by George, MM
Mira looked at him in surprise. “You said she was after his money!” she exclaimed.
“Well, now I know better,” he said.
“Wow,” she mocked. “The great Mr. Ranbir Dewan admitting he made a mistake. Breaking news!”
“Don’t laugh, girl,” he growled, pulling her roughly against him. Mira felt her senses spin as she came up against the hard male length of him. Ranbir cupped her chin and raised her face up to his. She bit her lip. She couldn’t think straight with him so tantalizingly close, with his very essence filling her senses and causing her breath to catch. She tried to turn her face away, but his hands prevented any movement.
A strange look came into Ranbir’s eyes as he caught her desperate little movements. “Mira, Mira, Mira,” he said softly, “you don’t know how you provoke me!” His face was inches away from hers, his lips coming closer. She closed her eyes. A curious kind of inertia possessed her and she felt unwilling to break out of the warmth of his arms. She sighed as she felt his lips touch hers, his tongue seeking the warmth and sweetness it craved. Her hands found their way to his chest, bracing herself against the onslaught of his mouth.
“Aahh, you taste so sweet,” murmured Ranbir, as his tongue moved to her ear lobe and then traced its way down her jawline to her chin. Mira could not have moved even if she had wished to, the sensations shooting through her were so intense. Instead, she found herself curling her hands in Ranbir’s hair and drawing him closer to her, shuddering as she felt his tongue work its way down her neck where an erratic pulse beat a frenzied tattoo. She could feel her breasts swell as his hands gripped her waist and his leg worked its way between hers. When his hands moved up to the drawstring that held the neck of her kurta together, she felt herself go limp. She heard the little bells at the ends of the drawstring jingle as he untied the knot and felt the top of her kurta slip down as his tongue worked its way to the shadowed skin between her breasts. “So sweet, like a peach,” whispered Ranbir as he bent to take her nipple in his mouth and began to suckle it.
Mira felt a storm begin to build in her innermost core. She was being ripped apart by feelings she had never known before. Her hands curled tightly in the dark hair of the man who was pleasuring her so intently, her back arching to offer him more of the sweetness he was plundering. “Ranbir!” she moaned, lost in the waves of sensation that were engulfing her.
The terrace door banged, startling her from the sensuous haze that had engulfed her. She brought her hands down to push Ranbir from her breasts. He murmured indistinctly, his mouth rising again to claim her lips, one hand caressing her waist and moving even lower.
With an effort, Mira turned her face away. “Stop it, Ranbir, stop it right now!” she said, her voice shaking.
“What the…?” he said thickly, his eyes still glazed with desire. She pushed him away in a hasty gesture.
“Someone might come up,” she said, hastily pulling up the bodice of her kurta and doing up the drawstring, not meeting his eyes. She moved to one side.
“It was just the breeze. Mira, come here,” he said, taking a step towards her. “Stop being a tease!”
“Ranbir, no!” she said shakily. “What we’re doing…were doing…is wrong. I don’t know what came over me.”
Ranbir’s face tightened. “What we were doing?” he said harshly. “I’m attracted to you, I told you that. And I can feel you’re attracted to me. We are free adults and if we choose to act on our mutual attraction, how can that be wrong?”
“Because there’s no love,” said Mira, “because we’re not married.”
“Love? Why do you need love? And marriage? You’re holding out for marriage? Well then, marry me! Will that take care of your middle-class scruples?” She began sobbing in earnest then, anger taking over from all other emotions.
He looked at her. “Come now, Mira,” he said, taking hold of her hands with one hand and wiping her tears with a handkerchief, “you saw how good we were together. I have to have you. If the price is marriage, so be it. We could get married the Monday after the conference. I’ll get Jasmine to apply for a license right away.”
“Don’t…” she pleaded, choking back a fresh wave of sobs. “You don’t love me…”
“Love doesn’t come into it, you silly girl! Were you really expecting to fall in love before you got married? Come to think of it, our getting married could work out to everyone’s convenience. Chachi cannot in all sincerity look down on Reema when she’s my wife’s sister. And once things are sorted out with Tarun and Reema, we can decide whether we want to stay together or get divorced. Though I warn you, not a paisa will you get from me in alimony. My lawyers will take care of that.”
