“Three hundred rupees.”
“Three hundred! That's too much!”
“Okay. How much are you saying?” The Vendor seemed ready to bargain.
“A hundred rupees,” Sonia stated.
“Boss, that's too cheap,” Jatin whispered in her ear, and Sonia frowned at him.
“Hundred rupees!” the Vendor exclaimed, visibly shocked. “That is not even my basic purchase price!”
“A hundred rupees,” Sonia insisted, firmly.
“Madam! Quote something reasonable!”
“Okay. A hundred and fifty. And that's my last price.”
“Two hundred.”
“Boss, two hundred seems reasonable to me,” Jatin whispered.
Sonia threw him her worst scowl. “Jatin, go away!” she hissed fiercely.
The Vendor watched their exchange with a great deal of curiosity. “Two hundred?” he asked hopefully.
“A hundred and fifty.” Sonia unsympathetically and firmly stuck to her price.
“No, Madam, too cheap.” The Vendor looked downcast.
Even the most hard-hearted purchaser would've melted at the man's dejected expression. Jatin did. But not Sonia.
“Fine!” She shrugged and turned to leave.
“Okay, take it!” The Vendor intervened hastily. “But, mind you, you are getting it dirt cheap, and please don't tell anybody at what price you bought it.” He stuffed the carpet into a plastic bag, accepted her money, and turned to the next customer.
Both he and Sonia looked quite pleased.
She gripped Jatin by the elbow and led him away from the shop. “The next time I'm bargaining, don't you dare whisper advises into my ear!” she warned him.
“But I was only trying to help!”
“Of course!” Sonia grimaced.
“But I must say that you did a good job. That was a good bargain! Well done!”
“Thank you.” Sonia smiled sweetly. She thrust the carpet into her assistant's hands. “You may as well take this to the van,” she told him, then added on a friendlier note, “And don't worry, the moment I lose a case because of the carpet, it goes straight home!”
Jatin grinned. Tucking the carpet under his arm, he trudged to the van, whistling tunelessly. Sonia smiled after him. He was such a child at times!
She resumed her stroll down the street, glancing at the leather goods displayed in the windows. She spotted some hand-knitted cardigans on the other side of the road. It was while she was crossing the street towards them that she had an uncanny feeling. Like someone was staring at her. She whipped around, her gaze probing the crowd for a familiar face. But the passersby, mostly tourists, were engrossed in their own shopping and merry-making. Vehicles zipped across the street. Sonia shrugged. Her imagination was playing tricks on her! She crossed the road. Suddenly the skin on the back of her neck prickled and she wheeled around again. No, this was no imagination. Someone or something was definitely following her. But who was it? Her cruising gaze yielded no results.
Perplexed, she had turned towards the van, when a hand clasped her shoulder.
“Hi!” a familiar voice drawled.
“Mohnish!” Sonia exclaimed. “What in heavens are you doing here?”
Mohnish grinned broadly. He looked quite handsome in a lemon-yellow cotton shirt and ink-blue jeans. Dark glasses shielded his eyes from the evening sun. He threw an appreciative glance over Sonia's sleeveless black Top and cream trousers. “I'm here to do a feature on Chirag Mehta.”
“On Chirag! Are you sure?” Sonia couldn't hide the suspicion in her voice.
“What do you mean?” A frown puckered his brow.
“I mean, isn't it too much of a coincidence that we both should be in Panchgani on the same day?” Sonia asked. “Are you positive you're not following me?”
“Following you!” Mohnish couldn't have looked more surprised. “Why would I follow you?”
“I don't know,” she admitted. “Okay, forget it! I'm just a little hyper.” She brushed off further conversation and kept on walking towards the van.
Mohnish fell in step with her. “I can see you don't like coincidences. You're not happy to see me here.”
Sonia stopped. Crowds jostled around her, making a discussion difficult. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. Forget it. Are you going directly to Chirag for the interview?”
“I think I will. So I'll see you in Pune, tomorrow?” Mohnish asked her seriously.
“Of course!” Sonia smiled, holding out her hand. “Goodbye.”
Mohnish grasped her outstretched hand in a warm handshake. “Bye.”
It was dark outside and merry sounds of laughter and spoons clinking against glass plates drifted into the cottage. Jay was pacing in the room, an expression of deep worry marring his good looks. Chirag swirled the drink in his glass, hiding the exasperation he felt. Jay was intelligent and urbane but sometimes he got a little too panicky.
“You've got to stop this at once, Jay. What's done is done. You can't really undo anything, can you?”
“No, I can't,” the actor exclaimed. “But I've got to do something! What if she goes with the knowledge to the police?”
“Police? You're crazy! She wouldn't do something so foolish!” Chirag laughed. “Anyway, she has no proof.”
“She can tell them what I said to her.”
“What
did
you say to her?”
Jay glared at Chirag. “What do you mean? I was very clear, wasn't I?”
“Were you?” Chirag raised an eyebrow. “Can you repeat what you said to her?”
“Of course. I said, ‘Nimisha, there's someone very special who desires to interact with you. Someone who wishes to shower you with love and everything you've ever desired in life.' That's what I said to her.”
“Right. And what does that indicate? You mentioned no names, you made no unpleasant requests. Don't you see? You simply implied and hinted. She can't go to the police with hints and suspicions!”
Jay stared at Chirag for a moment and his brow cleared. “Put like that, it does seem rather . . . outrageous, doesn't it? So for the moment I'm safe? I don't need to do anything about it?”
“You don't need to do anything about it, ever!” Chirag grinned. “Just tuck that idea away for good. And think about what you have to tell
him.
Your main concern now ought to be facing him. I can imagine his reaction when he hears that Nimisha turned him down. A powerful man—a dangerous man . . . He'll ask for a replacement—someone equally attractive.”
