Mish' Fiction

“Really?” her eyes brightened up on hearing that.

“Really!”

“Wow! That’s… that’s so cool.”

“Come. Let me take you out for a dinner. If you have time…”

She smiled and blushed, “I always have much more free time than you do. Please don’t embarrass me.”

“Come then,” he got up and extended a hand to her. She took it. He picked up the two books lying on the table on their way out.

—

“Where do you stay?” he asked after they came out of the restaurant and sat in his car, “I will drop you home.”

She looked at him curiously.

“What happened?” he asked.

“I have wondered… all too often… And felt guilty… About us…”

“Guilty? About what? Nothing happened between us…”

“Yes. Does that make me more honest, or less so?” she smiled sadly, “Why did I take all that money from you? Do you want me? Did you ever want me?”

He turned serious. “Yes,” he said unhesitatingly, “I want you, Karishma. I want you a lot. I have found you lovely and desirable from the first time I had laid my eyes on you.”

“Then? Why not?”

“The first time I… I felt you were inexperienced.”

“I was not inexperienced.”

“You had other… clients?”

“Not clients.”

“With you ex-for-two-years boyfriend, then? In college?”

“Yes.” And after that too, she thought to herself as she recalled that evening in Akash’ apartment, but did not say anything about that.

“That isn’t the same thing. You were into this unwillingly.”

“But I knew what I was doing. I still know what I am doing.”

“You don’t have to do it. Not for money, not for gratitude.”

“What if… I want to do it.”

He fell silent and she looked away. Had she spoiled it all? She turned back, when she felt his hands on her shoulders.

“In that case…” he mumbled as he leaned towards her and met her lips. She responded passionately.

“But you know what,” he said after they broke the kiss, “If I take you to bed with me now, Karishma, I’d officially make you a prostitute. I don’t want to do that. I won’t do that.” She looked at him in astonishment. “Besides,” he continued, “You will meet people of your age. Someone will be the one – suitable to be your life-partner. This must not come in your way then.”

He grabbed his book from the back seat, took out a pen from his pocket, scribbled something on the book before signing it and gave it to her.

“Never look back,” it read. Tears threatened to betray her and she had to blink them back.

“My turn now,” he gave her book and his pen to her.

She looked at the book blankly for a while. What was she to write for him? Finally she did and gave it back.

“To you?” he was puzzled on reading it.

“If I started writing what all you have been to me – an inspiration, a mentor, a protector, a lover, a guardian and what else not – it would become too long and would still be incomplete. And if I started writing what I feel for you – respect, love, gratitude and what else not – that would be another long list. So, I guess you aren’t one thing for me. You are just… you.”

He chuckled to conceal how overwhelmed he felt. “Keep writing,” he said, “And now, tell me where you stay. It’s getting late. I must drop you.”

—

“Will we meet again?” she asked after the car stopped in front of her house.

“No,” he replied, “It will do you no good.”

“Can I write to you?”

“I’d look forward to your letters and your stories or next novel.”

She smiled, even as sadness washed over her face.

He leaned towards her once again, cupped her face in his hands and kissed her on forehead. “Good night, Karishma.”

“Good night, Mr. Sen,” she replied and got out of the car. She looked back once, when she reached the gate of her apartment. He lifted his hand in acknowledgement and drove off.

—

“Mr. Akash, isn’t it?”

“Yes Sir. Akash Malhotra,” Akash shook hands with Siddhartha. But he was puzzled. He hadn’t met Siddhartha Sen yet. How did he know his name? This was the first time Akash was attending a party his company had thrown for courting current and future customers.

“Siddhartha Sen. Good to see you here. So, you work for WS&G?”

“Yes. Mr. Sen.”

“I can see that you are puzzled. Yes. We have met. But in slightly unusual circumstances. Can we go someplace little more private? There! Nobody is there in the balcony.”

Akash followed him looking puzzled.

“I was with Karishma that night in the hotel…”

Akash looked like all blood had been drained out of his body.

“I know you were hurt. But please hear me out…”

“Why are we talking about that here, Mr. Sen? I don’t care and as far as I am concerned, I don’t know her.”

“Pardon me for sounding patronizing, young man. But I have seen a bit more of the world than you. You can say that you don’t care. But the hurt is evident in your eyes. I’m not trying to reunite you, or anything. But I think you have a shot at feeling better if you would just listen to me.”

Akash neither objected, nor agreed with him. Seeing him silent, Siddhartha continued and explained Karishma’s situation to him. “But what you would really want to know is that she hadn’t seen anyone other than me. And we didn’t sleep together. Never.”

If Akash had any questions, he was too tongue-tied to voice them.

“I don’t think she ever realized how badly it would have affected you. She just had too much on her mind. And not that you asked her either.”

“She could have told me before jumping into…”

“I don’t know why she didn’t. But I wouldn’t rush to judge a person.”

—

Dear Karishma,

I haven’t heard from you for quite some time. Suhas tells me that you have joined his company. Congratulations.

I hope everything is going well.

Siddhartha

—

Karishma let the phone ring. It must be a pocket dial. Why would he want to talk to her? But she was forced to pick up when the phone rang a second time.

“Hello,” she spoke uncertainly.

“Hello Karishma…” Akash’ voice was as uncertain and an awkward silence prevailed for a while. He broke it, “I was wondering… if we could meet once.”

“Meet? I don’t…”

“Please Karishma. Just once.”

“Fine. When?”

—

To be continued

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

Karishma had followed the news religiously.

“The divorce proceedings were long-drawn and ugly.”

“The death happened under suspicious circumstances. Industrialist claims that he was not in town.”

“The son told the reporters that his father drove his mother to suicide.”

“Siddhartha Sen claims that he and his wife have not spoken in last two years except in the presence of their lawyers.”

“Police questions industrialist Siddhartha Sen in connection with his wife’s death.”

“Siddhartha Sen refuses to talk to media. Company’s share price plunges. Recovers later.”

Bittu sent her a message. “He has sent your payment. Collect it. Doesn’t look like he’d meet you. Want to see someone else?”

Karishma met him to collect the money and told him that she was taking a break.

“I don’t know what all he has promised you, but these love stories never end well. You’d do better to move on. Especially with all this mess.”

“He hasn’t promised me anything. I can just… afford… to take a break.”

