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With Diwali past, Sheetal sought relief in the series of Himalayan Mountain range paintings due on December fifteenth. With one completed painting in the series of ten, she resolved not to compromise her work and earnings for anyone. With the fifty-thousand-rupees advance in her bank account, she was not going to lose out on the remaining ninety percent balance.
On the way to her studio, she visualized the positions of lake and mountains, and the angle at which sunlight broke through the clouds and lit the slopes. As she neared the stairs, Mummyji’s voice and Yash’s giggles caught her attention. She peered over the balcony railing to the ground floor.
Mummyji and Yash sat on the Fulton White sofas and Mummyji squeezed fingernail-sized discs of colorful Gems into Yash’s palm. Since Yash’s return, Mummyji had pampered Yash with Cadbury chocolates and trips to the toy store, but Sheetal knew that Mummyji’s bartering of chocolates for private information about her and Rakesh meant she was up to no good.
In the past, Sheetal had coaxed Yash to withhold details, but with a stockpile of chocolates, and boxes hidden inside the bags that rested above the pewter elephants’ heads, these grandmotherly sessions would lead to more than tooth decay.
Sheetal rushed downstairs and feigned surprise upon seeing the Gems overflowing Yash’s palm. “Oh my. All that candy will upset Yash’s tummy.”
“Now, now, I tell you,”—Mummyji looked up and scrunched her nose—“no need to get fussy over a few small treats. Not like he’ll eat them all at once. All you young mothers nowadays, hai Ishwar! Always complaining. Too much sugar, too much fat, too much—”
Yash tilted his palm a little too far and Gems scattered across the floor.
“He can barely manage what you’ve given him. Too much of anything is bad for him.” Sheetal refrained from picking up the fallen Gems and leading Yash away. To do so would trigger a chain reaction. Mummyji would rant about the incident for weeks, her gossip would reach the households of her friends, and everyone would blame Sheetal for instigating an argument and attempting to assert authority over an elderly widow. As long as Mummyji reigned supreme, Sheetal would always be the outsider and a shoulder to carry blame.
“Yash, why don’t you come with me? I could use some help with my painting.”
Just then, Sheetal’s cell phone rang. She pulled the phone from her sari pouch, accepted the call, and turned her back to Mummyji. “Hello?”
“It’s me.” Rakesh.
Was he calling to apologize for what he did four nights ago? “What’s wrong, now?”
“I was just thinking it would be good for you and Yash to come down to the office today and I could show you both around.”
“No.”
“I want to spend some quality time with Yash, here.”
“I can send Yash over.” That would prove she wasn’t overprotective.
“No.” He paused. “You, too.”
Was this a sudden bout of care and affection? She looked over her shoulder. Mummyji watched her intently.
“I thought time together would do us some good.”
“I don’t need to be there,” she firmed her tone and stepped away, wanting to escape Mummyji’s range of hearing.
“As a family, Sheetal. For Yash.”
A sudden concern about being a family? Where was this coming from? She pivoted and watched Mummyji pop a Gem into Yash’s mouth.
“Hello? You there?”
“Yes. ” She sighed. Always here and always falling behind on work because of everyone else.
Mummyji removed a toy construction set from one of the bags and held it out of Yash’s reach. Yash jumped to his feet and grabbed the box from Mummyji.
“I’ll be there.”
***
Sheetal and Yash had waited on leather corner sofas in Rakesh’s office for over twenty minutes, but from the pile of papers stacked on his desk, Rakesh didn’t look as if he’d be free anytime soon. Yash played on his electronic handheld PlayStation Portable while Sheetal flipped through a business magazine. She yawned and breathed in the thick scent of stationery and men’s cologne.
Rakesh looked up from a document. “A few more minutes. I’m almost done.”
The wait would extend beyond a few minutes. Based upon her experiences in waiting for Rakesh when she met him at the office for dinner in the city or shopping after work, she predicted at least an hour longer.
A knock sounded.
“Come in,” Rakesh said.
