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“I don’t mind that either. Please don’t speak on my behalf,” she replies, almost scolding Krish for interrupting us.
“See, the lady doesn’t mind,” I intervene coyly. “But why do you look so uncomfortable, Krish?”
“Because you get to sit in the backseat, and I don’t.” He grips the steering wheel tightly as if unable to control his jealousy.
“I never said I wanted to sit here. I was okay to drive. It was you who said you wanted to drive.”
“Well, that’s because Meher had already taken the backseat,” he argues.
“Or… was it because Trisha had already taken the front passenger seat? And you thought of impressing her with your driving skills?” I tease back.
Krish glowers at me from the rearview mirror while Trisha quickly looks outside the window to hide the blush that has tinted her cheeks. Meher notices that and nudges me to observe her reactions, which I do. Something is definitely brewing between the two, an undercurrent of something unspoken, but they seem hesitant to acknowledge or openly discuss it.
“We are approaching the venue,” Krish quickly announces, changing the subject.
I help Meher to compose herself, and she reapplies her lipstick to appear presentable. I, too, regain my bearings, determined to wear the mask of poise before those I love. The car comes to a stop, and I take a deep breath, ready to face the uncertainties that await within.
As our car pulls up, we notice that Dad’s vehicle has arrived just behind ours. The Walia family also arrives at the same time and steps out of their car. Dad and Pratap Walia are greeted by their group of socialites, and despite the evident displeasure on Pratap Walia’s face when he sees me, we all greet each other cordially. To avoid any scene in front of the other guests, Meher, despite her disagreements with her father, hugs him warmly after embracing Aksh and Vishnu. I acknowledge my brothers-in-law with a nod and lead Dad and Meher into the party hall, with the Walias following us.
The unmistakable tunes of golden hits from the retro era play softly in the background, adding a touch of classic glamour to the atmosphere. The men are dressed in dapper suits, while the women showcase the timeless elegance of vintage sarees and cocktail dresses. The air is rich with the fragrance of classic perfumes, evoking a sense of nostalgia when every gathering was an event to be remembered. Our fathers engage in lively conversations with the guests and introduce Meher and me to those who missed our wedding. I engage in idle chit-chat, but my mind is busy surveying our surroundings. It’s necessary to ensure that this place is secure. Nothing misses my eye—whether it’s the wait staff moving gracefully through the crowd, serving signature cocktails in crystal glasses, or the strategic discussions between politicians and businessmen at round tables adorned with white linens and classic centrepieces.
“CM, Sahab,” Dad warmly greets the Chief Minister, Amitji, who promptly extends his welcome to both our families.
“Namaste, Kailash. I am delighted you could attend this party with your family,” Amitji mentions, shaking hands with Dad.
“I’m not usually one for such political gatherings,” Dad agrees. “You know I don’t align with a single political party. I prefer engaging at the grassroots level.”
“I know, I know,” the CM replies. “You tend to steer clear of political party chaos but don’t shy away from challenging us politicians. You and your team of social activists are always ready to point out our mistakes and engage in a good fight.”
Dad shares a laugh with a few other guests engaged in the conversation.
“You’re right, Amitji. But today, I’m here for Pratap,” Dad replies, turning to Meher’s father. “Now that we are like one family, I couldn’t turn down the invitation and wanted to show Ayaan and my support for Pratap in his upcoming elections.”
Pratap Walia smiles back, feigning gratitude, as they maintain a façade of cordiality before the public, in line with their previous agreement since Meher and I got married.
“It’s our honour to have you both here,” the CM replies. “Actually, tonight’s party was organised in a short time frame amidst our busy schedule before the elections. Let me introduce you all to the people behind this and also the ones who have funded the maximum towards the party elections this year,” he adds, turning to his left in search of someone. Suddenly, he spots him and calls him out, “Here he is – one of the biggest diamond merchants in Cape Town, Tej Khurana.”
F*ck!! My blood ignites with fury as I turn in that direction and see him approaching us with an air of superiority, behaving as if he’s a respectable businessman and not the international mafia that he really is. None of us had imagined we would meet him here and be introduced to him as if he were part of our common social circle. The shock on everyone’s faces is palpable, but my attention remains fixated on the man I’m meeting up close for the first time – my biological father, Tej Khurana. While he briefly acknowledges the group, his gaze remains locked onto mine, intensifying our unexpected face-off. This is not how or where I had expected us to meet. With the Khuranas in such close proximity, my instincts have once again been proven right, heightening my concern for the safety of our families. Krish swiftly takes out his phone and sends a message. Backup! That’s what he’s calling for if needed.
Despite being the same age as Dad and Pratap Walia, he appears a bit younger than the two. Each step he takes towards us exudes an air of authority and control. Back at ‘The Roost’, I couldn’t see him this closely, unlike today, where he stands before me, marking the unmistakable similarities between us. His towering stature, deep-set eyes, prominent jawline and high cheekbones appear familiar—features remarkably similar to Raghav’s and mine. Even his presence is intimidating, leaving a lasting impression on everyone he encounters.
His presence injects an electric shock of fury and apprehension into the air, and I can’t help but clench my fists, ready for whatever may come.
“Pratap Walia and Kailash Shergill,” Tej Khurana states, shifting his gaze from me. “So, we meet again after three long decades. But it looks like none of you is happy to see me back.”
Before any of us can respond, the Chief Minister intervenes. “This must be a shock for them, Tej,” he says. “I know you three have a history. Your friendship turned to enmity because of a few misunderstandings.”
Pratap Walia turns toward the CM. “There are no misunderstandings,” he replies, trying to restrain his anger, mindful not to cross the line of respect with his superior. “Tej was behind the riots and chaos that occurred at the hospital that day. How can you forget that?”
“Hold your horses, Pratap,” Tej Khurana interrupts. “An allegation like that needs solid proof to prove someone guilty. But none of you managed to produce any proof against me back then, did you? As a seasoned politician and social worker, you both should be well-versed in the laws of this country, right?”
“I totally agree with Tej,” the CM nods. “Even Nilesh, who had accused Tej of the riots, is no longer here. We found no evidence and none of the rebels who were arrested that day mentioned Tej’s name. That leaves us with no choice but to believe that he is innocent. Nilesh was evidently misunderstood.”
“He definitely was,” Tej Khurana fakes a sigh, interrupting them again. “Those days, I was on good terms with Nilesh, but it’s hard to predict when someone can turn against you. One blunder and your friendship goes kaput, isn’t it, Kailash?”
Dad remains cold and silent, whereas my mind is busy assessing this conversation. Tej Khurana is setting up a narrative before the CM and the others that he was never in the wrong and that situations and a few misunderstandings had projected him negatively. And that was why his friendship with Dad and Pratap Walia had turned sour. He likes to control the authorities and always has an upper hand in everything he does. Hence, he must have funded heftily for the upcoming elections to dominate and gain political favours in the future. If only I could expose the truth to everyone else here.
Even though he’s engrossed in conversation with them, his gaze keeps drifting back to me every few seconds. Every time he does that, my body ignites with a burning sensation as I recall that he is the one responsible for many innocent deaths.
