Chapter 17 Vedveer - That Upside-Down Cake
Vedveer
That Upside-Down Cake
I’m going through the Fiala Group proposal for Ranibagh. I have been at it since the crack of dawn. There’s nothing I can pick on, outside of the ‘minor structural changes’ they are suggesting, which I’m going to insist they clear with us, but I can’t stop reading and re-reading these papers.
This is my home. The noun Ranibagh Palace is in a bold font. Ranibagh and Palace are not words that collocate for me. I think of this most significant piece of real estate in my life as either Ranibagh or home; it isn’t a palace to me.
Father thinks of it as the seat of his throne, though not necessarily as home.
For Grandfather, it was his land and the place he returned to every evening; it was where he lived and ruled from.
Rawal Rathore Singh and his wife, Pavitra Hansa, also enjoyed Aranya Mahal, our country retreat, where they were frequent visitors in their younger days.
They were both excellent marksmen. Some even say Grandmother was the better of the two.
I’m in the library, on the third floor of Ranibagh, not far from the royal suites. I ask for the curtains to be drawn on both sides of the room so that I can also use the morning light as I go through the papers. The bulbs in the room are bright, but I need all the assistance I can get.
At the other end of the room, Raj Kiran stands silently, watching me like the lines of books on the shelves. Now, almost three hours later, the sun’s rays fuller, I have studied the document in such detail I feel like I can recite it.
We have decided to lease a part of Ranibagh at my insistence. At the very least, I need to be sure that these papers are only rentals and not a sale deed. There can be no opening that could possibly drag us down that path.
This is the first time, since my ancestor built the first version of it for his beloved wife, Rani Rasleen, in the early 1700s, that Ranibagh, even in part, will be out of our hands.
I pull myself out of the lounge chair and walk towards the rectangular window that looks out at Jaipur.
The city twinkles against the late-morning sun, the sloping roofs reflecting the light.
In the distance is the monsoon sky, clear blue for now, but the colour will change.
It is raining somewhere; it is in the air.
An image of Aaditha flits through my head.
Her hair flowing down her back like a river of black silk. Her lips, lush and defiant, belonged to me in a fleeting claim, leaving me aching with a longing I cannot get out of my mind.
She uses charming descriptors like ‘alien’ and ‘suffocating’ for my world, says she doesn’t have reason to believe in marriage, and maybe she doesn’t, but those eyes, there are moments when they call out to me.
Her laughter bubbles up even amidst the chaos of her (then) soon-to-open store.
When her employee collapses, she doesn’t hesitate.
She sinks to the floor, holds her up with a fierce tenderness, and returns the next day, bearing gifts of fruits and chocolates.
She’s stubborn and unapologetically sassy, unafraid to make her point, even if she has to shove an iPad in my face, daring me to respond.
My fingers are itching. I want to pick up the phone and message, ask the question, but that is not a question to be asked. I have lived long enough to know that. The answer is to be arrived at. In the next kiss, maybe.
My eyes click back to the print in my hand. I flip through the twenty-something pages before putting them aside.
I walk around the table and click on the desktop. I start researching the Fiala Group and their various arms around the world. Not because our legal team hasn’t looked into it but because I need to know every detail.
I run a few checks and see that the Czech group has tied up with an Indian extension – India Hotel and Resort Enterprise.
There are a few distinguished names in the list of stakeholders of that company, but the major share is held by an entity called InspireDesign, on which there’s nothing at all on the net.
I dial Ratan and ask him to get me a brief on InspireDesign.
Ratan calls me ten minutes later. ‘InspireDesign is owned by Prathap Gowda,’ he says.
I hear the air escape my mouth.
I turn my attention to the Aravallis; they stretch across the horizon like ancient sentinels guarding the desert’s edge.
I feel a shudder go down my spine.
Did Aaditha know about it?
There is no way Aaditha is in the know of whatever it is that her father is up to. That would be too easy, a set-up almost.
I walk around the table and flip through the pages of the morning newspaper, which I devour most days but have ignored today, when a headline catches my attention.
Karnataka Finance Minister Eyes National Stage Amid Rising Popularity
Bengaluru:
Karnataka’s Finance Minister, Prathap Vedaranya Gowda, has become the latest political figure to stir national buzz after a string of high-profile appearances and reform-driven policies that have drawn both praise and scrutiny.
