Let's Have Coffee Page 5
‘Last year, I met you right here on this date. I remember that day very well. Meeting you was the best thing that has happened to me. We clicked like strawberries and chocolate dip, didn’t we? I never thought that I would ever say this to anyone and that too in front of so many people. But, you always tell me to flow like a river and ignore all boundaries—so here it goes. Will you be my partner in crime on a journey full of arguments that you can never win? It will require sharing your bedroom, bathroom, sometimes a towel, and in emergencies even your toothbrush with me. And you also have to give up your single, no-strings-attached FB status.’
Ooh. It was so romantic and witty and so beautifully said. I would have said yes without thinking twice. I wait for the crowd to cheer, but everyone is quiet now. They are eagerly waiting for his answer, as he holds her hands and looks into her eyes.
‘Before I met you, I never knew how someone could spend hours buying a pair of shoes or even know that the colours on the shade card of Asian Paints actually exist. It’s been a steep, learning curve for me. I have to say you have changed since we met.’ He pauses. ‘For the better,’ he winks and continues. ‘I have changed from a late riser to a 6 a.m. alarm. Every day has been worth waking up early, just to hear your voice but…’
There is pin-drop silence. The roar of the traffic fades away.
‘…er…marriage is a huge commitment.’
She maintains a steady eye contact. He is silent now. He drops his gaze. He lets go of her hands. He is looking at his phone. Fuck! He is going to reject her in front of hundreds of strangers. I wipe the sweat off my palms on the sides of my dark, olive green, linen trousers.
‘I am willing to share my entire life and all my assets, barring my toothbrush. If that works for you, then I promise to always be the convict, even if you do the crime.’ He smiles at her.
‘How about a bold selfie on Facebook as our first crime?’
The smile couldn’t be brighter on her face.
He raises his phone, clicks a selfie while kissing her, and then posts it on FB, while a huge sigh of relief emerges from the crowd.
I realize I had been holding my breath too. Dad would have been happier, had I worried this much for my IIT exams. I shed a few tears of relief at the happy conclusion of this romantic chick flick I had co-scripted. People start to disperse. Show is over. It’s time to get back to work. I congratulate the couple, tell my team to wind up and head for a well-earned, double chocolate chip, crème Frappuccino.
Savouring every sip of my coffee, I open another button of my summer-thin, floral, chiffon shirt. I feel a pleasurable shiver as the cool air caresses my bare skin underneath. I notice the guy sitting across the table. He is blatantly staring at the hint of bare cleavage, peeking over my top shirt button. Aaarrrgh! A girl can’t even dry her sweat in public!
I turn away and bury my face in the phone, purely out of habit. Reading messages and responding to FB posts and tweets gives me a sense of accomplishment and safety. I could definitely do with more people changing their FB status from ‘Single’ to ‘Married’. I scroll down my contact list to a prospective client whose office is in Cyber Hub. I pause for a brief second as my eyes scan a defunct contact, ‘Samsung Do Not Call’. Even after all these years, my breathing stops at the mere sight of Samir Singhal’s name. I have no idea where he is or what he is doing. Is there a wine he likes? Is he still having coffee in different cups? It’s too dangerous to ponder. I quickly move down to Sandeep Rathi, who had contacted me last month to understand the expenses of a wedding consultant.
‘She called me an ignorant, workaholic idiot in front of all her friends,’ I hear Sandeep’s voice, hurt and shocked. ‘After three years of gifting her roses on every Valentine’s Day, an “I love you” card for Friendship Day, a box of Ferrero Rocher on every single going-out-anniversary and her favourite perfume for each birthday, she leaves me just because I didn’t get her a gift for just this one occasion. I told her I was very busy and she said it was fine. She didn’t care for gifts. I even asked her that if there was something she wanted, then she could send me the link and I could order it for her. What more can a man do?’
I don’t have the heart to tell his poor soul that he is indeed a dunce. How could he give her the same gifts year after year? Obviously, his fiancé doesn’t care for his gifts. She wants something special. Sandeep blabbers on, but if he doesn’t have a fiancé, he is of no use to me anymore. I just apologize for this unexpected sad demise of his engagement and disconnect.
