part0015

“How could you do this, Shashi?” Mehra Sir asked Shashi over the phone, on a warm Thursday evening. For the fifth time.

Shashi gulped as she exited the rickshaw, paid him silently and thought of an appropriate answer. There was none.

“That client whose loan you almost passed today is connected to the underworld. Did you not know that?”

“You should have known it, Shashi. I’ve told you before too. You have to be extra vigilant when it comes to credit appraising. And this guy was all over Apna News last week. Don’t you watch the news, Shashi?”

There was no point in telling her manager that she only read newspapers, English ones. He was right. She’d screwed up. Period.

“I’m sorry, sir. I’ll make sure this kind of error doesn’t happen again.” Shashi walked through the underground car park and the staircase that led to the lift entrance.

Mehra sighed. “I don’t like making these kinds of phone calls. You’re a bright, smart and capable executive. I have such high hopes of you. And with your interview in a few days….how will it look if this kind of error in judgment went in your file?”

“Thank you sir!” She was so relieved, it showed in her voice. “Thank you so much, sir. I promise, I won’t give you cause to regret this sir.”

Mehra hung up after bidding her goodbye. Shashi chewed her lip as she considered this latest disaster, a rare occurrence for her.

Her first month of probation was almost up, and she had her interview for the promotion sometime in the next week. In this month, she’d screwed up multiple times because of the language barrier – everyone in Mumbai preferred communicating in Hindi, be it customers or managers – and Hindi was not her strong suit.

Still, the manager she reported to, Mehra Sir, was kindly and uncle-like. He covered up for her when she approved the wrong loan for a prospective customer and when she signed off on a branch inspection without checking to see if it met all their internal criteria – the report had been submitted in half-Hindi.

Shashi was seriously beginning to doubt the wisdom of staying in Mumbai. In fact, she was actually scared she could lose her job if she continued screwing up this way. Every night, she filled her backpack with old files and reports to pore over, to understand the communication style and criteria to look for.

Shashi worked till midnight every night and put in three-four hours on the weekend, trying to catch up on the work. But, unfailingly, Sunday afternoons and evenings belong to her friends, especially now that Charlie was back. He’d taken them to the best restaurant on Carter Road, Bandra’s hidden gem, and they’d enjoyed a four-hour lunch overlooking the Arabian Sea.

They’d gone for an old Rajni movie in a rundown theater in Sion – Ajanta Theater. The movie was Annamalai and they’d all laughed and cheered and whistled as if they were seeing Thalaiva wear his sunglasses for the first time. The tickets cost fifteen bucks and the popcorn, thirty.

But, these moments, when she was with the people she considered home, Shashi wasn’t lonely. Or drowning. Or hopeless. Spending time with her closest friends balanced the crappy feeling she got every Monday as Shashi went to work.

She’d even given in and bought an online Hindi speaking course, like a muttaall , because she didn’t want the language barrier to impede her promotion.

It had never been like this for Shashi. She’d always been able to shine. Always charmed customers and managers alike. She’d learned Telugu when she joined HDFC and was the employee of the month six times in a row at her branch as well as Manager of the year once, at the South Zone Awards.

She didn’t know why she wasn’t able to perform at the same level here – in headquarters, where the people were so nice and helpful.

It was a matter of pride that she kept all of this from the group – claiming a huge learning curve when Meher asked her why she’d brought files with her for their drive to Alibaug. Shashi couldn’t admit to Meher or Anu who were doing so incredibly well at work that she was afraid of losing her job and going back home without a promotion or a thaali.

Oh, the man was punctual as a Swiss watch. He was downstairs at nine thirty, every morning, ready to drive her to the bus stop, where Koel waited for her. He didn’t speak much, if at all. He wished her good morning, asked her if she was all set and then they were off.

Him driving the car, while she sat in the back like he was her own personal Uber driver.

He’d come for the Rajni movie outing at Ajanta theater and thrown popcorn along with Charlie and Avi. He’d done that, but he’d sat on the far side of the seats, as far away from Shashi as he possibly could. The other two times, he’d been unable to make it, citing work.

Shashi miserably wondered if he was meeting some other woman on his off days. Maybe the ex-girlfriend he’d admitted he wasn’t over.

And it was appalling, because she had no right to wonder so. He wasn’t hers. Not really. They were pretending for the sake of his parents and hers, for her job.

The job she was most likely going to lose because she couldn’t perform up to her serniors’ expectations.

It was convenient to blame Arjun – who was so distant, like he lived on his own planet. Shashi, with her open nature and her natural curiosity, was dying to understand him. The mysteries of him, what made him so quiet? Why did he not want anyone sitting in the front seat of his car…why he drove so damn slow everywhere, like an old thatha ?