Known for his technocratic approach and sharp rhetoric, Gowda has recently been making moves that many within his party interpret as an indication that his ambitions extend well beyond the Vidhana Soudha.
In the last six months, Gowda has made keynote appearances in Delhi, Mumbai, and Hyderabad, speaking on fiscal decentralization and digital innovation in public finance.
His flagship policy – ‘Namma Budget, Namma Future’, which introduced participatory budgeting and AI-assisted expenditure tracking in Karnataka – has garnered attention from economists and party strategists alike.
Party insiders say Gowda is being positioned as the ‘modern face’ of southern leadership, potentially to play a larger role in shaping national economic policy – or even as a contender for a top cabinet portfolio in the event of a political realignment post 2026.
While Gowda remains coy about his intentions, he told reporters last week, ‘I serve Karnataka first, but I also believe the ideas born here can serve the nation.’ Whether this is calibrated modesty or a carefully scripted prelude remains to be seen, but one thing is clear: the political winds are shifting, and Gowda seems ready to ride them.
On a personal note, Gowda seems to have positioned himself well to get the strategic nod in the north.
He is believed to have played conductor in daughter Aaditha Asha’s engagement to HRH Vedveer Rathore Singh, the crown prince of Jaipur.
The Rathores are not just India’s most landed royal family; they are even the most influential.
The engagement, reportedly a private ceremony at the Ranibagh Palace, has sent ripples through political circles, with many viewing the alliance as a calculated step in Gowda’s quiet march towards national prominence.
While the families have emphasized tradition and shared values, the political undertones of the match have not gone unnoticed.
Insiders suggest that the alliance, while rooted in genuine camaraderie between the two families, especially the fathers, also serves Gowda’s growing ambition to be seen as a unifying figure across regional lines.
With the Gowdas representing modern southern progressivism and the Rathores embodying north India’s royal heritage, the engagement is being billed by some as the symbolic bridge between two influential worlds.
As murmurs grow louder about Gowda’s role in the party’s national future, this royal connection may prove to be more than just ceremonial – it could be his most strategic alliance yet.
I only read one-third of the article; that is as much as I can take.
My jaw is clenched so hard that my jawbone hurts.
I dial Aaditha. I have to ask if she knew.
I let the phone do its thing, but all I get is static at the other end. I dial again. Same result. I dial a third time. I decide to try later.
My eyes shift to the broadsheet. This is a national newspaper, which means Aaditha might have already read the story, given that she starts her day early and we are closing on 9 a.m.
I pick up the papers again a couple of hours later. This time, I’m breathing easy. I like what they are offering. I tick the rubrics, leaving nothing to chance.
Our legal team has already gone through it with a fine-tooth comb. It is only Father whom I need to talk to. He is on one of his rare visits to Jaipur. I look at the watch; he should be surfacing at any time.
I’m trying to lock out that fact about the lease that bothers me the most, but I just can’t turn my back on it. It keeps coming back to me.
Did Aaditha know?
It’s been three hours since I called her. I dial again. Once. Twice. Thrice. I wait and wait, but the call doesn’t go through.
Where is she?
I feel my heart slipping little by little.
Aaditha is a businesswoman. Is it possible that she doesn’t know what her father’s business ventures are?
Was this all an act?
Aaditha wanted out of this alliance right from the start. She even wanted us to come up with a plan to break it off. She has no reason, she says, to believe in the institution of marriage.
Then, very casually, without word or warning, she announces that her café chain is launching in Jaipur.
When she mentioned the location, my first thought was, Great, brilliant idea, but now, when I think about it, even though she signed off on this building, just outside the gates of Ranibagh, well before we met, she didn’t tell me about it.
Not before the public declaration at least, even though it was a well-thought-out decision.
What else is she hiding?
I exhale.
Is the chemistry a ploy, a hook? Is she in cahoots with her father?
I feel something in me break, and as I get on my feet, I feel the broken chips fall to the floor. A part of me, maybe.
I meet the smiling countenance of my father as I turn to the door. His expression changes as he eyes me with concern.
‘Yuvraj,’ he says.
I nod.