“Your wish. But whenever you want to come back, I am there.”

“I know. Thanks Bittu.”

—

Going by the news, Siddhartha’s life had settled down at least bit. The post-mortem reports were not made public, but there were rumours that she had died of drug overdose. The son had apologized for his earlier rash remark, made in a moment of “emotional vulnerability”. There was another news of him being offered a seat on the board of one of the group companies.

Siddhartha hadn’t tried to contact her still. Even during their trip, they hadn’t exchanged the contact details. So, the only way he could get in touch was through Bittu.  But he would probably not risk that anytime soon.

Karishma felt a depressing feeling wash over her. He had promised to help her plan her future. That wasn’t going to happen now. She was on her own, again. With a little more money than earlier!

She had wanted to be a teacher since her childhood and had taken up the job as a default choice. When it didn’t turn out to be paying enough, she had panicked. Now she had some cushion. She was thinking carefully and exploring options. Probably a change in the job? Something in the corporate world?

—

Dear Karishma,

It took me some time to read the novel. I am sending the manuscript back with some comments. You don’t necessarily have to make all the changes I have suggested. But you can think them over.

Would you like to publish it?

Best wishes
Manthan

—

Her attempts at finding a better-paying job had not been fruitful till now. She didn’t know how to get a foothold. The few small companies she had been able to get a call from weren’t paying any better than her current job.

Could publishing be the answer to her troubles?

—

Dear Mr. Manthan,

I had never seriously thought about publishing. I’m not even sure how to approach publishers and not end up in the unread or rejected pile. Do you have a suggestion?

I am working on revising the manuscript and send you a revised version in few days. It will be a typed copy.

Sincerely
Karishma

—

Dear Karishma,

I apologize for the delay in replying. I was waiting for your revised manuscript so that I could show it to my publishers. You should hear from them soon.

All the best
Manthan

—

Dear Mr. Manthan,

I don’t know how to thank you enough for whatever you have told your publishers. I haven’t heard of any new, unknown author, who has been given an advance for a book deal. They also told me that they would bring the book out in three months.

I must tell you that this deal not only brings me creative satisfaction, but is also a real help monetarily. It will save me from many professional and moral compromises that would, otherwise, have been inevitable.

I send my sincere gratitude and good wishes your way. I don’t know if you need this, but you will always be in my prayers.

Sincerely
Karishma

—

Dear Karishma,

I am glad that the book deal is helpful. Keep me updated on the progress of the project. I hope the book does well and you never have to make any moral or professional compromises.

By the way, I noticed only recently that you had completed my unfinished story. You should have told me what you had done. I had assumed that you had just returned me the originals.

Best wishes
Manthan

—

Dear Mr. Manthan,

Thanks a lot for mentioning your story. I was afraid that you had taken offense at my audacity and that’s why you did not say anything about it. How did you like my version of the story’s climax?

Publishers have sent me the edited manuscript. The project is going faster than planned. My guess is that it is your doing. So, thanks a lot once again.

Sincerely
Karishma

—

Dear Karishma,

To be honest, when I first realized that you had completed my story, I was astonished at what you call your audacity. When I read what you had written, I was ambivalent. If I had completed the story, my heroine would certainly not have done what you made her do. Then I spent some time thinking over it. And I realized that what you had done was better. It makes the character much stronger and also addresses a flaw in my writing that someone had pointed out to me recently. So, it is my turn to thank you.

I am waiting for your book to hit the market as eagerly as you are.

Best wishes
Manthan

—

Dear Mr. Manthan,

Thank you for not minding my audacity. When I read the incomplete story, the possible scenarios just kept playing in my mind and I felt compelled to write a climax for it.

Are you really not writing another book?

Sincerely
Karishma

—

Dear Karishma,

Probably someday the inspiration will strike again. Right now, I am not writing anything. Did you get around to reading the book I had sent?

Best wishes
Manthan

—

Dear Mr. Manthan,

I am half-way through the book. I must thank you for recommending and sending me the book. If I could write a book like this someday, I think I will happily and contentedly retire from everything.

The publisher tells me that they will organize a high-profile launch event for my novel. You must already be aware of it, because I think this is your doing too. Would you please attend the function? It would be an honour to meet you.

Sincerely
Karishma

—

To be continued

“Oh, thank God! I hated calling you Krystal. But what… what did you say your name is?”

“Karishma Gupta,” she looked at him curiously, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” he smiled faintly, “For a moment it sounded familiar.” On seeing her look alarmed, he assured her, “Don’t worry. I don’t think we have met otherwise. Karishma. Good to call you by a real name.” He beamed.

“I hadn’t realized it would make you so happy… At least you look happy…”

“I am happy. I hate these fake names. But have to live with them sometimes…” his voice trailed unexplainably.

“You could just have asked.”

“You were very careful and did not like revealing anything about yourself. And it was a good practice. So, I didn’t want to intrude.”

She smiled guiltily, “I also lied about what I do. I am not studying. As in – I have finished my masters.”

“Hmm… And then?”

“I took up a job as a teacher.”

“Why did you lie about that?”

“It was just… I couldn’t reconcile myself to me as a teacher by the day and as an… What would someone like me be expected to teach the kids? Teaching as a job increased my conflict manifold.”

“If you had a job, and you were so conflicted about it, why then…”

“Teaching doesn’t earn me enough.” She told him about her family’s situation.

“But you are comfortable now, right?”

“Hmm,” she nodded thoughtfully, her eyes downcast, “My family is comfortable now.”

“You are not?” he understood her intent.

She started crying. He held her, but let her cry for a while. “Calm down,” he said after a while, “Why are you so agitated? Just talk to me. What do you want?”

“I just want to earn an honest living. And I want to earn enough so that my family gets what they need. I know that it takes time to grow, but that’s what I don’t have. I don’t have time. My parents are suffering now. My brother needs to study now.”

“Is that all?”

“It’s not trivial.”

“No. It’s not trivial, Karishma. But the good thing is that you know exactly what you want. Here is what we will do. Once we get back to Mumbai, we will take stock of your financial situation and your career choices and work it out. Does that sound good?”

She wiped her tears and nodded.

“That’s great. Now, will you wash you face and figure out why they haven’t brought breakfast yet? I am famished.”

She smiled slightly, “Sorry. I’m spoiling your vacation.”

