Chapter 11
A reluctant trip to Delhi
JIMMY
I had dreaded being thrown out throughout the three-wheeler ride from the New Delhi railway station to this place.
When I entered the office, my feet became fifty-kilo weight plates.
Everything from the false ceiling lights to the geometric pattern of lemon green and white carpet on the floor spoke of luxury.
Cushioned sofa seats where only the rich and mighty should sit.
This is not a place for a high school pass-out.
The receptionist exuded confidence and professionalism with measured, polite, and to-the-point words.
Her acknowledgement of my name and appointment saved the tip of my collar from my fidgeting fingers.
She led me through a small corridor, the walls of which were lined with art posters, many of which were book covers, and ushered me into a boardroom.
When I enquired about the books, she informed me about Zappster's work in print media and book publications, so I am unsure why I am here.
To prevent my sweaty palms from smudging the grey trousers from repeated rubbing, I adjust the lapel of the navy blue suit Sudhanshu lent me. The tailor at Kiron’s workshop worked magic, fitting the coat to my body in two days. A smile breaks out, recalling the previous week.
If I had my way, I would be standing here in my track pants and a hoodie.
Kiron had put their foot down — no small-town looks.
The whole gang fussed over my wardrobe, ensuring I dressed my best. Aditya lent me a few shirts.
I needed only one, but he insisted on packing three.
I run my hand over the soft cotton fabric of the white shirt, smiling at the thought of him wearing this in one of his lectures.
Kiron mixed and matched the pants with the shirts until they were satisfied.
Kenny served as my English-speaking coach, determined to rid me of my Jat lilt.
He issued an edict: no one, including Sahil, would speak to me in any language other than English.
The whole fuss irritated me, but sitting here, I appreciate the help from my friends.
I have never been to such an upmarket place.
You are here now, and they invited you, so play cool, I remind myself. Aditya will not guide me wrong. He confirmed the agency’s background and received no negative feedback. Aditya even gave me his friend Jatin's contact information in case I needed help in Delhi.
If this meeting works out, I owe him a big thanks.
My devil mind has already cooked up a few scenarios on how to show my gratitude, one of which is to take up Mr Bhatia's longstanding offer of a night's stay in one of his other properties in Bageshwar.
Aditya and I would go on trail walks exploring the valleys and then spend a cosy night huddled together in bed.
“Hi, welcome to Zappster. I am Priya.”
The posh female voice startles me. The lady in her mid-thirties is dressed in a crisp beige cotton saree with a green border.
The sophistication with which she carries herself makes me forget my manners.
Her extended hand reminds me of Kenny's first instructions.
I stand and shake her hand, not bone-crushing but with a firm enough grip to exude confidence.
“Nice to meet you, ma'am.”
“Oh, no ma'am-sham here. Call me Priya, and I'll call you Jimmy. After watching Jimmy Shergill in 'so many movies,' I always wanted to meet a Jimmy in real life.”
“Umm, not sure. I am me, and Mr Shergill is way up there.” I point to the ceiling.
“Don't you worry. If we can work this out, you may also be on the road to where he is. Tell me, do you have any acting experience?” Priya opens a file in front of her.
“Not in front of a camera. Only some school plays and fooling my parents or teachers while bunking school.” A doubt creeps into my mind. Why go straight to acting? Girls give me a second look, but I am not sure my face can match the level of TV actors.
“Hmm, interesting. If you talked yourself out of attending school, you may have enough experience for this assignment. The project is not your typical TV or film acting work,” Priya informs.
“Oh.” My discomfort increases. “What do you mean? I will not do porn or anything illegal.” I stand, but Priya waves me to sit back.
“We do not deal in porn or any illegal activities, Jimmy. Everything we do is above board and with formal agreements. So hear me out first before you pass judgment.”
Priya is irritated, but I need to protect myself. I have no one in my corner. Except for your friends, my mind supplies. And you don't sign anything in Delhi, a point both Aditya and Sudhanshu emphasised.
“Sorry. But my life experiences make me uncomfortable if things are not black and white.” I hope my words give Priya some perspective.
“Jimmy, I understand. But, as I said, hear me out. We don't have to sign anything today. Take your time to decide. The paperwork can be done by email. Like the non-disclosure we signed.”