Father’s valet brings him his afternoon drink, which he picks up from the tray, pushing back on the lounge chair. He points at the seat behind the large desk at the head of the room, which is his place whenever he’s in Ranibagh. He asks me to sit there.
Father and I shadow box in the silence, each waiting for the other to speak.
I’d rather he start talking about anything, weather included.
‘You are looking at the papers,’ he says casually, gesturing at the papers on the table.
I nod. He has probably seen the papers, too.
‘We should go ahead with this because it would be good for the people and also for the family.’ Father picks his words carefully.
‘My only request is that we finish yours and Navya’s weddings before we give it away.’
I don’t nod. ‘We are not giving anything away, if I can help it, now or ever.’ I taste the fury of my words. ‘We are leasing it, Father. We are not giving it away. We are not selling!’
Father’s smile is bright. It might’ve been the dark liquid that he just had a second sip of. ‘I know, I know,’ he says, his tone light.
I briefly consider asking Father about Prathap Gowda being the lead player of the conglomerate we are entertaining, but I quickly dismiss it. Is it even possible that Father didn’t know? Gaurav Rathore Singh never makes a move without knowing every minuscule detail of the players in the game.
A silence descends on the room again. I can hear my thoughts.
Father is on his second drink. Beside the lounge chair on which he has settled is the newspaper I have read and tossed aside.
He may have peeped at the open page, but he didn’t pick it up.
It occurs to me that nowhere in the report (that I had fully scanned) was there even a mention of Ranibagh being leased.
Father’s eyes are on the wall before him when Mother and Navya walk into the room.
‘Why is every curtain in the room drawn apart?’ Navya asks.
Raj Kiran stumbles over a stool, trying to get to the window behind me.
‘Dheere se,’ Father says.
I’m on my feet, but Raj Kiran is nimble enough to halt the fall, which saves him from a few broken teeth.
Navya is looking for sunglasses, the ones she keeps in every room she visits. When she finally locates them, she brings down a pile of books with them.
‘We are never short of entertainment when the family visits!’ I say, making my way across the room.
I help Navya sort the pile of books that lands on her glasses, dislodging the temple on the right side. She picks up the broken spectacles and balances them on one side.
‘Why are you so snarky?’ she asks.
I shrug. ‘Always happy to help, Sister!’
‘I wanted to go to Aaditha’s store for coffee this morning, but I got up really late,’ Navya grumbles.
‘There’s a big difference in the coffee from our machine and the one in Aaditha’s store,’ Mother chimes in.
‘Just as well that the store is just outside the gates,’ Father says, smiling at his wife.
Mother launches into an offensive on Father’s observation. She chides him for not being on social media enough to even know what is being said about their to-be daughter-in-law.
‘There’s talk,’ she says, raising the timbre of her voice, ‘that Ranibagh is financing her coffee shop.’
‘It’s very unfair,’ she continues, stressing on the adverb.
‘What Aaditha has done with this brand is just brilliant,’ Navya says before she turns on me. ‘Why are you just sitting there idly, brother? Why are you not defending Aaditha in the press? Such vile stuff is being said about her on social media.’
Father puts down his drink and repeats the three words that he has told us at different times in our lives. ‘Ranibagh doesn’t explain.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Navya says, ‘we know that, but this is not about Ranibagh.’
Navya turns to me and raises a brow. ‘Have you had a fight with Aaditha, Brother?’
‘She has a great business brain,’ I say, feeling compelled to speak.
I reach for my phone, which is on silent, wondering if Aaditha called me back.
There’s no call or message, but I have a notification from an hour ago that says Aaditha’s phone is available to take calls. She has obviously been notified, too.
Navya is staring at me.
‘We need to start planning for the wedding,’ Mother says.
‘Everything has to be perfect – not just big and beautiful but completely meaningful. This is a north-meets-south wedding, so everything has to come together nicely. All the ceremonies must showcase our great traditions, but we must also make the Gowdas feel at home and highlight all their customs.’
Father nods before turning to his daughter, who is back to adjusting her broken glasses.
‘We’re not having two weddings in December,’ she says, looking at Father. ‘Nalin and I will wait until next March, before the start of the Premier League. Let’s give Aaditha and Brother a moment to enjoy their wedding.’
I can barely think, never mind feel. My insides are ravaged by a fire that is burning everything in its wake.