“No. You are not. So long as you get them to bring the breakfast.”

The bell rung. Breakfast had come!

—

They strolled down the scenic mountain road.

“I just love mountains,” he said.

“I think I am falling in love with them too.”

“What’s his name, Karishma?”

“Whose?”

“Your boyfriend’s?”

“Ex-boyfriend. Akash.”

“Akash. Right. You should try and talk to him. He had looked genuinely hurt. He, obviously, still had feelings for you.”

“It wouldn’t work out, Mr. Sen.”

“Why not? If he knows…”

“It’s not about us. Even otherwise.”

“Why not?”

“In college, he was the rich man’s son. I was the good student. We had a shot at being equal. Now, he is still a rich man’s son. And a hot-shot investment banker. I am a nobody, struggling to make ends meet…”

“If he loves you, he would support you.”

“What if I don’t love him?”

“You don’t?”

“We had broken up because he had to go to the US. For his MBA. I lost the connect. I didn’t feel anything after he came back and we tried to hang out. Life, anyway, had felt very different in college.”

“Hmm…”

“Were you serious about it, when you said you would help me?” she looked at him with a childlike anticipation and fear.

“Why do you think I was not serious? Why would I say it otherwise?”

“I had started crying. What option did you have?” she looked away embarrassed.

He laughed, “You are one of your kind, Karishma. You analyze yourself too much, don’t you?”

“Well…”

“Good that you are into reading then. It keeps you from tearing apart yourself and other living beings. You can keep analyzing fictional characters.”

“Yeah. You said you have read all of Manthan’s books too?”

“Yeah. Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“I think I can talk about those intelligently enough.”

She laughed. “I really like how witty his writing is. And all the books he has written are different. He experiments with forms and none of his experiments disappoint.”

“You sound like a true fan.”

“I am. I am a big fan! There is only one aspect of his writing that I don’t like.”

“What?”

“His portrayal of women.”

“Really?” he was surprised, “I thought his female characters are modern and forward. Why would you have a problem with that?”

“Modern and forward is fine. But they don’t show any signs of… strength or intellect.”

“How so?”

“There is this girl, who is so antagonistic to her father, because she had caught him cheating on her mother. After growing up, she falls hard for a married man and insists that he leave his wife and daughter to be with her. And the irony of the situation is just not evident to her. It falls to the lot of that married lover to think of that.”

“Hmm…”

“Or this actress who gives up her career for marriage; then realizes that she had married the wrong man. But instead of walking out, and trying to rebuild her career, she chooses to find consolation in cheating and then acting the loving, cooperating wife. It is so difficult to garner any respect for her.”

“Interesting. Never thought of it that way.”

“Although who am I to judge their respectability?” she laughed self-deprecatingly.

Siddhartha appeared not to have heard her though. He was lost in thoughts. She noticed that, but did not immediately disturb him. They continued walking in silence.

—

“What? No… Are you sure? … Right. Yes. I am coming… I am taking the next flight back…” Siddhartha’s jaws were set tight when he got off the phone.

“What happened?” Karishma could sense the tension.

“Monika… my wife… died.”

Wife? Right! He couldn’t possibly be unmarried. But why did it not come up till now? And died?

“I… I am sorry,” the expression came to her automatically, “What happened?”

“I don’t know yet. I will have to leave immediately.”

“Yeah. I will pack up.”

“No. Don’t leave with me. Leave tomorrow as planned. I will have the arrangements made for your travel.”

She nodded. She wasn’t the only one who needed to be careful. She left his room, when he did not say anything further and started packing up.

Bittu called up soon after. The news was all over. She updated him on their plan.

“Will you be fine? You don’t really have to wait just because he says so. You are alone there.”

“I’m all right, Bittu. Don’t worry about me. If I come back early, I will have to explain at my home too.”

“All right. But call me if there is a problem.”

“Will do.”

—

To be continued

“I am planning on taking a vacation,” Siddhartha informed her, “Next week.”

“For how long?”

“Not for long. For three to four days. At most a week.”

“Hmm… If you… Basically for one week I am not going to see anyone else. You don’t need to pay.” She now had enough buffer cash to allow her a week’s break. She would have taken it voluntarily, if it weren’t him that she was to see every time. Bittu was already worried about them. “These love-stories never end well. Are you sure you want to continue seeing him?” he would ask. And she would reply with a definite ‘yes’. Their meetings were always arranged through Bittu. They hadn’t exchanged contact details.

He laughed slightly. “Yeah. We could do that. But I was wondering…”

“Yeah?”

“Would you come with me?”

“Excuse me?”

“I asked if you would come with me.”

“Wh… Where are you going?”

“I don’t know, yet. But somewhere in Himalayas, probably. Himachal? Or Darjeeling?”

She smiled nervously. “I don’t know… if that is a great idea.”

“Take your time and let me know. No obligations or compulsions. Only if you feel like.”

“Yeah.”

—

Dear Karishma,

Why should stories being optimistic be a flaw? There are enough disappointments in real life. Who can be faulted for trying to find some hope in fiction?

My publisher had coaxed me for a while to write. I had tried to humour him. Full-length novel was just not happening. So, I had started writing a short-story. But I could not finish even that. I am now humouring another person with this story; a person who I imagine to be wide-eyed, curious, optimistic, young girl. It is attached. It is the original and only copy. I don’t care for it any longer. You can keep it if you want to. Or throw it away after reading.

I am curious about your handwritten stories. Don’t people usually type them these days?

Best Wishes
Manthan

—

“Mummy. I have to go out for a week.”

“Go out?”

“Out of town?”

“What? What for?”

“It’s a study trip for students. I have to accompany them.”

“But why you? Can’t they send a male teacher?”

“There are girls too, Mummy, in the group. They need a female teacher.”

“But… Can’t you switch it with someone else?”

“Mummy. They pay extra allowance for it. We can use it.”

“As you think fit.”

—

“Sir!” Karishma went to principal’s office.

“Yes. Ms. Gupta. What’s up?”

“I need leave, Sir. For a week.”

“A week?”

“There is a family wedding, Sir, which I must not miss. Tuesday and Thursday are holidays anyway. So, it’s just three days really…”

“But so close to exams…”

“I have finished the syllabus. Someone just needs to take revision classes in my absence.”

