Chapter 18 Aaditha - Coming Apart Beautifully #2
‘No, Vedveer,’ I finally say, my voice rising. ‘I’ll say this just once – you have got it all wrong.’
Vedveer’s shoulders straighten, and he raps his right index finger on the table. ‘As you already know, we have signed the papers for the lease. And I will say this just once. Ranibagh is mine; it’s the home of the Rathores, and that’s how it will stay.’
What lease papers? What is the man blabbering about? But I’d rather wilt in this seat than tell him I lost him at ‘signed the papers’. He didn’t even deserve my what-the-f#@k-are-you-talking-about comeback, because whatever it is he is raging on about, he has already pronounced me guilty.
‘Yes, Your Royal Highness.’ My voice is colder than the draught from the air conditioner.
‘This is only a business deal,’ he is saying. ‘We are not selling or even thinking about selling. Father and I didn’t want to waste that end of Ranibagh, which we are not using and haven’t been using for generations. We want to put it to use, and that is all this is about.’
So, put it to use or let it go to seed. Who gives a flying fig? I pick up my coffee cup and take another sip of my double-shot, bone-dry cappuccino.
His eyes are on me; they stay on the nape of my neck.
‘Is that your uniform?’ he asks, waving his hands in my direction.
I’m wearing the same co-ord set I wore the last time he was sitting where he is seated now.
‘Do you not approve of our uniforms, Your Highness?’ I ask and take another bite of the cookie. The chewing distracts me.
I return the mug to the tray when I hear a commotion outside my door. Someone is being told I have a visitor.
The door opens, and Raju Mathew is standing in that space; his heavily tattooed arm is holding his helmet like it were a handbag. ‘I want…’
Raju always puts a smile on my face. ‘I’ll speak to you later, okay?’ I say.
‘Okay! I’m waiting outside.’
Vedveer’s eyes are on Raju. ‘Who is he?’
‘Someone very dear to me!’ Someone who would never charge me with manipulation, like you are doing now.
Vedveer nods. His fingers are locked tight to keep them from fidgeting, maybe.
‘If you are done with what you came here to say, please leave,’ I say, getting on my feet.
‘This is the celebration… for the deal, Pruh-thaap!’
‘And for the record, it is not Pruh-thaap!’ Their egregious phonetics are a saga I’ll be well rid of.
Vedveer turns to the door. Just before he opens it, his eyes meet mine, and he says, ‘We are done here.’
My shoulders are square, and my back is straight. I’m stunned by the happenings of the last half hour, to say the least, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let it show.
I give him enough time to exit my space before sitting.
My head is a crush of thoughts.
I pick up my coffee mug; my hands are shaking.
His words, We are done here, are on my mind.
I woke up this morning feeling a weight inside of me. My father’s ambition put me in a difficult position. A few hours later, I am grateful for it. It has gotten me out of this shitstorm I had inadvertently found myself in.
But why had I stood there dumbstruck? Why hadn’t I said something, anything?
My pleasure!
Do me the honour of letting the parents know!
Anything.
I should’ve been the one who dropped the mic, not him.
I exhale; it is a gale.
Vedveer knew that it was his father who had approached Appa with the marriage proposal. Appa, I’m sure, hula-hooped with joy, but they made the first move. They. It was Gaurav Rathore Singh (these names, like those poorly planned three-lane highways), not Prathap Gowda, who reached out.
Then again, those questions that came to me the moment I heard of this proposal: Why me? Why us?
I am in a bit of a shock and obviously not thinking clearly, but I have a feeling that the answer to that question is a crucial piece of the puzzle. I feel the blood rush to my head. My posture slackens, and my shoulders drop.
The more tightly I clasp the handle of my coffee mug, the more my hand shakes. I put the mug on the coaster. My head is darting in ten different directions; I feel it turn. I want a bag of potato wafers or banana chips. Several bags. I want to be busy, my mouth to keep pace with my thoughts.
