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Oh the drama! ‘And then you agreed?’ Anu nodded, her head hung low. ‘Oh,’ I said, lost in thought.
‘Amay and I had a long conversation,’ said Anu, ‘and we came to a conclusion. I told him that I love him, I love him more than I love myself, but I don’t love him more than I love Dad. I would not be able to live if something happened to Dad ... because of me…’
I stayed silent for a few minutes. ‘What did he say?’ I asked.
‘He said he understood. And no matter how much he hated my father for doing this, if he were in my place, he would do the same…’ Anu trailed off, sobbing.
I have spent years squabbling with Pitajee, throwing pillows and coffee mugs at him. There was something so mature about the Pitajee Anu was talking about that I felt my heart break. I held my head in my hands for a few minutes, the silence of the car park disrupted by a girl shrieking with delight as
she leapt into the arms of her boyfriend.
No one deserved this. No one. Not the worst people on the planet and certainly not Anu and Pitajee who could not knowingly hurt a fly.
‘Kas, Dad is not keeping well … he looks fine but his heart is not good. I can live with any man if that makes him happy. I will try to forget Amay. I … I…’
I lunged forward and wrapped my arms around Anu in a fierce hug. I have known Anu since the day I set foot in Delhi. I have seen her morph from a tomboy to a girl madly in love with my best friend. I can read her expressions like the back of my hand and what I could read now broke my heart again and again. Two years ago, when I was piecing together bits of my life after the Rajeev debacle, Anu had told me that seeing me in such a mess had made her want to cry her heart out. It was only now that I understood what she had meant by that; all I wanted to do was to cry and not stop.
Friendship. How it can double your joy and also double your misery.
‘You poor, poor thing,’ I muttered into her hair, feeling tears sting my eyes too. ‘It’s horrible, isn’t it?’
I could feel her nod her head. And my heart broke again.
‘How will you do this?’ I said, my voice cracking as I felt the desperation that Anu had been living with these past few weeks
‘I don’t know, Kasturi. I have no freaking clue,’ she said, now openly sobbing into my shoulder.
‘Shh … Anu … you will…’ I never completed the sentence. Angry, desperate tears clouded my vision and I soon found myself clinging to Anu in the deserted car park, crying my heart out for all four of us.
Love. It’s like Father Christmas. A myth.
Vijaywada & Sons, Head Office, Green Park, 20 May 2013.
It is quite ridiculous, you know, this whole thing about being a VP. At Vijaywada & Sons, it becomes even funnier. We have three offices in Delhi and each office is headed by a VP. All three offices are fairly close to each other, so we actually have a vice president – Green Park, vice president – Connaught Place, Outer Circle and vice president – Connaught Place, Inner Circle.
I know. Strange, but true. Some smart MBA grad must have come up with this nonsense.
Even though it is Saturday, I am in the office, mainly because if I had nothing to do, I would die of anxiety. So there I was, grumpy to be at work on a Saturday morning and trying helplessly to drill some sense into the brain of the vice-president-Connaught-Place-Inner-Circle, when I saw Padma walk in, her brand new red stilettos clicking on the tiled floor.
That girl had taken to fashion like a duck takes to water, I thought proudly, as with one swift movement, she took off her Gucci shades.
Oh boy!
‘Gucci-shuchchi,’ I grinned at her, when I had finished talking to vice-president-Connaught-Place-Inner-Circle and had given up all hope in mankind.
‘Kas … you look a little different today,’ she said, narrowing her eyes at me and completely ignoring my comment.
‘You look different too, Gucci-shuchchi.’
If anyone could glare, it was Padma, and glare at me she did.
‘Nothing … usual stuff.’
‘No, it’s not,’ she said, coming closer to me, pulling a chair and scrutinizing my face as if I were bacteria in a Petri dish.
I remained silent as she studied me carefully for a few minutes. ‘You are worried,’ she declared finally.
‘No … nothing,’ I said, looking at my hands. I get uncomfortable around people who can read my face and, since we became friends, Padma had become worryingly good at it.
