Daddy's Girl Page 9

  ‘Can I call you?’ Angad suddenly blurted out.

  Kids today, thought Meera and said out loud, ‘Sure, if you have more information about the murder or Ambika.’

  Angad was quick to respond, ‘Okay, I won’t bother you but I want you to know that Ambika was a very kind girl. She always took on bullies like Soma. She once told me she wanted to be a lawyer to prove to her father that lawyers can do good.’

  Meera stared at his face carefully. She nodded and moved away with an understanding smile. She needed time to process this information. The young girl’s character was beginning to build right before her eyes; she was beginning to understand her and her actions a bit better.

  ‘You know, you look very sexy when you think.’ It was her boyfriend.

  She stared right back him and suddenly it hit her. He had just abandoned her!

  Jai seemed to decipher the look on her face and grinned sheepishly.

  He looks like an ape, thought Meera savagely.

  ‘Where the fuck have you been? Is this decent behaviour?’ Meera asked in an icy undertone.

  ‘Sorry, babes, she just led me away,’ he said, shuffling his feet and pushing her to smile too.

  ‘And what are you? A dog that anyone can lead you off? Have you no willpower? Clearly, you have no manners,’ said Meera and stalked off. She wasn’t going to make it any easier for him. She saw him stop and not follow her.

  Grabbing a glass of champagne, she was nearly knocked over by the lecherous cabinet minister who tried to prevent her fall by holding both her shoulders tightly. Helping her straighten up and not letting her go until she wriggled out of his grip, he said, ‘Hi, you look amazing; so voluptuous and curvy! In fact, I just composed a poem on my cell phone just looking at you earlier. Should I read it out to you?’ he asked, grinning lasciviously. Meera stared at him. His weirdly growing shock of white hair made his face look like it was expanding and his odd hair was matched by his straggly nose and ear hair. He seemed oblivious to his looks and imagined that all the women were chasing him because of his irresistible charm.

  Meera looked straight at him and said, ‘Not now, Amit. If you wrote it on your cell phone, maybe you could forward it to me.’

  ‘Oh, come on, love!’ he replied without an iota of embarrassment. ‘You know the reason I like you so much is because you are so cruel.’

  Meera cringed, ‘And “love”? Why are calling me that?’

  ‘Because I love you so,’ he leered. ‘Meera, please let me cook lunch for you; I am an excellent cook—one of my many skills,’ he continued smugly.

  Clearly, modesty is not one of them, Meera chuckled to herself, and then asked brightly, ‘Is your portfolio being changed?’

  As she had anticipated, his mood swung immediately from amorous to anxious.

  Frowning, he asked, ‘Why? What have you heard? I have a feeling that the powers that be don’t trust me.’

  And they shouldn’t, you slippery arse, she thought, but said aloud, ‘I was just asking. Thought you might know.’

  ‘Well, I have two portfolios currently—the highest in the cabinet. They might take away one but you know they don’t have anyone as efficient as me!’ he drawled, hubris restored. He sometimes affected an American accent to remind his audience that he had gone to Harvard.

  Noticing the cabinet minister, Bhagwan came rushing up to them and smiled at him in a way that no staffer of the National Express had ever been privileged to see.

  Leaving Bhagwan to it, Meera walked away. She did not want to witness his slobbering. She was still wondering about the lasciviousness of the minister. ‘How on earth do these powerful men, who were over sixty, delude themselves into thinking that any woman less than half their age would find them attractive?’ she wondered.

  Jai’s behaviour had hurt her but she couldn’t deny that she needed him in her life. He was non-judgemental most of the times and hugely supportive. Unlike her family, who hated the fact that she was a reporter. It struck Meera that Jai had lasted longer than most of her relationships. Was it because we share the same weird sense of humour and intimacy or was it that he just never let go? Is he as persistent with me as he is with his business?

  When she looked up, her eyes met Khanna’s, the host with the mostest in Delhi, and they exchanged air kisses.

  ‘It’s so good to see you, the prettiest girl in Delhi,’ he said.

  ‘I wish,’ she said, ‘Humko maloom hai jannat ki haqikat lekin,’ Meera quoted Ghalib wryly, referring to the fact that she knew what the reality was.

