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  “I am so thankful to you, sir. I will never forget your faith in me.”

  “I have full faith in you. But you should start practising your scenes soon. Do you want me to help you?”

  “Sure sir.”

  “Okay good. One scene in the movie involves you artistically raping the hero’s sister.”

  Umar could not help wondering what was artistic in a rape.

  “See, you are a nude model and the hero’s sister is an artist. While she is painting a portrait of you, the beast in you rises, and you rape her. Isn’t that artistic?” The producer was full of excitement.

  “Hmm… Yes sir, yes sir. Very artistic!”

  “So, let’s enact the scene now. Assume I am the sister, the artist, and you are the nude model. I want it to be very real. I want to see how the feelings rise in you, how your facial expressions change. I want to see that blood and flesh in you. I want to see you nude! Completely surrender yourself to this role Umar, surrender yourself to me… And you shall make history!” The producer’s excitement was apparent on many levels now.

  Umar was a modern, street-smart boy from Delhi. Many girls, boys, uncles and aunties had made a pass at him many times. His hope, dreams and vulnerability had clouded his natural sixth sense so far. But not anymore. He knew the director was just a pimp for this lascivious producer, the real life villain. Umar threw the rest of his beer on the producer’s face, and stormed out of the room. He took the elevator to the lobby area, and then walked out of the hotel.

  He kept walking and walking. The slight drizzle helped wash away the tears of anger as he walked. He was completely drenched by the time he reached Marine Drive late in the evening. He sat there, all alone, cursing the Almighty mostly and himself a few times. Through the haze of his moist eyes and the vapour from the drizzle, he noticed the life-size picture of the producer on a large billboard near the Marine Drive. His name was written in big bold letters – ANDY. The man was producing the most expensive movie in Telugu next week.

  After an hour, just when he was ready to leave, a young boy approached him for alms. One leg of the boy had been amputated, and both his hands were cut in the middle. But he had a happy face and a happy smile. Umar remembered the plane crash. He thought for a moment and then took out all the money he had in his pockets and gave it to the boy who looked at him in astonishment. Umar then looked up at the sky and said, “Forgive me please. Your alms to me was the most generous gift anyone can ever expect.”

  Umar had never been through such a low phase in his life before. He was at the start of his career, but his career was lost, it had vanished.

  He had just stepped out of his house, only to find that the road on either side had been swallowed by a massive earthquake. He knew there was always a smaller lane, though from the back door of his home. He had to take the smaller lane. But the dilemma was whether to take the right turn or the left turn. He had thought about his contingency plan earlier, before coming to Mumbai. He could get into business with the help of his father or he could become a full-time pilot. He chose to leave the muck and grime on the ground and fly high in the air.

  6

  Niraj was welcomed back at the Bangalore airport by his employees. They were all happy that their boss was alive and had come with bright garlands of marigold flowers. They put them around an embarrassed Niraj’s neck. Employees from Reddy’s company were also present at the airport. They had also brought marigold garlands to place on the coffin in which lay Reddy’s dead body.

  “Long live Niraj Roy! Long live Niraj Roy,” Niraj’s employees chanted at the airport.

  A relative of Reddy looked at Niraj being carried on the shoulders by his employees, while he carried Reddy’s coffin on his shoulders. He was struggling to hold back his tears. Soon he could no longer control his tears or anger. He shouted loudly at Niraj, as the tears rolled down his face. “You are no protector! You are a destroyer! You have destroyed the lives of so many of us.”

  The crowd became silent. Niraj was visibly upset. No one but he knew about the last few moments of Reddy. He felt guilty. But there was nothing he could do then and nothing he could do now. He ordered his employees to remain quiet and get out of the airport.

  Niraj stayed inside his apartment for almost a week after his return. He told everyone that he was very tired.

