ten Salt, Meet Wound #2
Back at the stall, the man hauled out a jute sack and began scooping handfuls of marigolds into it. I stole a glance at Neil, who stood there with his hands in his pockets, as if bargaining with street vendors was something he did every day.
‘Could’ve never guessed you’d be a pro at haggling,’ I said afterwards, unable to hide my surprise.
‘Told you, you’ve to be prepared to walk away to get what you deserve.’ The corner of his mouth curled up in a smug smile.
A thought occurred to me as I regarded him with reluctant admiration. Maybe, just maybe, there is more to him than I’d realized.
Just then, a man carrying a basket of rose petals on his head brushed past us, nearly tipping the whole thing over. A few petals rained down on us, clinging to Neil’s t-shirt. He brushed them off casually, but one stayed tangled in his thick hair. I didn’t tell him.
‘How could you have lived as long as you have in Mumbai without ever travelling in the local?’ I stared at him in disbelief.
Neil shrugged, munching on the vada pav we’d picked up outside the station. Boarding a train from Dadar during peak hours was probably not the best idea for an initiation. I took a quick look at the display board. The Borivali Fast was due to arrive in two minutes. There was no time to coach him.
‘Here’s your ticket,’ I said, taking the bags of marigold and mogra from him. ‘Go stand right in the front and don’t forget to tighten your core. There will be pushing, there will be pulling, there might even be a jab or two. Take it like a champ and just get on.’
Neil began to let out a chuckle and realized I was being serious. ‘Wait, where are you going?’
I pointed to his left. ‘Ladies compartment.’ The whistle sounded in the distance, immediately summoning a sea of people.
‘What the actual fuck,’ I heard him mutter as the train approached the platform, with people dangling from the doors of every compartment.
The next few seconds were a blur. Bodies surged towards the train like a human wave, swallowing me whole.
I scrambled to find my way to the compartment segregation, craning my neck to scan the crowd until I spotted Neil.
He stood a few feet away from me, a full head taller than everyone else around him.
Wedged between bodies from all sides, his face was the picture of horror.
It took a while for his eyes to find me and, when he did, he gave me a look that almost made me feel bad for doing this to him. Almost.
My phone buzzed.
Tanya: Reached the studio. What’s your ETA?
Me: 50 mins, I think. We’re on the train.
Tanya: You’re bringing richie rich on the local? Love it.
Me: Wish you could see him rn.
Tanya: Send photo!!!
I held up my phone sneakily, but he caught me right away. Man, if looks could kill …
When we finally got off at Malad station, Neil looked like a different person. His white t-shirt clung to his muscular frame, his hair was tousled and beads of sweat glistened on his forehead. He looked … human. An annoyingly good looking one, but human nonetheless.
‘Had fun?’ I grinned widely at him.
‘Fun?’ He stared at me, horrified. ‘I’ve done extreme sports that were less life-threatening than that.’
I laughed, unable to help myself. ‘Well, congrats, now you’re a real Mumbaikar.’
‘I feel utterly violated,’ he said, looking off into the distance.
I snickered, patting his shoulder lightly. ‘There, there.’
As I hailed an autorickshaw outside the station, he grumbled, ‘How many more modes of transportation will I have to endure before we reach this damn studio?’
To be fair, this was a punishing commute for anyone, let alone someone who was used to cruising around town in a Mercedes and had probably never set foot in the suburbs.
The fact that he had made it this far was actually kind of impressive.
Wait … was I softening up on him? Thousands of people do this commute every day, Kavya, I reminded myself.
Neil Desai doesn’t get a medal for surviving it once.
‘Just the one.’ I ushered him into the vehicle. ‘Kalakar studio,’ I instructed the driver.
Neil slumped back in the seat, exhaling. ‘I don’t know what I could’ve possibly done to deserve this.’
I smirked. ‘You mean besides blackmailing your boss and ruining the lives of hundreds of people with unnecessary scandals?’
‘Okay, the first one … fair. Wasn’t my finest moment.’ I blinked at him, suspicious of the sincerity in his tone. Is he actually taking accountability? Before I could figure out what to do with his admission, he went on. ‘But the purpose of @devilwearscolaba has never been to ruin anyone’s life.’
‘What is its purpose, then?’ Warm air whipped in through the open sides of the auto, offering a faint, sticky kind of respite from the Mumbai heat.
‘To educate and entertain,’ he said, turning in his seat to look at me. ‘And, maybe, occasionally, to humble a few people who need to be taken down a notch.’
‘Like Aditya Jindal?’
He nodded.
‘But isn’t he your friend? You were at his party, after all …’
‘That creep?’ He scoffed. ‘It’s just for appearances.’
I looked away from him, tucking a tuft of flying hair behind my ear. I don’t know what I’d imagined went inside Neil’s head, but this was nowhere near close. A knot twisted somewhere in my gut.
‘What about my flatmate? Did you ever think about how devastating your little post could’ve been for her?’
‘So was she?’ He wanted to know. ‘Devastated?’
I slowly met his gaze again. ‘Well, not exactly …’
He gave me a knowing look. ‘That’s what I’d thought after I did my research.’
I raised an eyebrow, ready to shoot him with another question, but the auto lurched to a halt.
‘I’m not evil, you know,’ he said as we walked through the studio gates. ‘Just a little devilish.’ Then, he winked at me.
And, for some reason unknown to mankind, that made my stomach flip.