Chapter 10
Aaditha
Welcome to the Circus
Amma is next to me; her eyes are on the road.
My parents flew in last evening. Appa had dinner with us and left.
He was here to check on me. Appa doesn’t worry too much about Alia.
She is the sensible one. But his younger daughter, I have a tendency to slip and slide. He keeps an eye on me. Always...
Amma is doing the chaperoning, the heavy lifting. I feel for her. She has never really been away from her husband since they married, but recently, she’s been forced to do more and more of it on my account.
We are headed to No. 9 Lodhi Estate. The driver informs us that we’ll be entering through the back gate, generally used for staff and service vehicles. Charming. He apologizes repeatedly, conveying the Rathores’ appreciation of our understanding of the situation.
As if.
My life as I know it is over; it is a full-blown media circus now. All that I have taken pains to steer clear of. The only thing left is to be seated on a decked-out elephant and troop around.
Vedveer asked me to shift to his place after we were papped at the Four Hundred Club two evenings ago.
One moment, my rear had come down hard on the cold marble floor, and some ten minutes later, we got photographed. The next thing I know, my return date to Bengaluru is pushed back and my parents are ‘invited’ to Delhi.
Vedveer tells me television channels have been chasing the palace for an interview with ‘the couple’ since the polo game.
There have been hundreds of calls, apparently (like people have nothing to do with their time), but the good prince has been deferring to ‘give us space’, and that is no longer possible.
He has pushed it too far already, it seems. The Rathores ‘traditionally’ do the engagement interview at Ranibagh, but Vedveer (thankfully) thought flying to Ranibagh would be asking too much of me at this point and that Delhi was the practical option.
Never mind that we are not yet formally engaged. Vedveer has decreed, which means I couldn’t fly back to Bengaluru on Saturday.
The interview is to be recorded at noon today. Molars have jammed against molars, and my fist is opening and closing like the jaws of a shark.
When we launched COFFEE Before Books it was all clear.
Vedveer put me down on a lounge chair in the near-empty reception area of the Four Hundred Club two evenings ago. The lighting in the salon is brighter than the ambient lighting inside the club.
‘Your ankle may be slightly swollen,’ he said, kneeling for a closer look. ‘It could be the shock,’ he added, his hand wrapped around my joint like a brace. He loosened his grip to check flexibility, shifting my foot gently.
‘I think you are going to be fine,’ he said.
‘Yes, Doc.’
Vedveer smiled.
He placed an ice-pack on the ankle with his right hand and summoned a waiter with his left. He asked for a glass of water. ‘Your lips are dry,’ he said. I drank up as soon as the water arrived and requested a second glass, this one iced.
We sat there silently for about ten minutes, his expression settling with his thoughts as the clock behind him ticked.
‘How does the leg feel?’ he asked, moving the ice-pack and cradling my foot in his palms.
In his hands, my foot felt good.
‘I’m not used to wearing footwear like this,’ I said, looking down at my black shoes. ‘I’m comfortable in kitten or block heels or just plain flats. You need a whole different skill set to walk in these!’
‘I’m aware,’ Vedveer said, his lips lifting in a smile. ‘More like self-destructive weapons than footwear.’ He gestured to my shoes.
‘The Conclave has a dress code, and this place, too, has a similar one,’ I said. ‘Though coming to the Four Hundred Club was a last-minute decision. I didn’t have any other footwear that would pass muster here.’
I patted the skirt of my dress.
I was speaking quickly; my tone was rushed.
‘Do you want to try and stand, maybe take a few steps, just to see if you’re okay?’ he asked.
I pushed myself up slowly. Vedveer put out his hand and took mine in his. He stood before me like we were prepping for a waltz to the tune of our ragged breath.
I took a couple of steps. I was not in pain, but I felt my ankle.
I returned my rear to the chair and watched as Vedveer rearranged furniture around me, the sight of which had staff scurrying to help, but he dismissed them. He lifted my leg and placed it on the table.
‘The incline will help your foot,’ he said.