  Then she changed the subject. ‘But, you certainly have the hottest catch,’ she said, referring to Selena. ‘How did she come? I want to make friends with her to figure out how to only date heads of state.’

  Even Khanna could not resist a chuckle, ‘That’s a good one. But she does not tolerate women, especially beautiful women . . .’

  Meera froze as she suddenly spotted Mr Nalwa, wearing a luridly printed designer shirt with what seemed like sperms printed on it in red, minus Mrs Nalwa. Instead, he was accompanied by a woman spilling out of her gold gown.

  She looked at the host in shock and asked, ‘You invited him? And he came! How come? Didn’t his daughter just die?’

  Khanna looked at her, ‘He’s addicted to this life. It doesn’t matter if there’s been a death in the family; he’s basking in the attention he is getting. Besides, how many people are suspected of—’ He stopped abruptly. Meera urged him to go on. Her heartbeat quickened.

  ‘Well, I’ll stop here. Who am I to question a father–daughter relationship?’ he said, looking at her and raising his brows.

  Biting down her distaste for his obvious glee, Meera let the investigative reporter in her surface. She dimpled and gazed at him in awe, which he accepted as a matter-of-fact tribute to his riches, power and abilities as a host. Meera then asked in her sweetest voice, ‘Really, how do you know? Or, better still, will he get away with it?’

  ‘Come on, sweetheart, we both know the score. You know how well connected he is. He has done all the legal deals for the powers that be and has even represented them abroad. He is the only lawyer in India that “they” trust. Besides, he is really rich; he can afford the best lawyers and some of them will work pro bono because of the publicity. They are falling all over him. And imagine all the paintings he has screwed out of India’s greatest painter for representing him. Why, he even forced the painter to paint him, the ugly bugger! His art portfolio is better than mine,’ said Khanna, a tad disconsolately. He added in an undertone, ‘And once you start forum shopping justice, it means you wait forever! Have you forgotten that old cinema case?’

  ‘But how do you know he did something? And who is the woman with him? You have a point about judicial delay but I am working on a story on it,’ said Meera.

  ‘Karo story, nothing will change,’ he replied. ‘The woman with him is his mistress. Anju, she is seriously bent, even for my taste!’ Khanna winked. ‘Thought Nalwa is perfect for her; after all, he even coveted Ambika.’

  Meera could not control her disgust, ‘Please, Mr Khanna, there are limits. You are talking garbage.’

  ‘Arey, Meera, I am not. I know plenty more who would think nothing of sleeping with their daughters and nieces.’

  Meera’s brain reeled. She felt sickened. This was unbelievable. Khanna could not be serious. As her outrage grew, she felt a palpable sense of hurt and loss. This was too sickening; the world seemed out of whack.

  Maybe her gutted expression finally got through to Khanna. He said, ‘You don’t fret, sweetheart, avoid him. I had forgotten how your parents have brought you up.’

  Not trusting herself to speak, but still in shock at his words, Meera turned around and bumped straight into Mr Nalwa. She went past him without a word and sat on a deck chair near the pool, feeling utterly alone and lost. Hunger pangs and an impending migraine made her get up and she saw that the party was in full swing, with the mujrewali now swinging to ‘Beedi Jaliale’ with two ca
binet ministers gyrating next to her. An appreciative audience cheered them on.

  Meera went to one of the empty food counters and suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, Mr Nalwa silently materialized next to her. Shocked, she looked around nervously.

  ‘Relax, I don’t bite; unless someone requests it,’ he said with his usual half sneer, half smile.

  Meera looked at him, unable to say word.

  Mr Nalwa continued, ‘My wife went a bit overboard earlier today and I just wanted to check if you are okay.’

  Meera said icily, ‘I am fine, Mr Nalwa. I meet people like you and your wife every day. It’s part of my job. I cover crime. I meet rapists, murderers and deviants every day. If I let every rape and murder upset me, I would be in a loony bin or seeking help from a therapist.’

  Mr Nalwa seemed to lose his sangfroid. With his irritation visible, he said, ‘Well, as long as you are fine.’

  ‘I am fine. The real question is, are you?’

