Dear Karishma,

It is time to make a confession. I write under a pseudonym. This isn’t my real name and apart from a few people in the publishing house, nobody knows my real identity. So, I can’t officially attend your launch function. But I assure you that I will be there in the audience. I’m sure that the publishers will bring some celebrity to the function and attract good crowd.

As the launch date nears, I suspect that you might be nervous. Don’t be. You have done a great job with the book and I’m sure it will be well-received.

All the best
Manthan

—

She scanned the audience as she fought her trepidations. Her brother was excited. Her mother couldn’t come because her father couldn’t be left alone at home. Among the other unfamiliar faces, who was he? People continued to trickle in even after the programme started. A representative from the publishing house introduced people on stage. They had indeed gotten couple of celebrity writers for the launch and it had ensured some audience. This was followed by the formal unveiling of the book. People talked about the book and she politely smiled, laughed or added a comment here and there. She read out a chapter from the novel. Her job as a teacher for almost a year now had improved her oratory skills and the reading was well-received. This was followed by a journalist discussing the finer points of the book with her.

“Some people might say that the character of Dadaji was not quite realistic,” the journalist said, “His actions defy any of the usual motivations people have.”

“Trust me, when they say that reality is stranger than fiction, they are right. The story is not autobiographical, nor is it real. But all the characters, their actions, their motivations are inspired by real life. If you really want to find a rhyme or reason to his behaviour, you can look at a little anecdote from his childhood which is mentioned at another place in the book. I won’t tell you what that is right now,” she chuckled, “But I hope that when people sitting here go back home and read the book, they notice it.”

“So, reality is stranger than fiction, according to you?”

“Absolutely. It is in fiction that we try to find rhyme and reason. Reality just is. It doesn’t obey our logic.” At that moment, her eyes fell on him. Wearing casuals, an amused glint in his eyes, his attention was fixed on her. They eyes met and she needed no rhyme or reason to tell her that it was him.

It took some effort to concentrate on the discussion after that. But she managed. Many in the audience were sufficiently impressed to want a signed copy of the book. When she managed to get done with all the formalities, she rushed out to look for him. But he was gone!

—

“Bittu. I need his number.”

“You know, I can’t do that, K.”

“You call him and tell him that I want to meet. Just once. Not for work.”

“That’s not right… Clients call us. We don’t…”

“You had broken your rule once when he had wanted to meet me on an off day, hadn’t you, Bittu? Break the rule once more!”

“Fine. Let me see what I can do.”

—

“Karishma. It’s so good to see you,” Siddhartha beamed at her. He was really happy.

“I have called you today,” She looked at the envelope he was discreetly offering her and chuckled, “I should be paying you. Unfortunately I can’t afford your time.”

He also laughed and stuffed the envelope back in his pocket.

“Aren’t you going to ask why I called you?” she said after a pause.

“Why?”

“I figured that you were not interested in a signed copy of my book. But I could use one of yours,” she held out a book for him. It was the same one he had found her reading in Dalhousie. Her favourite author’s!

He smiled, “So, you figured it out?”

“I have been rather thick all these days. But yes. Finally. I did.”

“Then you could just have written to me. Why did you take Bittu’s help?”

“Because there was a small probability that I had gotten it wrong. And if I had, I would rather be proven wrong before you than a celebrity author I had never met.”

Siddhartha looked at her for a moment, an amused smile playing on his lip. Then he motioned her to sit. “Come,” he said, “We will do the signing later.” He took the book from her and kept it on a table. Then he showed her a copy of her book that was also lying there. “I want my copy signed too.”

She sat on the sofa and he joined her.

“So, tell me. How have you been, Karishma?”

“You should tell me. Things have been difficult for you, haven’t they?”

He sighed and nodded, “Yes. Very difficult.”

“So? Was it indeed drug overdose?”

“Yes.”

“I am sorry.”

“I must have done something wrong with relationships…”

“You are being too hard on yourself.”

“Not really. You probably do not know, but this was my second failed marriage.”

“Still…” She grew thoughtful, stared at her hands in her lap and did not speak further.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she looked up and smiled at him.

“Before I forget, keep this card with you. Suhas is a close friend of mine. Runs a small advertising firm and is always on lookout for creative people – for copywriting. If you want to change your job to a better-paying one, give him a call and give my reference.”

She looked hesitant, “You’ve already paid for publishing my book, I think. Will you be indirectly paying my salary here too?”

Siddhartha frowned, “Who told you that I paid for your book?”

“Nobody. But a new, unknown writer doesn’t get this VIP treatment just like that.”

“I have helped their business through many rough patches. They owe me that much. And if I did make your book happen, it was because I thought it was good and should be published. I am recommending you this job only because I think it will suit you,” he sounded annoyed.

“Please. Don’t get mad. I… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s all right. I am just stressed out. I am very irritable these days.”

She nodded and took the card from him. “You have been through hell, Mr. Sen. But you did not abandon me. If I am not thanking you for it, it is because I don’t know how to. If I could ever do something for you…”

“You have done that already, Karishma. You have inspired me. I think… I am going to write again.”

—

To be continued