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  I check my phone again. Its 8.17 a.m. I have the whole day in front of me but no money or boyfriend to spend it with. It’s really not fair.

  When I had a regular job, I used to envy people with their own start-ups. I thought entrepreneurs could have breakfast in bed and reach office post lunch or work the mornings and go shopping after lunch. They had to report to no one. I learnt the hard way that running your own business is not easy. You have to go around begging for work. Plus, you get no salary. You can’t enjoy no-work days. And, there isn’t any time for a relationship. Or sex for that matter. I have been on off-sex diet for the past ten months, the longest I have stuck to any kind of diet ever. Obviously, this isn’t deliberate. It’s just that in the beginning the start-up needed me all the time, leaving little time for any other sustained relationship. Then came the babies, my three hires, and I got even more busy. At this rate I am going to be heading for a year-without-sex record. Just between you and me—I don’t care for the record. So, if you know of a really nice guy, like the kind who understands Venusian silence and brings presents, please give him my number. It’s TYING A KNOT (8946425668).

  ‘I knew of one such guy, who understood your silence. He even gifted you those beautiful, butterfly earrings,’ a dim voice from the deep recesses of my mind speaks up. ‘You left him and you even left behind those earrings!’

  I am surprised to hear this voice. I haven’t heard it in a while. It must be the lack of Vitamin S. Everyone knows lack of sex can affect your mental health. I need to fix this deficiency soon. How about now? I am free. It might actually be the most productive use of my time.

  As my mind whirrs, Neeta walks out from the bathroom wiping her face with a tissue. Her hair is a mess, her eyes are puffed up and she looks tired. Wait, she is wearing the same kurti she wore yesterday and it is rather crumpled.

  ‘Did you do an all-nighter?’ I ask, surprised. It’s not like we are loaded with work.

  ‘Well, I stayed back last night to finish an article for my food blog. Then I met this hot guy from Sydney who asked me out on an online date. After that I had to play Ticket to Ride to maintain my daily score. But it wasn’t a busy night. I actually slept for four hours,’ she replies, while ordering breakfast from one of the many food apps on her phone.

  Her name is Neeta Jain, but NetGen suits her better. She is one of my employees—our food expert, menu designer and digital marketing in-charge.

  Minutes later, during which I receive, read and delete twenty-one online shopping offers, NetGen comes back with fresh, delicious bagels and cream cheese. She opens the pack and starts eating. I pick a multi-grain bagel and break a piece. The inside pulls apart gently. As I relish the first bite, doughy, yeasty, and not too sweet, NetGen tells me about a wedding photography start-up called KISS featured by Yourstory.com.

  ‘We should also get featured by Yourstory,’ she suggests and then takes another bite of her bagel, scattering black sesame seeds all around her keyboard.

  ‘Aren’t we too small to be featured on Yourstory?’ I ask, my confidence a bit dented by all the grim forecast.

  ‘You have the advantage of being a woman. The online world loves young women entrepreneurs,’ NetGen informs me, quite passionately. I can see admiration and ambition sparkling in her young eyes, behind her specs. Having done a pass-course B.Com from an unknown college and being a twenty-year-old, she is happy to have a job that pays her to surf and use her passion for food.

  I feel good that women are finally getting their well-deserved and long-due share of glory. But, I am not sure what the story will be like. I ask her, still slightly sceptical of my own success.

  ‘It can be about the unique challenges of our business. Not many start-ups have a pandit asking for a neem ki jadi in Austria to break toran or have to import flowers, worth twenty lakhs for a wedding, only to burn them later because the Mauritius sugarcane industry can’t risk infection.’

  ‘Or have to clear an old, run-down palace in Jaisalmer and deal with snakes littering all over,’ I add, recalling another incident. Each wedding is a unique project, with its own set of challenges. That’s what I love the most about my work.

  ‘I think it will be a nice piece,’ assures NetGen. Leaving me to carry on the conversation, she turns to her laptop to start framing the email to Yourstory about our story.