  He stared at her. ‘What do you mean, young lady? You are crossing a line here,’ he said, his teeth clenched and his eyes narrowing.

  Meera stared back at him and then slightly tilted her head. She didn’t need to say anything.

  He turned and walked away leaving Meera to calmly help herself to the delicious food. Smiling to herself, she served herself an extra-large helping. ‘You have to calm down,’ she told herself, ‘The Hunger Games have just begun.’

  10

  From the party Arjun went straight to Anju’s house. Something was niggling at him. Something had been stirred within him by the stream of questions posed by that young journalist. He couldn’t forget her accusatory eyes. He hadn’t protected his daughter. His own progeny! The child that had been born to them after much effort! He became angrier and angrier as he drove. What did she know? What was she implying? What was she thinking when she was asking me those questions? It wasn’t what she said that bothered him as much as what she didn’t say. He was a lawyer. He knew what people didn’t say, what the law didn’t mean. He knew she thought something else, damn it! He knew!

  After a long time, he used his spare key on the door. Anju, who waiting for him and immediately perked up, was surprised at his grouchy expression. She was just starting to say something when he stopped her with a wave of his hand.

  She smiled. Now was not the time to talk.

  He went straight to the bar and poured himself a scotch. Then he headed to the bedroom.

  He paced in the room while he sipped on his drink, with his lips pursed. What was she saying? Was she implying that I had been responsible all along?

  Anju watched him pace. She knew he was in the perfect frame of mind and she was ready for him.

  Arjun looked at her with unseeing eyes but gave her a smile, which ended short of his eyes. He was ready for her. The rage surged as he mounted her. Ambika was his little girl. His angel. He remembered her tiny hands and feet when she was born. He remembered the day she walked, the way she laughed, the way her eyes softened when he picked her up. He was her father, goddamn it!

  Beneath him, Anju moaned.

  Ambika was his creation, flesh of his flesh, and for her to let that old third-grade, retarded villager . . . He felt his head would explode. How could she? It was unthinkable that she had allowed that filthy man to kiss, to touch her in her own childhood room. The pain came hard, the desecration of his sacred object. His mind ran around the familiar path, the violation of the only thing he loved.

  That bitch reporter with her contempt had cut him to the quick. Meera had ensured the return of the thin-skinned Arjun Nalwa with only his blinding rage as his security.

  That Babloo had even shiftily asked him for a bottle of rum, and not wanting him to start stealing and watering down his single malts, Arjun had given it to him. And that’s what the fucker was doing, betraying his trust. The trust of a man who was not only related to him but had given him a roof, food, a job . . . even the clothes on his back. And this is how he repaid him! It was heartbreaking!

  And then he slapped Anju. He had never done it before but it was an orgasmic experience for both of them, and Anju groaned and begged for more. Arjun Nalwa experienced a release he had never felt in his tightly controlled and complicated life.

  Meanwhile, Cuckoo Nalwa was in her sister’s house and was vacantly staring into space, wondering which way her husband was fucking Anju. She couldn’t take being in the same house where Ambika had died ever since the nosy, overdressed, smart alec reporter had visited them. She craved old age, wanted to collapse into its embrace, much like a well-worn cardigan which you never took off. She felt that once she was really old, the ever-present gnawing pain she felt due to Arjun and Ambika would recede. She looked at her hands and rubbed them. They hurt, they felt strange. She rubbed them on her shoulders, a strange memory sweeping into her eyes and she felt herself fall into a vortex of depression.

  Her sister, Neena, who had never understood Cuckoo or her obsessive devotion to her creepy husband, who had tried to flirt with her many times, saw that Cuckoo was sitting in the dark. Putting on the light she was shocked at the expression on her sister’s face and asked, concerned, ‘Didi, what is it? You have to talk to someone. This is destroying you.’

  Turning her ravaged face to Neena, Cuckoo spat out, ‘Really? Talking will fix it? Bring my daughter back . . . You want me to confess to you? Who am I, Neena? Am I a mother? Will I ever be called a mother?’

  Terrified by her words, Neena looked at Cuckoo imploringly, but felt unmoored, increasingly unnerved at her state. Reluctantly, she came near her and said, ‘Should I get you a sleeping pill?’

