leaner, looked more serene. His joy was steely, as though daring fate to take it away from him. Discreetly wiping a tear away, Malki nodded at her husband and the two took a few steps away from the happy couple surrounded by their laughing friends and family.
In no hurry, stopping occasionally to talk to guests, they made their way to Malki’s brother, Kaido, who was sitting at the far end of their courtyard, watching the proceedings with a benign smile. Seeing them approach, he rose to his feet. Malki bore a tray of assorted sweets.
‘Why are you sitting so far away from the celebrations, all by yourself, my brother?’
