Tea for Two and a Piece of Cake

  When I first landed the job at this agency, I was ecstatic beyond repair. I have stuck here for four years now, in my mundane little safe existence. I come to work, the hours pass, and I go home. At the end of the month, I get paid, and I deposit my cheque in my bank account.

  Akash, Sanjay, Prashant, Chetana, and Deepti are my first ‘real friends’, although I doubt they consider me so. To them, I am perhaps just ‘Nisha—the-slightly-plump-and-pleasant-office-colleague’. I do not really mind though. I am happy to belong somewhere.

  The first big event that has happened to me in my uneventful existence of my office life so far is this date. And it has come by a draw of lots! Perhaps there indeed is something called destiny—I do not know, because I had no idea then that a single date can change one’s life.

  Whatever it is, I am a really happy girl today. Prashant Mathur has even called me babe, squeezed my hand, and told me to wear something nice. Oh yes, I definitely will!

  I count the hours left and can hardly contain my excitement till Saturday, the day of the party.

  Luck Be a Lady

  Chetana knows what a big deal this date is for me. She has kindly offered to help me dress up for it, graciously opening the contents of her wardrobe to me, and helping me pick out a dress for the party. Her basic plan is to educate me on what kind of clothes can be defined as stylish and what accessories can be teamed up with various outfits. We are in her bedroom with almost twenty outfits of hers casually thrown across the bed.

  ‘Chetana, how in the world do you suppose I’ll fit into your outfits? I am so much bigger than you,’ I say.

  But Chetana says she has many loose-fitting ones from a time when slightly oversized clothes were the rage.

  I feel a bit like Audrey Hepburn in My Fair Lady before her education and makeover.

  ‘Try this black top,’ she says, as she tosses it carelessly at me.

  I am not coy and change right in front of her, as she gets busy digging full throttle futher into her wardrobe to scoop out more alternatives.

  My breasts are jutting out, leaving the cleavage exposed for all to see. But I have managed to squeeze into the dress and decide that it does not look too bad after all.

  Chetana takes out a colourful stole and wraps it stylishly around my neck, which partly covers my breasts and cleavage in a very sexy way.

  Then she orders me to try out her six-inch heels. I dutifully oblige.

  ‘Now for some make-up,’ she says, as she pulls open my hair which I have tied into a severe ponytail. She ruffles it expertly like a hairdresser who knows her job well and lets it hang loosely over my shoulders. She whips out mascara and an eyelash lengthener. I examine the packaging and notice that it is really expensive. ‘Really expensive’ here is defined as costing almost as much as my half-month’s salary. And it is just a little tube. But I say nothing and go with the flow.

  This is the first time I have had someone showing this much interest in me and helping me get dressed, and I decide that I am not going to let a little thing like the price of an eyeliner affect me.

  Chetana advises me to wear her wrap-around skirt and I oblige, with the final touch being a pair of six-inch wedge heels which make me look taller and as a consequence, ten pounds lighter. The end result is that ‘Nisha-the-plain-Jane’ is now transformed into ‘Nisha-the-head-turning-babe’. I am stunned at the transformation and I feel a bit like Cinderella going to the ball. But most importantly, I feel desirable.

  Then Chetana gives me a small packet containing some pills. I am genuinely puzzled.

  ‘What is this for?’ I ask.

  ‘Just in case,’ she winks.

  I still do not comprehend.

  ‘Just in case of what?’

  ‘Morning-after pill, you silly! Never go unprepared on a date. You never know where it can end.’

  I stare at her like she is crazy. How in the world will my first date end up in sex? Chetana really goes overboard sometimes. But just to oblige her, I slip it into my bag.

  ‘You are really crazy!’ I say.

  Prashant has agreed to meet me at the Andheri station from where we would be taking the Mumbai local to Churchgate. As it is off peak-hours, Prashant says we can travel together in the general compartment. He is right. But I cannot help wishing he had hired a cab instead.

  Oh well, whom am I kidding here? I know I am lucky just to be on a date with him.