The door opened and in walked Vipul Swampat, CFO of Dhanraj & Son and one of the company’s oldest employees. Vipul Sahib had worked for Rakesh’s father for twelve years, then became Rakesh’s right-hand man shortly after Rakesh took over as CEO. With a career spanning twenty-two years, Vipul Sahib had witnessed the company’s boom years as one of India’s industrial giants under Rakesh’s reign. He had also witnessed the company’s decline into debt.
Rakesh rose, crossed the room, and greeted the elderly gentleman with a handshake. “Ah, Uncle, I haven’t seen you all morning.” In addition to recognition as the most trusted employee, Rakesh also treated Vipul Sahib with the respect reserved for older members of a family.
“I’ve been busy with that proposal. I hope this partnership works out.” Vipul Sahib glanced right and opened his arms wide as a huge smile lit his face. “Well, well!” He crossed the office as his gray eyebrows arched. “Look who’s here! Yash, my boy. How are you?” He hugged Yash.
“Good, Dada.” Out of respect, Yash referred to Vipul Sahib as “grandfather.”
“And Sheetal, Beti. How are you?”
“Fine, Uncle,” Sheetal replied.
“Good, good.” Vipul Sahib ran his hands down Yash’s shoulders. “With this young man here, I’m sure both of you must be fine. It’s amazing how children can change your life—eh? They bring out the best in people. Now, I’ll have to catch up with you later, young man.” He headed to Rakesh’s desk. “We need to schedule additional meetings and talks with the Japanese. What do you think?”
Sheetal turned a page of her magazine. A black bottle of Givenchy’s men’s cologne centered an advertisement.
“I’m thinking partnership. A joint venture,” Rakesh said. “We form a third company with them. They give us cash, the brand, and the technology of all their gizmos like washing machines, microwave ovens, refrigerators, stereos. The whole lot. We throw in a few factories, start local manufacture, handle marketing and distribution, and sell their toys. The whole network.”
“Toys,” according to Rakesh, meant home appliances.
“We know the Indian market. They don’t.”
Tashukomo Electronics wanted an elephant’s share of the prospering Indian economy. However, according to India’s government policy, the only way a foreign brand could enter the Indian market was through a local partner.
“Tashukomo Electronics agreed to chip in fifty percent.” Rakesh handed Vipul Sahib several documents.
“Yes...and two, perhaps three years down the line, they get to buy us out at a fifty percent premium. That should give them enough incentive to sign the contract and give us the cash we desperately need.”
“Check out page six,” Rakesh said.
Vipul Sahib ruffled sheets of paper.
“We’ll add a clause that if their products fail, we buy them out at half the value of their stake.”
“That’s useless.” Vipul shook his head. “Their products will never fail.”
“What if we make them fail? It’s a question of timing. We keep them buoyant for the initial two years and when their products fail—which we make sure from the get-go—we let go. Meanwhile, we build ties with Borgon. Those multi-national German giants are just waiting to enter the market.”
“And what about the Japanese?”
“Use their cash. Improve our balance sheet. Repay the bank. Later, they walk out with a loss.”
“It’s wrong.”
Sheetal’s throat tightened and she looked up.
Rakesh glanced in her direction as if he’d forgotten she was in the room and sighed. “You’re only looking at short-term gain. I’m in for the long haul. Don’t you see? Once the Japanese fail, they lose their rep in the market and never sell here again. No one will partner with them in the future.”
“It’s not right.” Vipul Sahib laid the papers on the table. “We’re setting a trap for them to walk into. They trust us, and we cheat to win?”
“Whoever wins with the truth?” Rakesh loosened the navy-blue tie around his neck. “It’s our only way of bailing out of this debt alive. Our options are a chance to stand on our feet again with dignity or be screwed for life.”
If anyone discovered what he was up to, he’d be in serious trouble. Sheetal refrained from saying so. Ten years ago, Mummyji had suggested Sheetal work with Rakesh in the company. However, Rakesh had threatened that if she tried, he would never step foot in the house again. Sheetal didn’t interfere with company matters and wasn’t about to start now.