“Fine. But you must be back before exams.”

“Yes Sir.”

—

“You do know that outside the city, I cannot assure you of anything. You safety is your responsibility,” Bittu told her.

“I know.”

“Do you want me to negotiate the money…”

“Let him pay whatever he wants. You will get your commission.”

“Keep your phone on, still. If something does happen…”

“Don’t worry.”

—

“How does Dalhousie sound?”

“Sounds very good.” Probably this is when he would finally take her to the bed. She no longer thought of it as a job she would have to do sooner or later.  She wanted it. She hadn’t known any man better than him in her life. He had been kind, caring and generous. What else does it take to win a young woman’s heart?

“Here. Call this number. It’s a hotel. Book a room for yourself. Ask for an executive suit. Book in your real name. They ask for id proofs these days.”

He was getting her a separate room?

“I will pay, of course,” he misread her frown. She just gave a small smile. Expense was not what was on her mind.

—

Dear Mr. Manthan,

I would prefer to type, but the computers are fraught with distractions. E-books, e-mail, facebook, twitter and what not. It becomes difficult to concentrate. That’s why I use good old pen and paper. I type them out later. Everything I had sent you was already typed. I had sent you the originals.

I am sending you the manuscript of my novel. I may take some time in replying, but would eagerly await your letter.

Sincerely
Karishma

—

Siddhartha sent her to the hotel’s reception desk to complete the check-in formalities for both of them. “Act like you are my assistant. If something needs my signature, bring it here.” He still didn’t know her real name, and he was keeping it that way. They had reached in the evening. They had their dinner together in his room, but later he sent her to her room. She tossed and turned in her bed for a long time. Her life needed a direction. For how long could she continue playing this cat and mouse game between her two personas? Karishma and Krystal. She had some money now. Could she not do something honest with it, which will earn her enough to take care of her family? She didn’t exactly need luxuries in life, did she?

She took out a book from her suitcase and started reading it until she drifted off to sleep.

She had just freshened up when there was a knock at her door next morning.

“Come in.”

“Good morning,” Siddhartha came in.

“Good morning, Mr. Sen.”

“Slept well?”

“Yeah. Please sit down. Shall we order breakfast?”

“You want to order here?”

“If that’s fine by you.”

“Fine,” he said and sat down sprawling on her bed. He noticed the book lying there and was startled. He waited while she ordered breakfast on phone and then asked, “You were reading this one?”

“Yeah. Re-reading actually. My favourite writer,” she also sprawled beside him.

“Manthan?”

“Yes. Why are you surprised?”

“You never mentioned that.”

“You never asked about my favourite writer.”

“Strange coincidence…” he murmured.

“Coincidence? Why? Is he your favourite too?”

“Umm… I can’t say that he is my favourite. But… let’s just say I feel a connection.”

“Feel a connection…” Karishma repeated thoughtfully.

“What?”

“I wonder what that is like. Feeling a connection. Do you feel something like that between us too?”

“Why do you ask?” he asked sincerely.

“Why do you treat me the way you do? Why do you treat me so well? As if you owe me something and are paying back for it? I am just an escort. And you haven’t…”

“I understand your curiosity and questions. But I don’t have a good answer for it. I don’t know what made me want to see you again initially. All I know today is that I care for you. May be, yes. I feel a connection.”

She silently twiddled with her fingers for a while and did not meet his eyes. Then she looked up suddenly and spoke, “My real name is Karishma. Karishma Gupta.”

—

To be continued

Dear Karishma,

I apologize for the delay in writing to you. I got busy with some unavoidable work. Coming to your question about understanding stories and writers, I did not mean that reading is pointless. In fact, by reading a story, you can understand what the writer is like. My comment was purely about trying to improve someone’s writing, and not applicable to the pleasure of reading.

Have you written more stories?

Best wishes
Manthan

—

“You are unusually quiet today,” Siddhartha said.

“Just slow. Am unable to think of things to talk about. Have you been reading this book?” she pointed to one lying on the bed.

“Yes. He is one under-appreciated writer in India today.”

She smiled.

“Did you talk to him?” he asked.

“Whom?”

“The young man who was here last time…”

Her face fell, “There is nothing to talk about.”

“He is your boyfriend?”

“Ex.”

“Now ex?”

“No. Two-years-ago-ex,” she replied with a chuckle and got up, “Do you want a head-massage? I am noticing you rub your temple too often. Looks like you have a headache.”

“I am stressed, yes. So, that would be wonderful.”

Her mind wandered off again as she gave him the massage and she came to herself only when he stopped her, held her hands and said, “You are crying.” She couldn’t respond and tears continued to flow down her cheeks. “Come here,” he made her sit of the couch and put his arms around her. “What is worrying you? Is it that guy…”

She shook her head.

“Then? Has somebody else said something?”

“It’s me who said something…. Something terrible.”

“To whom?”

“To my mother.”

“What did you say?”

She told him about her altercation with her mother, after which they hadn’t spoken to each other. “At least she held up her dignity, sold her jewelry, but didn’t do what I have done.”

The conversation she narrated confirmed to Siddhartha what he had suspected all along. That she was driven to this profession by the need to support her family.

“Probably it wouldn’t sound convincing enough coming from me, but what you told her was right,” Siddhartha spoke to her amazement, “And yet. You would feel more at peace, if you apologized, won’t you?”

“I can’t figure out right from wrong any longer.”

“Because lines are not so clear most of the time. Try and stop feeling guilty about your choices.”

She pulled herself away at that, suddenly aware that she was not with a friend, but with a client. “I will be back,” she said and went to the bathroom. When she came out after washing her face, he had switched on the TV. Uncertainly she went to sit beside him. “You should go home today,” he said.

She wondered if she should return his money, but remembering the earlier instance, decided against it.

—

Dear Karishma,

You usually reply so quickly that I am surprised to not have received any letter for you yet. Courier record shows that my last letter was delivered. I hope things are all right with you.

Meanwhile, I read a book that I think you will enjoy. The author has brought out several characters quite vividly in the book. But it should be possible to figure out which character is actually the author’s voice. I am sending a copy of the book with this letter. Let me know how you like it.