  Bangalore is a close-knit society. The IT professionals network with each other actively and the college alumni meet up often. The students and professionals from North India hang out regularly in their favourite haunts. But the closest group was that of the rich and the famous. Many of them were the clients of Niraj Roy. Reddy was one of the well-known members of this coterie. He was Niraj’s important client. But following Reddy’s demise, Niraj’s services were terminated from all assignments of Reddy’s business. Soon, other clients pulled out of Niraj’s services. Niraj Roy was called a deserter, a bad omen, a conspirator and many other names. He was no longer called a ‘protector.’

  Niraj went to one of his oldest and biggest clients: a stud farm owner in the outskirts of Bangalore. If he lost this contract, Niraj would have to shut down his business. Niraj pleaded with the stud farm owner to continue his services. He assured him that he would personally monitor all the services; Niraj even offered a discount on his fees.

  “Just tell me one thing Niraj by swearing on your God. Did you have a hand in his death, in any way?” the stud farm owner asked Niraj directly, throwing him off guard for a moment.

  “Hmm… Uhh… I had a hand, but not a real hand… I mean…,” Niraj stammered and struggled between the truth and his fear of God.

  “Mr Niraj Roy. I bet on horses every day. I know a limp horse when I see one. You have gone limp, my friend. I am sorry.”

  Niraj knew he was doomed. He had lost his reputation and was no longer attractive to the rich and famous. On his way back from the stud farm, driving his SUV slowly as he always did, he felt as lonely as he had been as a child. He felt as ignored by his clients and the world as he had been by his parents. As a child he had not been mature enough to understand excommunication, but he was now experienced enough to realise, feel and despise it. He hated his life at the moment. He wished he had died with Reddy in the crash. Maybe it was Reddy’s curse that was hurting and haunting him now. As he remained lost in his thoughts, he barely noticed the crowd in front of him, before screeching to a halt.

  Niraj got down to see the spectacle. He saw a young taxi driver beating an old man on the street. The crowd was trying to intervene, but the taxi driver was consumed with fury and continued to rain blows on the hapless old man. Niraj asked an onlooker the reason for the fight.

  “The old man had hired this taxi from another city. And he did not have a thousand rupees more to pay the driver. The driver had not slept the whole night and needs money for his son’s fees today.”

  Niraj knew how lethal the combination of lack of sleep and lack of money could be. He empathised with the driver, but he had to rescue the old man. He jumped in front of the driver and pulled him away from the old man. He then pulled out a thousand-rupee note from his pocket and shoved it in the driver’s pocket. The driver was stunned and happy, while the old man was relieved and happy.

  Niraj stood there looking at the happy faces of the old man and the driver and thinking about his own plight. He had hit rock bottom in his professional and personal life, but he saw a dual opportunity at that very moment. He could start a professional taxi service company or he could set up an agency to protect the common man from the threats of bullies, ruffians, extortionists and other anti-social elements. Before he could decide, the old man came up to Niraj and blessed him, with tears in his shrunken eyes. Niraj knew exactly what he wanted to do. He had protected the privileged man for long, it was now time to protect the common man.

  7

  “I will today talk about split management,” Anil started his lecture, after his return from Himachal.

  “Split management is about how you have to take dec
isions in everyday work. By taking different decisions, you lead a different life,” Anil went on.

  “Sir, that is just general management. Why split it?” a smart student in the class asked.

  “Because if you don’t, you will never know that you are one of many parallel lives on earth. You may already be dead somewhere. And you are alive here in my class. What’s the point of all of this?” Anil tried to further explain.

  “Exactly sir, what’s the point of all this?” the same student bantered, much to the amusement of the class.

  Anil was visibly agitated by now. He looked at the student with a deep frown and then said something that he regretted later.

  “You need to smoke ganja to understand all this!”

  The class was shocked into silence. Anil continued his lecture on decision-making. By the end of the class, the students had decided to complain to the Director about Anil. The Director of the institute was shocked. Anil had had an impeccable reputation so far. He was one of the best professors in the college. Anil’s good record came to his rescue and he was let off with a stern warning.

