Hopeless Hope (Part 14)
As she was putting her older earrings in her purse, her eyes fell on a paper lying under the paperweight whose words looked familiar. She couldn’t help her curiosity and picked it up.
“What is it?” he asked and came to her.
“This is my biodata.”
“Hmm…”
“This is what I had given to Meher for my introduction. But you didn’t use it.”
“No. I didn’t. I didn’t think it did justice to your actual achievements.”
“So, you researched everything about me for the introduction?”
He smiled, “Let’s just say that you are not the only one capable of obsession. I knew everything beforehand.”
“Ohh!”
“I didn’t go to the extent of making an app to keep track on you,” he teased her, “But your homepage at Stanford was in my bookmarks all this while.”
“Well… You didn’t keep your homepage updated. I had to rely on other people mentioning you,” she pouted.
“Of course, you had to,” he chuckled and gently planted an affectionate kiss on her forehead.
—
“Would you like to go to a live music concert?” Paritosh asked her.
“Why not? Which one?”
“There is a live performance by Asim Sen. He doesn’t do too many of these.”
“Hmm…”
“What happened? Not interested.”
“No. No. I was thinking of something else.”
“Tell me.”
“I think Ma is a huge fan of Asim Sen. She listens to his songs all the time. I think she must have every single album of his ever released. Classical, Bengali pop, Hindi, Ghazals, Bollywood. Everything. If you don’t mind, can we take her with us?”
“If she is well, why not?”
Oh! The joys of being with a man like him. He wouldn’t consider parents to be an annoyance. Ever!
Paritosh noticed that his acceptance made her extremely happy. None of his gifts till now had brought this kind of smile on her face. “Thank you, Dr. Khanna.”
“What is there to thank me about? I will send Raja to get the tickets,” he said about his housekeeper.
“You can get those online these days. Why make him run around?”
“Really? Where?”
She opened an event ticketing website and the tickets for the concert were available. She stopped him when he started ordering the most expensive tickets.
“We only have to hear him, Dr. Khanna. Why pay 2000 Rs. for a ticket?”
“But it will be a better experience. Seats in front, less crowded, better view of the stage…”
“Too expensive.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Are you that rich, or are you just extravagant?”
“Huh? What kind of a question is that?” he frowned.
She got nervous, “I… I am sorry. Please forget I said anything. Book whatever you like. I am really, really sorry.”
He looked at her for a moment; then asked seriously, “You are uncomfortable about something?”
“No. No. It was silly thing for me to say…” she tried to deflect the topic.
“Rupali! Tell me honestly.”
She sighed and then gave words to her anxiety, “Why do you spend so much on me?”
“Who else will I spend on?”
“I am very happy with my life, Dr. Khanna. I have you. I don’t need these expensive gifts. How much jewellery have you seen me wearing? How many gadgets do I use? I’m just not used to these. You are not…” she paused wondering if what she was going to say would be offensive; then decided to speak it out anyway. “You are you not trying to impress me, are you? You don’t need to. I am already so impressed that I have lost myself in you. Why do you feel the need to spend?”
“I don’t know,” he looked thoughtful, “I just feel like.”
“If you feel like,” she smiled, “Who am I to stop you? I just wanted to tell you that I don’t need it.”
“And you feel uncomfortable?”
“Ma saved all her life, to support me when I needed something. She never said ‘no’ to anything I asked for. But I have seen her practicing strict financial discipline for that. I guess that has created something of a miser out of me,” she gave an embarrassed grin as she tried to explain her discomfort with spending too much.
Paritosh continued to be thoughtful as he said, more appropriately thought aloud, “And I wasn’t this ‘extravagant’ always. My parents did always spend judiciously, even if they could afford to spend much more. The money I have is my family money. The real-estate sold or rented at good prices thanks to the retail boom, and the money invested well after that. But all this wouldn’t have survived, if they hadn’t preserved it well.”
“Then you are spending because of me?”
“No. It has been quite some time now.”
That was obvious. His BMW wasn’t new. He had taken her to a five-star hotel’s restaurant all those years ago as well.
“Why?” she pressed his hands and asked softly. He looked anxious at the realization that he had indeed been extravagant; in a way that was not natural to him.
“Probably because… This was the only thing I had. Some money. Spending it at my whim was the only way to feel that I had some control, some power over my life.”
She felt a tug at her heart. She went closer to him on the sofa and hugged him. He was surprised at first, then happily reciprocated. He hugged her gently, but slowly his grip tightened and Rupali felt like the entire world was at her feet. This is where she belonged. In his arms. She nudged at his neck and he responded in kind, soon graduating to caressing her back, kissing her neck and face and before she realized it, she was pinned beneath him on the sofa, her body facing sweet invasion of his rough caresses and urgent kisses.