  He looks pleased when he sees me. The scowl which earlier marked his face, is now replaced with lust in his eyes. He lets out an appreciative sigh as he says, ‘Glad you decided to wear something good.’ Then he looks me up and down and he actually takes my arm.

  I am singing and dancing, leaping in joy inside my head, but outwardly I pretend as thought I go on dates like these every day.

  The party is in full swing when we arrive. I suddenly feel very important and confident about my outfit and about the fact that I am with an attractive man.

  But my elation is short-lived. When I walk inside, the first thing that strikes me is that almost all the men and women look like models here. How can a room contain so many good-looking people? They look stylish and elegant in an understated way. The women are in short, tight, skimpy outfits. Suddenly my borrowed wraparound skirt and the black top and stole pale in comparison with the designer stuff all these people seem to be sporting.

  ‘Hey, Leena, is that really you? What a pleasant surprise!’ says Prashant as he spots a woman with very short hair and a little black dress that barely covers her bottom or her breasts which seem to spill out voluptuously from the top of the outfit. She has a pencil-thin waist. She is holding a drink in one hand and her heavy red lipstick and thick black eyelashes make her look like one of those women from the superhero comics that I read as a child.

  Prashant does not even bother introducing me to her. They get busy talking and suddenly Prashant asks her to dance, leaving me all alone. I feel abandoned and I have no idea what to do. I look around and walk towards the table at the far end of the room where food has been laid out for the guests.

  I feel truly out of place now and try to hide my discomfort by pretending to appear busy. I walk towards the food counter and keep myself busy raising the steel lids of the rectangular containers placed in a long row with several others containing the food for the party. I am looking at the way the spring rolls have been arranged inside one and at the way the cutlery is laid out.

  It is at that exact moment that Samir walks into my life. Of course, I have no idea at that moment that I am talking to my future husband.

  ‘Are you hungry?’ he asks with a twinkle in his eye.

  I am embarrassed to be caught checking out the food like this.

  ‘Uh…err… not really,’ I mutter.

  He smiles as his eyes meet mine. He is dressed in a single-breasted tuxedo jacket with a peak lapel. He is tall, could easily be six feet one, and his hair is slicked back stylishly. I notice the cleft on his chin and the dimple in his right cheek as he smiles. My heart does a flip as my eyes meet his. He is very handsome and he seems to be unaware of his looks or charm. He seems straight out of a Mills & Boon novel, which I used to devour as a teenager. Prashant’s looks pale in comparison to his.

  ‘How can I let my guest be without a drink? What can I get you?’ he asks.

  ‘Well, I’ll let you decide,’ I say.

  ‘Do you hand over the charge of what you want so easily to others?’

  ‘Only when they are as good-looking as you,’ I hear myself saying.

  What has come over me? Why am I flirting and throwing myself so darn shamelessly at this guy? Why am I acting like I have never seen a good-looking male before?

  Because no man this good-looking has even spoken to you before and you are so flattered with the attention he is giving you.

  ‘Stop it, Nisha!’, I admonish myself inside my head.

  He tilts his head and laughs in delight.

  ‘Bold!’ he says. ‘I like that!’ he adds, as he goes
off to get me a drink.

  ‘A daiquiri for a charming woman, who is not afraid to let a man take charge,’ he says, handing over my drink to me. Then he leads me to one of the tables and we sit down. ‘Is your drink fine?’ he asks.

  I take a sip and I love it.

  ‘Perfect,’ I reply.

  I am grateful for his company and his unflinching attention towards me. I turn around and try to find Prashant but he is lost somewhere in the crowd. ‘So which travel agency are you from?’ asks Samir.

  ‘Point to Point in Andheri,’ I say.

  ‘Aaah, the one owned by Parinita Sachdev. Jairaj is a friend.’

  ‘Oh!’ I say, surprised that he knows them.

  Then before I can stop myself, I find myself asking. ‘Is it true after all?’

