It was 8.30 p.m. when they finally parked their vehicle in the parking lot of the radio station. Everything surrounding them was invisible in the fog. Such heavy fog was not unusual at this time of year—sometime in mid-February—when winter bids goodbye in the northern part of the country. It was one such day.
The doors of their cars opened, churning the dense fog surrounding them. The chill in the air immediately attacked them and they were quick to get into their jackets. While they talked, the warm air they exhaled blended with the clouds of fog they were in.
Running the zip of his jacket up till his neck once again, Amardeep gave the others some food for thought.
‘What is it, like …5 degrees?’
Manpreet didn’t delay. Slipping his iPhone out of his pocket, he flaunted the gadget as he consulted it and corrected Amardeep: ‘7.55 degrees Celsius, which is 45.59 Fahrenheit.’
Inside he felt happy that finally a moment came wherein he could fall upon his superhuman gadget. A tech-savvy guy, he seldom missed an opportunity to exercise the use of his American gadgets and enjoyed converting Indian measures into American units, all at the same time.
Snug in their jackets, jeans and leather boots, they walked towards the radio station. Their footsteps, marching in unison, stirred the hibernating silence in the parking lot.
Happy was aware who he had to meet at the station. By now he had already got a call from the radio station’s event manager.
At the entrance they pushed open the black glass door. Noticing this, the security guard sitting inside hastily got into his prescribed action. He confronted them with the usual who-are-you and whom-do-you-want-to-meet questions. Holding his gun, he collected the invitation card that Happy showed him in reply. He perused through the same, letting them know that he could read.
Satisfied, he led the three of them to the couch in the reception area. While they occupied their seats, he proceeded to pass on the invitation card to the receptionist at the desk. Behind the desk, on the wall, flashed the giant brand logo: Superhits 93.5 RED FM … Bajaate Raho! Contrary to Manpreet’s wishes the receptionist wasn’t that hep. But she was pretty in an innocent way and looked extremely professional.
‘I hope you all are here for the
Raat Baaki
,
Baat Baaki
show?’ she politely asked, standing up from her chair.
‘Yes,’ Happy turned his head and replied.
‘Kindly take the corridor on your right and go straight. Room no. 3 on your right is where you need to go. Shambhavi has been waiting for you.’
Now that’s a nice name—Manpreet almost said this out loud, kicking out the silhouette of the would-be receptionist from his mind and developing one of the would-be RJ host now.
Unaware of Manpreet’s mischievous thoughts, Happy led the team. This was the first time they were at a radio station and they were observing the environment they were in. As they walked on the green carpet in the narrow corridor, they noticed the formal silence persisting in the radio station. The path was illuminated only with dim lights installed overhead, creating a red haze of vision. They passed a series of fluorescent room numbers which were put up on the doors.
They stopped by room no. 3. Happy quietly pushed the door open. Manpreet and Amardeep followed him in. The RJ for the show was waiting for them.
‘Hello! I am Shambhavi,’ a beautiful voice of a beautiful girl welcomed them.
While offering a quick handshake to the three of them, Shambhavi further said, ‘I have been waiting for you.’
For his own naughty delight, Manpreet didn’t allow that handshake to be quick. He felt her hands radiating a further chill through his already cold hands.
The three of them introduced themselves to Shambhavi, and it was Shambhavi’s turn now.
With a smile, she said, ‘I am your host and the RJ for our show
Raat Baaki
,
Baat Baaki
for which you all are here tonight.’
She quickly interacted with everyone and, feeling the absence of Ravin, inquired, ‘Where’s Ravin?’
Her inquiry brought in a moment of panicked silence with the three guests momentarily looking at each other. And before Happy could open his mouth to reply, the door on the other side opened and a tall man came running in with some papers in his hand.
‘Shambhavi, rush! You have thirty seconds to go live.’
Apparently, he was the only guy who appeared to be rushing.
‘Why are you always so panicky, Shantanu?’ said Shambhavi, showing some attitude and flaunting her confidence. ‘Relax!’
Shambhavi quickly gathered the spilled-over papers on the table beside her and walked inside the audio room, commanding Shantanu, ‘Take care of them and explain everything in detail. Once Ravin is here we will go live. Keep going fast.’