Mira felt her insides shrivel at his words. More tears welled up in her eyes, but she dashed them away with the back of her hand, ignoring the handkerchief that was still before her. “Is that all marriage means to you, Ranbir?” she said, summoning up her anger and willing back the tears. “You’ll marry me to slake your…your…lust for me? And then throw me out like you would an old shirt? I mean nothing to you?”
She dashed towards the terrace door, banging it shut behind her, tears blinding her hasty descent down the stairs and into her room, where Reema was fast asleep. She stumbled into the bathroom, choking back her sobs. Ranbir had made her feel like…like…a tramp! How could he?
As the tempest of tears abated, she buried her face in her hands. Her skin was still heated where he had touched her and she could still feel the hot tingle he had started in her innermost core. How could she have let him do…all that…to her? How could she have let him see her…her breasts…kiss them? How could she have been so shameless? How? No wonder he thought she would be willing to let him take it further.
And yet, there was a part of her that had wanted him to not stop out there on the terrace, to go on till she was truly his. It was as if Ranbir had cast a spell over her. When she was with him, all reason and sense seemed to fly out of the window. All her awareness seemed concentrated on just one point—Ranbir. It was as if she became a different person. Ranbir, too, it seemed, was a different man with her. More tears escaped as she remembered how warm and gentle he had been with Reema. Why was he so autocratic, so demanding, with her? Why did they rub each other the wrong way all the time?
Mira could not understand her own emotions. If she wanted him to make love to her so urgently, why had she turned down his proposal? Why had she been so reluctant to take the half cup he had offered? She made a choking sound as sudden realization dawned. She was in love with Ranbir, hopelessly and madly in love with a ruthless autocrat, who had made it very clear that she would never be a permanent part of his life.
***
Ranbir strode the length of the terrace angrily after Mira ran away. Frustration gave a keen edge to his anger. He couldn’t believe Mira had said no to him. He could have sworn she was as strongly attracted to him as he was to her. He had not imagined the way she had melted into his arms, the trembling of her slender body as he explored it with his lips.
A faint smile crossed his lips. Well, Ranbir Dewan, he thought ruefully, this is one for the books—the first time you propose to a girl, she turns you down. Who would have thought it? He was genuinely puzzled by Mira’s reaction. What did she want? Wasn’t marriage the card she had been playing for? Well, he had offered it to her and she had thrown it back in his face. Of course, his offer had been impetuous, made in the throes of thwarted passion. He probably would have regretted it the next day. So, maybe, it was for the best that things had turned out the way they had. Only, why, in that case, was he so upset about her refusing him?
He made his way down the stairs. As he passed Dadi’s room, he noticed that her light was still on. He opened the door silently. His grandmother was sitting up in bed, her prayer beads in her hand. She looked up at him and put aside her beads. “Are you all right, Dadi?” he asked, concern writ large on his face.
“Are you all right, beta?” she asked, looking at him.
/> Ranbir dashed the back of his hand against his mouth and pulled up a chair to sit beside her. “Not really, Dadi,” he said ruefully. Dadi had been his confidante since his parents’ death. She could read his face like a book.
“Mira?” she asked gently.
He looked up shocked. “How did you …?”
“Sshh,” she said. “You think I haven’t noticed the way the two of you fight, the way your eyes still follow each other despite that? Even when you were telling me about Reema, I heard more about Mira than Reema, so much so that it made me curious to meet the child. That’s why I fell in with your plan to have both of them stay here.”
There was a moment of silence. “Did she refuse you?” Dadi asked softly.
Ranbir’s face darkened and he looked away. Dadi put her hand on his arm. “Beta,” she said slowly, “I know you have flirted with many girls—probably even gone further—I wouldn’t want to know. But true love is a great humbler—the fact that you are rich, handsome and powerful will mean nothing to it. Mira is different, and it’s up to you to understand it. She has been brought up with middle class values and, from what I have seen of her, she has a great sense of family and traditions. Such a girl will not settle for a cheap transaction.”
