Chapter 17
Chhaya was to meet me at Perky Grace, down the road from our respective offices, in an hour. Make that an hour and a half. And that would be my lucky day! #ChhayaStandardTime.
I couldn’t be in office, though; I had to get out. I was struggling to stay away from Andrew. He was around somewhere. I had inhaled whiffs of him.
Even when I was horribly stretched on Thursday, I kept looking for reasons to chat him up.
Does this headline work, Andrew?
Caption with a kicker. Is that our style?
Piss poor, Myra! I know more about politics than the man will ever know about page-making.
Even though that last evening had almost ended with the ‘the adopted grandson’ counter, I rescued it somewhat when I asked him about Pooja.
It was part alcohol, part that bare-chested image of Mr Wannabe Model posing beside that roll of cloth that set off a commotion of giggles on what had otherwise been a sobering evening.
I didn’t know what to make of his family.
Noelene, his beloved Nana, only left him drabs of information. And some serious real estate.
He had a grandfather, who was perhaps living, but he had no idea who he was. Who does this?
His mother! Andrew would never know who his father was…
And who was Bhumika Velu?
I had a feeling those notes were a brain-teaser 3D wooden puzzle. It would take some getting used to.
I wanted his phone. I wanted to go through those notes, again and again, with an Americano for company.
Was it okay to ask him to send them to me?
The one time I came up with a suitable pretext to approach him, he wasn’t in his seat. Mercifully. Friday was a whirlwind kind of day, where I was pulled in various directions.
I finally saw him on Saturday afternoon, at our end-of-week meeting. His rear actually. His full butt was right in front of my face before he sat down. It was a ripe few seconds, and just as well that he took his seat quickly.
I dropped a long-winding explanation about having to meet a source as I exited the editorial. It was for anyone who was listening just in case I was needed. I have a phone, but I was stepping out to fly a kite during work hours.
I walked out into a warm sun that embraced me instantly. I had 90 minutes to kill before I sat down with my friend. I contemplated walking down to the mall, a 10-minute jaunt, where I could pick up a much-needed running vest.
I was hyper about shoes. I changed them at the faintest hint of wear, never mind tear, but I was lazy about gear. I decided to buy some tees and vests and maybe even a pair of shorts or two. I always wore running tights, no particular reason why. That was about to change.
The display window of the Adidas store had more colours than a paint palette. I felt my smile as I walked into the flagship set-up.
I was looking at the vests when I heard a voice I recognized.
‘Heeeeyyyyyy.’
I chose not to answer and stuck with the process of running through their collection.
They had the racerback version in three colours – pink, blue and black.
Maybe I needed to look at the half-sleeved option.
That way, I’d get some protection from the sun that enjoyed colouring me in a deeper shade each time I stepped out to keep it company.
Not that I’m complaining. Brown is bold. Chocolate. Scrumptious. Me.
The sound of stilettoes on sparkling tiles was getting louder. I was in my white sneakers.
I didn’t want to meet Meena, not today. Not ever.
‘Heeeyyyyyy,’ she trilled again.
Another of Meena’s USPs. Only people with power of one kind or another were addressed by their names; for the rest, it was simply ‘hey’.
It is my least-favourite reference. I have a beautiful name, my mother’s choice.
If you can’t call me by that, then at least try the alphabetically challenged version of ‘Mai’.
Hey is who? I’m not a feather duster.
‘Are you ignoring me?’ she asked, striking a pose as she tapped my shoulders. As I turned from the racks of soul-stirring colour, she pulled me into a hug.
This was the first time I was meeting or speaking to her since that forgettable evening more than three months ago.
‘Hi!’
‘Whaaaare havve you been?’ she trilled.
To market, to market to buy a fat pig.
Had our friendship mattered to Meena, she’d have known where I’d been these last few weeks.
Even if it was only to the corner shop to buy a bag of overpriced chips.
This pseudo concern, much like that ‘How-are-you? Not-that-I-really-care’ kinda query comes from people who, for some opportune reason, have slipped into the fringes of your existence.
That breathless, ‘Whaaaare havve you been’ opening is their attempt to gloss over the slush and make it appear like all would’ve been well had you kept in touch.
All would not.
If I had any idea that Meena Iyer was anywhere in the vicinity of this mall, I’d have sat put in office, making diabetic love to Andrew with my eyes.