Best wishes
Manthan

—

Karishma stared at the book “God’s Little Soldier” by Kiran Nagarkar. What a coincidence that she should come across the same book twice within three days. Did that rather thick book contain answers to her questions? She thought back to the day when she had read that newspaper article. “College Girls Make Hefty Pocket Money as High-class Escorts.” She had recently started her job as a PGT teacher. The advantage of doing masters was that she was teaching students of class 8^th to 12^th earning slightly higher salary than a TGT, teaching junior classes, would have made. But it was becoming clear that her salary and all her tuitions were not going to be enough for the family needs. Medical expenses for her father were continuously rising. Full-body paralysis had confined him to bed and it had started creating other complications as well. Her mother’s health could no longer be ignored. The private school Kunal went to was as good as an expense machine. Sometimes it was a compulsory crafts class, sometimes a school trip – money was needed all the time, beyond the already hefty monthly fees. Pulling him out from there and putting him in a cheaper school was an option, but Karishma didn’t have the heart to exercise that. Savings had already been exhausted in last two years. She just had to make more money somehow!

When she read about the amount those college-girls were making for just a few hours of their time, the idea had refused to leave her head. Very cautiously, she had scoured the Internet and sent an e-mail to a girl who solicited clients through her website. She replied back advising her to go through an agent. They took some money, but helped you stay safe. After some back and forth, she had told her how to get in touch with Bittu.

And then, on the first day of her job, she had met Siddhartha Sen. What luck! But her not having had sex with him, or rather him choosing not to have sex with her, did not change the fact that she was a prostitute. Her conscience will have to be bear this burden for rest of her life. A burden made worse by the necessity of keeping it a secret.

“Didi,” Kunal peeped in, “Mummy is refusing to go to the doctor.” Their mother had an appointment with the doctor. But she was still hurt about what Karishma had said on that fateful evening; hence the refusal to go. She went to her mother and after profuse apologies and emotional persuasion managed to send her to the doctor.

—

Dear Mr. Manthan,

It was flattering, to say the least, to receive your last letter. I had received your earlier letter too. It will take me some time to read the book you have sent. I will write again once I have read it.

I was reading some of my own writings again including the ones that I had sent to you. You have refused to be critical, but don’t you think that those are a bit too optimistic? Reality of life is different.

I have also been wondering about you. I know that you have not published in years. But did you stop writing as well? You must have written something since then. Could you send a copy to me? I would love to read more from you.

I have written a novel, but some parts need tightening up.  I will send it to you, once I have re-read it myself and done some editing.

Sincerely
Karishma

—

“I have missed you, Karishma,” Akash hissed as he kissed her once again. She just smiled in return. “You haven’t, it seems,” he said with a tinge of disappointment.

Getting into bed with him was a bad idea, Karishma thought to herself. In last two years, she hadn’t had much time to think about people beyond her family. Her father had suffered a paralysis attack soon after she had started her masters. His job as an accountant with a small private firm hadn’t left them particularly well off. After paralysis he had lost even that. Kunal was too young. Karishma had considered trying to get a job right away. But finishing masters would give an advantage, they had decided. They dug into savings, and supplemented it with the tuitions she gave. But they often ran out of money for her father’s medicines. Meanwhile, her mother had started showing signs of Asthma and other breathing troubles, for which she wouldn’t even see the doctor. Where was the money? Things were better now that she had a job and…

But she had to give him a satisfactory answer right now. “It’s not that, Akash. Just that… our paths had separated. And I had things to take care of.”

“You haven’t, then!”

“Akash! We had decided…”

“Forget it. Do you want to get some dinner? We could go out, or order in.”

“No Akash. I need to be home for dinner. Mummy is expecting me.”

“Will you call me when you are free? My work is taking off very slowly. So, I am still quite at leisure.”

“Sure. I will.”

She put on her clothes and leaned towards him for a kiss. “Bye Akash.”

“Bye Karishma.”

—

Siddhartha hugged her, when Krystal walked into his hotel room. “It’s good to see you,” he said warmly.

“Same here,” she wasn’t faking. Despite telling herself not to do so, she had grown comfortable in their bizarre relationship. Was it because it was too convenient for her? All the money without having to sleep with him? Or was there something about him that attracted and comforted her? He might want sex any day. And she wouldn’t have the right to deny him. Why didn’t he want it? Among other things she had considered the possibility of him being gay, or even impotent. But she had felt his arousal at times, when he held her close, or when they cuddled. Why then? It was a mystery she was dying to solve, but was afraid of taking the first step towards. Except for the uncertainty, it was comfortable as it was.

“I haven’t had dinner. Would you like to go downstairs? To the restaurant?” he asked.

She hesitated. She had met him for coffee under exceptional circumstances. But going out with him was not a part of the deal.

He sensed that. “Or I could just order room service.”

“No!” she interjected, “Let’s go.”

“Sure?”

“Yeah.”

He felt his coat pocket after locking the door. “I forgot my phone. Give me a minute.”

“Yeah.” She waited outside while he got the phone.

“Karishma!” she jumped in surprise on hearing the name, “What are you doing here?”

Her mouth went dry and she stared at him tongue-tied.

“What’s up? I came here to meet a client…” he was oblivious to her condition.

“I am sorry to keep you waiting, Krystal. I didn’t remember where I had kept the phone…” Siddhartha came out apologizing. Then noticed Akash and fell silent.

“Krystal?” Akash looked at both of them confused, and then the realization dawned on him. “Oh my God! You are a… Unbelievable.” His face reddened in anger. He shot a hateful glance at her and strode off.

“Are you okay?” Siddhartha asked her.

Karishma took a deep breath and said weakly, “Give me a minute.”

He nodded.

She ran after Akash. He was still waiting for the lift.

“Akash. Listen to me.”

“No. Thanks. I don’t have to hear any explanations.”

“I’m not offering any explanations. I only need a favour.”

“Sure. You would be an expert in asking for those…”

“You will not understand what I am doing and why. But please. Don’t tell anyone.”

He smiled sardonically, “Don’t worry. I have better things to do than discussing the lives of whores with people.” The lift had come and he walked into it. Karishma swallowed the insult and fought the urge to cry out in her defence. But what could she say?

Siddhartha was in the room when she came back.

“I am so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you to come out with me…”

“It was my choice,” she found her voice failing and coughed to clear her throat.