But he stopped after a while, gave her his hand and helped her sit up. She was confused. She leaned on his chest to hide her face and asked, “What happened?”
“Not like this, Rupali. Not at the spur of a moment. I don’t want either of us to regret it.”
Oh the gentleman! Her body was screaming for him. And she wanted to give voice to these screams. But she couldn’t be so bold before him. She took deep breaths to calm herself down, then pulled herself back.
“No more extravagance,” he whispered to her with a smile.
“No more gifts?” she raised an eyebrow in mock alarm.
“Only if you strictly need something,” he grinned.
She pretended to pout at first, then both of them broke into a laughter.
“But I’d give you a breather this time,” she said, “You can buy the 2000 Rs. passes. Comfortable, uncrowded seats would be better for Ma.”
—
Mouli had at first resisted the idea of her going with them for the concert. “What will I do there? You two go.” But on Rupali’s insistence and on realizing that the tickets were already purchased, she gave in.
“Front row seats,” she was surprised when they were ushered in, “They would be so expensive.”
“Like mother, like daughter,” Paritosh mumbled playfully and Rupali chuckled.
“Come Ma,” she told her mother, “It is less crowded and more comfortable. You will be better off there.”
“Sure,” she mumbled. Nobody noticed a cloud passing over her face.
Rupali sat in the middle, with Paritosh on one side and Mouli on another.
The acclaimed singer came on the stage and was greeted with a loud applause. Rupali and Paritosh looked on and did not notice the stiffening in Mouli’s countenance.
It was during the third song that Mouli felt Asim’s eyes on her. They stayed there for a while and she could almost see the look of surprise and disbelief on his face. Had he recognized her? He must have. He had missed the “sam” at which he was to start singing the next stanza. His companions on the various instruments all looked at him in surprise, while they continued to replay the music. He waved at them slightly asking them to continuing the replay and he would pick up at the next “sam”. Not many in the audience, however, noticed this little drama. Paritosh and Rupali were oblivious too. After the song ended, Asim whispered something to the tabalchi sitting next to him. While the rest of the players calibrated their instruments for the next song, the tabalchi went out of the stage and came back with a young boy who looked like a staff of Asim’s group. Asim whispered something to him and Mouli was almost sure that she felt the boy’s eyes on her. The exchange was not something that was particularly noticed by the audience. Artists talking to their staff during a live performance was nothing uncommon. They might need something.
After the performance was over and Asim Sen was greeted with a standing ovation, Mouli tried to hurry her companions into leaving. “It’s quite late now,” she said and worried about her health, they willingly complied.
But before they could even reach the aisles, the boy Asim had spoken to came hurriedly to them. “Ms. Mouli Chatterjee?” he tried to confirm Mouli’s maiden name. Her face coloured as she nodded. “Ma’am. Asim Da had said that he would like to meet you. Do you mind coming to the green room with me?”
“But I have company?” she tried to give a weak excuse.
“They are invited too, Ma’am. Please.”
“You know him?” Rupali was surprised. Mouli have her an uncharacteristic nervous smile, “It is a surprise he remembers. We went to the college together.”
“Hmm…”
“Let’s go. Thanks to your mother, we also get to meet a great singer,” Paritosh said.
—
“Mou! What a surprise to see you here!” The familiarity and eagerness, with which Asim Sen addressed Mouli, surprised Rupali and Paritosh. They exchanged a glance not quite knowing what to make of it.
Mouli just smiled and then made to introduce Rupali and Paritosh, “This is Rupali, my daughter.”
“Wow! All grown up, huh? The last time I saw you kiddo, you were what… seven years old?”
“You have seen me earlier?” Rupali’s eyes darted from Asim, to Mouli to Paritosh and back. What was going on there?
Asim looked at Mouli with expression that looked like a mix of reproach and sadness. “Yes,” he replied with a longing smile, “It has been a long time, of course. Your mother has been too busy all these years raising you. What are you doing currently?”
Rupali told him about her job and then introduced Paritosh, “This is Dr. Paritosh Khanna. Our HOD.”
“And her fiancée, I hope,” Mouli added with a smile making both of them blush.
“Oh! That’s great. Congratulations to both of you and nice to meet you Dr. Khanna.”
“The pleasure is all ours, Mr. Sen.”
There was an awkward silence between them for next few moments. Asim broke it, “How have you been, Mou?”
“Just fine, as you can see. I think many of your fans are waiting for autographs. We shouldn’t keep you all to ourselves,” Mouli seemed keen on getting away as soon as possible.
“Here is my card,” he pressed one in each of their hands, “I am in Mumbai for a few days. If possible, give me a call.” He looked like he’d ask Mouli for her number, but he restrained himself. Paritosh sensed something in the situation and he handed his card to Asim Sen. Slightly confused, even Rupali followed his lead and gave her card. Mouli didn’t have any.
Then they took his leave.
—
To be continued