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Few Hours Later
Vishnu and I enter the home of Asha Devi, an MLA and a prominent figure in the UBP party. As soon as we enter, we are greeted with the same air of controlled chaos that is the highlight of the Walia House too. A constant stream of staff members and aides scurry about, attending to various tasks and responsibilities. The sound of ringing phones and hushed conversations echoes through the corridors, a reminder of the political discussions taking place behind closed doors. These glimpses of political machinery at work are similar to everyday business at my home. Politicians and party members come and go, engaging in strategic conversations, exchanging ideas and planning their next moves.
As I enter the hall, my eyes are drawn to the intricate decorations that adorn the walls. They proudly depict the achievements and accolades of Asha Devi’s political career. Framed photographs of her with influential leaders and dignitaries indicate her vast network of connections. But what immediately catches my attention is a photograph of my mother and Asha Devi at the centre of the wall. The happiness on their faces and the shared laughter between the two women are a testament to their close relationship in the past. I can’t help but run to the wall and lovingly touch the photograph, finding solace in the feeling that I’m somehow touching my mother again.
“You look exactly like Meera,” a voice from behind startles me.
With tears in my eyes, I turn around and see the compassionate gaze of Asha Devi. I quickly wipe away my tears and join my palms to greet her.
“Namaste (Hello), I am Meher.”
“Daughters greet with a hug, not so formally, by joining the palms,” she teases and extends her arms, giving me a hint of what she means.
Without hesitation, I embrace her, feeling the warmth of a motherly hug. I pull away first.
“That’s Vishnu, my dad’s trusted bodyguard,” I introduce her to Vishnu, who nods in acknowledgement before resuming his watchful gaze, ensuring my safety.
Asha Devi acknowledges him too before cupping my face and staring at me.
“Seeing you reminds me of Meera and myself at your age,” she adds.
“Were you best friends?” I ask, and she nods, leading me to the sofa.
“Best of the best. What do they call in your generation?” She thinks for a second. “Yeah. BFF. Best friends forever.”
I already know that. After reaching Panchgani today, Dad called me to brief me on what I needed to do when I met Asha Devi. Not everyone remembers that Asha Devi was my mother, Meera’s best friend. They had strong ties and were more like siblings. After Mom’s death, Asha Devi’s visit to our home became rare, but she was always worried for me. She once suggested to Dad that he should consider remarriage for my sake, as she didn’t want her best friend’s daughter to be raised without a mother’s love, especially since Dad was preoccupied with his political ambitions. But Dad was not ready for it. After that, they both got busy in their respective political careers. Asha Devi joined the UBP party, and Dad formed the NEP party. It wasn’t until recently that they met again due to internal disputes within her political party. She confided in Dad about her intentions to merge with another party and also told him that two-thirds of her party members were willing to follow her lead. Dad saw the opportunity here. Engaging in bribery, offering illicit financial incentives, or resorting to any means of monetary influence to sway political decisions is both illegal and unethical. And considering the existing scandals surrounding our family, there were already numerous watchful eyes on Dad and his every move. Hence, he chose not to jeopardise his reputation by treading down unethical paths. Instead, he decided to utilise the emotional bond that Asha Devi still had for my late mother, using it as a persuasive tool to convince her to support my Dad’s party, the NEP party. To achieve this, he purposely sent me to evoke that deep-rooted connection from the past.
I feel like a pawn caught in the middle of political agendas to be used for their individual benefit. But I don’t have a choice. I can’t help but feel responsible for the grief and mudslinging my father has faced because of me. And as his daughter, I have to fulfil my duty towards him and help him in any way I can. However, I am relieved that my father was against using any unethical tactics. This gives me hope that he hasn’t used any such methods throughout his long political career.
“Dad and Aksh bhai are currently in Delhi. Ever since Dad told me about you, I was eager to meet you.”
It’s not exactly a lie. I definitely wanted to meet her as soon as I knew about her deep bond with my mom. But I’m not here only for that. My main objective for being here is to persuade Asha Devi to join our party, the NEP, and support my father.
“Oh, believe me, I’ve been wanting to meet you as well,” she says with a smile. “I am sure Meera, who may be watching over us isn’t pleased that I haven’t seen you since you were four years old. But that’s solely because I was too invested in focusing on my political career. And since your father and I are from different parties, even the thought of a family meeting was daunting as it could affect our ties in our respective parties. But I’m glad we are finally coming above all this. You really are like Meera except for one thing.”
I look at her curiously to know what it is.
“Meera would never get into politics,” she reveals. “She was too naïve and innocent for a game like this. I remember when I’d shared my aspirations to become a politician, Meera was worried for me. She had a completely different mindset about politicians.”
“Different mindset?” I repeat.
“Yes. They say politics is the art of achieving the impossible. But in politics, there are no permanent friends or enemies; there are only permanent interests. And Meera was a woman who believed in nurturing relationships with love, not personal interests.”
Oh, Mom! Even though Dad had shared many stories about Mom with me over the years, listening to her best friend talk about her today made it even more special.
“So,” Asha Devi says. “This is what differentiates you from Meera.”
My heart feels heavy, and as if realising that, Asha Devi pats my cheek.
“Are you okay?” she asks. “I hope I’m not boring you.”
“No,” I smile. “And I’m fine.”
She relaxes, but her next question shocks me further.
“So, Meher? What areyoudoing? Nurturing your relationships out of love or for interests?”