“If you want to leave…”

“Aren’t we going to the restaurant?”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. She wasn’t meeting his eyes all this while. He stood hesitating for a moment; then went along with it. “Let’s go.”

She was touched when he tried to lift up her mood with his office stories and jokes while eating. She didn’t leave directly from the restaurant, although it was time, and came back with him to the room. She kept the envelope he had given her for the day on the table and said, “I really appreciate, Mr. Sen, that you tried to make me feel good. But it is my job to cheer you up and give you a pleasant company. Not the other way round. I can’t take this tonight.”

He frowned and thrust the envelope back in her hands, “I pay for the company of a woman, not that of a robot.” She couldn’t hide her tears as she quietly walked out of the room.

—

“Have you seen the time? What kind of tuition goes on so late in the evening?” her mother was furious. Her timing was becoming a matter of contention between the mother and daughter for a while now. Karishma had dodged it till now and had avoided talking back to her. But today she was already exhausted – emotionally as well as physically. She couldn’t hold back.

“Mummy. At least I run this house. I make sure that you and Papa get your medicines and Kunal pays his school fees. I am not like you. You couldn’t earn a penny after Papa lost his job. Don’t judge me by your standards.”

She locked herself in her room to avoid her sobbing mother and didn’t come out until morning. Even then they didn’t talk. She quietly had her breakfast before leaving for school.

—

To be continued

Dear Karishma,

Writing stories is not like writing exams. There are no model answers against which it can be compared and judged. Deviations from norm do not become wrong in story. The improvements have to come from within you. Only if you feel that a character is not quite there, or an expression is out of place, will you be able to alter the writing to make it better. If someone else has to help you improve, he has to know you first.  We would like to bring objectivity into every damn thing in the world. But objectivity is an illusion; particularly when it comes to stories and writers. Stories cannot be understood separately from their writers.

I just repeat what I said earlier. Keep writing.

Best wishes
Manthan

—

“Good evening, Miss!” Karishma mechanically responded with “Good evening” to the greeting as she hurried out of the school gate. But after a moment she realized that it was an adult voice. So, she stopped and turned around to find a tall, fair man whose smiling blue eyes and mischievous grin were unmistakable. “Akash!”

“How are you, Karishma?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Meeting up and surprising old friends. I am back in India.”

“Wow! That’s great. Listen. I have to leave today. Have an appointment I can’t miss. Can we catch up later?”

“All right. Busy woman! Is your number still the same?”

“Yes. It’s the same.”

“I will call you.”

“Sure. See you.”

—

“You look lost, Krystal.”

“I… I’m sorry. Looks like you were working here,” she looked at the table strewn with several loose sheets of papers.

“Yeah. Sometimes it is important to get away from the humbug of office.”

“I’m sure,” she smiled sweetly.

“Krystal. I don’t know your real name, I don’t know who you are, what you do… It’s not like I can ever find you in this sea of humanity called Mumbai. You can’t possibly invite any risk if you talked about your day with me.”

She chuckled, “What do you want to know about my day?”

“Why were you so lost?”

“Met an old friend. Was thinking about the old days.”

“Let me guess. An old boyfriend?”

She shrugged.

“Do I see some regret there?”

“No regrets. We parted on good terms, with mutual understanding.”

“Right!” he smiled and did not probe further. She had an uncomfortable feeling that he did not believe her. But how did that matter?

—

“So, you are an investment banker now?” Karishma asked, as they sipped coffee sitting in the spacious balcony of Akash’ one-bedroom, but posh apartment. The balcony overlooked swimming pool, which was deserted at that time. The carefully architected greenery in the apartment complex, though not natural, was soothing, even from the dizzying height of the twenty-eighth floor on which Akash stayed.

“Yep. And now even Dad doesn’t tell me to join him in his ball-bearings business.”

Karishma chuckled. That had been Akash’ peeve since college days. His father would hear of nothing other than him joining him in the business. Akash had managed to convince him that an MBA from US would be helpful if he were to join the business. That’s what had kept him away from India for last two years. Now he had come back to join the Mumbai office of one of the big investment firms.

“Why did you come back at all?”

“I missed India.”

“Hmm…”

“And I missed you.”

She laughed self-consciously.

“How is the teaching treating you?” he continued the conversation.

“Fairly well.”

“Are you in touch with other people from college?”

“Some of them, yeah. Don’t get much time to meet up though.”

“We will correct that. I am back now. And I’d host enough parties for people to get together frequently.”

She laughed softly. The evening wore on. Akash did the talking for most part. He related his experiences in the US, narrating them in an entertaining, funny way that was his trademark; that had won her heart four years ago.

When Karishma entered her home that evening, she felt strangely depressed.

—

“Why are you calling me now?” she was furious at Bittu.

“I’m sorry K. I don’t usually do it. But your regular has been insisting that he should meet you today. He doesn’t want a lot of time. I told him you are not available today. But he won’t let me off if I didn’t ask you once.”

“But…”

“Please try, K. He has been good, hasn’t he? He doesn’t even want all three hours. If you are okay, he would meet you over coffee. He will pay the full amount.”

“What time?”

“Six or seven.”

“Fine. I will manage. Where?”

“Same hotel as last time. Coffee shop.”

—

“I’m sorry,” he looked genuinely apologetic, as he discreetly pushed an envelope in her hands.

“What is it? This was unexpected,” her annoyance was evident.

“I know. But I just had to talk to you.”

She nodded.

“Let’s get a table and order some coffee.”

She followed him to a corner table.

“I needed to see you because I am going to be away for four weeks.”

She will have to see other clients!

“Oh!”

But she was not his girlfriend. He didn’t need to inform her.

“I know that this is an odd request. And you do not have to agree to it. But I will make it anyway. Can you… not see… others in the meanwhile?”

Odd was the request! She wasn’t doing it for finding love or a monogamous relationship. She was doing it for money.

“I will pay for those eight days, of course.”

Of course?

Her face coloured. This wasn’t exactly the kind of conversation that you learned how to tackle while growing up. She desperately tried to think of a way to answer him. If he is paying…

“I guess… That should be fine by me. But you really want that?”

“Yes,” he was unhesitant.

“I have to leave now.”

“Yes. But wait…” he opened his briefcase and took out a envelope thicker than usual.

“For next eight meetings,” he said as he handed it to her.

