Tea for Two and a Piece of Cake (2 page)

‘Hey Nisha, want to grab a cup of coffee?’ asks Akash.

‘That sounds good. Give me two minutes,’ I say, as I note down the booking details of a client.

‘I am coming too. I badly need one. Who else is coming?’ asks Chetana.

No one responds, so the three of us cross the road to the coffee shop across, which is our usual haunt for breaks. Akash is the youngest amongst us. He is just twenty years old and fresh out of college. But he is smart, clever, and talks well, which is probably the reason why he got the job at Point to Point.

Chetana, with her stylish haircut, flawless complexion, easy laugh, and eyes that twinkle, is easily the best-looking girl in our office. Usually, she is dressed to kill, her wardrobe consisting of mostly short skirts and wellfitted tops. She is from a wealthy family and is just biding her time in this travel agency, as it will give her a chance to tell people that she is ‘working’, till she gets married. We are all certain she will get married to a wealthy businessman from her community and live in the lap of luxury for the rest of her life, or she will get married to someone from the US and migrate there for good.

Just as we are midway through the coffee, Sanjay calls out from across the road and says, ‘Guys, get back! Bulging cover alert,’ as we all gulp down our remaining coffee and hurry back to office.

‘Bulging cover alert’ is our code for our boss, the lady who owns the travel agency. She is a rich, affluent lady by the name of Parinita Sachdev, who mostly comes to office just once a week, clack–clacketying her six-inch heels and looking down upon all of us disdainfully as she walks into her cabin which is almost always kept
locked in her absence. She then ‘checks accounts’ for an hour or so and hands out any communication (usually she carries a huge envelope stuffed with papers, thus earning herself the name ‘bulging cover’) and walks out as swiftly and smartly as she arrives. She is pencil thin, with a perfect hairdo, perfectly manicured hands, and the looks of a model straight from the pages of
Vogue
magazine. If rumour mills are to be believed, she is the mistress of Jairaj Singhania, one of the co-founders of Singhania Hotels—a large chain of luxury hotels.

Jairaj Singhania is a well-known public figure who makes regular appearances on Page 3 columns in newspapers. Rumours abound that he has bought Parinita Sachdev not just an apartment in Lokhandwala Complex, but also this travel agency, where we all work, to give her something to do, so she can play boss lady and order minions like us around, when he really should be devoting all his time to his hotel industry and his wife and kids.

None of us know if there is any truth in these rumours, but we are inclined to believe them as Parinita seems unbelievably wealthy, and anyone with even half a brain can figure out that a measly little travel agency cannot be her
sole
source of income. She always arrives in a chauffeur-driven Mercedes. The driver almost trips over himself as he rushes to open the door for Her Highness as she climbs out of the car. Even street dogs seem to stand at attention when she arrives.

I shift uneasily in my chair when she arrives, wishing I could somehow smoothen out the layers of fat on my body, which I usually manage to somewhat conceal with
clever clothing. But the moment Parinita Sachdev walks in, I feel inadequate.

That morning, she doles out the invite from Magellan International (the one that will change the course of my life, but I am yet to know that), and before she marches out breezily, she says, ‘Oh, you all decide amongst yourself, which two will attend this party. I have no interest in it.’ She drops the invite like a used tissue on our counter and marches out, leaving a trail of expensive perfume in the air.

As soon as she leaves, all of us eagerly gather around the invite.

‘Oh wow! It’s at the Taj!’ exclaims Deepti.

‘Not bad!’ says Chetana.

‘Let’s decide by draw of lots which two get to go,’ suggests Akash. Akash is the practical one in the group.

Deepti writes out the guys’ names first and when Prashant’s name is pulled out, he looks very pleased, as Akash and Sanjay congratulate him.

Next it is the women’s turn. I cannot believe my luck when my name is pulled out. I have never won anything before this, not even at those school raffles. But unlike the school raffle tickets, the chances of my name emerging are of course one third here. Still, I never thought I’ll get lucky. I am very pleased too, till I steal a quick glance at Prashant’s face. He looks positively disgusted now.

I am certain Prashant has been hoping to go with Chetana. To all of us (except Chetana perhaps), on our ridiculously low salaries, a chance to party at a five-star hotel is hard to pass on. But after seeing Prashant scowl,
I have half my mind of passing on my chance to Chetana.

I take her aside and ask her, ‘Hey Chetana, do you want to go instead of me? Just look at his face.’

‘No, Nisha. Your name has been drawn fair and square. It is really a chance for you. You must go. Just watch me. I know how to handle the likes of Prashant.’

‘Hey, Prashant, what is with you? Can’t you be a gentleman for once and be nice to Nisha?’ she says sweetly to him, in a half-coquettish way.

Her frankness and open confrontation without any animosity takes him completely by surprise, but he quickly recovers. He would have jumped off a mountain cliff if Chetana had asked him to. That was the effect Chetana had on most men.

‘Of course, Chetana. I don’t mind going out with Nisha,’ he answers.

Then he turns towards me and squeezes my arm and says, ‘Hey babe, you will have fun. Wear something nice.’

I am shocked and surprised and also very pleased, even though I know he is just obliging Chetana. The excitement in me refuses to die down.

Throughout my way home, I smile in anticipation of attending a party with Prashant Mathur. I live with my father in Parel and I have to travel to Andheri to reach the travel agency in Lokhandwala. That works very well for me, as it works against the maddening rush-hour traffic both times in the local trains of Mumbai; when people are always rushing towards the city, I rush towards the suburbs and so getting here as well as getting back home are easy.

My father does not care in the least bit about my whereabouts. I lost my mother to cancer when I was five and my father never remarried. He instead employed an old lady, whom I fondly called Malati Tayi, to look after me. She passed away when I was sixteen, leaving a gaping hole in my heart. I was too young to have remembered my mother’s death. My father, I have been told, changed a lot after my mother’s death. I have no memories of how he had been before she died. He had loved her dearly and had done all he could to save her. I have studied her photographs and she is pretty. I think I look a lot like my mother (except that my mother was very slim), and perhaps looking at me is a painful reminder to him of happy memories which he could never have with her. So he mostly left me alone, and I grew into a lonely child, with hardly any friends to play with.

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

C
hetana 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.