Chapter 13 #3
He glanced at Ritu, looking resplendent, a goddess in that ghaghra with no jewellery or makeup. It would be a cold day in hell before he let anybody see her like this.
“Why are you in Mumbai?”
“Daddy and I landed last night. I texted you.”
“Must have missed.”
“Where are you?”
“Out of office.”
“You are talking on your intercom.”
“What do you want?”
“Come to your office and talk like adults. I am waiting.”
“Go to hell,” he shot back. But the call had ended.
“Is there a problem?”
“We have to go to my office outside.”
“I’ll change…”
“I don’t want to see you change.”
“Do you know how heavy this feels right now?”
“Do I look like I care?”
She grabbed her heavy dupatta, balled it and threw it at him. The dupatta that would be priced at 3.6 lakh+ a piece on opening day, and would appreciate in value as years passed — she threw at his face and ran. “Now you see how heavy?!”
————————————————————
Nilay stepped out of the lounge with her by his side, only to be met with the raised eyebrows of his brother, who was found in Mumbai on the rare occasion of his birthday and nothing else.
“I didn’t know you had company,” Sanket muttered, nervous as usual around women. They both looked way more alike than they cared for, but where Nilay had inherited their mother’s sociable nature, Sanket had taken after their father in his aloof, borderline anti-social tendencies.
“Let me introduce, then. Ritu, this is Sanket. My brother.”
“Elder brother,” Sanket reiterated.
“Five years older,” Nilay supplied helpfully. “Sanket, this is Dr. Ritu Kapadia.”
“Gave up on men?” Sanket asked. Anti-social, asocial, right there. He did not mean it in derision, but one needed to spend a lifetime with him to know that.
“What are you here for?” Nilay was just as brusque.
“Daddy is also here.”
“In the building?”
He didn’t want that man to see Ritu. Or talk to her. Or even know about her.
“No, he is at the hotel. We flew in for the Rolls-Royce exhibition. We are going for a tour of the farms next. Daddy wanted to see you.”
“What for?”
“Mummy’s barsi is coming.”
“I will do it on my own. Like I do every year.”
“This is the 25th year.”
“So?”
“He wants to do it together.”
“No.”
Sanket glanced from him to Ritu, then back at him — “Can we talk in private?”
“I’ll get going,” Ritu stuttered, moving away from him. His arm slipped around her waist, anchoring her to his side. She stiffened.
“I will drop you home.”
“Let her wait outside,” his brother pushed.
“I will decide who stays and who leaves my office. You came with a question, I supplied your answer. I think we know who I want to leave.”
“Nilay, I am not a fan of listening to your taunts and rants. Stop acting like a woman and face the problems for once.”
He felt Ritu’s temper in the crook of his arm.
“If you are done, I suggest you leave. I have to get on with my day as well.”
Sanket sighed. He wasn’t a bad person. But he had grown up absorbing so much of their father, that he had unknowingly become his shadow.
Nilay knew they could have good conversations over the phone once or twice a year.
But sometimes, their father’s dictatorship bled into their midst. Like today.
And that dictatorial tendency meant an ego as big as a mountain.
Nilay stared as his brother turned around and left.
He himself was guilty of holding that mountain of an ego. And now it was a three-way clash.
“How dare he!” Ritu fumed beside him.
“He shouldn’t have said that about women, I’m sorry…”
“Of course, he shouldn’t have! But how dare he call you those things…” she trailed to a stop. “It’s not my place to say that. Sorry.”
“Trust me, whatever you say about him, I will be on your side.”
“Is he your only sibling?”
“Yes.”
She came in front of him, and he was unable to let go of her waist.
“And your father?”
“Daddy?” Nilay gave a bitter laugh, staring into the distance. “Multiply this by fifty. And raise it to the power of hundred.”
He tried to make light of it, but his blood boiled and a regret nowhere near bearable crushed his chest at the thought of his father. At the thought of his family. The four of them. Once upon a time.
“Nilay?”