Ranbir mulled over her words. Dadi studied him gravely for a few minutes, stroking his arm gently as she had done when he was a child, letting her words sink in. Then she spoke again. “True love is both rare and elusive, so don’t let it escape you when it comes your way,” she said, eyes focused intently on Ranbir. He looked up at her, then nodded ruefully. What a fool he had been!
“Will you tell her?” asked the old lady, as he got up and pushed the chair back into place.
He turned back from the door at her question. “Yes, but not immediately,” he said. “Mira’s not too well disposed towards me at the moment. I’ll wait for her to cool down a bit.”
“Don’t make me wait too long,” said Dadi, smiling fondly at him. “Double weddings are so much more fun!”
≈
EIGHT
Mira was subdued for the next couple of days. Reema wondered what was wrong, but the grim look on her sister’s face stopped her from asking. In the cafeteria, Dhruv shook his head silently when she cut the carrots in rounds, instead of juliennes, for the salad. Something was definitely wrong, he thought, it wasn’t like Mira to be so quiet for so long. Or to be absent-minded about her work, for that matter. But he, too, decided against asking her what was wrong.
One afternoon, Jasmine walked in, frowning and looking totally frazzled. “Where’s Dhruv?” she asked. “Ranbir wants to see him in his office.”
“He’s out for a cigarette,” said Mira shortly.
“Is that a pot of tea you’ve got there?” asked Jasmine eagerly. “I could do with one.” Mira poured her a cup.
Jasmine sat down in front of her and took a sip. “Ummm, ginger,” she said, leaning back. “And spices… heavenly!” Mira remained silent, stirring her cup gloomily.
“Problem?” Jasmine asked presently. Mira yanked herself back from her thoughts with an effort.
“No, nothing really. Just thinking. How about you? You’re looking pretty haggard.”
“I’ve hit a real thumper,” sighed Jasmine. “The caterer for next week’s annual conference dinner just called to cancel. Apparently, the chef is in hospital.”
“Surely you must have a list of caterers?” Mira asked sympathetically.
“Yes, for most occasions,” said Jasmine. “But Mrs. Dewan is insisting on a pure Vaishnav meal for the dinner. It will be near impossible to find another caterer who will agree to prepare the kind of meal she wants at such short notice. There’s no rest for the wicked.” She sighed again. “Well, I must be off then. Send Dhruv to Ranbir’s office, will you?”
Mira looked thoughtfully into the empty cup in her hand. She was still contemplating it when Dhruv came back. He walked over to the counter and poured himself a cup of tea. He looked at Mira who was still lost in her reverie and cleared his throat noisily. “More tea for you?” he asked, as she looked up startled.
“Dhruv!” she burst out. “I have an idea.” He looked at her enquiringly. It was the most animated he had seen Mira for days. “But, oh, you’d better go and meet Ranbir first. Jasmine was here to call you.”
When Dhruv came back, he was trembling with excitement. “Guess what!?” he said plonking himself on the chair beside her. “Ranbir wants us to…”
“Organize the dinner after the conference…” Mira finished for him, her natural ebullience reasserting itself after days.
“How did you know?” he asked in amazement.
“That was the idea I had, remember, I wanted to tell you when you walked in from your break? Jasmine told me about the caterer pulling out at the last minute.”
“And you think we can do it?”
“Of course, Dhruv, we cook for a good three hundred people every day. And we cook more or less what Mrs. Dewan wants.” He remained silent till she couldn’t bear it any more. “Look, Dhruv, you’ve said often enough that you want to branch out into a restaurant sooner or later. Here’s the perfect opportunity! Think how many people there will be at that dinner. You’ll have them all queuing up at your door later.” Mira looked at him pleadingly.
“Okay, okay,” laughed Dhruv, putting up his hands in mock surrender. “I’ve already said yes to Ranbir. We’ll need some more people and I have a couple of friends who’re between jobs at the moment. Ranbir has agreed to let me hire them for a couple of days.”
“Well, that’s settled then!” said Mira happily. “Where shall we start?”