I have nothing more to do. I could leave now, but its peak traffic hour. The sun is still blaring and no hugs and kisses are waiting at home for me. I look around. There is a bunch of people from nearby offices, either taking a break or doing business meetings. Girlfriends are catching up on last-minute gossip before heading back home. I reach out to my pacifier and find a missed call from Tanu Di. She was supposed to join me at Cyber Hub for a beer. Her treat, of course, but she cancelled because her maid wasn’t feeling well. I tell you, her priorities are really screwed. I decide to call Di.
‘Hi, Proposal Queen!’ Tanu Di sounds ebullient.
Couple of days back when I had called her, she was sounding very low and cynical. She said she was envious of her maid who had a well-defined paying job. Peculiar IITian! Although, soon if I don’t find more people willing to upgrade to a lifetime of sleepovers with one person, I might be envious of her maid’s steady job too.
‘You sound happy today?’
‘Yeah.’ she says, almost dreamily. ‘Rohan and I tried this amazing thing last night. It’s like a…’
‘Stop Di!’ I interrupt not interested in knowing the details about her sex life. I can talk sex stuff with my friends and even Di, but it becomes awkward when Rohan jijaji is involved.
‘Ok,’ she sighs. ‘So how is work? You must be very busy.’
‘Pff, not really, I could do with some more.’ I didn’t tell her I am working on exactly zero projects right now.
‘Never thought I will hear you say that, little sis,’ she chuckles.
‘I know. I am the fat, lazy bum of the family, while you are the smart, slim one.’
I think she can smell the younger-sister envy. She goes quiet. I hear the two-year-old Diya, over the phone, shouting ‘Mummaaaaa, pottee ho gayeeee.’
Ignoring Diya’s calls for mumma, which are becoming louder and more insistent by the second, she speaks, each word coming from her heart. ‘You know Meha, I truly admire your clarity on what you want and your courage to go out and get it. I am so very proud of you.’
Oh my God! Compliment coming from Tanu Di. This is BIG. I can’t bring myself to say anything but I feel a halo of happiness shining all around me.
‘By the way, I know you want to make it big on your own and I already said I am very proud of you, but let me know if you need money,’ she says, sounding worried and uncomfortable.
‘Why do you ask?’ I am quite stunned. She knows this start-up means everything to me. I grew up being compared to Di, clad in her hand-me-downs. This is the first meaningful thing I have done in my life. Why is she offering to ruin it?
‘Well…er…Chugh uncle…um…told Papa that you may be in…er…financial crisis,’ says Didi softly, knowing well how I hate this uncle.
‘That fucking Chu—always foretelling my misfortune,’ I curse under my breath. I mean, he has dictated my life more than God has. On my naming ceremony, he prophesized that water will bring me ill luck. Didi and I discovered this only after my return from the not-to-be-remembered trip to Goa. Papa went berserk when I returned from Goa. First, he hugged me like never before and then he forbade any future ocean trips for me, unless they were holy waters. I even discovered that my parents had named me Meha because clouds control water. Not that I have a problem with my name. I like it. But all my beachwear has been rotting ever since—all because of a stupid prophecy. Like I am some Harry Potter and prophecies really come true.
‘Chugh uncle also said…’
Didi is silent. I can hear the water running in background. I think she has put my phone on speaker as she washes Diya’s potty.
Moments later Di speaks, her voice accusatory. ‘Papa worries for you Meha, and it’s not good for his weak heart. Chugh uncle said…’
Irritated, I hang up before Di can finish her sentence. If I had let her complete, then things might have turned out differently. Apparently, Chugh Uncle had composed an entire verse to predict my future.
The dark sins of the seas loom,
Within the waves lies her doom,
Only the wind may change her fate,
For it can make water evaporate,
Have patience and wait,
Wind and water must mate.
Had I heard the verses and understood their meaning, I might have clicked on ‘Samsung Do Not Call’ and called Samir Singhal—the free-spirited wind, to mate with Meha—the watery clouds. But I didn’t and hence my story continues to unfold differently.
