The apartment door had been opened, as expected, by the keeper of the house, who, if reports had to be believed, also doubled as the cook. Looking quite comfortable on the designer white couches had been, quite unexpectedly, Ravi Kapoor; the newest male sensation to flicker across bollywood screens. Mira De’s boyfriend, correction, EX boyfriend. She had left him quite abruptly to chase the much older, more handsome (at least according to Harni’s personal standards) Rohit Khanna. So what was he doing here?
“We never stopped being friends…” of course! In the very human and vibrant film industry, nobody ever committed the fatal mistake of not being friends with anybody.
She was friends with her south Indian masseur, who spoke no English whatsoever. The only conversation between them had been “Madam likes?” “I waits outside” and “Thank you”. Despite the fact that she was beating her muscles into a not-so-pleasant numbness; probably venting her day’s frustration by slapping smart shots on her back, they were still friends. They smiled at each other at the end of ever session. First signs of friendship – you can still look at each other and smile.
Ravi Kapoor with his chocolate boy face, had earned the sympathies of the masses, after his unceremonious dump. He had managed to retain his youthful, teenage looks, while Mira had moved on the mature with grace. She had been the woman in the relation, while he had been the boy. She often wondered what happened when at some social event or the other someone, quite callously, pointed to Mira, that she looked older to
“I don’t know,”
“Her death?” Harni interrupted.
“That too,” he said quite conversationally, as if her death itself was insignificant in comparison to the incident he was mentioning. “I was talking of the end of our relation. It was as if she just got up one day and whoosh! Disappeared!” After the whooshing motion of his hand, which so typically follows the sound every single time, he sighed.
He looked up straight at Harni, his eyes locked on to hers, the perfect I-am-going-to-make-a-point stance. “You know, I always felt she did not want to leave me. She was not happy without me!” Voila! The perfect bollywood chauvinist. How could a woman not want him?
And this is not about you! Harni almost added. But kept quite.
Her slapping, patting routine over, the masseur was drawing lazy pressurized circled all along her back. Now, that felt good. What did not feel good, was the way