These questions and more haunted her, popping into her mind at odd times – in the middle of a conference at work, during lunch with her coworkers…at night right before she went to sleep, waiting for Anu to come home after her late night shifts.

For the first time, Shashi found it hard to confide in her friends about her problems. About work and in her own heart.

Because Meher hadn’t told Avi about Shashi’s insane plan and so Charlie didn’t know…because Charlie and Avi were her older brothers in a way, and they’d get crazy overprotective if they came to know she was traveling daily with a man who wasn’t her adoring fiancé.

Plus, Arjun had gone on a work trip to Noida two days ago. And so Charlie had offered to drop Shashi off every day in his purring motorbike in his absence. She’d loved the freeing rides with Charlie but…she missed Arjun and his steady, quiet presence. Even his slower than slow driving!

As Shashi rooted around in her bag for her house-keys at the lift doors of her building, she couldn’t find them. She frowned and searched some more, checking each of her bag’s pockets and looking inside her wallet too. They weren’t there.

She checked her phone. Anu had messaged her. She was going to stay out for dinner. Again.

Shashi just replied with a Podi and continued to consider her options. Meher would be back home from work but she had to make dinner and hang out with Avi’s parents. They were nice in small doses but if Shashi landed up, they would grill her like she was a cheese sandwich.

Arjun, like most people who worked for American firms, had this annoying habit of signing off all his texts with his initials. It was a politeness thing, he’d told her when she asked him about it. But, right now, she wasn’t annoyed by his signature.

Awesome, Shashi replied. Then, she zipped her bag closed and started walking from Indraprastha toward Indradhanush – a few buildings over.

Kurukshetra Heights was built in a rectangle, with four buildings on each side and one extra on the side facing the back. In the middle was a massive swimming pool, a clubhouse that had a gymnasium (plus sauna), a mini-library, a children’s playground and rec center for seniors along with a garden that ran on both sides of the complex that had a cycling track and a jogging track.

Mini gardens dotted each building too, with tiers of little pots of flowers and herbs, providing a sweet scent in the evenings as the building gurkha (as watchmen were called here) watered all the plants and trees.

Indraprasth and Indradhanush faced each other on opposite sides so Shashi had to walk across the swimming pool to get to Arjun’s building. She met a huge bunch of screaming, playing kids at different ages who were on their bicycles or on the jungle gym.

Shashi played catch with the kids for five minutes and was all sweaty and gross before she decided to go up to Arjun’s flat.

She’d needed those minutes to text Meher and get the reply she wanted from her. As a result, she was slightly out of breath with wet armpits as she walked up to the night guard in Indradhanush and requested access to Arjun’s flat. The man picked up the intercom to inform Arjun when Shashi smiled at him.

She pressed the call end button on the intercom and said, “I’m giving my fiancé a surprise! Can you please not call?” She waggled her ring finger at the guard and smiled even wider.

Fate continued to be on Shashi’s side because the man let her go, after she made her entry.

Good, now Arjun would have no reason to turn her away…unless, he actually had a woman or a man over…

Shashi gulped as she stabbed the number twelve button on the lift panel and considered that very real possibility. That maybe Arjun had a whole secret life she was not privy to, because she wasn’t important to him in any way…

The thought hurt. Even though it was true. They’d made no promises to each other, Arjun and she. And just because she wore a ring he’d given her didn’t make him her fiancé. For that, he had to want her…and he didn’t.

Well, Shashi straightened her spine and tilted her chin. He was going to have to want her. Just for one evening.

The lift ascended far too soon and the cool fan’s breeze did nothing to calm Shashi down. She was still hot and bothered as she exited the lift and walked over to 1213, Arjun’s flat and rang the bell.

She was nervous. Now. Fearless Shashi was freaking out over meeting the man the world thought was her fiancé….

“One minute,” Arjun said from inside. His voice deep and assured. Very much missed.

Shashi considered leaving. This was such a bad idea. He wouldn’t like it that she’d shown up uninvited and suddenly to his place. After all, he’d not even asked her over in the last month and they met every day. It was clear he didn’t want her in his life at all…

The door opened before Shashi could turn and walk away as fast as her pump-clad shoes would carry her.

Arjun wore a Princess Elsa bath towel around his waist, his hair was wet and he didn’t have his glasses on. A curling mat of black hair was on his chest, disappearing into his towel….

She offered him a casual smile. “Hey. Can I come inside? I’m locked out of my house and I have nowhere else to go.”

It was the longest five seconds of her life before Arjun stood to one side and allowed Shashi to come in.

“Your place is exactly like Meher’s and Avi’s,” Shashi commented, as soon as she crossed the long lobby and into the living room.

