4

Leaving the Shore

 

Niyati Reddy felt she was leaving her world behind. Her foster parents, her sisters, her friends. And every single thing in her room that she was attached to. Old furniture and drapes made out of her grandma’s sarees; flowering plants in her balcony; toys and dolls she had treasured from childhood; wall hangings made in craft class in school; books, she had spent her childhood and teenage years with; her coffee mugs, a box of stationery, completed sketch files, an old set of shading pencils, used diaries; walls decorated with paper stars and origami arts by her sisters; trinket jewellery she had collected from several exhibitions; old worn-out clothes that her mother didn’t consider good enough to be carried to Paris by the new bride-to-be; her canvas running shoes; embroidered cotton bags and satin ribbons; first desktop computer in their home; her scooty, and so much more – her entire world.

She formed a bond with things she owned and treasured them even when they were damaged. She mended old shoes, stitched up rips in her dresses, painted scraped edges of her torn diaries, covered holes in her bags using stickers; taped and glued pieces driven apart from a favourite pen or a book, but she would never throw them away. Instead, they became an integral part of her life.

Why do I have to part with them at this stage? she winced in pain.

Vasudha dragged Niyati out of her room. It was time to go. The entire family accompanied her to drop her at the airport. Niyati tried her best to look cheerful, for she didn’t want Meera Ma to worry about her.

“May God bless you. Stay the way you are. Never change.” Meera held Niyati’s face and kissed her forehead, blessing her for a safe journey ahead. Niyati shook her head to agree and wiped the tears rolling down inadvertently.

Seventeen-year-old Srilatha chirped, “Why are you crying? I’m jealous of you, Akka. You are beginning a new life in Paris. How romantic!”

Vasudha giggled, “I hope Yash Jiju receives you at the airport with one hundred red roses and a big placard professing how much he loves you.”

“Eeeks!” Niyati frowned, with a distinct pucker between her brows.

Her sisters laughed and teased her more. “How about adding a musical band to that? People playing the violins in the background.”

Niyati raised her hands in the air, “No, please! That’s cheesy and cringe-worthy. Such a cliché.”

Srilatha winked and said, “Mark my words, Sistah! You’ll meet the man of your dreams in the most clichéd and cheesy manner.”

“Eeww!” Niyati twisted her lips again, scrunching her nose playfully, making all of them laugh together.

Vasudha nudged her, “I’m praying for you to have the most clichéd love story ever.”

“Pray for the most memorable one, instead.” Niyati smiled, balancing her bag on her shoulder.

After an emotional last hug, she moved towards the security check at the airport, leaving her foster family behind. The path beyond this point marked the beginning of her solo journey towards a new destination, new relationships, and new challenges.

She wondered why there were no security checks before every phase of life. Check-points where people could be analysed and deemed fit or unfit for the voyage ahead. Or maybe a prior warning, like a weather report, for upcoming twists and turns would have helped.

At this moment, she didn’t know what she had signed up for. And it was both unnerving and exciting. This new relationship wasn’t her choice. But what was life without an unexpected mix of some choices, some compulsions and something between the two. It doesn’t matter which direction life takes you through, as long as you are ready to roll up your sleeves and take the challenges head-on.

Niyati Reddy had taken a chance, too.

……………………………………..

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3

Devil Has a Face

 

“Sir, isn’t it hot today?”

Shanaya whispered in a sensuous tone, taking off her shrug. The bare skin of her shoulders and arms was now on display, with only a pink tube top covering the basics on her torso. The metallic-grey mini skirt offered a luxurious view of her long slim legs up to mid-thighs. Settled in her chair, she moved one knee over the other, slightly leaning ahead.

Virat Malhotra, Managing Director of the Malhotra Group of Industries, had been dictating a formal letter to his newly appointed personal assistant, Shanaya Smith, before she decided to distract him.

She had disregarded every advice from her colleagues to mind her own business inside the MD’s cabin and to speak only when spoken to. Virat Malhotra preferred people stay within their limits, restricting themselves to work and only work while dealing with him.

He had been kind enough to allow a casual atmosphere in other parts of the office premises, for being in the fashion industry, he understood the need for freedom in creativity. But all informal interaction was strictly meant to be limited within the staff. Not with the management. And never with the boss, Virat Malhotra.

Shanaya was warned that Virat was a hard-headed taskmaster with zero tolerance for frivolity or lack of professional ethics. He didn’t appreciate delays, failure, breach of deadlines, gossip, or loose conversation. Virat listened only when it was about work or else, he was not interested. He carried himself with an unrivalled aura that left little room for anyone to mess with him.

He didn’t care what rapport his staff enjoyed as a team as long as he received results on his desk. On his part, he stayed aloof and didn’t mingle with employees on a personal level. The staff avoided him if it wasn’t necessary to see him. Difficult to please, he had an unpredictable temperament.

The ability to read people, an eye to construe their intentions – as if people were made of clear, transparent glass – was both an asset and a curse. It took away the innocence required to trust others. Consequently, Virat had no friends in the office. Even outside the office, he had only one childhood friend, Samir.

Shanaya had ignored every bit of cautioning and dared to pull this stunt before Virat. Her mission was right before her eyes. The target wasn’t easy. But then, he wasn’t supposed to be. He was the man a significant lot of women in Paris desired.