“I want to pin them down.”
Bubbles of anxiety rippled up her throat. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, Rakesh,” the words slipped out. Sheetal pressed her lips tight.
“Really?” Rakesh turned to look at her. “And how does this involve you?”
“You’re putting yourself and all of us at risk.”
“I think I know how to run this company, thank you.” He returned his attention to Vipul Sahib.
“Sheetal is right. There has to be another way.” Vipul Sahib ran his fingers through his gray hair. “We’ll ruin our reputation forever. Twenty years ago, your father had visions of Dhanraj & Son becoming a household name and a publicly listed company.”
“We are.” Rakesh paced the room, his forehead creasing with wrinkles. “But we are staying private. This way, we maintain control. We do what we want.”
“I agree, and we have a responsibility to carry forward that reputation of strength, trust, reliability, and—”
“Papa died,” Rakesh cut him short, “and his visions for the company are gone. I had never planned to use the company’s money for Naina’s wedding. But what choice did I have? You know it all, Uncle. You’ve been with me from the beginning.” He stopped pacing and stood behind his black leather chair. “If there’s one thing I do, it’s repay that three-hundred and fifty million. I’m a man of my word, and I will not shut down the company. I will recover that money however I have to, even if it means squeezing the Japs dry.”
“You need to think this through.” Vipul took a seat. “Take a break, son. A vacation. Something. I....”
Sheetal bit her lower lip and swallowed. From the way creases marked Vipul Sahib’s forehead and his shoulders sagged, Sheetal wasn’t sure the CFO would be able to change Rakesh’s mind and ensure Rakesh did the right thing.
“There’s also something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Vipul Sahib said.
“What?”
“One of our employees, Girish Sharma, he’s been with us for five years. His younger sister, twenty-five or twenty-six, was in a car accident two weeks ago and has been in ICU since.”
“Shit. How is she now?”
“Not good, from what I hear. Everyone’s been talking about it. Girish came to me last week asking if we could lend him some money to tide over the medical expenses. They’re looking at surgery. Her husband’s company doesn’t provide medical insurance like we do.”
“How has Girish’s performance been?”
“Made quite a name for himself and always on top of things.”
“What does the Distribution Department think of him?”
“Their go-to person for any problems. Loyal as hell.”
“How much is he asking for?”
“Around three lakhs.”
Rakesh paced.
“Perhaps you should meet him first, hear him out, and give it some thought,” Vipul Sahib suggested.
“Give him the money.”
“We don’t have to make a decision right now. It can wait.”
“I don’t think his sister can.”
“Are you sure?”
Rakesh nodded.
Was this the same brute in bed four days ago?
Vipul Sahib shifted in his chair. “Give to one and we’ll have a line of people asking for money for this, for that. We don’t want to start a trend of money lending.”
“Ask him for medical papers as proof and see if you can send someone over to verify.”
“Think it through, son.”
“Didn’t I do the same for Naina? And if something happened to Megha, I’d do it all over again.”
“There’s no guarantee he’ll pay back the sum.”
“He will,” Rakesh was firm. “We’ll earn his loyalty for life and make sure we charge him a nominal interest fee, lower than the banks, so he doesn’t turn to anyone else.”
“He’s an employee, not your family, Rakesh.”
“All the better.” Rakesh paused at the desk’s edge. “No strings attached.”
Vipul Sahib nodded. “You’re a good man at heart, son.”
Rakesh’s attention flicked to Sheetal and back to Vipul Sahib. “If only others could see that.”
Sheetal winced.
“I’m doing all this for him.” Rakesh gestured to Yash. “The last thing I want is to leave a debt for him to carry on.”
“Is there anything we wouldn’t do for our children? Lay down our lives, if we had to.”
“Then you agree with my plans for Tashukomo, and this stays between us.”
“It’s not right. Perhaps Ishwar”—he called upon God—“will somehow help us through. But Yash will have to live with the burden of your deeds forever. Think again.” He rose to his feet and started away. At the door, he paused and looked back. “What example are you setting for your son? Is this the legacy you want to leave behind? Because everything you do could become his undoing someday.” He left and closed the door.
