Chapter 7 #3
“I do, back home. But you know, when I was a kid and had friends or relatives come back with fake accents, I hated it! I just get disgusted with myself if I as much as sneeze in American accent when I am here. And frankly, living with Maya and family washed me off it in the first two days. I just love speaking like this. Mumbaiya English.”
“Next question.”
“Last question.”
“Yes — last one.”
“Spit it out, then it’s your turn.”
“What was the one thing you hated about me?”
“Past tense?” She poked. “So sure it is not still valid?”
“I’m sure.”
“You are so obnoxious, and entitled, and…”
“One thing, Ritu. One thing.”
“That’s not even what I hated about you.”
“Oh.”
She chuckled.
“Your self-centredness.” She held her hands up immediately. “No offence. That’s how you came across.”
“Ok, ego shattered.”
“You have a whole couture company, plus your partners and suppliers, plus your customers and fans to massage your ego. It’s not about to even shake with my one word.”
“You’d be surprised.”
She stilled. He stilled. Their gazes latched.
His breathing was slow, his heartbeat mellow.
This was the first time on this trip that she had undertaken as his doctor that she was actually even noticing his heartbeat.
Her quick beats from his ‘5 Whats and 1 Thank You’ quietened now.
Synced to his. This was getting dangerous, this syncing of heartbeats.
She could offer hers to get his to calm down, not the other way around.
“Alright!” Ritu exhaled. “Your turn.”
“Go on,” he rolled his eyes.
“This, this, entitlement. This bored way of looking at people — I hate that too.”
“Hated,” he corrected.
“Hate.”
He smirked.
“So, your first ‘What’ is…” Ritu thought to start with some softballs like he had. “What is your favourite song?”
He made a face.
“Nilay!”
“A song? Really?”
“Yes. Now answer.”
“I don’t have a favourite song. Whatever music is there, I will listen.”
“You don’t have a playlist for every collection? When you draw… wait, you draw your designs, right? How do you do it?”
“I draw, pencil on paper. Then transfer it to digital. I work with real fabrics as well as digital textures.”
“And you don’t listen to any songs while doing it?”
“Do you?”
“Yes, when I am sketching couture lehenga in the Cath Lab.”
“See? Your cutting, burning firing has started.”
Ritu bit back a smile.
“I don’t have any particular music preferences. Maybe I am just not musical that way. What about you?”
“Not me either.”
“Lie.”
“You are a lie.”
“You cannot ask me about my favourite song with such passion if you don’t have a favourite song of your own.” He stared her down. Usually, she had enough balls to stare such pieces of pride up. But for some reason, it felt good to lose to him. Today, at least.
“I don’t have one favourite song.”
“Lie.”
“This is not a lie! I have a whole era that I love.”
“Which is?”
Ritu’s eyes went far away into the distance. The lights were coming on in verandahs and balconies, the sky was turning darker. She didn’t want to notice anything of that sort. May this evening never end.
“Which is?”
“90s and 2000s music.”
“Like?”
“Like… Alka Yagnik songs. Like Udit Narayan and Sonu Nigam. Kumar Sanu. Like the songs that we waited for hours to watch on MTV and Channel V, then sat through 20 minutes of ads just because somebody saw a flash of Coming Up and it listed our favourite song. That music.”
“MTV Most Wanted.”
“Yes! Oh, yes! We even voted. I loved Falguni Pathak music videos. Her heroes were so…” she stopped her giddy jiggle. Her mouth fell shut, chagrined. When she glanced up, he was smiling at her, adoringly, if that’s what his soft expression translated to.
“Hey! I was supposed to ask you, and you made this my 6th What.”
“Alright, I’ll give you one grace too.”
“You are not giving me any grace. It’s fair play.”
He cocked his head in acquiescence.
“So, no favourite song. What is your degree in?”
“That’s on Wikipedia.”
“Smart-ass answers are not allowed.”
“Fairplay, one for one.”
