Chapter 7 #2
Somebody called for him, and he had to blink first. Ritu shook her head, swiping her phone up and realising that it was the weekend, and no emergency cases. The hospital and clinic were left miles away. She chuckled, feeling like she was at a loss, but a good kind of loss.
“Hey!” A younger, bubbly girl sat down beside her.
“Hi.”
“So, is it officially true?”
“Is what true?”
“That he bats for both teams, but is currently off men?”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, I am not from any tabloids or anything,” she held her hands up. “Makeup artist,” she showed her the backs of her hands, bleached in different tones of pink. Like that was meant to convince her.
“Yasmin,” she waved.
“Ritu.”
“I know, the whole set does by now. Nobody has the guts to ask, though.”
“What?”
“That if NiP is dating you, that means he is done with his men? Or is it both?”
“Excuse me?”
She crinkled her nose — “Like threesomes… or open relationship.”
Ritu let out an incredulous scoff at the audacity of people.
She glanced at the man in question. Maya had mentioned something to that effect, about his dual tastes.
Maybe he liked men and never made it public officially.
She respected where he came from. The society wasn’t as accepting yet, even if his industry was.
A pinch somewhere deep inside her chest jolted her.
She did not like that he was not for women. Not that she wanted him for herself…
“So it’s the latter then?” The makeup artist inquired.
“What?”
“Open relationships? It’s the most common kind here.”
“No!”
“The former?”
“Oh my god, are you living in the real world?”
Yasmin giggled. “Don’t blame the labourer who has nothing but gossip to go on until the next shot,” she held her hands up again.
“Well, Yasmin, I don’t gossip.”
“Like at all?”
Ritu stared at her, pointedly.
She clicked her tongue — “You are the good one then?”
“If that’s what it means.”
“What do you do?”
“On a break, currently.”
“Break? What does that pesky thing look like? The last break I had was in 2018, when my college gave me my degree and said goodbye.”
Ritu chuckled. “It’s… not bad.”
“Sound?” A loud holler brought their conversation to a close.
“Rolling!”
There was no loud ‘Action,’ but like clockwork, under the sun, like dials of time, models started strutting down the alleys of the stepwell.
A haunting folk melody began to play on a loudspeaker, bringing the mood of the space to a low mellow.
Ritu came to her feet, eyeing it all from the highest vantage.
Multiple cameras and cameramen at multiple spots, dozens of models walking like they were each in their own worlds, chins up, eyes to the sky, bodies taut.
Some wore heavy, wide ghaghras in rich, bright patolas, some were wrapped in muted patola sarees, and three women were scintillating in golden ensembles, weaving through shortcuts down to the very end of the well. All perfect bodies, all perfect faces.
“Wow…”
“You like it?” Nilay’s voice sounded from behind her. Ritu turned, only to find the chair beside hers empty. They were all alone. All eyes, all attention was on the spectacle unfolding down below.
“It’s like a dream,” Ritu observed. “I thought shoots meant ‘cut’ and ‘action.’”
“My shoots are one-take. One walk, one glance, one swish. That’s it.”
She turned back to the show. “Why aren’t you down there?”
“Because my work here is done.”
“Done?” Her eyes widened. “They haven’t even finished yet?”
“They will.”
She turned back to him — “And how do you know they won’t mess up this one take?”
“Because they won’t.”
“For a man who is obsessed with control, you seem to let go pretty easily for this.”
“Who says I am obsessed with control?”
She glanced away.
“Are you trying to figure me out, Doctor?” His amused words were closer. Ritu looked him in the eye — “I have you already figured out,” she pointed to his chest. “Every last plumbing line. You yourself submitted the maps.”
His face split into a smile.
“Want to see more of the maps?”
She frowned, pulling back from how close their faces had come. He tapped the side of his head with his index finger.
“What about the shoot?”
“I told you, they will wrap it up. I will watch rushes this evening.”
Ritu pursed her lips.
“So, Doctor?”
“Since there are no PVRs here…”
He grinned, and waved to his assistant. Ritu glanced around one last time. Yasmin was looking at them with giddy glee.
————————————————————
“And here you see all these houses?” He pointed to the heritage homes that were built side by side, looking like one long line, with similar balconies, yellow wrought-iron grills, swings in the porch, and bikes parked at the gates.
“Hmm?” Ritu walked beside him, a detester of histories, museums, artefacts; and yet listening to him talk about this village like it was an open museum.
“They will soon start changing colours.”
“Huh?”
“Close your eyes.”
“What?”