“We have to present a basic plan of action tomorrow morning and then start taster sessions whenever we’re free from the regular cafeteria work. And Mira…”
“Yes?” she asked, smiling happily up at him.
“It’s nice to have the old Mira back. Don’t let her disappear again, will you?”
When they went into Ranbir’s office the next morning, Ajay Dewan was also there with his nephew. He smiled at Dhruv and Mira as they entered.
“Guys,” said Ranbir, “are you sure you can handle this? I don’t want a single thing to go wrong. The Dewan Group’s honor is at stake here. If you have even the slightest doubt, tell us now.”
“Of course, we can handle it,” jumped in Mira, even as Dhruv searched for words that would reassure Ranbir and Ajay Dewan.
Ranbir raised an eyebrow at her. “Your confidence, Mira, is truly astounding.”
“Come on, beta, look at how well she handled Tarun’s dinner. I’m sure she’ll whip up some similar magic for our corporate guests.”
“Okay then,” said Ranbir. “Tell us what you’ve planned so far. Has Jasmine given you our requirements?” As they sat and discussed the plans for the dinner, Mira felt the tension of the last few days ease away. This was going to such an exciting job, she could feel it in her bones.
Mira and Dhruv were in a complete spin for the next couple of days. They spent every free minute trying out dishes from the shortlist they had created, working late into the night. Every time they both approved of a particular dish, they took a sample to Ajay Chacha, who had promised to be their guinea pig-in-chief, as he called it, while Ranbir was traveling. So far, he had only made their task more difficult because he insisted every new experiment had to feature on the menu.
“Ajay Chacha!” Mira exclaimed finally, when he declared her paneer koftas to be just like his Nani used to make and there was no way he was going to let his guests miss out on sampling them. “This won’t do! We have to cut down. We cannot make so many dishes for so many people in one night.”
“But beta,” he remonstrated with her, “each of these dishes is laajawab. How can you expect me to choose one over the other?”
Dhruv sighed beside her. “Sir, with all due deference, your guests cannot eat so much in one meal.”
Mira jumped up in her chair, “Tell you what, Chacha, we’ll decide the final menu
from among all these. Two vegetable dishes, two kinds of dal, two kinds of salad, three kinds of chutney, two kinds of raita, matar pulao… Now tell me, would you prefer tandoori rotis or parathas?”
“Parathas!” exclaimed Chacha. “But do include these delicious koftas, my dear. And what about dessert?”
“Indian or…?” asked Dhruv.
“Oh definitely Indian. No eggs at all.”
Dhruv looked at Mira. “Rabri?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “Whipped cream. Resting on rabri. And badam-kesar milk for those who don’t want it cold. In kulhars.”
Chacha’s face brightened. “Amazing!” he said approvingly. “I can’t wait!”
Dhruv’s face looked troubled. “Will Ranbir approve of kulhars at such a formal dinner party?” he asked worriedly.
“Don’t worry about Ranbir,” said Chacha magnanimously. “I’ll take care of him.”
***
Work began in earnest on the Thursday after that. Dhruv’s friends, Anil and Vineet, came in and were soon busily involved in the preparations with them. Mira was hardly home in the two days leading up to the dinner on Saturday. She didn’t know where the time went in cutting and chopping and grinding and stirring. One thing she was thankful for, the black cloud that had settled on her since the day of the party had dissipated. Ranbir’s absence had a large role to play in that, she decided.
All too soon, the dinner was almost over. So many days of back-breaking work and now it was all done. Mira could hardly believe it. She was exhausted, but happy. It had gone off so well. Every time Dhruv had gone to the banquet hall to oversee the serving of the dishes, he had returned grinning from ear to ear to relate the fulsome compliments he had received. Only a bit more to go, she thought, then peace!
The hired waiters came in to pick up the whipped cream and rabri confection she had slaved over. They would return later for the hot flavored milk. Mira picked up a large tray to keep it ready when they came for them. She picked up a few of the little clay pots and frowned. They were stone cold. She had wanted them placed in warm water so that the milk, when it was poured into them, would not lose heat too rapidly. What was the point of serving lukewarm badam-kesar milk? She winced, thinking of Ranbir’s reaction to such a fiasco.