She narrowed her eyes at him.
“B.A.”
“That’s it?”
“I was studying fashion and fabric courses on the side. Be glad I could manage this.”
“I’ll give you that. And I wasn’t judging you for your education. I was just surprised you have built a business out of an Arts degree. Anyway… What is…” she looked around and changed course. Now was the time for hardballs. “What does this village mean to you?”
“How do you know it means something to me?”
“It came and whispered to me.”
He smiled. “My mother was from here.”
“What? Really?”
He nodded. “I have spent summer vacations here at my Mama’s house.”
“Where are they now?”
“They live in Modhera, but their factory was here.”
“In Patan? Did they make Patola?”
“Hmm, weavers for 18 generations. Or at least, that’s how far they can trace their lineage.”
She felt stars drop and shine in her eyes. This man was not just a prodigy but had the blood of artists running through his veins? There were so many parts of him that were still breaking down and re-emerging. And she wanted to keep doing it. She wanted to be proven wrong over and over again.
“Where is your mother?”
“She passed away a long time ago.”
“Oh.”
“Mmm… what’s number three, Doctor?”
“Number three… right. Oh yes, what is that transcript you talked about? From our first meeting?”
He smirked — “Where you cut, burned and did not have mercy on me?”
“You were staring uncouthly and I should have what? Stricken a pose and let you stare?”
He stepped back and gave her a once-over. This time, it did not feel objectifying, or creepy, or even rude. Ritu was ashamed to admit that this time it made her breath hitch.
“You don’t need to strike a pose.”
And that breath was gone. Suspended. She couldn’t find it.
“Lies,” she found her voice, though.
“I don’t lie.”
Ritu rolled her eyes — “Your transcript, Nilay.”
“You looked at me like you were sorry for me.”
“I was sorry for you. Your rude, entitled behaviour made me think, wow, what a waste of a man.”
He chuckled bitterly. “I thought you were sorry for my heart attack, for my weakness.”
“Nilay,” she stepped closer to him. “An angina is not a weakness. It’s not anything that stops you, or even slows you in life. It’s a momentary pause, to remind you of what matters the most. Your body, and more than that, your mind.”
His head dipped, and his gaze met hers. The moment between them fell silent.
“I see it. I know it. And as a woman whose job makes her meet hundreds of people like you, I am authority enough to say that heart disease, even at this ripe old age…”
He smiled.
“Is not a red flag. It’s a blip on the roadmap. And it’s god’s grace, because anginas at younger ages are difficult to sustain. You sustained it, and have a heart that is back to regular programming without a glitch.”
“Thanks to you.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“Mmm,” he nodded, but his tone was one of disagreement.
“What is your best moment?” She asked.
“The one that’s about to come.”
“Today or generally?”
“Generally.”
“I like that answer. That’s the spirit…!”
Water dribbled down her forehead and to her nose. Ritu looked up, and tiny droplets were falling from the sky.
“Ola pade chhe! Ola![17]”
“Run! These might be hailstones!” He took her hand and began to rush down the street. The rain started to pelt, not hail-like hard but ice-like cold. Ritu bent into herself, trying and failing to cover her head from the onslaught. He ran faster, pulling her along.
“Slow, slow,” she warned. His heart didn’t need a sprint.
“I’m good, come here, Doctor,” he pulled her tight and wrapped her in his arm, guiding her down the next lane and turning corners at lightning speed.
After one point, she stopped keeping track.
Their feet and the wet road became a blur, rain thumping harder as he pushed her into an alley that smelt dank and muddy.
The smell of earth after first rains, but cold, because it was winter.
Ritu ran inside the gates of a haveli, finding shelter under the canopy of pillars of its verandah.
The doors looked like they had been closed for decades.
“Phew,” she rubbed her hands together, whipping her face to dislodge the lock of wet hair clinging to her cheek. It wouldn’t whip away. Until warm fingers peeled it off her skin and replaced its cold embrace.