He came and stood in front of her, stopping her midway and blocking her sight.
“Close your eyes, Doctor.”
“You will do something obnoxious.”
He held up his hands, then made a show of tying them behind his back.
“Your tongue is enough.”
“Is it?” His eyebrow cocked.
She rolled her eyes and shut them. Immediately, his arm wrapped around her shoulder and he guided her forward. They walked for a while.
“If this is some trick or prank, I will…”
“Open!”
She exhaled and opened her eyes. And the houses now looked like a whole rainbow. One was pink, the next blue, the one after it yellow, then green and so on and so forth. Beautiful, earthy tones. All the houses were built the same, from the same ancient era, all in different hues.
“Huh? How is it possible?” She glanced back from where they had come. “Is it a trick of the sun?”
“It’s a NiP trick.” He rubbed his hands suavely together and showed her his palms. Ritu turned around and began to stride back. The colours changed and the rest of them were just as she had left. She whirled and glared at him. He grinned.
“It was a NiP trick. You opened your eyes and the colours were changing.”
“It was no trick!”
He shrugged.
“How do you know so much about this place, NiP?”
“Nilay.”
“Everybody calls you NiP. In fact, I haven’t met anybody who calls you Nilay. Some special reason? Or you like them rolling on the floor in front of you, pronouncing your grand brand name?”
“My brand is grand?”
“To those who are psyched by things like that.”
“What are you psyched by?”
“Nothing,” she shook her head, a little too violently. Her bangs fell free from her ponytail and she brushed them behind her ear.
“I don’t believe that.”
“I am not starstruck. I am not impressed by big things, big brands, big… beauty.”
“Then what strikes you?”
“Why would you want to know?”
“Because you have genuinely got me convinced that nothing can impress you.”
Ritu stopped short. Was she like that? So unmoved? Did it come across so brutally?
“A good moment,” she found herself answering. He looked at her, stunned.
“What is in that moment?”
“Something good, hopefully,” she smiled cheekily, feeling some bubbles from her girlhood float up to life. The sun was softening in the sky, the winter wind was getting colder, the sparse locals were milling about and thinning as time elapsed. And this was a good moment too.
“Let’s play 5 Whats and 1 Thank You,” Nilay proposed.
“I am not playing games with you.”
“You are.”
“I am not!”
“You are. My turn first. I will ask you five whats and you have to answer them honestly. No lies, no half-truths. Then I will say Thank You and pass the baton onto you.”
“Who made this game?”
“It’s a very old game.”
“How do I not know about it?”
“Because you are not old. Now, start?”
“Fine.”
“What is your favourite season?”
“Really?” She asked incredulously. “What will you even do by knowing it?”
“Addition to the rules: you cannot make smart-ass comments.”
“You make smart-ass comments, not me.”
“Oh man, trust me, Ritu, you cut, burn and don’t even show mercy when you start to fire.”
“Really?”
“I have a transcript,” he tapped the side of his head. “Right here. But that’s not the game. What is your favourite season?”
“Winter.”
“What is your favourite food?”
Her mouth watered as she thought.
“Chole-rice… no, wait, pizza… no, no, hang on, not the most favourite. Umm… veg toast sandwich! Yes, veg toast sandwich but only if it is charred on that open fire. On the road. You should smell the coal on it.”
“The one that has burnt edges and char marks on it?” He supplied helpfully.
“Yes! With butter on the top that’s melting and soaking into the crispy bread.”
“And kaddu ka sauce?”
“Yes, yes, yes!”
“For now, I can only dream about it but you are absolutely having that when we go back home. Third What — What is your big dream?”
“Umm…” she thought hard. She was kind of enjoying this game now.
“Big dream… MM! To have a baby girl like MM is THE dream. Oh my god, I miss her. I saw her this morning before leaving and I already miss her. How will I survive when I leave for New York and she will keep growing and Maya will keep sending me photos and videos of all the cute milestones?”
“You like kids?”
“Yes,” she chuckled abashedly. “But they are good in dreams only.”
He frowned.
“Next?”
“Hmm? Next — What was your worst moment to date?”
Ritu froze. Then immediately broke free of the rope that had begun to tie her body and mind.
“Leaving Mumbai,” she lied. And didn’t lie. It was all tied together, after all. He didn’t seem deterred by her answer, though.
“You’ve lived in the States for what… 20 years?”
“Give or take.”
“Then how do you not have an accent?”
“Oh, ya mean, dis accent?” She did her best open-mouthed East-Coast spit. His beard twitched.