His charisma wasn’t limited to his swanky businesses, fancy cars, or the magnificent mansion he lived in. He had more to offer. Six-and-one-foot tall stature, well-toned physique and bronze-tanned skin, along with an impeccable grooming and matchless style defined him. His expensive watches, customised shoes and designer sunglasses were

avidly discussed among his admirers. He was a package worth every effort.

Shanaya had never failed before. And she was sure to win again. The first step was to sit sensuously while she took dictation. The second step followed soon, and she took off her shrug.

Standing at the far end of his cabin, facing the tall French window overlooking the Tour de’ Eiffel, Virat dictated the contents of the email to a prospective business partner. His mind worked around calculating the risk- benefit ratio of the business deal they were about to sign when the untimely idiotic question by his new PA came like an annoying mosquito buzz. Disturbed, he clicked his tongue and turned around sharply. The very next moment, his expressions changed. The creases over his forehead and the cleft in his chin deepened. His masseter tightened as he threw a stern stare at Shanaya. His ruthless, dark-brown eyes darkened a shade further, and he folded his arms across his chest, thoroughly evaluating the circumstances of this audacity.

Shanaya blushed when she found him quiet. “I knew you’d become speechless.”

Virat twisted his lips. “I am…truly speechless, Miss Smith.”

“Won’t you say something?” She stood up.

“Of course!” His eyes narrowed, reduced to transverse slits, before he shot daggers out of them.

She giggled, hoping to hear sweet nothings from him. “I’m waiting.”

Virat took a deep breath, opened his arms and slipped his hands in the front pockets of his trousers before speaking in measured, composed words.

“You’re fired.”

……………………………………………….

Chapter 4 – Leaving the Shore

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2

All That Glitters

 

Yash Malhotra threw a cursory glance over his phone, buzzing to notify a new text message from Niyati Reddy. He let his tongue sweep over his lower lip, tapping his fingers over the glass of whiskey in his hand, and read the message with details of Niyati’s flight to Paris on the following day. She never sent a message unless it was essential.

“Guys, the bar is about to be closed,” One of his friends yelled from the bar counter. Yash’s friends, drinking and swaying to the beats of the deafeningly high volume of heavy metal rock, created a ruckus over the announcement.

Yash raised his hand. “Chill, people! I’ll do something.”

He thrust his phone in the pocket of his jacket and staggered his way to the bar counter. When the bartender refused to entertain him, Yash treated him with some innovative cuss words and called for the manager.

A phone call, a cheque, and a flash of his visiting card did the magic, yet again. The bar was kept open as long as Yash and his friends decided to party. Rules changed for The Malhotras.

“Dude, you are incredible. That was hot.” One of the new girls in the group winked, giving him suggestive looks. Yash winked back.

Praises from random girls effortlessly lead them to his good books, car, and sometimes his bedroom. Yash Malhotra, twenty-six-year-old, one inch short of six feet, with straight hair, cute eyes and a charming smile, believed he deserved all the attention. Why won’t any girl desire the most eligible bachelor in the town? According to him, using such instances to his benefit was totally valid.

“What are your plans now?” Jamie, his best friend, asked.

Scrolling through his phone, Yash replied, “Tomorrow morning, I’m leaving for Versailles to finish a modelling assignment. Then, I’ll record the last song of my album. And then… Oh, God! it’s Dadu-Dadi’s party, the day after…by the way, all of you are coming for Valentine’s day party.”

“Yes, we are,” Jamie chuckled.

Another friend slapped on Yash’s back with a twinge of envy, “Life is cool for you, dude. No struggles to earn a living. No stress whatsoever. Anyone would give his right arm for a life like yours.”

Yash smirked, “Even Yash Malhotra can’t buy this life, selling his right arm. You can only be born with that kind of luck.”

Jamie laughed, “Luck, with a hell lot of smartness, I must say. You enjoy all the perks and make your cousin Virat slog at the office to work for you.”

Yash lost his smile when Jamie mentioned Virat. It was a bitter pill he could neither swallow nor spit out. He had lied to his friends that he made Virat toil at their office. The truth was precisely the opposite. All the business chains of

Malhotra Group were solely managed by Virat Malhotra, who held absolute control over them, since the day their grandfather, Gajendra Singh Malhotra, had started trusting Virat for all big and small business decisions.

Yash, the younger one, had always been a brat. By default, since always, Virat had taken up the role of the senior, responsible guy.

Until a few years ago, this arrangement suited Yash well. He didn’t have to work at the office to receive regular pocket money. He was never interested in work, anyway. So, it didn’t matter if the hard part was executed by Virat as long as Yash got his monthly cheques cleared, credit card bills paid, and all expenses taken care of. Moreover, it gave him the freedom to follow his passions – music and photography – which didn’t fetch him enough moolah to sustain his extravagant splurges.

Recently, Yash noticed his outlays surpassing his budgets. He wanted more. Taking over the business was not an option. He neither knew much about business nor wanted to learn it. One simple solution was to get it from Virat. But it wasn’t easy. Yash started creating problems for Virat to get a manipulative hold over him. He tried devising different ploys to trap Virat, but it didn’t work. Virat was no candy to be popped and chewed by Yash.

Always a step ahead of Yash, Virat never gave Yash any chance to stage-manage him. However, that didn’t dissuade Yash from trying different tactics to get a hold above Virat.

Every human being faltered at some point or the other in his life, Yash believed. He was just waiting for that one point in Virat’s life.

…………………………………………………

Chapter 3 – Devil Has a Face

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