“I hate this whole business!” Jay burst out.
“I know, but it's too late for your conscience to pop up, isn't it? This is the price you have to pay for opportunities, success, and money. Focus on these goals and everything seems tolerable,” Chirag advised kindly. “Come on, let's freshen up and join the others. I want to meet this Astrologer Sonia something, Nimisha's friend!”
K.Kusum watched herself in the mirror. She smiled grimly, studying her reflection—tall and graceful, draped in a plain black, glimmering
salwar kameez.
She ought to have become an actress. She had the looks—oh, not the light-eyed, classic, fine features of Nimisha—but a face with character and strength. Yes, she had plenty of strength. Had an opportunity presented itself, she would've been good as an actress. But destiny had led her down the path of Choreography. And God alone knew how difficult it had been to establish herself in this world of cut-throat competition. She had barely survived at first. And then a stroke of luck had cleared the way to success. After that, she had never looked back. Until now. Suddenly she felt afraid. She couldn't afford to lose all that she'd achieved in life. She'd struggled too hard and for far too long to let it slip out of her hands. She couldn't give it all up now, at the zenith of her career. Not for anyone!
K.Kusum straightened, squaring her shoulders. She was the best, no matter what. A faint smile of satisfaction crossed her lips.
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in!” she called.
The door opened and an old,
dhoti-
clad man stepped in with four baskets.
“The berries you had ordered, Madam.” The old man spoke gruffly.
“Oh yes!” K.Kusum automatically spoke loudly in Hindi. “Keep them on the table, by the window.” She indicated with her hand, just in case he didn't hear her.
The old man nodded, placing the baskets on the table.
“Good.” K.Kusum picked up the basket of red and purple-blue luscious fruits. She loved strawberries and raspberries. They were fitting goodbye gifts to give her friends. Jay, Chirag, and Nimisha would certainly understand her emotions behind the gesture, she thought.
Jay swung a comb through his already immaculate, gelled hair and flashed himself a disarming smile. His talk with Chirag had lifted his mood considerably. Now he could look forward to this last evening with his friends. Tomorrow would be a rest day, and after that, his nose would be once more to the grindstone.
A knock on the door preceded the arrival of an old man with a basket of berries.
“Kusum Madam ne phal bheja hai.”
Kusum Madam has sent fruits.
“Shukriya,”
Jay thanked him in Hindi.
The old man handed him the basket and shuffled out again.
Jay glanced appreciatively at the berries. A green satin ribbon was tied in a beautiful bow, over which a card read,
“To Jay, from Kusum.”
Jay smiled. Kusum's way of saying goodbye? She really had the knack of doing it in style.
Nimisha shut the suitcase she was packing. She threw a quick look across the neat tidy cottage and was about to leave when there was a knock on the door.
“Who is it?” she asked, picking up her purse.
“Berries for you, Madam! Kusumji asked me to hand you these.”
“Thanks. Do I have to pay you?” Nimisha accepted the basket.
“She's paid for it.”
The old man retreated, and Nimisha watched him leave. Then, raising an eyebrow, she glanced at the basket, which she placed on the table near the window. Kusum presenting her with berries? What exactly was she playing at? Surely not peacemaking? She picked up a purple-blue fruit.
“Madam, there's a call for both you and Kusumji at the reception,” a hotel boy announced from the open door.
“A call for me? Can't you connect it here?”
“It's in the Manager's office. That phone isn't connected to the PBX.”
Nimisha dropped the berry into the basket, picked up her purse again, shut the door, and followed the Hotel Boy to the main reception area.
The cottages were more like Row houses, small and red-roofed. Tidy in their arrangement and yet pretty, with pink lace curtains adorning the grill-less, open wooden windows. Glasses clinked as the small circle partied on the lawn adjoining the cottages, where the film personalities and other hotel guests were housed. Sonia sat in a chair, a glass of orange juice in her hand. Even though the majority of the film unit had departed, the others had a good reason to rejoice. The shooting was over and the film would now be promoted to the editing stage. These people, who had spent over a month together like a family, were now going to part—perhaps forever or until the next film. Whatever Destiny chose.
She saw Jatin, circulating amidst the guests and helping himself to a plateful of salad. It had been a good treat for him. After his unfailing loyalty to Stellar Investigations, he deserved a change. Her gaze moved to the cottages. Nimisha must be busy dressing. Actresses were usually very conscious of the way they appeared in public. Nimisha would be no different.
Sonia watched the strawberry Vendor go to different cottages, delivering his goods and heading out of the premises. Leaning against the warm cushioned seat, Sonia allowed the breeze to relax her body.
“Enjoying yourself?” a low voice asked, startling Sonia.
Jay looked extremely handsome, in a white silk kurta—casual yet elegant. His smile was warm and friendly.
Sonia smiled. “Very much, thank you.”
Jay seated himself beside her. “You're an old friend of Nimisha's, aren't you? But I've never seen you before.”
“That's because this is the first time I'm attending a shoot of hers.”
“So how do you find it?”
“Exhausting!” Sonia grinned.
Jay threw back his head and laughed heartily. “You're absolutely right. Film work is tedious. Very few know what effort goes behind filmmaking. Sometimes I feel that it would help if they knew. At least they would stop a minute to think before they pan a film!”
“The reverse could also be true, of course. I mean, how many filmmakers truly stop and think
before
they make films? Could that be one of the reasons for the devolution of films?” Sonia asked.
Jay looked taken aback. “Oh, are you the type who prefers art cinema to commercial, song-and-dance mainstream films?”
“No. I'm the type who prefers to be entertained with sensible, wholesome films. And that is
not
arty cinema. That is logical, middle-of-the-stream cinema. Songs and dance included.”
“Fair enough,” Jay conceded with an abashed smile. “But creativity cannot be typecast.”