  I really like her. She can’t ever be idle—definitely an asset for a start-up. Never mind that her friends are all Twitter handles or Facebook profiles. I turn to my laptop to check the link she has sent about today’s start-up which is featured. I click on it and am directed to a page titled, ‘Capture your love in a story with a KISS’.

  ‘KnotsInShotS or KISS started out three years ago from a small office in Mumbai out of passion and love.’

  Interesting name, I think.

  ‘Now they are a team of twenty-five people across three cities, including Hyderabad and Pune. They believe that photography and the Indian wedding film market, valued at over 2 billion USD has a huge potential and they have barely scratched the surface.’

  Two billion USD. Fuck me! I am sitting on a gold mine. I speak to myself, already feeling better.

  KISS has won many awards for wedding photography and cinematography. Many wedding magazines and dailies have also featured them. A huge chunk of their clientele are the NRIs.

  How come I didn’t read about them before? It would be a good thing to collaborate with them, especially on NRI projects. I can do with more money and less pandits controlling my business.

  I scroll down to see a few samples of their photography work. There is a picture of a couple amidst yellow mustard fields, Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge style. There is a photograph of another couple dancing at an Udaipur fort in black and white. The ebullience mingled with surprise on the bride’s face at having matched the dance step with the groom who is looking at her with an I-told-you-I-am-good expression, is simply superb. The photographer has managed to capture the hints of emotions expressed at the right moments.

  Looking at the photograph, my heart reminds me of someone I knew a long time ago. Someone who brought out intimate expressions just like this. I can’t believe this is the second time today my heart has reminded me of the same person.

  ‘Hello? Exercise some restraint! We are in the middle of an end-of-the-road crisis here,’ my mind warns me.

  ‘But what if it is him?’ My heart begins to thump wildly at the possibility.

  ‘Don’t be stupid,’ my brain chides. ‘He used to sell soaps, remember.’

  ‘But he did shoot a wedding,’ my heart persists.

  ‘Yes, but that was for his ex-girlfriend. Besides, he wanted to become a writer not a photographer.’

  I look at the headline staring at me. KISS.

  ‘It’s definitely him,’ my heart declares. ‘This is exactly the kind of flirtatious name he would use for his business.’

  ‘I think you are overreacting. Just scroll down and see. In any case, he can’t jump out of a webpage.’

  ‘But, I am really scared of a face-off with him,’ my heart whimpers, ‘…even if it is only digital.’

  I feel goosebumps on my skin. Hands shaking, I press the down arrow to read further about the founders and am immensely relieved to see the picture of a non- impressive guy named Abhinav Rathore, in a grey sweatshirt.

  Abhinav left his well-paying, multi-national job to follow his passion for photography. He describes how his engineering and MBA degrees had shackled him to a safe job. Then, one day he met his friend Sam, from an engineering college. Sam had already left his job and had been working on a novel for two years without success. Sam seemed to have lost his inspiration. Sam didn’t comment when we asked him if it was a girl. He was looking to do something else. Their shared passion for photography and their need to do something for themselves led to KISS.

  The co-founder, Samir Singhal, says, ‘There were some dark clouds in my past, but every cloud does have a silver lining. Mine did too. I decided to p
ursue photography and it seems to have worked for me. Three years since the evening I met Abhinav, I haven’t regretted a single KISS. Maybe it was all meant to be.’

  No fucking way. Did my thoughts conjure him up on my laptop? Because it is him. The same treat-sex-as-coffee Samir. The Senorita Samir. The wild-rose fragrance Samir. Haven’t regretted a single kiss, he says. Bloody must be kissing each bride during their shoots. My mind knows he’s talking about KnotsInShotS and not real kisses, but I am not thinking coherently and my heart is freely blabbering.

  I stare at Samir’s picture in the article. He looks just the same. A fucking handsome opportunist. Dark clouds in my past! I wonder if he is referring to me as a dark cloud who led him astray from his story writing. I am happy if I made it difficult for him. If I was dark clouds for him, he had been an ill wind for me.