—

Dear Mr. Manthan,

It took me some time to write again. Because your last mail really challenged me and made me think. You said that stories cannot be understood separately from their writers.  That sounds ominous. For the story writers, as well as the readers. If you need to know the writer to understand his stories, a writer would have a very limited audience. And I wonder what I have been doing as a reader till now. I don’t know you. So, is all I have understood of your stories wrong and pointless? Is reading pointless then? If you don’t know the writer, why read the story? And if you do know the writer, why read the story?

Sincerely
Karishma

—

To be continued

“How many hours a day do you work?” Krystal was back to see Siddhartha on Tuesday. He looked exhausted. She offered him a shoulder massage and he readily accepted it.

“Umm… Most of the waking hours… Sixteen… May be eighteen hours…” he twitched a little as she continued to massage.

“O. M. G. And you still make time for…”

“What? What did you say?”

“I… I’m sorry. It’s none of my business how you manage your time…”

“No. Not that. What did you say at first? OMG? What does that mean?”

“Oh! That? Nothing special. It’s an abbreviation for ‘Oh My God’.”

“Why would you want to abbreviate ‘Oh My God’?”

She chuckled, “I don’t know. Everybody does it these days.”

“Everyone?”

“Well… Not you, obviously. But everyone around me.”

“Everyone your age, then?”

“Probably.”

“But why? Is it in the same league as writing ‘u’ for ‘you’, ‘4m’ for ‘from’?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Wow! You really want to find out.”

“I do. You know, I reject many young candidates when they write an e-mail like this for job applications. How difficult it can be to type ‘your’ instead of ‘ur’?”

“Umm… It probably originates from SMS. Typing there is pretty difficult. Every abbreviation helps.”

“Hmm… Interesting. Although I don’t know why would you want to type so much on SMS.”

“How else do you keep in touch with friends?”

Siddhartha laughed out loud, “Why? You think people didn’t keep in touch with friends before SMSes? Even now, using the same mobile, can’t you just call your friends up?”

“Calling up costs money.”

“SMS doesn’t?”

“There are unlimited SMS packs.”

“Ah! So, that’s the culprit.”

“Is it that bad?”

“What?”

“The abbreviations? OMG and likes?”

“I can live with OMG, I suppose. But if you ever write me an e-mail, please do capitalize your ‘I’ and don’t write ‘ur’ for ‘your’.”

“Hmm…”

Siddhartha had expected her to laugh or be amused. But she looked thoughtful. “That would be enough,” he stopped her from continuing the massage, “I feel much better already. Thanks a lot.”

“You are welcome,” she came out of her thoughts and flashed a smile. Then she came around and sat beside him. “How was your day?” she asked.

“Pretty frustrating, to be honest,” the quickness with which he replied told her that conversation and company were indeed what he really wanted. Although why he wouldn’t have sex, when he could, was incomprehensible.

“Why would you be dishonest about it?”

“Huh? Oh,” he chuckled when he realized that she was just playing on his words. “Now that you have asked, there is indeed a reason to be dishonest about it. For most part when people ask ‘how are you’ or ‘how was your day’, they don’t really want to hear the reality of your life or your day. They expect ‘fine’ or ‘good’ as an answer.”

“But your day was frustrating?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“There is this government deal I am trying to close. But some people there are just being a pain. And my assistant is useless. I think I need to fire him too.”

“What did he do?” she smiled at him, but felt a chill within. How insensitive was he about someone’s job? If he did indeed fire his assistant, and if that guy had a family to look after…

“Can’t even ensure that a form is filled as per the instructions. Government departments are enough of jerks for insisting on all these antiquated forms. But this guy makes my life difficult by messing up.”

“That’s… odd…”

“Odd?”

“Yeah,” she smiled self-consciously, “I mean… I didn’t think people like you have to worry about petty things like filling up a form right.”

“You sure have not witnessed enough pettiness. Anyway. Enough about my crappy day. How was your day?”

“Mine?” she was taken by surprise, “Mine was fine… I guess…”

“You guess?”

“It was fine, I mean. Like any other day. And I didn’t have to fill up any forms. So… I escaped unharmed.”

“Didn’t you say, you were studying Mathematics?”

“Yes.”

“I think you were lying?”

“Why?” she looked alarmed.

“Because you sound like an English major.”

“Oh!” she was relieved; and then laughed to join his joke.

“I would have loved to be an English major.”

“You aren’t then. Why? What did you study?”

“Engineering, then MBA.”

“Why not English?”

“That won’t have helped running the family business.”

“Hmm…”

“You are not sympathizing at all,” he complained jocularly.

“Sympathize? For what?”

“Umm… that I wasn’t allowed to do what I wanted to do under family pressure?”

“First world problem, they call it, don’t they?”

“Is that what you think it is?”

“I… I don’t know. Who am I to judge?”

“You have more basic problems then? Money, I presume.”

“Why do you want to waste your time discussing my problems? That isn’t the point here, right?”

“No. It isn’t. I’m sorry. I got curious. TV?”

“Sure.”

—

Dear Mr. Manthan,

I think I need to apologize for my previous letter. It broke all the conventions of letter-writing. But I got so excited on receiving your letter that I wasn’t thinking.

Still, I do hope that you would take some time to give me an honest feedback on my writing. I’m sure it needs some tearing apart.

Sincerely,
Karishma

—

Dear Karishma,

Your obsession with me tearing apart your writing is amusing. Why do you think I was dishonest when I said that I enjoyed your stories? I did enjoy those.

Keep writing, talk to publishers and seek their feedback. That is what will decide whether you can make a name for yourself in this big, bad world.

Best Wishes
Manthan

—

Dear Mr. Manthan,

I apologize if I came across as accusing you of dishonesty in my last letter. That was not my intention at all. I am happy that you enjoyed my stories and did not tear them apart. But those are definitely not an epitome of perfection. There must be a way of taking feedback and improving, isn’t there? What is it?

Sincerely
Karishma

—

“So, what do you do apart from your Mathematics studies?” Siddhartha asked.

“I like reading.”

“You do? What have you read recently?”

“Haven’t gotten much time recently. But couple of months back I read a very interesting book called Dozakhnama.”

“Thanks God! You didn’t mention the best-selling writer of our time.”

She chuckled, “I have read him. Two of his books. But can’t stand anymore.”

