Mish' Fiction

“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

—

To be continued

“Hi, Mr. Sen. I am Krystal,” the girl at the door was dressed casually. ‘Stunning’ was not the word to describe her. The right word was ‘lovely’. But Krystal? That was a dampener. Siddhartha understood their need to assume a fake name, but they could do better with that. He would rather have a Seeta, Geeta, Rama – any of those usual names rather than Krystals and Pearls and Natashas of the world.

“Come in,” he stepped aside to let her in and closed the door behind them. She was dressed casually. A blue denim jeans and black top. The attire was figure hugging, but didn’t scream prostitute! That’s what he liked about Bittu’s girls. They didn’t come looking ridiculous and inviting suspicion.

She appeared lost and confused once inside, but tried to put up a confident smile when he looked at her. He gave her an envelope, which she deposited in her purse. “Sit down,” he sat on the couch and motioned her to sit next to him. She sat at some distance. Then she appeared to realize what she was there for and shifted closer.

“Shall I get you a drink?” he asked.

“No. I am fine,” she was growing more nervous by the moment. None of them ever accepted drinks. Part of their safe practices. Good for them. “You look tired,” she remarked. Practiced and edgy, Siddhartha thought to himself. Quite unexpectedly, he felt a surge of pity for her. What could have brought her here?

“What do you do, Krystal?”

“I… I am studying.”

“Studying what?”

“M. Sc. in Mathematics.”

“That’s good. But why do this? What’s the compulsion?”

“Who are you? A cop or a reporter?” she chuckled unselfconsciously, unaffected by her nervousness.

It brought a smile to his face, “Neither. Just curious. You don’t have to talk about yourself, if you don’t want to.”

The ice was broken. She no longer looked anxious. “Yes. That’s a given. I am not here to talk about myself. What do you want me to do?”

This sudden transition from anxiety to straightforwardness took him by surprise. “Well…” Get into the bed with me? “Do you mind watching TV for some time?”

“I like TV.”

“What do you like on TV?”

“Movies. Singing and dancing reality shows.”

“Not the soaps?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t get time. Can’t follow them regularly. And they aren’t that good anyway.”

“That’s a pity.”

“You watch soaps?” her eyes widened in natural surprise.

“Some of them. Not regularly. Don’t get time. But they are slow. So, even if I catch a few episodes here and there it works.”

“Wow!”

“Wow?”

“Not many men would acknowledge that they watch soaps, even if they did indeed watch them.”

‘Not to their girl-friends,’ he thought inwardly. “So?”

“Let’s watch a soap. If you find them interesting enough, there is no reason why I shouldn’t.”

“Huh?” he raised an eyebrow, “What does that mean?”

“What I mean is that you are definitely intellectually superior to me. So, if they are interesting enough for you, they should be interesting enough for me.”

“Clever,” he said and switched on the TV. He fiddled around with the remote until he found the channel he wanted. A young woman in heavy saree, jewellery and make-up was getting scolded by a group of elderly women for spilling some milk. Apparently it signified everything from her lack of respect for housework and elders to some calamity that would befall the family.

She didn’t have any context of the show to make sense of the scene. She stifled a yawn. When he emptied his glass, she used this opportunity to get away, ostensibly to get him a refill. He had only been drinking bear. So, no bartending skills were required. A commercial break came and he muted the TV. She felt his eyes on him, but continued refilling the glass. Just as she was returning, she noticed an open envelope on the fridge. She read the name on it and was surprised.

“Is something the matter?” Siddhartha asked.

“Is this envelope here yours?”

“No. They didn’t do a good job of cleaning the room. Must be that of the previous guest. Will you please throw it in the dustbin?”

She appeared reluctant to do so, but obliged him anyway. She looked at the envelope closely for a while before dropping it in the dustbin.

The commercial break was over by the time she sat down again. The scene on the TV screen had changed. And this one made her fidget. Someone was still getting scolded. But this time the complaint was about the girl’s character.  “What have you been doing, you whore?” a man was shouting. “Sleeping around to warm up your purse!”

Siddhartha sensed her unease and switched off the television. She looked immensely vulnerable. He held her and caressed her arms and neck. ‘No kissing,’ he reminded himself as he drew her closer. That was one of the rules Bittu was upfront about. “They are not your girl-friends. They are there to please you. But anything that could even remotely be harmful to you or them is off-limits. They will always carry condoms and if you refuse, the deal is off. No refunds.”

Unknown to herself, she clenched her teeth. She was nervous again. Siddhartha could not proceed. Something inside him was telling him not to. He withdrew and said calmly, “Actually, I am not in the mood. Do you mind if we just talked?”

She looked confused for a moment, but quickly gathered herself together. “Yeah. Why not?”

“You sure you don’t want a drink?”

“No. Why do you like watching the soaps?” she asked to draw his attention away from the drink. Why was he asking for the drinks repeatedly? He was an old-timer with Bittu. Surely, he knew the rules!

He did know the rules. The problem was that he wasn’t sure where to start the conversation that he had committed himself to. Her question rescued him.

“People say that these soaps are unrealistic. Part of it is. The background music, and that makeup and all those jewelleries early in the morning – they are unrealistic. But the basic pettiness of human mind is not. Fighting over spilt milk – that’s pretty much what people do in life.”

She chuckled. “Not people like you.”

“Why do you say so?” he asked sardonically.

“You have important things to do. Those huge companies to run, all the public work, so much depends on you…”

“And yet I am surrounded by people who fight over a little spilt milk. Or worse still, who spill the milk so that they can blame others for it, fight over it, and move up in life after winning that fight.”

She was surprised and impressed at the same time. “That’s so… unexpected.”

“Why? What do you think? That people running companies, or even countries, are somehow above the human weaknesses?”

“A bit at least. I would hope so. That the companies, the institutions, the countries are in capable hands.”

He laughed, “Good for you. Good to have hopes.” He gulped down the remaining bear and stretched his hand towards her. She took the glass from him and went to refill it. “The way you walk,” he said after her, “It reminds me of somebody. I can’t recall who, though.”

“I hope it is someone pleasant,” she replied and wondered at how drunk he sounded. With just two glasses of beer? Probably he was drinking since much before she came. And probably getting drunk was what it took to get him in the mood. She braced herself for the act!

—

To be continued