  ‘What is true?’ he says, pretending to feign ignorance, watching me squirm and turn a pale shade of red.

  Then he chuckles at my visible embarrassment and says, ‘Hey, I was just teasing you. They are both very good friends. That’s all,’ he says.

  I quickly change the topic.

  ‘So where do you work?’ I ask.

  ‘Shhhhh. Don’t tell anybody! It is a secret. I simply pretend to work for Magellan International,’ he says.

  Suddenly in the background, just behind Samir, I see Prashant standing. He is gesturing wildly at me.

  I have no idea what he is saying or trying to say. I decide to ignore him. I turn my attention to my daiquiri and to Samir. Years of studying in a women’s college has fine-tuned the efforts needed to turn on the feminine charm. I am going full steam here, laughing at his jokes and making a lot of eye contact with him while the conversation is bubbling as smoothly as the champagne he is sipping.

  Serves Prashant right for ignoring me and walking off with Leena!

  With Samir paying so much attention to me, I don’t feel dowdy anymore. I can’t be so bad if Samir is ignoring all the gorgeous women in the party and talking only to me.

  Then I notice that time and again, his gaze wanders to another woman who is dressed to kill in a red gown with a slit riding right up to her thigh. She is clinging to a guy like he is Spider-man and she is Mary Jane who has just been rescued by him.

  ‘Ex-girlfriend?’ I ask Samir directly.

  Years of observing people in relationships, without actually being in any, have honed my intuitive abilities. ‘Oh my God! Are you a witch?’ He sounds astonished.

  ‘In secret, I brew love spells. But mostly they turn into dust instead of lust,’ I reply back with a smile.

  ‘Oh, you don’t need a spell for lust,’ he says, as he looks into his glass for a few seconds.

  Then he looks up and suddenly asks me out.

  ‘What are you doing tonight?’ he asks.

  All the women’s magazines have told me that it is never a good idea to say yes to a guy as soon as he asks. But to hell with all that advice. It is the first time in my life a guy has actually asked me, ‘Nisha-the-plain-Jane’, out. I am not about to blow my chance at a great night by playing hard to get.

  ‘Nothing much. I actually do have quite some free time in hand,’ I say.

  ‘Let me take you out to this really lovely place. I’ll drop you back home,’ he says.

  I agree, and that is how I bag my first real date.

  I excuse myself and he tells me to meet him at the lobby straight after the party. He excuses himself and says he has some work to attend to, and that he will see me later.

  I truly wish I could do a handstand and shout like a cheerleader. I cannot believe my luck. This just seems to be getting better and better by the minute.

  Then I find Prashant and tell him to go home by himself and that I have a date.

  ‘What?’ says Prashant, not believing a word I tell him. He acts as though I’ve told him to jump off the balcony of the hotel. I could have truly. I do not care. I am so happy and elated about Samir asking me out.

  ‘Whom are you going out on a date with? Samir Sharma?’ sniggers Prashant.

  ‘How do you know his full name when even I don’t?’ I reply.

  Prashant’s jaw drops to the floor.

  ‘I don’t believe this! You really are!’ he exclaims.

  Then he tells me that Samir is one of the big names at Magellan International and is quite well known in the travel industry. Trade pundits call him one of the ‘rising stars’.

  It is my turn to be surprised now. What did he see in me? Why has he asked me out?

  I do not know. But I sure am about to find out.

  Twist of Fate

  When my heart was doing a secret merry jig at the prospect of going out on a date with Samir Sharma himself, it would have slowed down its pace had it been aware that that this date would cost me my job the very next day. I had no idea then what was to follow. All I knew was that the expression ‘over the moon’ made perfect sense to me right now. I am elated, happy, and exuberant, and I do not care at all about anything else in the world.

  Samir is waiting in the hotel lobby with a packet in his hand. No sooner than he spots me, he waves enthusiastically and starts walking towards me. He then hands over the packet which I now see is gift wrapped in an attractive-looking red satin paper with a golden bow on top.

  ‘Wow. Thanks!’ I say, unable to hide my surprise and obvious joy.