I nodded. That’s when I remembered that Vedveer was on a night out, for which he had flown all the way from Jaipur. Kairi Gaur must be waiting.
‘Those are your friends?’ I asked, pointing in the direction of the club.
He nodded.
‘Don’t you want to return to them?’
‘I’m good,’ he replied.
‘Not very interesting, ah?’
Vedveer laughed.
It was at that moment that we noticed a camera flash. Vedveer was on his feet instantly, reaching for his phone and muttering under his breath. He walked away, phone in hand.
When he returned a few minutes later, he was followed by security, who formed a cover at the far end of the salon.
‘We can’t allow this situation to continue,’ Vedveer said, kneeling before me. He was breathing hard. I could hear him.
‘If we ignore this, the paparazzi will be hanging outside your hotel window.’
I was about to say that the only thing to do was to stay away from places like this, but I bit my tongue.
‘Right now, you’re okay in Bengaluru, but that could change, too.’ His voice was rough. ‘We need to act, throw them a few crumbs, do whatever it takes to keep them off our backs for a while.’
‘What do you mean?’ I asked. It was a photograph, one more on social media. There were more pressing matters in the world, surely?
‘We have to do the interview! We can’t push it back any more.’ The decision was made.
Vedveer is at the door, waiting to greet us as we pull up at their rear entrance. He gives Amma a hand as she climbs the steps and then takes her arm in his as we walk through the pantry and the kitchen. His gallantry makes her blush.
The place is swarming with staff in sparkling whites, who stop their tasks and step aside as we pass.
As soon as we are out of the kitchen area, Vedveer hangs back and apologizes. Our eyes meet, and I nod.
He takes a unilateral decision to do a television interview. No discussion, no ‘Are you okay with this?’ I get his argument; the media is everywhere, and privacy is a joke. But the chaos isn’t new. Waiting a few weeks wouldn’t have changed a thing.
The reason I didn’t protest Vedveer’s POA is that had I insisted on going back to Bengaluru and scheduling the interview for another day, convenient to both of us, my family would’ve been on my case.
Appa raised security concerns when I told him I’m staying the night in Delhi.
He actually thought I would need security.
Amma and I are shown to the ‘Parivaar Suite’, which apparently is the only guest quarters on the floor the royals live on.
It is the size of a spacious two BHK (bigger than my first house).
It has two bedrooms, a lounge area with an upholstered sofa set, a coffee table with two chairs and a walk-in wardrobe, where the dress I am to wear for the interview is being aired out.
I find this so intrusive – a stranger unpacking your bags! I’m not sure, however, how I’m going to make anyone understand.
I look at Amma, who is settled on the sofa. I ask, ‘Enakke maduttiddare idella?’ Why are they doing this?
Amma smiles. ‘Talekedisikollabeda idkella.’ Don’t break your head over all this.
Navya Mrinalini – (that’s how I’m introduced to her, and that’s how her name is imprinted in my head) – had accompanied me to a designer to buy an outfit for the interview today.
The outing took about an hour, after which we headed to the Four Hundred Club for coffee. On weekends, it is apparently open in the afternoons. A recent thing.
‘We should make a booking?’ I said, remembering the conditions for booking a table, at least an hour in advance.
‘No booking is required,’ she replied, her palm resting gently on my arm as if to make a point.
‘Nice to have some leeway, for coffee at least!’
‘Says the Coffee Empress!’
‘Hmmm… More like for a Rathore!’ I said.
Vedveer was waiting for us at the Four Hundred Club. He was seated at a round table near the bar, not far from where I had tripped. A couple of waiters hovered around him.
‘How is your leg?’ he asked, his eyes on my footwear.
I was in flats. That’s when it dawned on me that it didn’t fit the dress code. The lady at the reception was so enamoured by her royal guest that she didn’t bother to check if what I was wearing fit their guidelines.
Vedveer apparently finished his coffee before we arrived, and we barely settled into our seats when two COFFEE Before Books it was naked without a spot of make-up.
I lifted my eyes and met his. The grey-green palette was a shade deeper than usual, like a storm brewing.