  Anil no longer enjoyed having coffee with Romi at home. He was often lost in his own thoughts. When Romi tried to cuddle up to him in the mornings, Anil was just not himself. He was a split self of himself now. As Romi rested on his hairy chest, Anil suddenly looked at her suspiciously.

  “Are you a medium?” Anil asked Romi one morning as she sat beside him with her legs on his stomach.

  “Medium of what, Anil?” Romi asked, looking at his face in surprise. But she was not shocked, given his strange behaviour lately.

  “Never mind! But do you actually love me or do you love Lian? When did you move in here to be with me?” Anil asked, continuing his strange behaviour.

  “Who the hell is Lian? And why would I love him? And what do you mean when I moved in here? What’s wrong with you, Anil?” Romi was getting exasperated.

  “Do you know that you have a high chance of living in the Middle East or a place like Turkey right now? Omir is a popular name in those countries, I think.”

  Romi looked at her husband with pain and bewilderment in her eyes. He was one of the most rational and logical persons she knew. “What had become of him,” she wondered. “Was he trying to get rid of her? Had he found someone else?” Romi left the room with these thoughts and made coffee for herself.

  A week later, Anil was taking a class for a group of new students. He introduced himself to all of them normally and then asked for their names.

  Ravi

  Vijayant

  Atul

  Sharad

  Mukesh

  Rakesh

  Anadi

  Vivek

  Diana

  “Hold on! Hold on! Did you say Diana?” Anil exclaimed.

  “Yes sir, I am Diana D’Souza.”

  Diana was a dusky, slender and smart girl.

  “No, you are not! You are Anadi!”

  Anil was jumping up and down the classroom with excitement. He went up to Anadi, who was a cute, chubby boy sitting in the front row of the class.

  “Come here Diana. Meet your split, Anadi. But you do look very different somehow. But both are very smart, see? That’s how you both got into this institute! Baba was correct!”

  While the students wondered if this was a different kind of case study, Diana and Anadi tried to hide their embarrassment. They avoided looking at each other.

  Anil sat in his chair. He was very quiet and despondent. He then got up from his chair glumly and went to the blackboard. He wrote on it, “This also means I may not be giving this lecture next year.”

  This time, the Director of the institute could not stop with a warning to Anil. After a two-day investigation, Anil was given the marching order. His life had come crashing down, again.

  At home, Anil did not speak to Romi for the next one week. Romi was worried about Anil. She was also embarrassed about making excuses to the maid, milkman, newspaper vendor, washerman and a few others whom she could not pay on time. There was no money in the house and no balance in the bank. And worse, there was no love at home.

  Romi knew something was amiss. Anil had earned fairly well. He had had a substantial amount in his bank. “How could there be nothing now?” she wondered. She went to the bank to find out more. She was shocked to find out that Anil had transferred all the money in his account to a lady named Michelle Cummins, the wife of a deceased person named Lian Cummins. Romi was certain that Anil was hiding something from her. She went to the house and confronted Anil.

  “You tell me, right now, who is this Michelle Cummins? Or I am walking out of the house,” Romi threatened Anil.

  Anil did not reply.

  “Anil, please tell me! Please, please! I beg you. I want to save our marriage.”

  Anil still did not reply.

  “Anil, swear on your dead mother and tell me the truth.”

  Anil looked up at Romi and whispered softly. “What? What? I could not hear. Tell me again.”

  Romi repeated her question. She strained to listen to Anil’s feeble words. “Michelle could be my wife.”

  Romi burst into a barrage of tears and said nothing for a few minutes. She then went to her room and packed all her things in a large suitcase. She came out and walked straight out of the house. Anil looked at her imploringly. But he could not explain more. He just waved his hand in one last desperate attempt to hold her back. But Romi was gone. And he was alone. He was hungry too. He looked in the fridge to find something to eat, but there was nothing. He went to the kitchen.