Her perfume was all over me. I sniffed once more to make sure I wasn’t imagining that stain of smell. ‘Around,’ I said, keeping with the smile that was already tiring. ‘How about you?’ What else can you say?
‘Buying branded clothes, eh? Is it a gift from the good doctor?’ She nudged my ribs, laughing, but pulled back quickly, like she’d got an electric shock.
I couldn’t afford gear of my choice; I apparently needed my boyfriend’s credit card. I laughed.
‘All this running you are doing is good for your figure, but you are getting darker,’ she said, patting my hands. ‘That’s not a smart thing, you know. Very little suits that shade.’
Distracted by the envy in her voice, my gaze dropped to her waistline.
There was an extra layer around the middle I hadn’t noticed before.
Meena had been skinny in school, but after she shifted to the US, she gradually gained weight.
She was still on the lighter side, and the extra pounds filled her out nicely, adding to her glow.
‘Come, come,’ she called, tugging at my sleeve. ‘I’m sure this place has a coffee shop. Let’s sit down for a bit. I’ve been meaning to call.’
Instead of saying I had to be in office in another five minutes or so and getting on with what I intended to do, I was thinking that this mall, with its high-street outlets, wasn’t her kind of place.
‘What are you doing here?’
I laughed as I asked her the question. It hadn’t occurred to me before, but the nickname from our schooldays suited her. Summed her up. Meens.
‘Never mind me and my boring life,’ she said, standing at the entrance of the single outlet coffee shop tucked in the rear of the second floor of the mall.
How did she know about this place? She had obviously been here before with someone who knew the layout.
‘You tell me about yours. Are you and Ravi engaged or not?’
She paid for the two cappuccinos that came with an almond biscotti each. ‘So, are you engaged?’ she repeated, joining me at the table.
‘No,’ I said. I wasn’t engaged to Ravi. Much worse, I was beginning to think about this relationship more as a friendship, but I wasn’t about to tell Meena that.
‘Why?’
I shrugged.
‘Like I was telling you the other day, snap him up. It isn’t easy for someone like you to get a man as loaded as Ravi Rao is.
Going by what you and Chhaya were saying the other night, he’s into you.
If I were you, I’d dump my complexes and get to the party.
For some folks, looks are not so important. You’re lucky.’
I wasn’t sure if Meena had no filter or whether she chose to discard it on occasion. Was it possible to outgrow it like your fifth-grade uniform? She hadn’t been this bad in school, but these days, she couldn’t open her mouth without airing prejudices.
‘He comes from great stock… heir to Karnataka literally.’ Her pencilled eyes lit up dramatically.
Wow! I was pretty sure I hadn’t mentioned who Ravi Rao was to Meena when we met, outside of him being a doctor.
She and Chhaya weren’t in touch; I knew that, too.
It wasn’t impossible to find out; all you needed to do was hit a button, but her mind didn’t work that way unless she had examined the connection. Deliberately.
‘Great catch, by the way!’
I yawned. I hadn’t been sleeping well. ‘How have you been?’ I asked.
‘Is that because you’re not so into him?’
‘What?’
‘You’re not excited by any mention of the man. I don’t see any chemistry or life in the relationship.’
‘Have you seen us together?’
‘It’s flat,’ she said, picking up the biscotti and pointing it at me, to explain what flat meant perhaps.
She placed it back on the saucer before breaking into a laugh.
A shrill, piercing sound. It’s funny how one doesn’t notice these quirks, however jarring they may be, when it comes from someone close.
It’s camouflaged by an affection, perhaps, until you run out of it.
I shrugged. Why had she made it her business to know who Ravi was?
‘Anyway, what are you doing with yourself these days?’ she asked.
‘The usual – work and home and all that stuff.’ Why was I answering the questions while she turned everything on me?
‘All work and no play makes Jill a dull girl. I can see that you’re heading down that path. You need some excitement in your life, but of course, you need to work. I understand that.’
What she meant was she didn’t need to work.
‘What about you? What are you doing these days?’ Outside of deleting other people’s messages, that is.
Meena launched into an explanation of how she was chilling and going out every other evening. She had joined a book club, which Chhaya was also a part of. Chhaya never attended, and the ladies were planning to kick her out.
‘Most of the women are older, late 30s, 40s. You know, it generally takes people that long to get into these circles,’ she said, rubbing her index finger and thumb, suggesting money. ‘Unless, of course, you are born to it. So Chhaya, if and when she actually attends, and I, are the youngest.’
Chhaya hadn’t told me about this book club.