Tying a Knot
It’s only 7 a.m. and I am already counting money at the office of ‘Tying a Knot’. Counting money is part of my morning ritual. It’s the first thing I do every day on reaching office, to ensure that my shopaholic self hasn’t been squandering away all my hard-earned money on shopping or worse, a calorie-rich mixture of chocolate, milk, and sugar, which is sold under the code name ‘Frappuccino’.
Always an optimist, I quickly added the earnings from yesterday’s Cyber Hub proposal. Hmmm. The numbers are refusing to look rosy, even when I highlight them in bright pink. The uncoloured reality is that, I have very little money. I can pay office rent, salaries and other fixed expenses for a maximum of two more months. I desperately need a big, fat wedding to carry on my business. Never the one to worry about troubles, I immediately pull out the list of all the leads that had come in last month. I have leads on twenty wedding, all within a two-week period in November. But, there are only two leads in the entire twenty weeks—starting from now till November. Rather unfair, don’t you think, that just because some pandit ji has declared a few selected dates auspicious for weddings, my business should suffer? Grrr…
To be fair, pandits are not the only ones to be blamed. I mean no one in the Indian wedding industry likes summer. Not the bride who wants to dress up, nor the relatives who want to show off, least of all the gods. C’mon! Don’t tell me you thought it was a coincidence that most Indian festivals fall in the winter months! Gods take a summer break from their duties on Earth and go off to different mountain ranges.
I know all about gods because Dad and his gods have ruled my childhood, which includes the days of the week when I could wash my hair or cut my nails. But, I will not have them govern the success of my venture. ‘Tying a Knot’ has done some great weddings in last nine months, since it has started out. I am confident there is someone out there who wants to get married in the next sixty days and is looking for me. I mean looking for my company. I mean my services. Gosh, why do you guys always find double meanings into everything! Anyway, I just need to find an exception. And the beauty is that in India, even exceptions run in millions.
Recharged, I dial Amit’s number. I really need him to get his business-development sense together. The sweet, coy voice of his newlywed bride reminds me that he is on his honeymoon. Fuck! I try calling a few of my previous clients for references. I get to hear the caller tunes ranging from ‘Payoji maine ram ratan dhan payo’ to ‘Ye duniya peetal di, baby doll main sone ki’, but they all go unanswered. I guess it’s too early to call anyone up in the real world, so I go online.
I send an updated finance sheet to my accountant for review. I am hoping he can suggest me some ways to make our savings last longer. I hesitantly delete ‘Flat 50% off’ and ‘exclusive sale preview’ messages from my phone. Then, I ask my travel buddies on WhatsApp group the last day to pay for the Maldives trip. I really want to be able to make it. It’s one of the items on my bucket list. Except, I don’t have the money right now. Hopefully something will click. I check the likes on my FB page. Five more people have liked ‘Tying a Knot’ in the last two hours. I only need 30,167 more Likes to get to the 50,000 milestone. Yippee!
No one hears me, because there is no one around.
Usually, I like the quiet and peace of the office at this hour of the day. No good looking, long-haired, creative assistant to distract me. No tempting aroma of Maggi wafting from the kitchen to resist. With only the relaxing sound of birds chirping in the office backyard, I can concentrate on my work. Except, I don’t have any work today.
So, I check my mail again for any new leads that might have come in the last ten minutes. There is indeed a new mail but it’s from my accountant and the subject is ‘Bed Noose’. Eww! It sounds like a masochist sex position. He has written that my ‘bijnes’ can only last for ‘thurty-won’ days and not ‘sexty’ because I had forgotten to include his tax-filing fee, my outstanding credit-card bill and I have counted twice the income from yesterday’s proposal. He has attached the updated excel sheet, highlighting my mistakes in red. I open the excel sheet. It looks like my math exam paper covered with red marks all over. This is really bad news. And when did I shop for ₹50,000 on my credit card? I wish I had saved it for the Maldives trip. I don’t know what to do now. ‘Thurty-won’ days only to save my start-up from extinction! I can literally feel a noose strangulating my neck.