Giving due acknowledgement to her guests she baulked for a split second to give an excuse-me-I-have-to-rush-see-you-inside look. As she walked in, the others kept looking at her. Happy swallowed his incomplete answer back to the bottom of his throat.
Through the giant glass window they could see the entire inside of the audio room. It had a big table in the centre taking up almost the entire space of the room which was the only duly lit part of the room. The table was decked with various hi-tech audio gadgets, with headphones installed overhead. Watching all this felt new.
The next fifteen-minute conversation with the three of them brought in further disappointment for Shantanu—he was told something which was not in the plan.
‘What?’ He didn’t believe what he heard and cross-checked one more time. He heard the same answer again from Amardeep.
‘Then how are we going to have this show?’ demanded Shantanu, agape.
He invested a minute to think of something and then—probably when nothing appeared in his mind—he did what he was good at.
He rushed.
Back in Shambhavi’s audio room, he cautiously pushed open the door and poked his head in.
Just like any given day, Shantanu’s fear was ignored by her. Quickly muting her microphone while there was a song running in the background, she blasted at him, ‘You always come with panic attacks. Now you would say that we would need to carry on the show without Ravin. Isn’t it?’
‘Aaa … yes.’ The words came haltingly out of his mouth, followed by ‘But …’
And Shantanu’s so-called ‘but’ remained incomplete when Shambhavi ignored Shantanu’s reasoning and, instead, asked him to send the three of them in.
‘I will handle it. Let the producer know that Ravin is not in and we are going without him.’
That’s all she had to say. Apparently, for Shambhavi, this was yet another show—part of her daily job—which she had to complete on time before leaving for the day. That’s it.
Shantanu realized there was no point in explaining things to Madam Hitler and therefore he sombrely walked back.
‘Sir, she is in the habit of getting carried away and not listening to me,’ Shantanu stated, expecting them to understand him.
Happy smiled and stood up to comfort Shantanu. ‘Relax! We will handle this inside. Don’t worry.’
As the three of them looked inside the audio room from the giant glass window Shambhavi waved for them to enter.
They obeyed, and entered.
‘All right, guys. Pull your socks up. We are going live in thirty seconds.’
Shambhavi broadcasted just after she dictated a few dos and don’ts to the three of them and handed them a few questions she would be asking them during the show. Interestingly, she didn’t check in case her guests had any further queries. The guests surely anticipated the chance to ask questions and get clarifications.
‘
Oh teri!
’ Manpreet’s jaw almost hit the ground. A sliver of ice made its way into his adrenaline, freezing the blood in his veins. Amardeep raised his eyebrows, and thought to himself: Dude! What the hell are you up to? Happy simply smiled. Manpreet raised his little finger, signalling that, all of a sudden, he needed to pee. Amardeep blinked his eyes in anger. Manpreet’s little finger settled down.
‘3…2…1… and go. Hello-o-o-o-o Chandigarh! How a-a-are you doin-n-ng? I wish you all are in pink and rocking as usual. And as usual you are listening to your own RJ Shambhavi on our prime-time show
Raat Baaki, Baat Baaki
. Hmmm …
To shuru karte hain hamaara ye pyaara sa
programme with my special wish to each one of you on this day. A ver-r-r-ry happy-y-y-y Valenti-i-i-ine’s Day-y-y-y to you. Hahaha … Well, since morning I’ve been feeling so nice. Everything around me is just coloured in red. There is love in the air: outside in the park, on the roads, in the cafeterias and here in my room as well.
Har jagah bas pyaar hi pyaar chhaaya hua hai
. I am so excited celebrating this day. I wish plenty of love stories come true this Valentine’s season and I wish today ends on a very special note for each one of you. And I am here to make this day far more special for you because Superhits 93.5 RED FM now brings you the real-life characters of the love story which has touched thousands of hearts by now. Yes, I am talking about the bestselling novel and true love tale
I Too Had a Love Story
. And soon you are going to talk to the actual people who were part of Ravin’s story. So don’t go away and enjoy the spirit of love when we return. Stay tuned.’
She zip-zap-zoomed her lines with practised ease, like a news reader reading from a teleprompter, but whatever she said was completely improvised. She was perfect, energetic and mind-blowing. That’s what Manpreet, Amardeep and Happy felt.
