CHAPTER 2 Neel
Neel
The crisp morning air invigorates me as I enjoy my early run.
Forced to deviate from my usual route because of construction, I turn at Big Cup Café on the corner into a quiet, tree-lined street I’ve never explored before.
The road winds around a lively park, and I’m drawn in by the scent of flowers.
A few older folks are practicing laughter therapy in one corner while some people are sitting around watching their kids play on the swings.
Most of the park ground is strewn with dry leaves that haven’t been swept, a few broken benches stand on the far side, and some fences covering the perimeter have rotted and broken down in several places.
Despite its state of neglect, the park is bustling with joggers, walkers, and children, even at this early hour.
As I finish my run and exit the park, a beautiful two-story structure catches my eye. Lush climbers adorn its low walls. Two dark lamp posts flank the gate, and a white-framed door bears a sign that reads “KaaVaa.” Interesting. I haven’t heard a name like that before.
Back at the Big Cup Café, I stop to catch my breath, hands on my knees. The woman at the counter smiles and waves through the glass door, piquing my curiosity.
The door jingles as I enter. “Hi!” she greets me warmly. “We have fresh wheatgrass juice today. Would you like some?”
I nod, settling into a blue and yellow chair. As I wait for my order, I pick up a nearby newspaper. An article about another redevelopment project catches my eye.
The woman smiles as she sets down my drink.
“This is what’s happening to every green space in Bangalore,” she remarks, guessing from my frown that I’ve been engrossed in the article.
“The real estate tycoons are at it again, devouring our city’s precious green spaces.
There’s so little we can do to stop it. What can we do? ”
I nod, feeling a pang of guilt. It’s a tragedy to see these lush spaces consumed by towering structures of concrete and steel.
I recall an incident when my company fought against one of these greedy developers, and we emerged victorious.
Today, we’ve redeveloped that space using sustainable practices. If only we could do more.
My phone’s sharp ring interrupts my thoughts. It’s work, and I hurry home to prepare for the day ahead.
I arrive at work by nine-thirty. As I exit the elevator, Hosin, the security guard outside the Prime Real Estate office, smiles and salutes me. I hand him the extra sandwich I picked up for breakfast on my way over. Hosin has been with our company since my dad started this office.
He shakes his head, refusing the breakfast, but I insist. I’ve known him since I was a young boy, and I know he lives alone and appreciates the gesture. I’ve persisted long enough that he knows I won’t give up. His gray eyes mist as he smiles at me and accepts it gracefully. “Thank you, sir.”
I push through the glass doors, taking in the framed accolades on the walls as I exchange quick greetings with employees on my way to my office at the far end.
The hum of activity along the bright hallway is just as it was when I first took over after my father passed. It’s a constant reminder of why I do this, why I push myself every day.
Inside my corner office, I settle into my leather chair behind the mahogany desk. Documents and reports for today’s board meeting clutter the polished surface. I pick up the agenda, scanning through the listed items. With a deep breath, I dive into the financial reports.
As the clock ticks closer to noon, I head to the boardroom, where the other board members have already gathered. The room buzzes with energy and anticipation.
“Morning, everyone,” I greet the board members as I take my seat at the head of the table. Saroj, our CFO, sits to my left, her laptop open and ready. Neeraj, head of development, flips through architectural blueprints on my right.
We dive into our eco-friendly residential project, and then the discussion turns to the proposed acquisition of Sterling Properties. I present the market analysis and financial projections, then turn to the group. “What are your thoughts on this?”
Some express skepticism, while others see potential. The recent decline in real estate stocks adds tension to the debate. As the discussion heats up, my phone rings. My sister Elena’s name flashes on the screen.
“Excuse me, gentlemen.” I step out to take the call, leaving the board to continue their debate.
This call could be urgent. Elena rarely calls me at work, so I know it must be important. My family comes first, always has, and always will. I loosen my tie and pace back to my office, concern growing as I answer the call. “What’s up, Elena?”
“Guess what! You’re coming with me for my dress selection tomorrow.”
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and laugh. “What?” After the intensity of that meeting, it feels good to shift my focus to something lighter. Moments like these remind me of the importance of having my family close.
Elena is fifteen years younger than me. She’s always been my kid sister, practically growing up in my arms. Since Dad passed away when she was barely two, I’ve taken on more of a fatherly role. Unfortunately, she doesn’t remember Papa.
I settle into my large leather swivel chair. “You didn’t even ask if I was busy. What if I couldn’t make it?”
“I know you’ll work around your schedule, Neel.
You’re always busy as it is!” she says, using my first name instead of any formal term for an older brother.
Elena’s called me Neel since she was little—it was easier for her to say.
She doesn’t act like there’s a big age gap between us, either.
To her, we’re friends, and I’m the friend she calls for everything.
I sigh, knowing I won’t win if I claim to be busy. “What time is it?”
“Eleven,” she confirms. “Or should I say, ten-thirty, so you’ll arrive by eleven?” She enjoys calling me out because I’m always running behind schedule.
“I’ll be there by eleven.”
“And I want it to be a surprise for Dilip for now, so don’t tell him yet,” Elena squeals with delight.
Dilip and she have been dating for the past three years, and they make an awesome couple. I’m beyond happy that my kid sister is getting married to Dilip. Her happiness is enough to make me forget the shadows of my past.
“That’s why I’d like you to come with me,” Elena says.
I laugh. “I’m only good with numbers. What do I know about fashion and design?”
“We’ll see about that,” she replies with a playful tone.
As someone arrives at the door to summon me back to the meeting, I realize I must leave. “Listen, I’ll catch up with you tomorrow, alright? I really have to go now.”
“Okay, see you tomorrow! Mom will be thrilled to hear how the selections went,” Elena says cheerfully.
I hang up and hurry back to the meeting, my mind already shifting gears from family to business.
Hours later, I stand at my office window, looking out at the pale late afternoon sky, the sun about to set.
I see a few lingering clouds. We didn’t have a good monsoon this year.
The roads are packed with cars, and the evening traffic has already started.
It’s a good thing I don’t live too far from work.
My thoughts skim back to the morning run around the park. How cool to live around a place like that. Those areas need to be preserved because they are the few spots left in the city worth living in. The sound of a knock at my door interrupts my thoughts.
I turn around. “Mr. Goswami is here to meet with you, sir,” my assistant says. I step away from my window and follow her to the reception area, preparing myself for the next few hours filled with more meetings.
My days are long, and it’s a while before I’m done.
As I’m heading home, my phone buzzes with a text from Elena, providing the location of the boutique we’re going to tomorrow.
As I enter my large, empty house, I feel a pang of loneliness. I’m not even sure why I bought such a big house or why I’ve kept it all these years.
The enormous, bare rooms loom before me, a stark reminder of the void in my life.
I gave away all the old photographs and sold all the paintings and sculptures—everything that reminded me of my ex-wife.
But I haven’t bothered to refurnish, except for a couch or two and a new bed.
Nobody’s been here in the last twelve years. I might as well have lived like a monk.
Not that there haven’t been offers or hints of someone interested in a fling or two, but I haven’t dated.
I’ve had no time. I can even count on one hand the number of times I’ve had sex, and that too, with myself.
I study my large hands with closely trimmed nails, the dark blue veins jutting out. I can’t remember the last time they touched soft, feminine skin, slipped into silky hair, or caressed a luscious waist.
Is that part of my life over? Most days, I’m too busy to miss it. But sometimes, alone in my thoughts, I lie in my extra-large bed, aching for the embrace of a soulmate, yearning to fall asleep and wake up to a love that feels like home.
That’s why I work so hard. Because work makes great company for someone like me.