“Hmm?”
“Your mother passed away 25 years ago?”
“Hmm.”
“And your father wants to get together for her punya tithi?”
“That’s what my brother says.”
Her cheeks puffed up, as if holding the question inside them.
“Ask the question, Ritu.”
“It is not my place.”
“You say that and still do as you please.”
Her chuckle was forced.
“Ask.”
“Why don’t you want to go?”
“Because I was cut off from them the day I lost my mother. There is no going back now.”
“What do you mean cut off?”
He remained silent.
“If it is not something you want to talk about…”
“I am a 41-year-old man. I have dealt with this and moved on. Long ago.”
“Then?”
“The simple fact is that I haven’t spoken about it with anyone in a long time.
Actually, I haven’t spoken about it at all.
I was 16 when my mother died. Until then, our family of four was like any regular family.
Wealthy, because Daddy was one of the biggest landowners in the Panchmahal district.
Our villages. Leased out to farmers for tilling.
Life was normal. Regular. We weren’t spoiled, but we never felt the need for anything.
Never had to ask. Toys, bicycles, VCRs, vacations abroad.
And like any normal family of four, each parent had a favourite.
I happened to be a Mama’s boy. I also happened to like all the things that she did — cooking, picking flowers and decorating the house, understanding colours and what looks good, sewing.
She loved it. She was the daughter of the family of the best weavers of Patan.
I inherited that. Sanket was all still waters, cold, keep-his-head-down and do-as-Daddy-says good boy.
My father hated my hobbies, scolded me almost every single day.
He called them ladies time pass. I never cared about it.
Mummy was there to shield me. Then she left, and that grief was not even healing when suddenly I was thrust into a world where not only my lifeline and shield was gone but everything I ever held dear was also being snatched away.
Daddy made my life hell. There is no point in going into details,” his throat dried, remembering the burnt pieces of woven fabrics that he and his mother had created together.
Destroyed trunks of all good things he had made from scratch.
Embroideries, laces, linens, tableware. Not just pieces but his memories with Mummy. Nilay snapped out of it.
“So, it came to a point of no return. And where my father thought he could finally break me, I got up and left. My Mama, my mother’s cousin, had a garment shop here in Kaapad Bazar.
We had visited them every year for vacations.
This time I came to him, asking for work and a few days of stay in his house.
He and his family gave it. I didn’t ever look back. ”
“You brought your mother’s sewing machine.”
He smiled. The only thing his father had been unable to destroy.
Ritu’s hands came to his shoulders, tracing the line of the measuring tape still slung around his neck.
And the way she touched him, she made him forget every taunt, every curse, every ‘effeminate’ abuse hurled at him.
He had nothing against men who were effeminate.
But he wasn’t one. The choice of his profession should not have typecast him into one.
Maybe the world would, because the world was that ignorant.
Always had been, always would be. But his own father should not have been.
“Nilay Patel cannot be sad.”
He startled back to his senses, blinking rapidly. She was staring up at him.
“Mmmm?” He smirked.
She nodded.
“Nilay Patel cannot be lost,” she counted. “Nilay Patel cannot be defeated. Nilay Patel cannot be silent.”
“What can Nilay Patel be?” He asked.
“Happy, commanding,” she leaned forward to whisper, “obnoxious…”
He smiled.
“And smiling. Always smiling.”
“Who knew you had a soft side, Doctor?”
Her mouth dropped open. He leaned in to kiss her cheek again when again his intercom went off.
“Fuck this thing!”
She pushed at his chest until he was leaning around his table to get it — “If it’s Sanket again…”
“Maya Kumar is here to see you, NiP.”
“That’s what we needed.”
“Shall I send her in?”
“Have you told her I have a guest?”
“I told her you have somebody in with you.”
Fuck you, idiot.
“Send her in after 5 minutes.”
He banged the receiver.
“What? Behave!”
“Maya is here.”
“What?!”
“Behave!” He sneered back.