  Her sister only stared at her. Then she sighed. ‘I have to go home.’ She looked restless.

  Neena burst into tears and fled the room.

  It didn’t even register with her elder sister. She dialled her husband. As it went straight to voice mail, her mood darkened. So, he was still with that whore! She redialled and kept redialling the number obsessively.

  Tears streaming down her face as a fresh wave of pain wracked her large frame, Cuckoo called Anju’s landline. Arjun picked it up at the first ring. Without even saying ‘hello’, he said gently, ‘Are you lonely? Do you want to join us?’

  Cuckoo hung up without a word, the tears pouring down her face and as the sobs convulsed her body, she thought, He actually thinks he is keeping his side of the bargain.

  She went to the bathroom, switched on the vanity light and looked at her face—the dark circles, the scar visible without the make-up, the sunken eyes with defeat visible in them. And then came the detached thought, So this is what utter despair looks like? What will I do? How will I live? At least he can never leave me, I know. We will be together till death do us part. But, when will he lose this absolute power to hurt me?

  Visibly steeling herself, she pulled her shoulders back and went out to the living room, where her sister and brother-in-law were talking in hushed voices.

  She entered and announced baldly, ‘The driver has left, and my husband is lonely and needs me. Will you drop me home?’

  ‘But, Didi, you wanted a change and Vakil sahib thought it would be good for you.’

  Not bothering to acknowledge the concern in her voice, Cuckoo asked, ‘Should I call a cab or will you drop me home?’

  Her brother-in-law sighed; it wasn’t clear whether it was in relief or exasperation. He got up and said, ‘Let’s go. Neena, will you come?’

  Neena, knowing how little her husband wanted to be in her strange sister’s company, said, ‘Yeah, I will. Let me just call the maid so the kids are not left alone.’

  Putting on a martyred air at the delay, Cuckoo refused to sit down and waited by the door, tapping her foot impatiently.

  During the forty-five minute drive, no one said a word. One of the fallouts of the great Indian divided family.

  Cuckoo opened the car door without a word and left.

  Earlier, she had visited her innocent younger sister’s house on a mission, w
hich she had managed to accomplish successfully. Her brother-in-law was from a minor Rajasthani royal family, unlike the nondescript Nalwa clan. He at least had the lineage, a minor decrepit haveli grandly called a palace and other royal accoutrements such as crystals, carpets and guns.

  Entering the dark bungalow using her key, she braced herself and then marched straight to the bedroom. Arjun was snoring away on the bed. The next moment she had pulled the covers off him and slapped him hard across his face.

  Waking up with a start, he pulled on his spectacles before she flew at him again, raking her long nails across his face, leaving a trail of blood. She pulled off his glasses, which cracked as she crushed them under her foot.

  A disoriented Arjun screamed, ‘Stop it, you ugly bitch. What is the matter with you? You knew about tonight, damn it!’

  Cuckoo slapped him again and felt the satisfying sound of her solitaire diamond ring connecting with his nose and breaking skin. Looking around blindly without his glasses, he roared, ‘You hit me once more and I will file the papers tomorrow.’

  This seemed to calm her down, but brought in a flood of tears. Her lips curving downwards, she said, ‘Listen, I can’t live in this house. Her memories . . .What ha . . . happened . . . it’s too much!’ She raised her arms in frustration.

  He looked at her intently.

  ‘I . . . I sacrificed my daughter, you will sacrifice your whore.’

  Arjun’s eyes narrowed and he squinted up at her. ‘Fine, we will leave the house. Let’s move to our farmhouse; it might even look good—grief and all. But I will have to tell the police, so it might take longer than a week. Anju is a problem; I cannot dump her. I have to keep her sweet. That Singh is on to her and, as you know, she is a complete bitch. But, honestly, I swear I can’t stand her. There is nothing left. No spark . . .’

  ‘Shut up! Just shut up!’ She spoke with clenched teeth. ‘I want to sleep. I just want to sleep . . .’ She put her head on the pillow next to her husband.

  Arjun Nalwa looked at his wife. Her eyes seemed like to large holes, her skin stretched. For a moment, he almost felt sorry for her.