  His eyes lit up as he saw all the cutlery, knives, spatulas, pans, spices, olive oil, vegetables, a few slices of cheese and a half-eaten loaf of bread. His hands became that of a magician, as he quickly chopped the vegetables and sautéed them on a frying pan, adding some seasoning and olive oil. He then added cheese and garlic to a couple of bread slices and put them in the grill. Within minutes, he placed the colourful mix of vegetables and the garlic bread on a clean white plate. He looked at the plate again. He took out a plastic bottle of tomato sauce from the fridge and squeezed the sauce onto the plate, making an artistic and appetising decoration around his food. He took the plate to the dining table.

  “Please enjoy your food,” Anil said to himself.

  Lina Kapoor turned around while taking a tour of her restaurant in Gurgaon. She thought somebody had whispered into her ears, “Please enjoy your food.”

  8

  Lina Kapoor was a brilliant student from Miranda House and had worked as a management professional in a large multinational bank in different countries. Eventually, she married an IT engineer, Gautam Khosla, from Dehradun when she was working in Singapore. Initially, she enjoyed her married life a lot.

  Lina was married for almost two years but could not bear a child. She tried everything and visited every known doctor in Singapore, but she could not become a mother. She then sought the help of a family priest who advised her to stay away from her husband for six months. The sacrifice, according to the priest, would yield her a child. Lina’s husband was very upset with this and clearly expressed his displeasure to Lina. But she still decided to go ahead with her decision. She came to India on a special assignment for her bank for six months. Gautam, as he had threatened, did not talk to Lina over the phone for these six months. There were just a couple of email exchanges between them regarding some home loan documentation.

  At the end of the six-month separation period, Lina decided to surprise her husband. She flew to Singapore without informing Gautam. She took a taxi from the airport and reached her apartment. She quietly opened the door with the spare key she always kept with her. She knew their Malaysian maid would not come for another hour at least. The door of their bedroom was partially open and Lina assumed her husband would be in the bathroom. As she tiptoed her way into the bedroom, she heard the giggle of a woman from the attached bathroom. A little worried, she hastened her pace and quickly opened the bathroom door. Gautam and
the Malaysian maid were making out in the master Jacuzzi of their bathroom, her bathroom.

  Lina was on the evening flight back to India. She had not waited for her husband to get dressed and explain. What she saw was what she would believe. And Lina had seen enough. If she could sacrifice six months for the sake of having a child, she could also sacrifice her husband and marriage, with a heavy heart, for the sake of her respect and dignity.

  Lina was dejected but not devastated. She did not want to work any longer at the bank. It reminded her too much of the past. She wanted to start life afresh, with new hopes and new dreams. She had always loved cooking. So she decided to follow her passion and open a restaurant on a new and upcoming street in Gurgaon.

  Lina pulled herself out of the whirlpool of hopelessness and self-pity. She set up her restaurant on a street that had huge residential condominiums on either side. Unlike most other streets in Gurgaon, this street was kept clean by the common residential association of the apartments there. The diffused yellow lighting from smart-looking lamp posts on both sides of the street was reminiscent of the Parisian streets that Lina used to visit in search of new restaurants to dine in, when she was working in Paris.

  Lina opened a French-Italian themed restaurant in a small space on the ground floor below a bank. Incidentally, it was a branch of the bank she used to work in. There was a small open area outside the indoor restaurant where Lina placed wrought iron chairs and round tables, with multi-coloured garden umbrellas as canopy.

  Business picked up fast. Her food was good and the ambience of the restaurant was unique and cosy. The prices were competitive and the service was impeccable. The restaurant had all the ingredients to bring in great returns on investment, as Lina’s brother Maru would often say. Maru Kapoor was a year younger to Lina. He was a businessman who had done well for himself. He had a sharp grasp of business from a very young age, prescient of his name ‘Maru.’ The name had been chosen by Maru’s maternal grandfather, who himself was a well-known businessman. His grandfather had worked with many partners in the traditional Marwari community and had been impressed by their business acumen and ethics. He fondly addressed many of them as ‘Maru.’