  For five years, I had kept him away. I had his number but didn’t call him. Neither had he. I had not googled him or checked his Facebook page. Now suddenly, my heart is humming, ‘Behati hawa sa tha woh, udati patang sa tha woh, kahaan gaya use dhundon’.

  I am finding it hard to control the tide of repressed feelings—hurt, anger, frustration, desire and, I have to admit, a deep longing to be loved. That too at a time when my business is in the doldrums. I wouldn’t be surprised if Murphy has a role to play here.

  A New Boyfriend

  There isn’t a problem that retail therapy, junk food, and a dose of laughter can’t fix. Unable to deal with the sudden resurgence of feelings for Samir and impending financial doom, I leave the office immediately and go to the nearest mall. It is too early for any shops to be open, so I buy the last row ticket of the latest blockbuster and purchase an extra-large tub of butter popcorn. Two hours later, having laughed my guts out, I leave the mall feeling much lighter. I have read online that laughing intensely for an hour can actually burn as many calories as lifting weights for thirty minutes. Awesome, isn’t it? Who knew that reading all those funny, forwarded messages on WhatsApp can help you slim down?

  Happy with my mini-aerobic workout, I walk out of the cinema hall into the mall and find viciously tempting sale signs all around. I might be happy, but I still don’t have money. I check my phone to see if any new business leads have come in, so I can consider buying a few things. I scroll through each one of the hundred messages patiently. I finally find one useful message from Mansi apologizing for having cut me off earlier. I immediately message back saying she can compensate by passing on a lead and going out pubbing with me.

  ‘Pubbing? Isn’t that a big no, given your financial crisis?’ Mansi messages back.

  Oopsie! She is right. I mean, even spending on movie is a BIG NO. While I am justifying my unwarranted expenses to myself, Mansi texts, ‘Let me treat you. In mood to celebrate. Can’t go pubbing. Let’s watch Tanu Weds Manu Returns tomorrow in the afternoon.’

  Shucks! I can’t tell Mansi that I have just watched Tanu Weds Manu Returns. She and I had planned to watch it together over the weekend. I know she will understand my dire circumstances, but I can’t give her the entire context over the phone—without which she will not see my point. And, I desperately want someone to see my point—to understand my need to prove myself, my need for sex, and the strange stirrings in my heart at the mere sight of Samir in the virtual, online world. I can think of lots of friends to go to pubs, movies and shopping with, but not many with whom I can share the secrets that even I am afraid to face. I wish my childhood friend Anusha was here right now. She would have listened to me without passing any judgement. I really miss her. If you have ever lost a bff, you will know that losing a friend is like losing an earring. You can never find a substitute. I know I have Mansi and I am thankful to God for her friendship. But she is older and she is very anti-men. Even cute, sweet men. Even wild-rose-fragrant men. She always manages to find flaws in the men I try to date. And she is right every single time. But being right is not always fun. Like now, it’s often lonely. Anyway, since Anusha is still missing, it’s only Mansi whom I have. She is also so busy these days with work and her damn boyfriend that I need to book a date to be able to talk with her. I settle for a tea date, in our humble drawing room, for tomorrow evening. Really, what has this world come to?

  Keeping my head down, so that I don’t end up stretching my already-bursting-at-the-seams credit card balance, I step out. The earthy smell of raindrops mixed with Gurgaon’s construction dirt welcomes me. The air seems fresher, less smoky and clearer, so I decide to walk back and ignore the honking auto-wallahs’ shouts, ‘Madum, madum, cum hare, pleeeze’.

  Playing hopscotch on the side-curb, to avoid stepping onto dog poop, I remember how Mansi and I had gotten close five years ago after the disastrous wedding in Goa. I recall, how I had reached the airport extremely late and completely heartbroken. My team members had kept the plane waiting for me. The moment I stepped in, Sarika had given me a stern look and started muttering about how the new generation has no sense of time or respect for processes. I, of course, was clueless that she was angry because it had started raining the night before and a pit viper had crawled up a bamboo-pole of the mandap. Can you imagine a real venomous viper in a mandap? I could have been killed while digging those poles, but Sarika didn’t care a damn about me. The team had called me many times during the night, as they had needed my help to shift the mandap for the pheras from the beach side. But, I had been lost in a passionate cyclone of cloud and wind spinning together. Oddly, Samir had turned out to be the real viper in my bosom. I remember rivulets of tears flowing down my eyes, in the flight, in front of all the passengers. Sarika had been embarrassed, but it was Mansi who had stood up for me and consoled me. She had helped me get over Samir. Since then our friendship had grown like Jack’s giant Beanstalk. We share an apartment now.

