Chapter 24 Vedveer - Where the Heart Is!
Vedveer
Where the Heart Is!
A COFFEE Before Books it has nothing to do with what I have just read or the session ahead. My thoughts are flirting with the image of Aaditha, dressed in a shade of white, floating around these grounds, coffee cup in hand.
‘Did Aaditha reply?’ Navya asks as the wheels come to a halt at the entrance of the hotel.
I had sent Aaditha an invite to our session the moment I confirmed.
‘No,’ I answer.
A huge crowd mills around the lobby.
‘She’ll be here,’ Navya says. ‘She may not give you the time of day, Brother, but she’ll be here. She hasn’t broken it off, remember.’
I nod, more to myself, as the car door opens. Knowing Aaditha, she may have tried to break it off; her silence is eloquent.
Anna Maria Menon, the festival director, meets us at the lobby. She’s the picture of poise, trying to steer us into the VIP room, but the gathered bodies aren’t in the mood to give.
Anna Maria talks as loudly as she can, urging people to clear the passage, but her voice doesn’t carry. A younger woman grabs the imaginary baton from Anna, tapping her shoulder. She uses the boom in her voice to maximum effect.
‘The prince and princess will be available for a limited period after the session, but now, you have to let them pass.’
Her voice forces the pack to part.
In the relative quiet of the air-conditioned lounge, the festival director tells us we cut our arrival so fine it almost gave her a heart attack.
‘Too close for comfort,’ she says. Her smile matches the crispness of her starched sari. She looks as far from a cardiac episode as the clouds are from breaking.
In the interval, my eyes dart around the room. Aaditha is somewhere around. Her perfume is in the air.
‘I know,’ Anna Maria says, ‘but I can’t help worrying. What if…’
‘What if the cattle stretch themselves across the road and aren’t in the mood to move?’ Navya says with a laugh before enveloping Anna Maria in a hug. I had no idea they knew each other.
Navya’s eyes shift to the room.
‘Don’t worry, Robert will be here any moment,’ she says.
My eyes finally find Aaditha; she’s in blue jeans and a Breton stripe shirt. She’s deep in conversation with two people, a man and a woman. I wonder if she knows I’m in the room. She probably does, but is ignoring me.
I turn in the direction of my strong-willed fiancée.
‘Those are two top literary agents; they have been hovering around Aaditha all evening. They’re trying to get a book out of her,’ Anna Maria says.
I feel my chest swell.
‘Let them talk,’ she adds. Her hand is on the sleeve of my blazer. ‘Besides, you will have time with your fiancée after your session. I’m assuming you are staying on here in Bengaluru, Your Highness.’
I nod, but I can’t stop my feet from moving towards Aaditha. ‘I’m allowed a quick hello,’ I tell Anna Maria, who is all smiles.
Aaditha turns to face me just as I close in on her. Her smile is tight, but I can see that she’s breathing hard. Her hair is swept over her shoulder, and her eyes are heavily kohled. Her hand is opening and closing. I take it in mine and drop a kiss on her lips.
The eyes of the room are on us; I can tell by the way the place has quietened.
‘Please make time for me later in the evening?’ I’m not asking. I’m pleading.
Now that I am close enough, I can see that her eyes are fatigued.
‘Don’t you have a session just now, Your Highness?’ she asks, exhaling. I leave her hand reluctantly and walk back to Anna Maria.
‘Coffee, tea or water before you get on stage?’ she asks.
I would’ve liked a cup of the expertly harvested Oolong, not any tea, so I let it drop.
We walk on stage at exactly 6 p.m. Anna Maria’s show runs like clockwork.
It is an impressive turnout – rows and rows of people under a massive canopy. My eyes find Aaditha; she’s seated in the first row. She’s wearing her emerald ring. I want to whistle.
The session is off to a strong start. Navya, the more interesting by far of the Ranibagh siblings, is in her element today.