Unlike the Sreedhars’ lobby, Arjun’s was painted a startling neon purple and contained an African mask on a wooden table. Nothing else. No other pictures or mementos.

His living room had a view nearly identical to that of her friends’ flat, but that is where the resemblance ended. The open balcony where Meher babied her plants was brought in here to make the living room one giant space. And it was totally white.

The flooring was white marble with no discernible color veins. Arjun’s sofa was white leather – a five piece set with a glass coffee table – and white tables with matching white lampshades. Even his TV had a white border. The few knickknacks on display – statues and framed paintings – were all white in color. She saw one small lithograph signed Gustave Klimt, it was a blank white canvas framed in a white frame.

“Thanks.” He ran a hand through his wet hair, exposing curling armpit hair. Then, as if he became aware of his semi-naked state, he said, “I’ll get dressed. Give me five minutes.”

Arjun looked at the couch, at Shashi’s overflowing backpack. “Sit,” he said. “Make yourself comfortable.”

Arjun practically sprinted out of the living room and Shashi winced as she kept her bag on the white couch. Her bag was a sober navy blue in color, considering she worked in corporate she couldn’t carry a neon pink backpack, but she did have a colorful unicorn dreamcatcher keychain dangling from the zipper and a Vaanga Chennai badge pinned on it.

The backpack looked like an abomination against Arjun’s pristine white couch. She put it under the coffee table.

“What happened?” Arjun toweled his head while he walked back into the room. He wore track pants and a faded tee.

Shashi nodded. “I did. Anu’s coming home at like eleven or something. And the neighbor aunty is out and Meher and Avi are going out for dinner with his parents so I can’t crash with them. You can check if you want.”

She held up her phone where Meher had messaged her about her and Avi’s dinner plans.

Arjun nodded. “No problems. You can hang out here. I’m just about to make dinner.” He smiled, the first real smile he’d ever given her. “You can help.”

Fifteen minutes later, Arjun stuck a bandaid on her bleeding finger while a pleasing scent of onion and garlic filled the kitchen. His kitchen had color – copper pots and pans and three spice racks, which her mother called anjalipotti , were laid out in huge open-faced wooden shelves.

“You’re hopeless in the kitchen, aren’t you?” he asked as he secured the bandaid ends on her finger.

Arjun smiled again. “It’s a good thing your mom made the Mysore idlis that day then, right?”

Shashi’s heart stuttered hopelessly. She was slightly breathless too. And she didn’t know what to do about it. She only stared at him, mute.

As if becoming aware of how close they were, Arjun stepped back. Flipped the towel on his shoulder and efficiently cut vegetables. They were having some kind of rice preparation in Sriracha sauce, whatever that was. Arjun assured her she’d love it.

“Why don’t you sit down and watch some TV?” he suggested, without looking at her. “I’ll be done in twenty minutes.”

Shashi nodded and went out, grateful to escape the strange feeling in her tummy. Like she was falling, but also like she was flying.

She stared blindly out the window of the living room. When that didn’t work, she decided to take a tour of the house. Surely, he wouldn’t mind.

Arjun’s flat also had two bedrooms and a smaller storage room, along with private balconies for each room including the kitchen. It was spacious by Mumbai standards and looked even bigger considering the absolute whiteness of the place.

She poked her head into his bedroom – the bed was white with white pillows and white curtains…his clothes folded neatly at the foot of the bed. It was so…masculine, she blushed for some reason.

It was stacked with large, square packages. Intrigued, she went farther inside and turned one package around.

The package was a framed photograph – an explosion of color. It was the Worli Seaklink in brilliant sunset. It was gorgeous. She looked at the next photograph, an old Victorian building bathed in sepia tones. Suddenly, the pure white walls and color of Arjun’s flat made perfect sense.

These photographs were color and life itself. They needed to be displayed against a white background.

She turned more packages around – an old couple in sweats smiling goofily at the camera, arms around each other’s shoulder – and…finally, one photograph of Arjun.

He was looking off camera, and he wore white shirt and blue jeans. Against a white wall. His nut brown skin and the jeans were the only colors in the frame.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Arjun whirled her around. “Who gave you permission to come in here?”

As if realizing, he was holding her, touching her, Arjun let her go. “I’m sorry, Shashi…”

She grabbed the nearest photograph for support. She couldn’t stop looking at him – he was enraged. He was…sad, his eyes filled with some secret pain she couldn’t even begin to fathom.

Shashi gripped the frame she held tighter. “What’s her name? The one who took these photographs?”

“What happened to her, Arjun?” Shashi asked softly, although she knew she shouldn’t. She knew it was something awful for him to take all these pictures off the walls and leave his home empty and bare like a monk’s cell.

Arjun didn’t look at her. He looked at the photograph Shashi held. “She died,” he said. “And it’s my fault.”