As she ended those lines, she scrolled some keys up, playing a song, after which she muted the microphone she had been using.
The first song to be played on the show was the romantic English number ‘Paint My Love’.
Manpreet almost stole a moment to regain his lost breath. As he moved closer to Shambhavi, he requested, ‘Instead of thirty seconds can you please let us know a minute in advance? Last one was too fast.’
Shambhavi beamed her smile with her comforting message, ‘Sure.’
Happy was trying to cope with the sudden truth of the moment that all of Chandigarh would now be listening to them and that all of a sudden they would become so vulnerable.
Soon all of them were seated around the big circular table. Happy sat on the right of Shambhavi and Amardeep towards her left. Manpreet occupied the seat opposite her. The entire audio system, which Shambhavi had been operating, was in front of her. There was a monitor on which she selected the songs and the ads she was going to play. There were microphones which were centrally placed in a way that everyone on the table could speak into them comfortably. While the three friends were cautious, Shambhavi was in her carefree and ultra-confident mood. One more hour to go and the day’s job would be over and she would leave for home. She wasn’t very bothered about whether Ravin would turn up or not.
On the last few lines of the song, Shambhavi slew the volume and moved a few keys on the music console.
When they went on air again, Shambhavi introduced Happy, Manpreet and Amardeep to her listeners, saying that she would start the show with the real-life characters of the book and end it with the author.
Outside the radio station, Shambhavi’s voice was reaching almost every listener. This 9 o’clock show had been a big hit in the city, especially among the youngsters. But that night this show turned more special, for it was dedicated to this city’s bestselling author whose debut novel people had read multiple times. For over a week there had been advertisements on this radio station for this show.
As forecasted, Superhits 93.5 RED FM saw the TRP scale surging. Every other minute more and more radios were tuning in to this station’s frequency: the radios in those vehicles stuck in the heavy fog, moving inch by inch on the roads of Chandigarh; the radios in each and every hostel room of Chandigarh’s Punjab University; the radios in hundreds of cellphones across the city.
As soon as the song ended, Shambavi sprang into action. This time she gave Manpreet a good sixty seconds to prepare himself.
‘And before we talk to them, let me just recap Ravin’s story as he narrated it in his first book. The four friends—Happy, Manpreet (well known as MP among his friends), Amardeep (well known as Raamji) and Ravin—get together in Kolkata to mark their first reunion after college. In one of their conversations they decide to take up the next big subject of marriage seriously. Taking a cue from their discussion, later, Ravin creates his profile on a matrimonial website, on which he finds Khushi. Ravin lives in Bhubaneswar and Khushi in Faridabad. Gradually, both Ravin and Khushi get to know each other through their interaction over the phone and in online chatrooms. Soon, they fall in love. In their courtship of eight months Ravin happens to see Khushi on just two occasions in person; yet their mutual attraction was so strong that both of them expressed, to their respective parents, their desire to marry each other. Both sets of parents met each other and finalized their engagement and marriage. On 14 Feb. 2007, that is, exactly five years back, Ravin and Khushi were to exchange their rings. But fate had planned its own twist. Five days prior to their engagement day, Khushi’s office cab met with an accident. Unfortunately, that accident proved fatal for Ravin’s Khushi. Three months later, to cope with his big loss, Ravin decided to write a tribute to his Khushi. And this is how he penned down his debut novel
I Too Had a Love Story
.’
She paused for a while and then continued, ‘It is such a touching tale but then we are proud of Ravin that he was able to share his story and tonight we are going to celebrate the spirit of his courage. So let’s cheer up and go straight to Ravin’s friends who are in our studio today.’
‘So, Happy, how do you feel about being a part of this book? And tell us more about your friendship with Ravin. Did it happen just the way it is mentioned in the book?’
Oh, so Shambhavi has read the book, Raamji thought to himself.
‘Before I answer that, here is my bi-i-i-g-g-g hello-o-o-o-o to Chandigarh! Hope you all are enjoying the Valentine’s evening. Hmm … To answer your question, Shambhavi, it feels great to be a part of the book and, more importantly, to have him as a friend is the greatest of all feelings and I am sure MP and Amardeep will also agree to this.’ Happy gazed at his friends sitting adjacent to him.