Her smile is soft, and she holds my gaze. Though I am sceptical, I take my seat. “Alright, sounds good.”
“Great. I gather from your email that you want to work as a model. This work does not involve ramp walks, but we will get you in front of the cameras. Our primary work at the agency is to represent creative people. This includes authors, artists, and musicians.”
Umm, this is going nowhere. Where do I come in? Her explanation does nothing to ease my mind, but I allow her to continue.
“One of our new authors writes under a pen name. We organise many activities. like author interviews and book signings, when we launch a book. This author is shy and, for personal reasons, does not wish to be in the limelight.”
“Why would he not want to be in public? Everyone wants to be famous.” I interrupt Priya. This whole thing is confusing me.
“He has some personal obligations. The book has queer characters, and he is not out to everybody in his life.”
“What personal obligations?” I am not convinced.
“I am afraid I am not in a position to reveal those details.”
Priya’s words do not help. The secrecy raises my hackles. Such a waste of my time. What sort of scheme are the author and this agency cooking?
“And you expect me to play this author in the real world without sharing vital information. Do I get to meet the author, or will he stay hidden from me, too? How do you expect to pull this off? Is this even legal?”
Priya squirms in her seat, “Umm, yes. You will deal only with me. I will train you and be your guide. In all public appearances, I will be there beside you. We will prepare a set of answers and a backstory matching your real life. You do not have to answer any questions or do anything uncomfortable. Everything will be on an agreement.”
She pulls out a bunch of papers. “This is a draft. You should read the agreement and take a legal opinion.” She takes out another folder and hands me the documents.
“This is a brief outline of the book with notes by the author, which will help you understand some of his reasons behind this strange request.”
I read a few sentences in the agreement, but they don't make sense to me. I sigh in exasperation and place the papers in front of her. “I am not sure I even want to do this. I had hoped you would offer me some modelling assignment or a TV role.”
Priya pushes the folders to me. “Jimmy, take these. Discuss with your friends and family. Speak to someone who understands the legal language. Take your time before you decide on anything. This is a humble request. The agency’s reputation, and my own, are on the line.
We would not have brought a stranger to discuss this if our intentions were bad. ”
Priya leaves me with those words, ending the meeting at noon.
My return train, Ranikhet Express, departs at eight at night.
What will I do for the next eight hours?
Aditya's friend Jatin lives in Gurgaon; visiting him is one option, but I am not in the right frame of mind to meet someone new in Delhi.
My stomach growls, making the decision easy.
First lunch and some shopping. Sudhanshu and Sahil had made a list of restaurants and sweet shops for me.
They warned me not to eat at Rajiv Chowk and advised me to go to Chandni Chowk instead, where the food is cheaper and more delicious.
I take out the print of the Metro map Aditya had outlined for me.
The route appears to be straightforward. Take the Yellow line to New Delhi Railway Station next to Pahar Ganj and drop my bag at Aditya's one-room apartment. From there, hop on the same line to reach Chandni Chowk.
The journey to the apartment takes fifteen minutes.
On the way, my decision is made. I do not fake or lie to people.
I also need to consider the family who threw me out.
Priya does not know them, but I do. My mood sours thinking about them.
I am so lost, brooding over the meeting, that I miss the man as I turn the corner to climb the stairs to the first floor of Aditya’s apartment.
“Uff,” the document folder flies out of my hand and spreads on the pavement.
“Sorry, son. So sorry.” The bald man with a round belly, in a pin-stripe shirt and grey pants, hanging with suspenders, helps me collect the strewn papers.
“Sorry, Uncle Ji. You do not need to apologise. I should pay more attention while walking.” I thank the man when he hands me the folder.
“You live here?” The man enquires, giving me a once-over as he adjusts his glasses.
“No, sir, I live in Almora. Came here for a job interview. A friend offered his place for the night.”
“Are you an English author?” He points to my folder.
How did he conclude? “No,” I correct him.
“Ah, but the agency publishes books?” Hmm, so he recognises the Zappster logo. Uncle ji is nosy, but I guess the houses here are packed like matchboxes, so everybody must be into everybody's business.