When we first started here, I would stash bags and bags of crisps and chips, and each time I felt my nerves acting up, I would bolt the door and stuff my face. A couple of years ago, I had forgotten to lock the door, and Mohit walked into my binge fest. That is the last time I binged in the office.
I kick off my shoes, pull my right leg up on the chair and drop my head on the headrest of my seat.
We are done here!
What the hell just happened? This time, the question echoes a pain from deep inside.
This man, this impoverished (in more ways than one) prince, who had signed some lease papers for a section of their precious palace, thinks Appa and I are trying to take over his however-many-bedrooms palace?
I have to see Appa. If I can somehow pull myself together and get off this chair my bum seems to be planted in.
Just as I dial his number, there is a knock on the door. The number of people knocking on my door in one morning! It is a slow, hesitant rap. I know the sound, but I can’t place it. I shout, ‘I’m busy!’ I don’t want to see anyone other than Appa at this moment.
The door doesn’t heed my shout; it opens, and in walks Raju. His helmet is strapped around his sleeve tattoo; he has a coffee mug in one hand and a half-eaten apple muffin on a plate in the other. I have forgotten about Raju; he had said he would be waiting outside for me.
‘I’m sorry,’ Raju says. ‘I had already opened the door when you said you were busy. I can wait outside until you are done.’
‘No, no,’ I say, waving for Raju to come in and take the chair that has just been vacated by the grasping royal.
I dial Appa’s number for the third time. Still no response. Where is he when I need him?
Raju places his coffee mug on the spare coaster and moves the teacup to the side of the table.
He then reaches for the coconut cinnamon cookie and puts it next to the apple muffin and stops to admire his art.
The savoury cookie is placed on the side table next to the empty cup and saucer.
No place on Raju Mathew’s plate for a savoury cookie.
‘I’ve been wanting to try coconut cinnamon,’ he says, more to himself. My florid expression or heavy breathing haven’t registered on Raju, who gobbles the giant cookie in two bites. That’s how he enjoys his food.
Raju wipes his mouth and neatly folds the paper napkin before he speaks. ‘You should have seen the drama outside.’
‘Drama?’ I ask as I hit Appa’s number again. There are days when getting through to Appa is impossible, and this is proving to be one of them.
‘As soon as the prince walks out of your office, he glares at me first,’ says Raju, plumping himself up like he is a pillow while imitating the look Vedveer gave him.
Among Raju’s many skills, he is not just a good raconteur but an accurate one.
‘Mohit ran after the secretary and gave him a box. It had the rest of the teabags.’
‘What bags? Why is he giving him the tea box? It’s ours!’
‘No! The prince brought his own teabags.’ Raju is laughing hysterically now.
No wonder the tea looked so different from what we generally serve, and also his reaction… He was super pleased that we served him his tea at our café!
Vedveer’s lackey had apparently handed the box of teabags to Mohit when he was getting the tray ready.
‘I wanted to taste that tea, but Mohit gave me coffee.’
I need to learn from the staff how exactly it all played out this morning, but that will have to wait for now.
‘The best thing is that the secretary was speaking to Mohit in Hindi, but Mohit is a total boss,’ Raju says. ‘He said, “Please, sir, I’m not following what exactly you’re saying; please speak in English or Kannada.”’
Good on him!
I’m on my feet. I have to see Appa. I need to figure out what exactly Vedveer is talking about. I look at my watch. If we leave now, my driver could beat the rush hour traffic. I could, maybe, catch Appa before the session starts.
I decide to drive. It will be better for my nerves; negotiating Bengaluru traffic actually calms me down.
I call our driver, Shashi, and ask him to bring the car to the rear entrance of Kempe Crown.
Raju and his helmet follow me into the car. ‘You could’ve left your helmet in my office; it would’ve been safe,’ I tell Raju.
He shrugs and places his Steelbird graffiti-adorned helmet on his lap. His baby. Would he love anything more? I wonder.
I check my phone. I have dialled Appa a dozen times. Shashi has adjusted the rearview mirror for me. ‘Maybe I should call Appa’s PA,’ I tell myself.