That frigging Chugh uncle. How could he have known that I will be in such a financial crisis?
I try to tell myself that thirty-one is better than thirteen, but I know that only optimism will not work. I urgently need a wedding project. I really can’t let my business fail. It’s the only thing I have ever done different from Tanu Di. It’s my identity, my baby. It means everything to me. I will do whatever it takes to save it. I click Mansi’s number from the speed dial. FYI, Mansi is my apartment mate and BFF. She is also the hottest and the best production manager I have known. Sadly, she is still working with my previous company, Dreams Wedding Planner Inc., but only until I can afford her.
‘Bachhon ke naam pe kuch de de Mansi. My bechare employees, my babies, are sitting bekaar,’ I plead, in my best filmy voice.
‘Dramebaaz, you know I will pass on any leads Sarika rejects, but she is bloody not refusing any project.’
I know that egoist Sarika, the owner of Dreams Wedding Planner Inc. She wants me to starve.
‘These days, kids think a start-up is as easy as blowing soap bubbles,’ Sarika had said dismissing me when I had submitted my resignation. ‘But bubbles burst as easily as they blow. Creativity and innovation is not enough. You need systems and processes to keep a bubble afloat.’
She never did like me. Not five years ago. Not now. I never thought I would have to live off Sarika’s leftovers, but start-ups teach you humility. I so can’t let my start-up story end with four weddings and my funeral.
‘What if you make a mistake?’ I suggest to Mansi casually. ‘Like accidentally just forward me the next lead instead of sending it to Sarika. It’s just an email after all.’
Start-ups also teach you manipulation skills.
‘Meg honey, that’s convenient for you, but not right for me.’ Mansi refuses sweetly.
‘Arey, but you don’t always have to be right!’ I insist, almost nagging.
‘Of course, I do. I am a woman.’
I don’t find Mansi’s joke funny. My usually good sense of humour has gone into hiding, like a sulky, wet cat.
‘Hey, do you want any kiddo parties? I think I can arrange for those,’ Mansi
says, with a soft, partly suppressed laugh.
‘Hello Ms. Right, I am a wedding planner not a bouncy wallah,’ I say with a hurt pride.
‘Can you wait a sec, hon,’ Mansi says, her voice drowned by the sound of engines. I can hear a chopper landing at a distance. I know Mansi is busy with the wedding of some big-shot political leader’s son, with an insane budget. Why does no one with a wedding budget the size of annual GDP of Lakshadweep, want to share his or her shaadi ka laddoo with me? At this point even the budget of a Tata Nano will do.
‘My skirt just got lifted up by the helicopter’s wind,’ Mansi says, coming back on line. I can hear a man’s teasing laughter in the background. I am about to ask her if she can at least treat me for dinner when she says, ‘Bf calling. Gotta go. Bye. See you tomorrow.’ And she disconnects the call.
I can’t believe Mansi Luthra, aka manslaughter, whose favourite pass-time is verbally slaughtering men, hung up on me for a boyfriend. It’s the same Mansi who warned me five years ago that men only need a place to have sex. Boy, had she been right! She must be serious about the guy she is dating. I mean, she even got curtains put in her bedroom window so that the neighbours won’t peep into her bedroom to get a free show. She has been telling me to get curtains too but I like the openness and the unhindered view from my huge glass window. The sprawling suburb, which is under construction, high-rise apartments in Gurgaon, cars honking on roads, a huge patch of uneven, dry land with pigs roaming around freely and rickshaw drivers bathing from an open tank. I know it’s not the Manhattan skyline, but you’ve got to agree it’s unique. Besides, I like it when my friend Surya, the glorious sun, barges unannounced into my room every morning and wakes me up. Okay! I admit that the real reason for not putting the curtains up is that I don’t have a boyfriend or the money to buy curtains. To be fair, I had chosen the material for the curtains but then I spent all the money in the Global Online Shopping Festival. Shucks! That’s the outstanding ₹50,000 on my card. At least, now I know it was well used.