‘Being royal isn’t sipping coffee under marble arches,’ she says, looking at Aaditha. ‘It wouldn’t hurt my sister’s pockets, though, but in all seriousness, it’s about dodging family politics, committee meetings and your mother’s opinion on your Instagram posts.’
I chuckle. Aaditha is smiling, looking at Navya. There’s a movement to Aaditha’s right. Mr Tattooed Arm, helmet in hand, is actually nudging her.
She says he is someone dear to her, but who is he? I’m not jealous; I’m curious.
Kaminski asks about my Green Dream – the hours I spend on the land, what time I go out each morning and what time I return and all that happens in between. I detail my day, speaking extensively on organic farming and boring everyone, particularly Aaditha.
Thankfully for me and the audience, Navya’s soon-to-be-launched fashion label, RaniLine, takes over the rest of the interaction.
The session then opens for questions from the audience – something about what it means to be born into a legacy – then one about palaces – if living in one feels surreal or suffocating.
A student from a law school asks if we feel obligated to be ‘inspiring’.
And where does royalty stand in the age of democracy?
All good questions. We take turns answering, until I’m tossed one that takes me by surprise in gentle Bengaluru.
‘Your Highness, have you and Miss Aaditha Prathap signed a prenup?’
I take a second to react. My gaze shifts to Aaditha, who turns away the moment her eyes meet mine.
‘Considering that she’s the one who is moving into a relic of a residence a couple of centuries old, with an ancestral sword collection no one’s allowed to touch, I’m fairly certain she’s making the bigger gamble,’ I say, my eyes on Aaditha.
She’s smiling; the cameras are on her.
‘Jokes aside, we both believe in being open and honest. Whatever we sign, or don’t sign, is immaterial because of the mutual trust. What is important for both of us is how we protect and honour each other’s journeys.’
‘Will Aaditha Prathap change her name to Rathore after marriage, Your Highness?’
Aaditha flinches. Navya’s face is inscrutable. The question has upset both women.
‘I find questions of this nature offensive, more so when they are posed to the man because it is not his decision,’ I say. I’m irked, and I don’t hide it. ‘If Aaditha wants to change her name or initials, it’s her choice. I’m not the one who christened her, and I have no plans to rechristen her.’
There’s a round of cheers. Someone shouts, ‘Well said.’
Sometimes, applause is necessary, even if it is for calling out basic societal issues. The indiscretions need to be highlighted, over and over again.
The moment Navya and I get off the stage, we are surrounded by people requesting photos and autographs. I have an eye on Aaditha.
A thousand clicks later, I realize I have lost her.
Ratan extricates me from the crowd and nudges me along in the direction of a waiting vehicle at the rear entrance of the hotel.
‘Vedveer.’ I hear my name being called. I almost turn because of the familiarity of the address. It’s probably another Vedveer, I decide, and keep going.
‘Vedveer.’ It’s an American accent. It is Bengaluru, where Shanky, my bud from school, lives. I turn.
A tall man, almost my height and definitely not Shanky, is approaching us even as Ratan puts out his hand to keep him at bay.
‘Do I know you?’ I ask. He looks familiar; I have seen him somewhere.
‘I’m Arjun,’ he says, putting out his hand. ‘You don’t know me, but we have a common friend, Aaditha.’
I nod. This is the man in the photographs. The one who sent her roses, the one she emptied a mug of coffee on.
‘Aaditha and I go back a long time. We are friends… more than friends, actually,’ he says.
The smile is sly.
‘Nice meeting you, Arjun,’ I say, without shaking his hand, allowing security to move me along.
The moment I spot Prathap Gowda’s silver-grey Mercedes, I take off my blazer, loosen my tie and roll up my sleeves. I tell Ratan, ‘I’m driving.’
I make my way through Aaditha’s office quietly, unlike the last time I was here.
I approach the store manager. He’s the one I asked to keep the change two months ago. He was in Jaipur, too, but I have forgotten his name. His name badge says ‘Manager’.
‘I would like to meet Aaditha. Is she here?’ I ask.