I smile at my friend, who finally sees that I’m upset.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks.
‘I will be okay,’ I say as we turn out of the hotel.
The pettiness to talk about my clothes. I can wear whatever the shit I want to wear, whenever I want to wear it, in the boardroom or on the bloody beach.
I’m hanging on to the unemotional details because I don’t want to think of things that really matter.
All the times he looked at me, like I’m the only woman in the world…
That Choti Holi evening when our eyes found each other’s over bobbing heads, in the middle of thousands of people, sounds and songs.
Later that evening, on the terrace… his lips on my lipstick.
The phone interrupts my thoughts. It is Kannan, Appa’s smooth-as-silk PA. I tell him I’m on my way; I want to see Appa immediately.
‘Boss is in his office; he’s busy, madam.’
‘I’ll be there in ten minutes, and please ensure he is free.’
I don’t wait for a response; I disconnect. Alia has taught me well.
I don’t have to wait for Kannan to show me in because Raju took care of the PA. Kannan was Raju’s first pal in Appa’s team. He is the guy Raju broke bread with every morning when he worked here.
Appa’s smile freezes when he sees me.
‘Aashi,’ he says, ‘are you okay, magale?’ His face crumples.
‘Are you planning to take over Ranibagh?’ I ask before I take a seat opposite him.
He nods instantly, and after a whole minute, he asks, ‘How do you know?’
When he shook his head, I thought he was going to tell me he had no designs on Ranibagh Palace, but Appa’s question explodes in my head like a parcel of crackers. So, this is what this morning was about?
Why has Appa put me in this position? My shoulders drop, and my throat burns.
‘I won’t go ahead with this proposal, Appa. I cannot,’ I say. I speak slowly and clearly.
I didn’t want to tell him that Vedveer had already called it off. That’s for the Rathores to handle on their end. My reason for not telling Appa that Vedveer jetted into town this morning, convinced we were plotting to take over Ranibagh… is because my ego has taken a beating.
‘It’s not a big deal; they do not need our money. At least, not the way you think they need the money,’ Appa says.
‘How do I think they need the money?’ I ask.
‘They are not in debt or anything.’
I exhale. Thank god for small mercies, not that it mattered anyway.
‘I’m out of this alliance,’ I say. ‘Heladha mathu keltha idhira?’ Are you listening to what I’m saying?
Appa is staring at me. If he is waiting for me to retract my words, he is going to be waiting for the rest of his life.
‘Chinna,’ he says, using one of my many nicknames like he is testing the keys of a piano, ‘this is not an underhand deal; this is all above board. They are looking to lease a part of Ranibagh Palace, and we made an offer.’
Lease. The word stays in my mouth like a hard-boiled sweet.
‘Why were they looking to lease?’
Appa explains that Vedveer is determined to convert their land into organic fields. That project requires heavy-duty financing, given how vast their holdings are. By leasing a section of Ranibagh, he could get on with the project without having to worry about the state of their finances.
I’m a businesswoman; I know what collateral is.
As I stretch my neck, I begin to see the situation for what it is. They want to lease a section of their palace, and we offered. It all came together with Gaurav Singh Rathore’s blessings. But why is Vedveer pointing accusatory fingers? My eyes are now on Appa, when it finally dawns on me.
‘I believe you,’ I say after a while, summoning a vacant smile. ‘I only wish you trusted me with the details. I deserve to know, especially because it’s my life that we are talking about.’
‘How did you know about the lease?’
‘I read it somewhere. Maybe on the net,’ I lie.
Appa nods. He isn’t convinced.
‘I want out of this engagement, Appa. I wanted no part in this from the beginning itself, but because of you, I went through with it. I cannot do this any more. Please be fair to me.’
Appa settles back in his seat and turns away from me.
I’m on my feet, carrying a sinking feeling in my heart. I should have been happy that Vedveer and I are over, but something stings at the back of my eyes.