“You did stand two books. Bravo!”

“You really hate him?”

He laughed, “For good or for bad, he has changed the publishing and book-reading in this country.”

“He is creating many first time readers. You have to credit him for that.”

“I wonder if they graduate to reading anything else. I doubt.”

“Hmm…”

“What else have you read?”

“Some mystery and crime fiction before that. And a romance novel called One Day.”

“I have read that one. I think it was interestingly written.”

“You also read a lot then.”

“I like reading too. Yes.”

“Funny!”

“Funny?” his brows arched.

“That you should detest the best-selling writer of our time. And still watch soaps.”

“Video as a medium is created for idiots, or for the idiot-moments of intelligent people. Anything they put in a video doesn’t offend me. But written words – that’s different. That should be respected.”

“It’s time for your soap.”

“Yeah. Sit down, here. Let’s see if the spilled milk has been mopped up yet,” he said as he switched on the TV, making her chuckle.

—

To be continued

But he had switched the TV on again, by the time she was back. He made her sit next to him, and put his arms around her. She watched the soap occasionally shooting a curious glance at him. He seemed oblivious of it.

“I need to leave in fifteen minutes,” she informed him when it was time.

“Yeah. I gave you the envelope, right?”

“Yeah,” that’s not why she had reminded him of the time. He was indeed not in the mood, then. Or had she failed? In her first assignment?

“How many days do you work?” he asked.

“Two.”

“Which days?”

“Tuesdays and Fridays.”

“Hmm…”

—

“Karishma. Breakfast is ready,” her mother shouted from the kitchen. Karishma packed her stuff hurriedly. She was late by half-an-hour in waking up and was rushing to reach school in time.

“Mummy. Pack it for me. I will eat it in school,” she hollered back.

“What about lunch, then?”

“Pack that too. In some paper or polythene.” There was no spare tiffin box at home, she knew that.

“Didi,” Kunal, her younger brother, appeared at the door of her room.

“Yes Kunnu?” she was impatient.

“Didi,” he looked apologetic and guilty, “Today is the last day for paying exam fees.”

“Oh! Right. I’m so sorry….”

“Do you have the money? I know your salary hasn’t come yet…”

She smiled at him, “Don’t look so sad, Kunnu. Here is your fee.”

“Didi. Can’t I help? I can take up some part-time job…”

“If you do that now, and neglect your studies, we’d always be in such penury. Don’t worry. I know that last couple of years have been difficult. Even my salary isn’t much. But I will manage. Do me a favour though. We have run out of Papa’s medicine, right? Take his prescription with you and buy the medicines while coming back,” she handed him some more cash from her purse. Kunal looked at her curiously, but didn’t say anything.

“What the…” she looked at her watch, “I need to rush, Kunnu. Bye.”

—

Dear Mr. Manthan,

There is not much about myself that is worthy of your attention. I am just a huge fan of your books and have been immensely inspired by your writing.

In writing to you, I have acted almost on an impulse. I got hold of your address unexpectedly and then could not avoid the temptation. You might be wondering what could a faceless, nameless girl have to say to you. Not much really. I can only add a bit to the adulation you probably already feel smothered with. So, I won’t do that. I am going to do something more audacious instead. As I said, I am an inspired fan. I am attaching some of the stories I have written. If you ever read them, would you please drop me note about how you found them? Even if you tear them apart, hearing from you would mean a lot to me.

By the time I had discovered your novels, you had already stopped writing. Reading another book of yours would be a dream come true.

Sincerely
Karishma Gupta

—

Krystal couldn’t believe she was to go to Siddhartha Sen again. After their last meeting, on her first day of ‘work’, she had concluded that she had been a disaster. She had tried to be relaxed, witty, and her usual self, as Bittu had repeatedly emphasized. “Sex is just a part of it. What these men look for, really, is company. Make them feel comfortable. But don’t act too subservient. Act like a companion. They don’t want sex-dolls. That’s why they come to us, and not go to someone in Kamathipura. And that’s why you earn so much. It’s all about the class, the elegance.” She thought she had failed. He had withdrawn from her. Why did he want to see her again? Especially when he didn’t like to have any girl regularly.  At least that’s what Bittu had said. “He is a 5-star client. All the girls have only positive things to say about him. He calls only about once a month. But never haggles. And he doesn’t want anyone again. Don’t be nervous. No hanky-panky here.” And indeed, there had been no “hanky-panky”. After coming out of his room last time, she had clutched on to the envelope he had given her. She wasn’t sure she would see any money again. He wouldn’t say anything nice about her to Bittu, would he? What had gotten her thinking that she was beautiful or charming enough for this profession?

But Bittu had sent her a message in the afternoon. He wanted to see her again. And she was on her way to his room in a five-star hotel.

—

“Hi,” he smiled like he was meeting a friend. She was confused, but managed to smile back pleasantly. After depositing the envelope he gave in her purse, she followed him to the couch. The one in this hotel was more comfortable.

“So, you want to watch a soap again?” she spoke with normalcy that she didn’t feel at all.

“Unless you prefer cricket match.”

“There is a match going on?”

“I think so. With New Zealand.”

“I don’t mind cricket,” she said and didn’t ask him what he preferred. ‘Don’t act too subservient. Act like a companion,’ she remembered the diktat well.

“You like cricket?”

“I do. Why are your surprised?”

“Women don’t, in general.”

She laughed, “Same can be said about men and soaps too.”

“Fair enough. Match then.”

“Do you like cricket though?” Not acting subservient could not possibly mean being insensitive, she reasoned.

“I do. A lot.”

The pitch was bad and they were slow to take runs. She didn’t realize when she drifted off to sleep. The couch was too comfortable!

She was woken up by Siddhartha fifteen minutes before his time with her was up.

“I am so sorry!” she jumped out of the couch on realizing what had happened, “You should have woken me up.”

“It’s okay. You were tired, obviously.”

—

Dear Ms. Gupta,

Thank you for writing to me and for sending your stories. I enjoyed reading them. Keep writing.

All the best.
Mathan

—

OMG. You actually read those. Already? Since you have already taken the pains of reading, can I please request you to give me an honest feedback? I am prepared for even the most brutal tearing apart of my stories.

Thanks a lot for replying, and please call me Karishma.

Sincerely
Karishma

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To be continued