She scowled and moved away, striding towards the door. He grabbed her before she could open the door — ‘Where do you think you are going? She is outside! This way.” He turned her around towards his lounge.
“What if she comes in there?”
“Why would she come in there?”
“I don’t know! What do you do here?”
“Business, Ritu. Business. That space is mine and mine alone. Now get in and keep quiet.” He pushed her inside the lounge and closed the door. Just in time for his main one to ping.
He ran a hand through his hair, then the back of it. Nilay settled his appearance and buzzed her in. And then he saw it. Ritu’s purse. With a wild hand movement, he knocked it to the floor. A loud thud and it had fallen on the other side of the desk, hidden from his visitor.
“Hi, NiP! Did something fall?” Maya strutted in, frowning.
“A pen stand. Nothing of value. What brings you to my little haven?”
“An emergency.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Don’t balk, but can we sit and talk?”
“Of course.” He offered her his visitor’s chair and settled on his own. Was this about Ritu? Did she know? Maya never acted so… plain. “What should I order for you?”
“Let’s knock this off first.”
His body tensed up.
“So, there has been a mix-up with your last consignment of muslin…”
Phew!
————————————————————
“Thank you again for being so understanding,” Maya got to her feet.
“As I said, it was beyond your control.”
“Wow! Phew. Thanks, NiP. We had arm-wrestling matches to decide who would come to you with this news. Now I can go back as the Damage Control Queen. And G doesn’t know it. So keep it that way, please.”
“Sure.”
“This is my first win after giving birth!”
“Glad to be of assistance.” He smiled, shooting to his feet and walking her to the door. Her eyes went around his office and fell to the floor.
“Nice shoes.”
He kept walking, smelling rat.
“Thanks.”
“Where did you buy them from? I have been looking for similar loafers for G.”
“Uh… they are handmade from Vigevano.”
“They look singular. Are they from a brand there?”
“A local shoemaker.”
“Please share the contact.”
“Sure.”
Something thudded behind him.
“What happened?” Maya turned.
“Hmm?”
“Did you hear that thud? Something fell inside…”
“Must be my intern. These Gen Zs have been a pain in the ass.”
“Tell me about it!” Maya kept going, breaking into some Gen Z story that he did not even register. The moment she was out though, he shut the door and plotted to lock it and disconnect his intercom.
“She saw your shoes!” Ritu came out barreling.
“She also heard your WWF inside!” He shot back.
“Why would you wear the same shoes today?”
“Would I dream about her coming here and seeing them?”
“And then you went and told her they were handmade! Couldn’t you lie and say that they were from some shop?”
“I don’t wear off-the-rack.”
“Snobbish, obnoxious pig!” Ritu cursed just as her mobile rang. She reached inside her pocket. “It’s Maya! Fuck…”
She picked it up and he shamelessly leaned close to her ear.
“Hey!”
“Maasi, where are you?”
“Home…”
Nilay looked pointedly at her.
“I mean, reaching home. I came out to buy… bread.”
“Why are you awake at 9 in the morning first of all? Anyway, I am also coming there. I’ll pick you up.”
“No, not needed. I am already walking. In fact, go to the bungalow. I will meet you there.”
“Cool. And today you are having dinner with us. You haven’t left the apartment since you went there.”
“Done.”
Nilay hissed at her.
“Then pack a bag and come to the bungalow for the day. Or better yet, come back. If you are going to wake up early every day anyway, and not come home at all, then better come back only!”
“We’ll see.”
“No, no, I will send G with you to grab all your luggage.”
Don’t go back, Nilay glared at her. She glared back but kept talking — “We’ll see, Maya. Now I’ll see you in sometime. Ok?”
The moment she hit end, Nilay got into her face — “You are not going back to their bungalow.”
“Excuse me?”
He froze. Who was he to order her around? Nilay calmed his racing heart.
“You are meeting me after dinner.” He asserted instead. This, he could do.
“But…”
“Heart patients can eat ice cream, right?”