  It is the perfect start to a dream date.

  ‘Do I open it now?’ I ask.

  ‘No. Later please. There’s enough time for that.’ He smiles amusedly, and it makes me feel like a petulant child who has asked if the chocolate can be eaten right there and then. He then escorts me to his car.

  I am not big on cars and have no idea what make his car is, but I can tell it is one of those very expensive ones. I am overwhelmed by the luxury of it all. I am also overwhelmed by the smell of his very masculine perfume. What has he done? Emptied the whole bottle on himself? It takes all my self-control to refrain from sniffing appreciatively in the air and inhaling the scent deeply. He switches on the music and a sexy, deep, male voice which I fail to recognize, starts crooning.

  ‘Great music! Who is this singer?’ I ask.

  ‘Have you never heard of Barry White?’ he asks.

  I haven’t and he proceeds to name a few songs, one of which I recollect having heard but had not known who the singer was.

  We drive to an exclusive restaurant in south Mumbai, complete with an indoor garden with large, dense green bamboo foliage, white pebbles, and water bodies. It is all very Zen-like and extremely peaceful. The doorman greets him by his name and the hostess whisks us away to a lovely table in the corner, very discreet and classy. I am completely taken in by Samir’s style and elegance.

  I go very quiet, slowly absorbing my surroundings.

  ‘Have I managed to cast a spell on you, or is that only your prerogative?’ he asks, eyes twinkling again.

  ‘That is something we will have to figure out,’ I answer.

  We order wine (or rather he orders and I just play along) and some food. The conversation continues to flow easily like before. I have no idea when the evening slips into night. I am enchanted, mesmerized, and completely under his spell. I think if he took out a flute and played it like the Pied Piper, I would have probably followed him like the rats into the river.

  It is only when Samir asks me about my family that I remember that I have not told my father where I am. I explain my current living arrangements to Samir, about my mother passing away when I was a child, and tell him that I have to make a call to my father. He whips out his cell phone and asks for my father’s number. I tell him and he keys it in, hands over the phone to me, and excuses himself so I can talk in private. I cannot help admiring his sense of good manners and consideration.

  I tell my father that something came up at work, so I will be home late, and that a colleague will be dropping me off later. My father is not very concerned and I can’t tell if it even registered with him that I wasn’t home yet. But I am satisfied, as I have done my b
it as a dutiful daughter and informed him of my whereabouts. I end up feeling a little upset about my father being so nonchalant. Does he even care?

  When Samir comes back, he senses a slight change in my mood and asks if I want more wine. I noddingly oblige, even though I know I am getting slightly tipsy at having drunk beyond my usual alcohol tolerance levels.

  ‘Stop Nisha, do not get drunk on your first date!’ scream the voices from the women’s magazines. But I tell them to shut up. They do not have a non-caring father and a mother who died on them when they were five. They do not know what it is to grow up friendless and alone. They have no idea what it is like to be bullied all through childhood. They do not know what it is to get no male attention when you most want it. It is the first time someone has found me fascinating enough to ask me out on a date, and I am determined to squeeze the maximum out of it.

  Samir is talking about some of the office parties he attended and all the comical stuff that happens there. I find it hilarious and holler with laughter. He is a good conversationalist. Then I ask him questions about his childhood and he describes how he had grown up in a huge, palatial house in a coffee plantation, how he had been sent to one of India’s finest boarding schools, and how much he enjoyed his childhood as well as his school. His adolescence and his life are so different from mine. I ask him about his parents and I come to know that his father is no more, and his mother now lives in the UK with his brother, and that he vacations there for at least a month every year.

  I am fascinated by a peep into his world. I ask him about London and other places in Europe, all of which he has travelled to extensively. My only knowledge of these places is from geography textbooks and photos in colourful brochures, with all the attractions that tourist agencies print in order to sell these destinations to prospective clients. Nobody in my circle has travelled abroad ever. I am hearing firsthand what these places are like and am not able to have enough of it.