An hour later, Rakesh introduced Yash to important members of his staff and explained their roles. He flipped open folders of all the foreign brands Dhanraj & Son sold, pointed out their warehouses and agencies and used Lego vehicles to explain the distribution processes. Then he showed them several meeting rooms and explained how the department heads came together and monitored the progress of each division.
No wonder Rakesh preferred not to live at home. Mummyji incessantly tooting her own horn and fawning all over Naina must make him feel so out of place. Rakesh’s efforts, no matter how small, gained recognition here. Every rupee earned went toward an employee’s paycheck, the bank, or returned to the company as capital. Zeroes held a value and emphasized Rakesh’s significance on the country’s balance sheet. People looked up to him for guidance and direction, whereas, at the mansion, he lived like a misfit. Perhaps that explained his bouts of intense anger.
Rakesh asked Yash to sit in the head chair in every boardroom and watched Yash from a distance.
In one room, Yash pretended to conduct a meeting. He called for a glass of water with the excuse that his throat was dry from too much talking. In another boardroom, Yash drew a stick figure of a man holding a cricket bat upside down and explained to invisible board members why Dhanraj & Son had just lost a deal. He used four- and five-syllable words like “photosynthesis,” “respiration,” “monopoly,” “opportunity,” and waited for Rakesh’s reaction. He was trying so hard to live up to Rakesh’s expectations. Every time Rakesh nodded, Yash’s face lit up.
Then Rakesh called for a member of staff, ordered Pepsi, pizzas, and French fries from a coffee shop across the street, and spread out the food on a conference table. He pulled out a chair, sat across from Sheetal, and patted a swivel chair next to him. “Come here, Beta.”
Yash sat down, grabbed the table’s edge, and swiveled from side to side.
Rakesh propped an elbow on the table, cupped a cheek in his palm, and leaned against the edge. “Enjoy your day so far?”
“So much, Dad!”
“I want you to know how proud I am of you. Your Mummy told me—”
“Not Mummy. Mum.”
“Yes, Mum. She told me about your excellent marks and that you were chosen as compère for this year’s spring concert.”
“Out of so many boys, they picked me, Dad!”
“You must be really good.” Rakesh cupped Yash’s face and ran a thumb over the swell of his cheek.
“The judges told me it was a hard decision, but I won because of my fluency and confidence.”
“That’s a big word,” Sheetal said. “Do you know what it means?”
Yash nodded. “Because I’m sure of myself and I know I’ll do my best no matter what happens.”
“Very close.” Rakesh leaned away from the table.
“So, you’ll come and watch me perform?” Yash asked.
Sheetal nodded, but Yash’s attention was fixed on Rakesh.
“Promise.” Rakesh ruffled Yash’s hair. “And I’m going to whistle and clap the loudest and tell everyone how proud I am of you.”
Yash hopped off the chair and hugged Rakesh, who folded Yash in his arms.
“When you’re old enough, I’m going to make sure all of this—this building, company—is yours. All yours. It’s what your grandfather and I built, and as long as you study hard and get good marks—”
Sheetal bit her lip. Wasn’t Yash too young to know all this information so quickly? Not only would the inheritance go to his head, he might become proud and conceited. “The future’s far away. Let’s not think about it right now.”
“I guess your Mom’s right.”
After they ate, Rakesh ordered digital equipment to be wheeled in on a trolley. An attendant pulled down an enormous white screen, aligned three cushioned chairs to face the screen, and darkened the room. The equipment beeped, the screen fuzzed with a thousand black and white dots. Colors filled the screen and sharpened into a Walt Disney cartoon movie.
Sheetal’s attention meandered to the luminous hands on a wall clock. They’d been here for two and a half hours. Didn’t Rakesh have more important things to do?
“So, what do you think of me now?” Rakesh cradled Yash, who snuggled in his lap.
“Like you, Dad.” Yash yawned, rubbing his eyes. “I want to be just like you.”