  I barely enter the office, after having absconded for over four hours and feeling guilty about it, when my phone rings. It’s Mom. Well, I am so not in the mood to listen to her now, but I know if I ignore her too much, she will fly down tomorrow to check on me. Don’t get me wrong. I love my mom and she is very loving too, but sometimes she can be a little clingy. And at this moment, I need my space.

  ‘Have you found a boyfriend?’ Mom asks the moment I say hello.

  ‘Ma, ladke ped pe nahin lagte,’ I whisper, turning to face the window, looking out at the lovely trees in the backyard. I don’t want anyone in the office to hear this conversation.

  ‘You don’t worry about that, beta. Ladka main dating app pe select kardoongi.’

  My mom, I tell you. She has become super savvy since Didi gifted her an iPad on her sixtieth birthday.

  ‘You have to start somewhere, beta. If you don’t start a chapter, how will the story get written?’ She insists, while I say nothing.

  Mom’s remark reminds me of Samir’s Yourstory title, ‘Capture your love in a story with KISS’. For a moment, I feel tempted to contact Samir and go on a date with him. Purely for my mother’s mental peace. I quickly drop the idea before it can gather support from my heart and do an illegal dharna in my mind.

  ‘Do you know how old you are?’

  ‘Yes Ma, I know I am twenty-seven,’ I say in a hushed tone, as I remove my strappy, khaki wedges and stretch my toes under the desk. Ahh!

  ‘When I was your age, I was already a mother of a five-year-old. Even Tanu was on her way to motherhood by this age. I understand that you are from a different generation. I am not even asking you to get married or to have kids. Par ek boyfriend to health ke liye zaroori hota hai na, beta,’ she says very softly, sensibly and lovingly.

  You can’t argue with this one. I know that I can do with some love, pampering, and gifts. I would love to have a boyfriend. It’s the boyfriend without love that I dislike. Although, someone once told me that love is rather over-rated.

  ‘Why do you hate this someone so much?’ My heart argues. ‘It’s possible that he has changed his dheela-character, especially now that he is making money from capturing love stories. I think yo
u should meet and check him out.’

  ‘Hello, you love-struck girl! He can also contact you. After all, he knows he was wrong. No more thinking about this someone,’ my mind rebukes my fickle heart sternly.

  ‘Beta, your Papa is also not keeping well,’ Ma says in a soft, concerned voice.

  Now, this is not fair. First, it was Di and now Ma. Both are telling me that Papa is not well because of me. This is so not done. I am already in so much tension.

  ‘Ma, what exactly did Chugh uncle say to scare you all?’ I ask getting annoyed.

  ‘Kuch nahin…bas some danger is there…so Chugh ji said ki ek ladke ke saath sambhog will solve bitiya’s problems.’

  I am so tense that I can cry at the slightest provocation, but I burst out laughing at this. Chugh uncle has, perhaps, told my Dad that marriage will keep me out of danger, but Ma has literally translated it and is urging me to go on a date, so that I will end up having sambhog (sex) with a boy, which will keep me safe. For all you know, the prediction might even be fucking right. I do need a marriage, although not mine, to get through my current financial crisis.

  ‘Chal beta, time for me to get ready for my tea date. Your Papa must be coming back from office soon,’ I hear my mom say.

  It’s so sweet how she changes her saree every day, puts on fresh bindi, and excitedly waits to have a tea date with my dad, sharp at 4 p.m. My mom is as romantic as I am.

  ‘Okay Ma. Love you. Bye,’ I say after assuring her that I will try to find a guy soon. Anyway, I need some Vitamin S to keep my sanity.